Taking a Chance

by Deborah Burrows

  I felt like a lovesick girl, and I probably looked like one, gazing at Johnny with a silly smile, making sure that I was always close enough to touch him. He kept stealing sly glances at me also, and he slid his hand into mine under the table during lunch.

  With her usual tact, Aunty May told Evie that Johnny and I needed time together and after lunch they both went off to the shops, leaving us alone. I settled him in the lounge room with a cup of tea and was able at last to ask him what he had found out from Munsie.

  ‘Where did they find Lily?’ I asked.

  ‘In a boarding house in Fremantle. She had enough money to pay for it without having to, er, earn it herself, because she stole some money from her mother before she ran off. Lily’s a much smarter girl than Susan, according to Munsie.’

  ‘So, what actually happened?’

  ‘Kauffman started fooling around with Lily last year, not long after he arrived in Richmond with Rick and Lena. Lily was only fourteen and was very vulnerable; her oldest brother had just been killed in Greece, the other two brothers were away at the war and her mother had started showing signs of her mental illness. Lily told Munsie that Kauffman was nice to her and she had loved him.’

  Hot tears were in my eyes. I realised that I hated Kauffman. The man was utterly loathsome. Johnny saw the tears and held out his arms, so I joined him in the armchair and he wrapped me in a tight hug.

  ‘I know, it’s a horrible story,’ he said. ‘Rick worked out what Kauffman was doing and told him to leave the colony – Rick didn’t approve of fooling around with underaged girls.’

  ‘But to murder him, Johnny. Why didn’t Kauffman just run off with Lily?’

  ‘It’s what I’d suspected all along,’ he replied with a slight smile. ‘Money. You remember Kauffman told us he was one of the men who managed the trust that Rick had set up?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Rick Henzell was very wealthy, and he left all his money to the colony. Under the terms of the trust Kauffman and Lorri­mer control it, with some input from Rick’s solicitor. Lorrimer admitted to Munsie that he’s no businessman and he pretty much allowed Kauffman to do what he wanted. So Rick’s death set up Kauffman very well indeed. I wonder if killing Rick was in his mind even before Rick found out about Lily.’

  There was a bitter laugh. ‘Rick never touched Lily, by the way. Like me, his reputation was much worse than the reality.’

  ‘But why such an elaborate murder?’

  ‘It was cunning, and I think it may have worked. By then Lily was completely under Kauffman’s influence, and there was no one to look out for her. Lily says that Kauffman told her the powder would make Rick sick, and that he’d need to leave the colony to be treated and that they’d be able to stay together. She swears that she didn’t know it would kill him.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a lame story, in my view, but she’s sticking to it. Whatever the truth is, she carried it all out faultlessly, using Susan as a patsy.’

  ‘Was it part of the plan to get Lena blamed for the murder?’

  ‘Munsie’s not sure. We suspect Kauffman was intending to convince everyone Rick’s death was a tragic accident. Silly girls playing a prank that went wrong. Of course, as far as Susan knew, it was a tragic accident – getting Susan involved was inspired, because she was stupid enough to believe the story. Lily would have said whatever Kauffman wanted her to say.’

  ‘Kauffman kept telling everyone what a liar Lily was, remember? If she’d mentioned what he’d been doing with her, or that he’d told her to give the powder to Rick, he’d have denied it all and said that she was as mad as her mother.’

  Johnny nodded. ‘I think he probably would have got away with it.’

  ‘Then Lena was convicted and Kauffman was in the clear entirely. He must have been thrilled.’

  ‘Lena’s arrest was his undoing. Lily panicked and fled to Perth with Susan. Lily felt guilty about Lena getting the blame, because Lena had always treated her well. And once she was away from Kauffman’s influence, Lily started to fear him. She’s been hiding from Kauffman ever since, wondering what to do.’ His face became grim. ‘I think she was right to fear Kauffman. I’m pretty certain he would have eventually decided that it was too risky to leave Lily alive.’

  I shuddered and he held me more tightly.

  ‘Kauffman must have been worried when he found out we were looking into the girls’ disappearance,’ I said.

  He nodded. ‘The Lorrimers told Munsie that Kauffman had been going to Perth every day, looking for Lily and Susan. Then we told him to look for Lily in Fremantle, so he’d been asking around there.’

  I felt sick. ‘Thank God we found them first.’

  We were in Perth the next day, shopping for wedding rings, when we heard the news. The high-pitched call of the elderly Daily News paperboy on the corner of Barrack Street cut through the noise of the crowds and the traffic.

  ‘Pay-ee-per. Read all about it. Murderer arrested.’

  I grabbed Johnny’s hand convulsively. ‘They’ve got him,’ I said. ‘It must be Kauffman.’

  Johnny bought a paper and held it steady against the wind, as I eagerly scanned it over his shoulder. Kauffman had been picked up in Kalgoorlie, and was now in custody, facing one count of accessory to murder and three counts of attempted murder.

  It was over.

  We arrived home at Violet Grove in a taxi a little while later, and Johnny dropped me at the gate, saying that he’d be back later to take me to dinner.

  ‘Wear something gorgeous,’ he said. ‘I want to show you off.’

  My mind was full of wedding plans as I walked down our front path. In four days’ time I was going to marry John Dragan Horvath in St Mary’s Catholic cathedral. My ‘something old’ would be the veil of exquisite Limerick lace that Aunty May had worn when she married Uncle Pat in 1901. My ring was brand new, made of Kalgoorlie rose gold, engraved with orange blossom and bought that afternoon. I had borrowed my wedding gown from Poppy; it was the cream silk jersey gown she’d worn to the dance at the Embassy ballroom. My ‘something blue’ was the blue of the dress uniform of the RAAF, because Mick had been able to get leave and was going to scrounge a flight to Perth on a transport plane so he could give me away. The US Consul, Mason Turner, had offered us his beautiful home by the river in Dalkeith for the reception and was going to provide the refreshments – a huge boon as the Americans had access to food that Australian civilians could only dream about. Dave Gleddings had arranged the honeymoon, a week at Caves House by the beach in the south-west corner of the state.

  I was so happy that it scared me. I was right to be afraid, because on 28 July, the day after we were due to return from our honeymoon, Johnny was flying to the Solomon Islands to cover the American offensive in New Georgia. According to the newspapers, the fighting there was as ferocious as it had been in Guadalcanal, and as a non-combatant, Johnny carried no weapons. The green ‘US War Correspondent’ badge on his shoulder would be no protection against a sniper’s bullet or a bomb.

  The house was very quiet – too quiet – as I pushed open the door. I walked slowly down the corridor, calling out to my aunt. There was no reply. I ran the rest of the way down the corridor into the kitchen.

  Aunty May was sitting at the kitchen table, white faced. She lifted her head, showing me eyes red with crying. ‘Nell, there’s a telegram.’

  Goosebumps raised the flesh on my arms painfully, and my heart seemed to contract. Charlie or Dan. It was Charlie or Dan.

  ‘Which one is it?’ My voice was low and came from a painfully dry mouth.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Tears now fell onto the table. ‘I couldn’t open it. It’s here. I thought I’d wait for you or Evie. Only Evie’s at work and you’re so late home.’ She started to cry, deep painful sobs. ‘Oh Nellie. Which of my boys is it?’

  ‘It might be only an injury,’ I said, in a brisk tone I certainly didn’t feel. ‘I’ll open it.’

  I walked slowly to the table, to the flimsy envelope that was lyin
g on the table in front of my aunt with TELEGRAM printed on the top.

  I tore open the envelope and pulled out the piece of typewritten paper. My eyes were unfocused at first and my hands were shaking, but it soon became clear that this was not a War Department telegram.

  VERY WORRIED ABOUT NELL. DID SHE GET MY LETTER.

  PLEASE REPLY. ROB SINCLAIR

  ‘It’s not a telegram about the boys,’ I said slowly.

  Aunty May seemed to have shed a dozen years when she raised her head. ‘Not about the boys? What is it about?’

  ‘It’s from Rob. He says that he’s worried about me and did I get his letter.’

  ‘What letter? What did it say?’

  I looked at her blankly. ‘I got a letter last week. I haven’t read it yet.’

  Actually, I’d felt so guilty, I’d been unable to bring myself to open Rob’s last letter, although I’d written to him on Sunday, explaining about Johnny. It had been the hardest letter I’d ever had to write.

  Rob’s letter was still in my handbag. I retrieved it, inserted my thumb under the envelope flap and tore it open. Aunty May watched as I pulled out the piece of paper and began to read.

  My dearest Nell,

  This is probably the hardest letter I have ever had to write. I’m so sorry, but there is no easy way to tell you. I didn’t mean to fall in love with Moira, but over the past few months my feelings for her have grown stronger and last night she told me that she felt the same . . .

  I started to laugh, but I was embarrassed really. Dear Rob. I hoped that what he and Moira felt for each other was as wonderful and as real as what Johnny and I shared. Rob deserved that.

  ‘You’ll never guess,’ I said. ‘Rob’s fallen in love with a girl called Moira.’ I read her some of the letter. ‘I wrote to him about Johnny, but the letter must have gone astray. I’m so happy for him. I’ll pop out right now and send him a telegram.’

  ‘Well, that’s nice,’ said Aunty May. ‘So everybody’s happy.’

  ‘C’mon honey,’ said Johnny on Friday afternoon, ‘Dave’s lent me his good car – the one that runs on petrol. Let’s drive up to that cliff overlooking the river. We can watch the sunset and neck.’

  That made me giggle, because it sounded like something Evie and Jack would do, not two responsible adults.

  ‘Deal,’ I said.

  We drove to Point Resolution, and stood on the cliff to watch as the day faded into twilight and the river turned to silver. Bands of gold, orange and mauve glowed at the horizon to the west. But when the golden ball had disappeared, darkness soon surrounded us. We had very little twilight in Perth: after sunset the night came swiftly. I shivered, and Johnny tightened his grip around my shoulders. I leaned my head against his chest and, without warning, began to cry.

  ‘Nellie, what’s wrong?’ Johnny sounded shocked, worried. I managed to grab my handkerchief from my sleeve and mopped at my face.

  ‘I’m sorry. I hate the dark. I hate the moment when the sun is gone and world becomes dark. Everything’s so dark nowadays. This horrible war is dragging on and on, and so many people are dying. So many lives are being destroyed, there’s so much misery.’ I sobbed again. ‘And you’re leaving in eleven days. Going back to the fighting, where I can’t look after you. What if—’

  His voice was calm, soothing. ‘And on Monday we’re getting married, and then we’ve got our honeymoon. Think of the good things, honey, and don’t dwell on the bad. Stop imagining the worst. Enjoy what we’ve got now and let the future take care of itself.’

  I nodded, with difficulty, as my face was buried in the wool of his jacket. He was holding me close and I was glad of that because the temperature had fallen sharply when the sun disappeared.

  ‘Nell,’ said Johnny. ‘Look at me.’ I looked up. It was too dark to see him clearly, but there was no mistaking his intent. He lowered his head to mine and I forgot everything for a while. When we broke off the kiss, I murmured, ‘So that’s necking. I approve of necking.’

  ‘Nell,’ he said. ‘Look up.’

  I lifted my head to see that the sky was ablaze with stars.

  ‘Not wanting to sound too philosophical,’ he continued, ‘but—’

  ‘I know,’ I said, in a flat voice, ‘they wouldn’t be so beautiful if it wasn’t so dark. It doesn’t help.’

  I felt his chest move in a laugh. ‘Nellie, no matter how dark it might get, you know there’s always a morning. There’s always hope. This war will end, and I will be back.’

  I felt his hands cup my face and then his mouth was on mine again and I was in the other place, the place where there was only me and Johnny. And hope.

  Acknowledgements

  This novel would not have been written without the enthusiastic assistance and research skills of my wonderful husband, Toby.

  My thanks go to the following for their unwavering friendship and encouragement: the ‘coffee girls’, Felicity, Ilse and Maureen; the ‘work girls’, Carolyn, Giselle, Sue le S, Sue P and Sheila; my beautiful nieces, Jessamy, Susannah and Esther; my brother Bevan; my ‘steps’, Em, Lucy and Nige. Thanks also to Janet Blagg, who helped me to shape the story and gave me a villain, and to my marvellous agent, Sheila Drummond.

  It is impossible to overstate the help and support provided to me by the team at Pan Macmillan: Vanessa Pellatt, Cate Paterson and Jace Armstrong. My sincere thanks go to the lovely Alexandra Nahlous and Ali Lavau for their sensitive and insightful editing of the manuscript.

  Finally, this novel is also dedicated to the war correspondents who risked their lives and who lost their lives, while capturing on film or in print the stories of World War II.

  Further Reading

  I tried to ensure that the history of Perth in wartime was as accurate as possible. I can’t possibly acknowledge all the books I read and internet sites I visited, but two books that deal specifically with Perth in the Second World War are: Fleeting Attraction: a social history of American servicemen in Western Australia by Anthony J Barker and Lisa Jackson (University of WA Press, 1996) and On the Homefront: Western Australia and World War II, Jenny Gregory (ed.) (University of WA Press, 1996). Other books that I found invaluable were: On the Homefront: Melbourne in Wartime 1939–1945, Kate Darien-Smith (Oxford University Press, 1990) and When the war came to Australia, Joanna Penglase and David Horner (Allen & Unwin, 1992).

  I could not have written this novel without constant reference to the extensive collection of digitized Australian newspapers in Trove, the marvellous National Library of Australia site: http://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/

  It rocks!

  About Deborah Burrows

  Deborah Burrows is a lawyer, historian and writer who lives in Perth. Her first novel, A Stranger in my Street, was published in 2012. It was inspired by her mother’s stories of dancing with American servicemen in Perth during World War II, and by her father’s exploits as a commando fighting in East Timor and New Guinea in the famed 2/2nd Independent Company.

  Also by Deborah Burrows

  A Stranger in my Street

  Deborah Burrows

  A Stranger in My Street

  It’s January 1943. Australia is at war and Perth is buzzing.

  US troops have arrived, in what local men refer to bitterly as the ‘American occupation’, and Perth women are having the time of their lives. The Americans have money, accents like movie stars, good manners, and young women are throwing caution to the wind and pushing social boundaries.

  The war has brought nothing but heartbreak for Meg Eaton, however, stealing her young love eighteen months ago. Until, that is, she meets her lost lover’s brother, Tom – standing over a body in her neighbour’s backyard.

  Suddenly, Meg finds herself embroiled in the murder mystery, and increasingly involved with Tom Lagrange. But is he all that he seems? And what exactly was his relationship with the dead woman?

  PRAISE FOR DEBORAH BURROWS:

  ‘Murder, mystery and romance weave a web of intrigue through the tens
ions and prejudices of wartime Australia. A rewarding read, I loved it’ LIZ BYRSKI

  ‘With great characters and atmosphere, what follows is clever and rewarding’ WEEKEND GOLD COAST BULLETIN

  ‘a novel worthy of some of the world’s top crime writers. With her background in medical law and history, Burrows effortlessly and authentically recreates time and place. Rarely is a first novel so accomplished’ GOOD READING

  First published 2013 in Macmillan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  Copyright © Deborah Burrows 2013

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  This ebook may not include illustrations and/or photographs that may have been in the print edition.

  National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

  Burrows, Deborah.

  Taking a chance / Deborah Burrows.

  A823.4

  9781743287897

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Typeset by Post Pre-Press Group

  Cover design by Nada Backovic

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