by Di Morrissey
‘The contracts haven’t been signed and the money has stalled. The guy I had lined up in New Zealand has run into tax problems, he can’t access the offshore money he had allotted for the film budget. Of course the other investors have run a mile.’
‘Can it be resurrected, can you find other backers?’ Dani suddenly thought of all the valley people who’d put up seed funding that must have been over a hundred thousand dollars. ‘What’s happened to the initial money private investors put up?’
‘That’s gone. The launch, media junkets, Russell ran up bills everywhere. I’m out of pocket too,’ he added defensively.
‘I don’t know what to say, Roddy. It’s bad for all the local business people too. Have you talked to Patricia?’
‘Not yet. I’m trying to come up with an alternative plan to put to her. I was hoping you might have some ideas. Can I come and talk to you?’
Well, at least he wasn’t skipping town, thought Dani. She felt partially responsible for the movie fiasco, having introduced him to Patricia and others. ‘I have no ideas right now, Roddy, I don’t think I can help. How are you going to break the news? Who knows?’
‘No one yet, but things will come out pretty quickly. I really thought this one was going to come off.’ He sounded forlorn and bewildered.
Dani recalled his tales of bravado – dabbling in vineyards in Western Australia, a resort in Fiji, other projects he’d mentioned but she’d taken little interest in the details. Roddy was well meaning, but always looking for the quick and easy big money. She recalled Jason picking up on this and not trusting him. ‘Come over tomorrow for a coffee. Frankly, I think you and Roz better nut out a media statement.’
‘Roz the PR whiz kid has gone too. I’ll see you round eleven. There must be some way of milking Isabella to recover a dollar or three,’ said Roddy hopefully.
Isabella has been used and abused too much, thought Dani with some anger. She wanted Isabella’s name to be part of something far better than the common perception that had prevailed for so long. She didn’t want her to be taken for a ride by ambitious and greedy men – yet again. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Roddy, I won’t mention this to anyone of course.’ She hung up the phone. Poor Roddy. She dialled her mother.
‘Mum, you’ll never guess what’s happened. I need some advice!’
16
Cedartown, 1944
IT WAS A QUIET homecoming. So different from the carousing of departure. Men, damaged in body and spirit, limped home or sat in the repatriation hospitals trying to heal. But minds were still tortured, nightmares raged, and sights and sounds of war could not be erased. When the Richards received the news that Clem was coming home on ten days’ leave, even Walter managed an affectionate embrace with Nola and Keith cracked open a bottle of beer to share with his father.
‘Clem will be leaving Sydney on the seventeenth, they say. I suppose he’ll get the train,’ said Nola reading the formal notification. ‘I hope he’s well enough to travel.’ The news that Clem had been hospitalised for malaria had shaken Nola.
‘Could do with a hand, been bloody hard work for Keith and me,’ muttered Walter. ‘Kevin and Clem can pull their weight around here again once the war is done with.’
‘Not before they’re ready,’ admonished Nola.
‘I s’pose Thommo will be with him,’ said Keith.
‘He was wounded, maybe he’s not ready to be discharged from the rehab hospital at Concord. The Thompsons are so anxious to see him. Mr Thompson hasn’t been at all well, I hear,’ said Nola, and Keith wondered again at his mother’s talent for picking up news when she rarely left the farm and there was no telephone. But he had seen how she offered cups of tea to delivery people, the postman, the hawker who brought his little wagon filled with knick-knacks and housewares.
‘I imagine Clem will want to see Elizabeth straight away,’ said Nola. ‘We’ll just have to wait our turn.’
Walter grunted and picked up his newspaper. Keith and Nola exchanged a look. Walter still refused to mention Clem’s marriage.
Elizabeth crumpled the letter in her hand and took deep breaths, clutching the kitchen chair.
Harold came into the kitchen and, seeing her eyes squeezed shut and mail scattered on the table, asked with a tremor in his voice, ‘What is it love? News of Clem?’ His mind was racing, Clem had been in the repatriation hospital at Concord, he was safely in Australia, what could have happened? Thommo was the one who’d been wounded. ‘The boys, they’re all right aren’t they?’
‘Clem’s got leave. He’s coming home.’
‘Well, that’s good news. Wonderful!’ He smiled and gave her a loving hug. ‘You two can soon start your new life together. I know it’s been hard for you, pet.’ He held his daughter.
Elizabeth was thinking the same thing. But she had no plans to start their married life back on the Richards’ farm. Or in Cedartown. The war had rent an unpleasant interlude in her plans to move away from Cedartown. She hadn’t felt especially patriotic and on the whole the war had bored her. Although now that the Americans were coming through Cedartown and staying for a week or two at a time en route north, there had been a greater demand for the company of the town’s pretty girls. Their social life gained a fresh excitement because the Yanks were good fun, very polite and lavished the girls with gifts like nylons, cigarettes and chocolates. The local boys considered they were buying their women, bunging on an act with their fancy accents and exaggerated charm, and there had been a few bruising blues out the back of the pub. Young boys trailed the Americans hoping for an illegal smoke, or sweets. Boys with pretty older sisters scored handsomely if the soldier came to the family house. They were often bribed to leave the couple alone in the front room.
Emily and Mollie had got very wrapped up in the Red Cross activities. Once or twice Mollie had acted as the patient for the St John’s Ambulance course, where she’d been bandaged, had her leg in splints, and suffered through numerous mock wounds. For Elizabeth the best part of her voluntary aid work had been learning how to drive a truck. The lessons were drawn out by a flirtatious sergeant in the instruction team who asked her out to a dance. Elizabeth told him she was married to a soldier fighting in New Guinea, so he suggested she bring a girlfriend and have a bit of fun to cheer herself up. Elizabeth and Cynthia went to the dance with the sergeant and his mate, then afterwards joined a large group for milkshakes and steak sandwiches at Costa’s, the local Greek cafe. They had a good time, and she did feel better for the relaxed night out.
Inevitably Emily heard about the outing, and was angry because she believed Elizabeth had gone to the pictures with Cynthia, and the two had a heated argument. Harold stepped in and calmed them down but later took Elizabeth aside and suggested she remember that she was a married woman, and while many young people were going wild and being fast in these uncertain times, she did have to think about her reputation. And, of course, her mother’s standing in the town, which Emily took very seriously.
Elizabeth pulled away from her father’s embrace. ‘Dad, can I use one of your passes to go down and meet him in Sydney? All that family of his will take him over once he gets home,’ she said.
Harold knew she was right. It was a shame Elizabeth didn’t get on with her new in-laws. The Richards were salt of the earth people. Walter was a bit moody, a tough man, but maybe he had reasons for that. Harold recalled someone saying old man Richards had a bad time of it in the First World War which might account for his not getting on with his sons. Not being one for gossip, he hadn’t enquired further. Elizabeth told him that Clem and his father were always clashing over even the most trivial detail of running the farm.
‘Better ask your mother, love. The rail pass aside, it’ll cost you a few quid here and there. And where are you going to stay?’
‘I’ve saved my pay, Dad, and Clem’s allotment. Cynthia says there’s a nice little hotel not far from Central Railway. We need some time together, we’ve hardly had any married life at all.’
&nb
sp; ‘I understand that, but you have the rest of your lives ahead of you now. You’re one of the lucky ones,’ Harold gently reminded her. Seeing her determined expression, he relented. ‘All right, I’ll see what I can do.’
Elizabeth gave him a quick kiss.
Elizabeth and Cynthia consulted over what clothes Elizabeth should take for her reunion with her husband. She borrowed Cynthia’s short tartan swing coat with deep pockets and a velveteen collar to travel in with a natty matching maroon beret, then splurged some of her savings on silk scanties and a flower-sprigged sateen nightdress.
‘Not that I expect this to stay on too long,’ she giggled as she packed the nightgown.
‘So are you going to look for a job, somewhere to live while you’re down there?’ asked Cynthia.
‘I hope so. I have to get Clem adjusted to the idea of leaving Cedartown. He’s gone on and on about the river and the hills and the valley in every letter,’ said Elizabeth rolling her eyes.
‘Well, after where they’ve been, even Cedartown must seem pretty good,’ laughed Cynthia. ‘Will you see Thommo?’
‘No idea. I want Clem to myself,’ said Elizabeth firmly.
‘Do his parents know you’re meeting him down in Sydney? They’ll be expecting him back here, won’t they?’
‘Well, they’ll have to wait,’ answered Elizabeth, twirling in her gored skirt and favourite sweater.
Cynthia raised her eyebrows and shook her head. You had to admire Elizabeth. She knew what she wanted and went after it. She wished she was as forthright. Cynthia harboured a secret crush on the bank manager where she worked. He was married but nonetheless she often caught him looking at her in a rather special way, and he always stood very close to her when giving instructions or checking something. She had a sneaking feeling that if she gave him the nod, he’d conveniently forget he was married.
Harold, Mollie and Cynthia saw Elizabeth off on the 10 pm mail train to Sydney. Emily disapproved of the ‘escapade’ and had gone to bed with a headache. Elizabeth tried to sleep in her second-class carriage, but was too excited. She had a window seat and across from her a woman leaned against the window and slept soundly, her young daughter curled beside her with her head in her mother’s lap. The compartment was dark and Elizabeth peered outside, seeing the occasional dim shadows of a sleeping township shrouded in the gloom of the enforced wartime blackout.
She was hungry and tired when she climbed stiffly from the train with her small case and walked along the bustling platform, through the ticket gate and into the great hall of Central Station. It was only seven o’clock in the morning but the hall was busy with people meeting passengers, or sending them off, and there were scores of servicemen and women in every uniform imaginable. A newspaper stand was doing a brisk trade, and so was the neighbouring kiosk selling tea, cupcakes and sandwiches. The milk bar was also doing a hectic trade, and there was a long queue outside the dining room, where substantial breakfasts were being served to those lucky enough to get a seat.
Elizabeth joined another queue outside the station entrance and eventually scored a taxi for the short run to her hotel, where she waited outside to meet Clem.
Every man in uniform in the street caused her to lean forward in excited expectation. She wasn’t sure what he’d look like now . . . it had been so long, and he had been through so much.
But when he did appear, walking slowly, there was no mistaking his build, the tilt of his head, the shape of his face, even though he was very thin and his uniform hung loosely. But the forlorn, weary, burdened look on his face, the slump of his shoulders and the hesitation in his walk caused her to pause before racing forward. He turned to trudge down the street, the heavy kitbag over his shoulder, a smaller bag tucked under his arm, as though he had no direction or plan.
Elizabeth followed him. ‘Hey, soldier, where’re you headed?’ she called in a breezy voice.
Clem turned, a vague, puzzled expression on his face as he saw Elizabeth smiling, walking towards him, arms outstretched. He dropped his kitbag and just stared at her in shock.
‘Clem, oh, Clem, I had to come outside. I couldn’t bear waiting to see you in the hotel. I just gambled on catching you here, and . . . oh Clem, darling, aren’t you pleased? Oh, my . . .’ She fell against him, pressing herself into him, lifting her face to his, waiting for a passionate kiss and embrace. But he seemed frozen, unable to move or speak.
Elizabeth kissed his startled face and pulled him close, allowing him to rest his head against her shoulder as she held him tightly.
‘Is it really you,’ he finally murmured. ‘I’ve thought about this moment for . . .’ He just couldn’t find the welcoming, loving words he so dearly wanted to say.
‘Yes, yes, it’s me, you dill. Who else did you think it’d be?’ she chirped.
He didn’t answer. She felt his shoulders start to shake and knew at once that he was suffering a turmoil of emotion.
‘Well, let’s go down the road and get a cuppa. We both need it, right? Then we can go to the hotel. It’s small and simple, but comfortable,’ enthused Elizabeth as she struggled to boost his spirit.
‘Er, yeah, a cuppa would be good.’
She took his small bag and snuggled up beside him. ‘Darling, we can have a wonderful couple of days, just you and me.’
‘What about my mum? She’s expecting me home.’
‘Oh don’t you worry about that,’ trilled Elizabeth. ‘This is time for us. Come on, Clem, you must be so tired, let’s get a tram, it’s not far.’
Later she collected the key from the girl at the reception desk who gave them a big smile. ‘My, you must be so happy to be together again.’ She smiled at Clem who just stared blankly at her. ‘Good on you, mate. You boys did a grand job.’
In their room he slumped in a chair, holding his head, running fingers through his hair. Elizabeth took no notice and briskly unpacked, then crouched before him, pulling off his boots and then his jacket.
‘C’mon, Clem, have a rest, love. Then we’ll go out and have a bite to eat. Celebrate a bit, eh?’
‘Yes, I’ve got to rest. I’m absolutely buggered, and there was too much going on at the barracks.’ Clem lay on the bed and closed his eyes, then opened them and gave a small smile. ‘Thanks, darl.’ He was still weak from the sweats and fevers of his battle with malaria. The physical and emotional struggle had drained his body of energy. Without opening his eyes he gently asked, ‘What about Mum, the rest of them?’
‘I’ve sent them a telegram. We’re booked on Friday night’s sleeper.’
Clem nodded in acknowledgment, then murmured, ‘Gotta check on Thommo, help him get home.’
‘Ssh,’ said Elizabeth lying beside him in her petticoat. Thommo would have to make his own way home to his family. Clem had her now and didn’t need Thommo.
They sat over a small supper in a restaurant near the hotel. Clem picked at his food as Elizabeth talked.
‘Once you’re out of the army we can move down here to Sydney, but I thought we could at least look around a bit while we’re here. Maybe get some ideas about a job.’
‘Job? What sort of job?’
‘Clem you said you met that fellow Clive, the friend of Mr Thompson’s. About learning to be a motor mechanic.’
‘Ah, yeah. He wants someone to go in with him. Put up half the money and open a motor repair joint. I haven’t got that kind of money.’
‘Like, how much?’
‘A few hundred quid. Might as well be a thousand,’ said Clem dismissively.
‘Listen, you’ve got your army money, and I’ve been saving like mad. Maybe we could borrow a bit from Mum and Dad.’
Clem shook his head. ‘Not me. Let’s not rush into things.’
‘It wouldn’t hurt to go round and see him, find out a bit more,’ persisted Elizabeth.
Clem capitulated. ‘Whatever you say, dear.’
That night Elizabeth lay beside her husband in her new nightdress as Clem tossed and turned, mumbling and
shaking occasionally. In the morning she leaned across and held him, running her hands along his body, but he stopped her hand.
‘Please love, not yet. Can’t do anything, I’m still crook.’
‘What do you mean? For how long? What’s wrong with you?’ demanded Elizabeth.
‘Dunno. The doc said it’s the malaria. I’ll come good. Be patient, eh.’ He squeezed her hand.
‘Well, that was a fine waste of fancy gear,’ she snapped, then felt ashamed and gave him a smile. ‘We’ll go down for a bit of brekkie and then take a walk. C’mon, sleepy head.’ She got up and started to dress.
They wandered around the city, walking arm-in-arm through Hyde Park and along Martin Place where a street photographer took a snap of them. Elizabeth put the ticket in her handbag and picked up the photograph the following day. She was smiling broadly, looking very smart in Cynthia’s tartan jacket, her pencil-line skirt and peeptoe high heels. She was holding on to Clem, leaning against him, and while he looked handsome in his uniform, he had a strained expression, his eyes wary.
They visited Clive who seemed keen on the suggestion that Clem might go into business with him and directed his comments to Elizabeth, recognising she wielded the influence.
‘Your bloke’s a natural with engines, I’m told,’ he said warmly to her, then turned to Clem. ‘Frank Thompson told me you should’ve been an engineer.’
Clem nodded. ‘Yeah, well, that’s easy to say. Getting there isn’t so easy.’
‘They say he can fix anything,’ said Elizabeth with a note of confidence in her voice, then waved a hand around the garage and workshop in which they were standing. ‘Is this all yours?’
‘Dad started it up years ago and it’s now regarded as an essential service, so I’m soldiering on here. Dad’s got another business but still has a share in it.’
By the time they left Clive’s garage, the deal was settled in Elizabeth’s mind. She’d even found out the best place nearby to look for rental accommodation without having to pay exorbitant key money.
