by Peter Watt
Stunned, Donald looked over his father’s shoulder at his sister, hovering in the background. ‘What about Sarah?’ he asked.
‘Sarah and I have settled any problems that may have arisen between us, and she knows of my decision to bar you from this house,’ George smiled like a cat eyeing a wounded bird. ‘One day she will take your place and I will do everything in my power to have you removed from the board. Oh, and as for your decision to sell Glen View, you can forget that, because tomorrow I will be resuming the chair. If you wish to resign from the family companies I will accept your decision. That is all.’ George closed the door firmly against his son.
*
Louise was happy to have her son stay until he found a place of his own in the city.
‘I have prepared a beef stew for dinner – I know it’s your favourite,’ Louise said, fussing around her son. ‘But I must warn you that a dear friend of mine, Major Sean Duffy, will also be staying for dinner.’
‘That’s fine with me,’ Donald answered in a flat voice, not caring if the devil himself was coming to dinner. He could still see the rage in his father’s face as he stood in the doorway barring entry to the house. It had hurt more than Donald was prepared to admit right now.
That evening Sean arrived for dinner.
‘Pleased to meet you, Major Duffy,’ Donald said, extending his hand stiffly to the man he knew was his mother’s lover.
‘A pleasure to meet you, Donald,’ Sean said, accepting the gesture with a firm grip. ‘Your mother is very proud of you.’
The three sat at the table and the beef stew proved as good as Donald remembered. It was Louise’s speciality, based on a French recipe she had acquired. Conversation was light and pleasant but there was a certain tension between Sean and Donald.
‘I heard that you were in the chair while your father was hospitalised,’ Sean said, sipping a glass of hock. ‘I also heard from reliable sources that you had all intentions of selling Glen View to a client of mine, Tom Duffy.’
‘That is a moot point now,’ he replied. ‘My father has assumed control again. He has even suggested that I should consider resigning.’
‘How dare he!’ Louise flared. ‘It is your birthright to take control when your father passes on.’
‘He thinks that Sarah will make a better job of it,’ Donald sighed. ‘She can have it for all I care.’
‘What would you do instead?’ Sean asked.
‘If I had my way I would return north, and hope that I might get the chance to manage Glen View one day,’ Donald said.
‘I’m sure that if Tom owned the property he would offer you that opportunity,’ Sean said with a smile. ‘I have spoken to him recently and he told me that Mr MacManus spoke highly of your potential, and it seems that Jessica Duffy would also give you a good reference. In fact, Tom does whatever his daughter asks. She has him wrapped around her little finger.’
Donald was taken aback at the mention of Jessica’s name. When he looked at Sean he could have sworn he had a gleam in his eye.
‘I truly appreciate the interest, Major,’ Donald said. ‘But I am not about to resign just to spite my father.’
‘Good for you, young man,’ Sean said. ‘I only wish David had lived to stand by your side. I think that the two of you could have done great things with the Macintosh empire.’
‘I was so sorry to hear of David’s loss in the Spanish war,’ Donald said with genuine sympathy.
‘He was one of the finest young men who ever lived,’ Sean said, looking away to hide his pain. ‘I don’t even know where they have buried him – probably some unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere.’
‘I think that we should turn to more pleasant things,’ Louise said noticing how hard it was for Sean to reflect on the loss of his beloved David. ‘I will clear away the table and we will go onto the balcony to take in the night life on the water. It is a beautiful night and I have a bottle of champagne to mark this moment you two have finally met.’
The evening passed pleasantly and Sean bid them good night as he left to return to his flat in the city, leaving mother and son alone.
*
The wedding in Basra was a private affair. The little Christian church stood in a sea of Moslem holy places; rarely had it seen an English-speaking couple married within its very old walls. An Eastern Orthodox priest officiated; Cyril was Matthew’s best man, and Major Guy Wilkes and Tyrone McKee were the only guests. Saul was unable to attend as he’d had to flee the city. The Arabs in Jerusalem suspected Saul and Ben of being involved in the killing of the German archaeologists.
Diane wore an elegant white silk skirt, while Matthew had scrounged up an old dinner suit. Guy Wilkes had invited Matthew and Diane back to the officers’ mess for the bridal dinner and had arranged for a boat trip up the river to Baghdad for their honeymoon.
At the dinner Guy read a telegram from America.
‘Congratulations on the wedding. Wish I was there,’ Guy read out. ‘And it is signed, James Duffy.’
For a second Matthew was confused as to who James Duffy was; when it dawned on him he broke into a broad smile. James had reverted to his father’s family name. He truly had a son and it was the best wedding present he could have received.
Just before the honeymooners were ready to board the boat, Guy took Matthew aside.
‘I know you’re wondering how the British government views Diane’s work for the Americans,’ he said, holding a flute of champagne. ‘It has all been swept under the rug and her work for the Yanks forgotten, considering the wealth of information she provided us here. Besides, she also had an indirect hand in dealing with the problem of the Nazi agents. I heard that they were murdered by Bedouin bandits at their dig.’
‘I heard that too,’ Matthew replied with a serious expression. ‘Terrible thing to happen to Himmler’s finest.’
‘Well, my wedding present is the contract you now have with the new oil men exploring out here,’ Guy continued. ‘You’re fortunate to have Diane and Tyrone as pilots, although I suspect that you will still find yourself in the cockpit as a one-armed pilot – despite flying regulations.’
‘I would find it necessary to go along from time to time,’ Matthew grinned. ‘I may not be in complete control of the aircraft, but I’m not out of the sky yet.’
‘Well, good luck, old chap,’ Guy said, extending his hand.
Matthew shook his hand warmly and glanced over Guy’s shoulder. He could see Tyrone chatting with Diane. It was time to take his bride on their honeymoon. They had many years to catch up on, and Matthew was not growing any younger.
*
For Sean Duffy it was just another day at the office. Court briefs on his desk and clients to interview. A large pile of papers awaited his attention, and yet he found himself standing by the window of his office and gazing out at the life on the street.
‘Major Duffy,’ a clerk said at the door. For years Sean had attempted to discourage the use of his former military rank among those who worked for the firm, but it had become almost a term of endearment. He knew they were proud of his war record and the decorations he had been awarded by the king.
‘What is it?’ Sean asked.
‘Mr Harry Griffiths is here to see you,’ the clerk said. ‘He does not have an appointment but insists on seeing you on a very important matter.’
‘Send him in immediately,’ Sean said.
‘Very well, Major Duffy,’ the clerk replied, ducking away. Sean waited for his old friend to appear.
Harry walked through the door and Sean’s face broke into a smile, only to crash into an expression of absolute shock. Harry was not alone. The second man to enter the office was David Macintosh.
For a moment Sean thought that he might faint. Was he hallucinating? He felt himself begin to sway.
‘Better sit down, boss,’ Harry said. ‘Young David turned up this morning at the gym, and I had the same reaction.’
‘Uncle Sean,’ David said, stepping forward. ‘I�
��m sorry that I couldn’t contact you earlier, but I just arrived home.’ David stood uncertainly, and Sean could see the changes in him. He knew immediately that the young man had suffered a great deal.
It was Sean who hobbled forward and embraced David, tears flowing down his cheeks.
‘It is so good to see you again, my boy,’ Sean said, gripping the young man as hard as he could lest he vaporise as a mere illusion. ‘I was told you’d been killed in Spain.’
‘If you sit down I will tell you all about it,’ David said gently.
‘Well, I’ll leave you two,’ Harry said. ‘I have to get back to the gym. How about the three of us meet after work at the pub on the corner? Our boy has one hell of a tale to tell.’
Sean nodded and sat down in the chair behind his desk as David pulled up a chair of his own.
David then related all the events that led up to that terrible day when the volley of shots from the firing squad had killed his English comrade but left him alive, a bullet in his shoulder.
‘The Spanish were lousy shots,’ David said. ‘So the German in charge of the firing squad was walking up to me with his pistol to deliver a killing shot to my head, when Major Heinrich von Fellmann drove up and stopped him. It seems a message I gave to one of our guards got to him, but too late to stop the firing squad. At great risk to himself, he was able to arrange for me to be smuggled out of Spain and into France. I was given medical attention by his own staff while I was waiting to leave the country. His second-in-command was a devout Nazi so Heinrich had to keep my real identity from him. Because I can speak reasonable German I was disguised as a wounded German soldier and put on a convoy away from the front lines. Heinrich then organised for me to be spirited out of the hospital and across the frontier between Spain and France with a group of Basques. So, that was it – except I had to work my way back to Sydney as crew on a freighter. I did not know if I would ever get home, so I chose not to tell anyone I was alive until I could actually see Sydney Harbour. I’m sorry for the grief this caused you, but I could not trust that I was safe until I was able to set my feet on Australian soil again.’
‘I don’t care about any of that,’ Sean said. ‘All I care about is that you are safe and well and back home with those who love you. Does your grandmother know you’re alive?’ Sean asked.
‘I sent her a telegram as soon as I arrived, and I will see her as soon as I can,’ David answered.
‘Good,’ Sean said. ‘I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you again.’
‘I don’t suppose I could stay with you for a while – until I get my life together?’
‘I would be offended if you stayed anywhere else,’ Sean replied. ‘You may not realise it, but you have returned from the grave at a very critical moment. I think it’s time for you to meet your uncle, Sir George, and your cousins. I have to admit that I will love being there to see the expressions on their faces.’
‘I suppose it is time,’ David said. ‘I’ll be twenty-one next year, and according to the terms of my grandfather’s will I am supposed to take a share in the managing of the family business.’
‘You don’t know how important that is,’ Sean said with an enigmatic smile. ‘But we are taking the day off, and I will vouch that you are twenty-one when we go for a beer with Harry. I’m sure there’s so much more you would like to talk about with a couple of old soldiers who understand what you’ve be through.’
David thought about Sean’s statement. Now he knew why Sean had been reluctant to talk about his life during the war but with the two men he most loved and admired he realised that he had become what they were – a man who had experienced combat and survived with the memories of friends lost and the importance of living.
28
Major Guy Wilkes signed for the classified signals and took the folder to his office in army HQ. He was in a good mood – the wedding reception had gone well and London had sent a message to congratulate him on the unspecified matters that had occurred in Palestine. Guy knew they were aware of the elimination of the German spy cell and that this would be attributed to his intercession. It was a good mark on his service record.
The decrypted intercepted German message marked for his attention was vague. He frowned, as all it seemed to suggest was that an appropriate response was to be made in Baghdad for the loss of the German archaeological team in Palestine. The message had originated from deep within Himmler’s Berlin department and forwarded to an unknown agent in Cairo, Egypt. The killing of the three Germans had been investigated by the British authorities and reported as death at the hands of unknown Bedouin bandits. Although Guy knew his counterparts in the German military intelligence probably did not believe the findings, they did not have any proof of a covert British operation. He read on and the intercepted message from the German Gestapo HQ talked about a revenge killing of a target known to be at the centre of the case. It would be a covert message to the British to leave their agents alone in the future or retaliation would be swift and deadly.
What response could Himmler have envisaged? Guy pondered. What target?
Then it hit him. They had failed the first time to eliminate a double agent, and the Nazis probably held Diane responsible for the deaths of her former comrades. The encrypted message was suddenly clear.
Guy sprang from his chair and immediately went to the great map of Iraq on the wall of his office. From what he could guess Diane and Matthew would have reached Baghdad by now.
‘Damned stupid!’ Guy swore, remembering the small item in the local newspaper about their marriage and honeymoon destination. It all seemed harmless at the time as the matter of the Nazi spies appeared to be behind them. Anyone hunting Diane would be waiting in Baghdad for her – it was a perfect place for an assassination. It was a city full of anti-British sentiment and no doubt there were many prepared to harbour a killer of a European infidel.
Guy realised that he had no way of contacting Matthew to warn him of the potential threat. He didn’t even know which hotel the newlyweds were staying in, but he could at least telephone Baghdad military HQ and ask them to track down the one-armed Australian and his English bride. One thing that did reassure Guy was that Matthew never travelled without his old service revolver.
‘Corporal Harrington!’ Guy bawled. ‘Report to my office.’
*
Matthew could not remember a happier time in his life – the pleasure yacht sailing up the ancient river past quaint little villages that could have been four thousand years old; the spectacular bird life living along the reed-covered swamps off the Tigris River; sharing the serene evenings with Diane on the rear deck, sipping gin and tonics.
They both regretted leaving the yacht at Baghdad, but the hotel also promised a luxury that would make the honeymoon even more memorable. Because Matthew’s grasp of Arabic was fairly good, the two of them were treated with utmost courtesy by the owner, who ensured they received a room with a view over the river.
‘Oh, Matthew,’ Diane said, bouncing on the big double bed in their room. ‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven!’
‘Funny you should say that,’ Matthew grinned. ‘Those are my sentiments.’
Diane reached up for Matthew and drew him down onto the bed beside her.
‘I would dream at nights about you ravishing me,’ she said with a wicked smile. ‘You men can be so dull-witted when it comes to subtle signals.’
‘Well, let the ravishing continue,’ Matthew said, reaching for the belt on his trousers.
Diane wriggled off the bed and planted her feet on the floor.
‘Not until we go to the markets and I have the opportunity of buying something made of silk,’ she laughed. ‘Then we can spend the rest of the afternoon back here.’
‘Then I had better be prepared to hock the airline,’ he sighed.
Reluctantly, Matthew slid off the bed and tightened his belt. He was getting good at doing things with one arm.
‘I’m not that kind of woman, Matthew Duffy,�
� Diane replied with mock hurt. ‘Let’s go, my love.’
Matthew picked up his hat and followed his bride out of the room.
Within minutes of them leaving, two burly British military police entered the hotel and were able to ascertain that Captain and Mrs Duffy were registered guests. As far as the owner knew they had just departed for the local markets. The two soldiers hurried out of the hotel to catch up with Matthew and warn him of the threat to his wife, and to him.
*
The market was crowded and the stalls sold everything from fresh fruit and delicious-smelling snacks to jewellery and clothing. The majority of the customers were Iraqis, but there were one or two Europeans among the busy throng. Matthew stood back patiently as Diane fingered the silk headscarfs, all the while making little sounds of delight. Matthew smiled to himself and felt a warm surge of love for this beautiful creature who was fascinated by the touch and colour of the silk.
Diane slipped a red silk scarf over her head and turned to Matthew.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘It’s almost as beautiful as you,’ he said, meaning it. She was the most beautiful woman in the whole world, and he was lucky enough to have earned her love.
Matthew suddenly grew aware that a nervous young man was approaching. There was something about the stranger’s demeanour that caught his attention. He glanced at Diane, still preoccupied with the scarf. When he looked back the young Iraqi had a pistol in his hand, pointed directly at Diane.
Matthew reached desperately for his own revolver, which he kept in a leather pocket holster. But in a split second he knew that he would not have it out before the stranger fired his own weapon.
Matthew flung himself between Diane and the assassin just as the young Iraqi fired. Matthew felt the bullet rip into his chest.
Matthew could hear screaming as he finally retrieved his own pistol, raising it and firing three shots from the ground into the startled young man. The assassin crashed back into a stall displaying clay pots, scattering the goods and bringing down the flimsy shelter. Each of the three rounds from Matthew’s revolver had found its target and the young Iraqi was dead when he hit the ground.
