Taking a Chance

by Deborah Burrows

  ‘Can you see what he’s doing?’

  Walter threw me a mirthless smile. ‘No, but I can tell you. He is very angry. He doesn’t want you to see him so very angry, so he has removed himself from your company. I expect he is swearing and hitting a few trees. Leave him be. It is hard for a man to hear such insults and not to respond.’

  After a little while Johnny reappeared, got into the car and grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry. I hate to put up with that sort of stuff without taking any action.’

  I smiled weakly at him, and nodded. He started the car and we drove on to the artists’ colony.

  It was clear that the police had been there. Yellow tape surrounded an area beside a large tuart tree to one side of the Lorrimers’ cottage. The ground had been dug over and near the cottage it was rutted and uneven, presumably because of the police vehicles that had been parked there. I glanced over at Johnny, who replied with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Looks like Munsie’s not as stupid as I thought,’ he said.

  As we parked in the area set aside for vehicles, the Lorri­mers came out of their cottage and practically ran across to the car, shoes squelching in the mud. Mrs Lorrimer opened my door and when I got out she hugged me tightly.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘How can I thank you enough for rescuing Susan?’

  ‘Is she here?’ I asked, thinking that I could get some marvellous photographs of parents reunited with their wayward child. Then I was horrified at the thought. I was becoming just like Johnny!

  ‘No,’ she said regretfully. ‘But the police said she’ll soon

  be home.’ There was a sad sort of laugh, almost a sigh.

  ‘I raised a very silly girl, Miss Fitzgerald. But Susan doesn’t lie – Lily does, but not Susan. I’m sure that it all happened

  just as Susan said.’ Her face crumpled and she blinked

  back tears. ‘You have no idea how glad I am that she’s safe now.’

  I glanced towards Johnny. He was standing with Walter on the other side of the car talking to Mr Lorrimer, who seemed as excited and grateful as his wife. Walter was watching it all with a slight smile.

  ‘Come inside,’ said Mrs Lorrimer, taking my hand and leading me towards the cottage. ‘Be careful, it’s very slippery.’

  Behind me I heard a startled cry and turned to see Walter flat on the ground, arms and legs flailing, obviously having slipped in the mud. Mr Lorrimer reached down to help him to his feet, while Johnny bent to pick up a small sketchbook that had fallen from Walter’s coat pocket. I saw Johnny leaf idly through the pages, then his face reddened slightly and he frowned in surprise. He gave a short bark of laughter and closed the book.

  Walter was standing now, brushing at the mud coating his trousers, obviously annoyed. ‘I will join you once I have changed my jacket and trousers,’ he said.

  ‘Here,’ said Johnny. As he handed him the sketchbook he raised an eyebrow slightly and the corner of his mouth quirked up. Walter raised his eyebrow in return and they exchanged a look. I suspected that the notebook contained sketches of naked women and shook my head at the idiocy of men. Johnny caught my eye and looked a trifle shamefaced.

  There was also a great deal of nudity on display in the Lorrimer house.

  ‘Do you have any paintings of Lily?’ I asked.

  Mr Lorrimer disappeared for a few minutes and returned with a charcoal sketch of Lily and Susan sitting together on the Lorrimers’ couch. Susan was surprisingly demure; Lily’s hair was longer than in the photograph we’d seen previously.

  ‘This is one of Walter’s sketches,’ Mr Lorrimer told us.

  ‘Lily’s face seems too knowing for a young girl,’ I whispered to Johnny, who was staring at the sketch, frowning. He nodded slowly.

  I was careful not to include any shots of the paintings of Mrs Lorrimer in the nude when I took my photographs of the couple for the article. Instead, I asked them to stand beside the sketch of Susan and Lily. I took five photographs and asked Johnny to take three more, just to be sure that one would work out. Then I went outside and took photographs of the tuart tree and the cottage, before returning to make detailed notes of the Lorrimers’ outpourings of thanks and their joy that Susan had been found. It was heart-warming stuff. The sort of stuff the Marvel’s readership lapped up.

  ‘We’d better make tracks,’ said Johnny. He seemed preoccupied. ‘It’s a long way back to Perth.’

  ‘What happens now?’ It was Walter’s voice. He came into the room, wearing a clean jacket and trousers. He glanced at the sketch of the girls.

  ‘We wait to see if the police can find Lily,’ Johnny replied. ‘A lot will depend on what she has to say.’

  Walter nodded. ‘I hope that she will be well looked after, no matter what.’

  ‘Oh, so do I,’ said Mrs Lorrimer. ‘Despite her problems, I liked Lily. Her home life was appalling, but she always tried to make the best of things.’

  Johnny grabbed my hand as we stepped outside and held it in a hard grip. He bent towards me. ‘Love you,’ he whispered. There was an undercurrent of excitement in his voice.

  My heart sped up, as it always did when he touched me, and I smiled, a bit bemusedly, before turning to thank the Lorrimers for the interview.

  ‘My wallet,’ said Walter. ‘I think I left it in the hotel where we had lunch. Could you give me a lift back to Richmond? I could walk, but I will worry until it is found.’

  ‘Are you sure it didn’t fall onto the ground when you fell earlier?’ Johnny asked.

  So we all searched the area where he fell. Other artists came out to help and we looked everywhere. No wallet.

  ‘Please?’ Walter sounded worried. ‘I cannot lose my identity card. It is an offence not to carry it. I have been interned once already. I could not bear it again.’

  Johnny looked around him. ‘Would anyone else like a lift into the village?’ he said. ‘We’re going that way anyway, and we can take one more.’

  A skinny young man with lank black hair who introduced himself as Ces said he’d like a lift to the pub, so it was a full car that made its way back to Richmond.

  e pulled into the centre of Richmond at four o’clock. Johnny dropped Walter and Ces off outside the hotel and then drove on to the railway station. As we parked I thought I could see Mrs Carter, almost hidden in a copse of trees, clinging to her envelope filled with feathers. There was no one else in sight.

  ‘Tea?’ asked Johnny. ‘You’ve earned it. We could go to the tea rooms before we head home. Tell you what, I’ll even throw in a piece of their no-eggs, no-butter, no-nothing and entirely tasteless cake. I’ve got something to tell you. Something very interesting indeed.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘How can I refuse? I want to use the station facilities first, though. Wait for me?’

  ‘Forever,’ he said, smiling. ‘Marry me?’

  I shook my head, but I smiled as I did so.

  He leaned in closer and his breath was warm on my cheek.

  ‘You will,’ he said comfortably. ‘Honey, it’s a lead-pipe cinch.’

  I assumed that strange expression meant he thought I was sure to end up marrying him. I wondered if he’d been talking to Aunty May. I wondered if he was right.

  ‘You will,’ he repeated. ‘I’m a catch, and your aunt adores me.’

  Now I was grinning, and so was he. I turned and walked towards the station, looking back once to see him leaning against the car, starting to roll a cigarette. Desire was there, hot and urgent every time I looked at him. It was in my reaction to the scent of his skin. It was there when I brushed against him, when he smiled at me like he was smiling now.

  I had known him less than two weeks, but I seemed to know him better than I had ever known Rob Sinclair. Would I marry him? To do so would be utterly irrational. But rationality seemed to flee whenever I was near him. If I married him I could go to bed with him, and I certainly wanted to do that! I smiled at myself in the ladies’ room mirror. Do you love him, Nell? Oh, yes. I loved him, so very much
. Will you marry him? I made a face at my reflection.

  ‘I think you’re going to marry him,’ I said to myself in the mirror.

  I didn’t spend a lot of time in the ladies’ room, but I did want to brush my hair and fix my make-up so it was fifteen minutes or so before I left the station.

  When I got back to the car park, the car was gone. I blinked in surprise and looked around. The car was nowhere to be seen. I walked towards the tea rooms to see if Johnny had moved it to the street, but it wasn’t there either. It was a complete mystery.

  I looked around me at the empty street. The peaceful little village with its carefully tended English gardens now seemed sinister, a place that carefully protected its secrets against interlopers. Silence pressed in on me and I felt terribly alone.

  In the corner of my vision was a flutter of movement.

  Mrs Carter had emerged from the bushland to stand by the copse of gum trees opposite the station. I walked across to her, my feet unsteady, my heart racing. Her head was bowed and her hands, still clutching her envelope of feathers, were shaking.

  ‘Mrs Carter,’ I said, ‘there was a big black car parked at the station. Do you know where it went?’

  She raised her eyes and for an instant I saw utter despair before she looked down again, face hidden by the unkempt greying hair.

  ‘What has happened? Is there anything I can do for you?’

  ‘They threw my feathers onto the ground.’ She was crying.

  ‘Who, Mrs Carter?’ I spoke too sharply and she flinched.

  ‘Mrs Carter,’ I said, more slowly and in a softer voice. ‘Who threw your feathers on the ground? Did they leave in the big black car?’

  Now she was gnawing at her bottom lip. I tried again. ‘It was wrong of them to throw your feathers on the ground.’ She raised her head to stare at me with wide, frightened eyes. ‘Did they leave in the car?’ I repeated quietly.

  Mrs Carter inhaled quickly and said, ‘I don’t like Neil Buchanan. Or his brother Paul. They’re nasty boys.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘My boys weren’t nasty.’ She stared blankly at me and said, ‘They died, you know. They all died.’

  I made my voice very gentle. ‘I know. They were brave soldiers.’

  She nodded. ‘My brave boys,’ she whispered. ‘They were farmers really, but they were soldiers when they died.’

  ‘Did the Buchanans take the American away in the big black car?’ I tried hard to sound calm, but I could hear the tremor in my voice.

  She nodded quickly, her gaze firmly fixed on the ground.

  I wondered if I could believe anything she said. But where was Johnny?

  ‘Which direction did they drive off in?’

  She didn’t look up, but a tremulous finger pointed down the road we had just come down, the road that led to the artists’ colony.

  My mind went blank. I had no car. I had no idea where they would take him. Desperately, I looked around. Across the railway line and up the hill a little was the Anglican church. Reverend Dodd. He might have some ideas, or at least could tell me how to find the police.

  ‘Mrs Carter, I have to go now. Will you be all right?’

  She shook her head and turned away from me. I left her standing under the trees and ran up the hill towards the rectory.

  The Jowett Tourer was still parked outside and I wondered if Hilda Rountree was there as I jumped onto the verandah and pummelled at the door.

  ‘Reverend Dodd,’ I shouted. ‘It’s Nell Fitzgerald. I need help.’

  He came to the door quickly. ‘My dear girl, whatever is the matter?’ he said.

  His face became a picture of ungodly fury as I explained.

  ‘What are they playing at? It makes no sense.’

  ‘Where do you think they are likely to have taken him? Surely they wouldn’t risk really hurting him?’ My voice faded. I was unable to think coherently. I had never felt so terrified in my entire life. Hilda Rountree suspected that Nugget was mentally unstable. If so, who knew what he might do? The thought of Johnny in danger was unbearable.

  ‘Where’s the police station?’ I said urgently. ‘We have to tell the police. Do you have a telephone?’

  ‘It’s only Sergeant Pell and a constable. They’re in Darlington and they’ve got only one police car. Believe me, it’s quicker to try to find him ourselves.’ He disappeared inside the house and returned with a small keyring.

  ‘Come along, my dear,’ he said as he headed for the Jowett.

  ‘This is your car?’ I asked, amazed. It was a fast, sleek car and expensive.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said with a quick smile as he opened the passenger door. ‘It’s my only vice.’ His voice became wistful. ‘Some people think it’s a terrible waste of money, but it’s such a nice car.’

  It was also a very fast car. We were out and roaring along the road before I could gather my thoughts.

  ‘Look out for any turnings into the bush,’ he said. ‘Glen Road goes past several houses, orchards and sanatoriums before it ends at the artists’ colony. I doubt they’d take him there, though. We’ll stop and ask any local people we encounter if they’ve seen them.’

  ‘Are you sure we shouldn’t go to the police?’

  ‘There’s no time.’

  ‘But how will we find them?’ All I could think was that time was slipping away while we looked.

  ‘Nell, I don’t know. There aren’t that many places along Glen Road. We’ll just have to check each one.’

  The first driveway we came to led to a well-kept little cottage that was obviously empty. There was nowhere to hide a car. We turned around in the yard and drove back to the road.

  ‘There.’ I pointed to a small driveway leading off to the left.

  Arthur swerved abruptly onto the rough track. We bumped our way down its rutted surface for a few hundred yards, until it ended in a farmyard. In front of us was a shabby wooden house sheltering under a very large tuart tree. Acres of bare fruit trees were stretched out around us in neat rows. I started in surprise as two dogs appeared out of a shed near the house and headed straight for the car, barking fiercely. They were followed by an elderly man in the checked shirt and dungarees that seemed to be the unofficial uniform in this part of the world.

  ‘Can I help you?’ He didn’t look unfriendly.

  Arthur didn’t get out of the car, but pushed his head through the window space. ‘Good afternoon, Bert. We’re looking for the Buchanan brothers.’

  The old man’s face was a confused frown. ‘Don’t know why you’d look for them here, Reverend.’

  My heart thudded painfully in my chest. Were we going to take every turning along this road in the hope that it might lead to them? Surely it would have been better to head straight for the police.

  The front door of the house opened, and a barefoot boy wearing overalls came out to stand on the porch. He looked about eleven years old and he had a piece of half-eaten bread and jam in his hand. His gaze was wide-eyed and interested.

  ‘The Reverend’s looking for the Buchanan boys,’ the old man said to him.

  ‘He should look over at the Jenner place, Gramps.’ The boy tilted his head and dangled what remained of the bread over an open mouth, before allowing it to drop gently in.

  ‘What’d they be doing there?’ said the old man sharply.

  ‘Dunno.’ The boy’s mouth was full of bread. ‘But I saw a big black car go down the Jenner driveway. It had a charcoal burner in the back. Nugget was driving.’ He swallowed, then licked jam off his fingers.

  ‘How long ago?’ asked Arthur.

  The boy looked confused. ‘When I was riding home just now.’

  His grandfather said, ‘The Jenner place is the next-door property. They shouldn’t be there. Ned Jenner is away at the war.’

  ‘I don’t know the Jenner place,’ said Arthur.

  ‘Next driveway along Glen Road, a hundred yards maybe. You’ll see a turn-off to the right. They shouldn’t be there, though.’

  ‘Thank you
, Bert,’ said Arthur. He turned the car and headed back along the driveway to the road. The dogs followed us, barking ferociously, until they were sure that they’d seen us off the premises.

  A short distance down the road was a dilapidated sign, marked JENNER. Arthur set off down the driveway, which was in an even worse state than the previous one, though not as long. After about fifty yards we came across a wooden house, similar to Bert’s; the garden was much nicer, but it was going to seed. As we drove into the yard I thought I saw something disappear into a thicket opposite the house.

  ‘Did you see that?’ I said, grabbing Arthur’s arm. He stopped the car and looked where I was pointing.

  ‘What? See what?’

  ‘Someone running.’ I pushed open my door and sprinted over to where I had seen the figure. No one was there. I looked around. The place appeared to be deserted. Arthur went over to a large garage near the house. It was made of brick with a tin roof and had double doors at the front, but they were closed. There was a high window on one side.

  ‘What’s this?’ Arthur was pulling at something in the doors. I ran over to him. A picket had been pushed through the handles, barring the doors.

  ‘I need something to knock it out with,’ said Arthur. ‘It’s stuck fast. I’ll get a spanner from the car.’ He ran towards the Jowett and opened the boot.

  ‘Johnny,’ I yelled. ‘Are you in there?’ There was silence.

  ‘He had a gas producer in that car, didn’t he?’ Arthur was back with a large spanner.

  ‘Yes. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Get back,’ he shouted to me, as he started hitting the picket

  with the spanner. ‘And don’t come close. No matter what.’