by Janet Tanner
What was she afraid of? She did not know. Only that there was danger out there in the darkness and terror too great to contemplate lurking at the core of her memory, grasping the edges of her mind.
The pool of light was very close now. One more step and she would be in it, with the brightness making her glow, catching every facet of the diamonds round her wrist and at her throat. She stepped forwards but the light seemed to move with her and draw her on – a strange tantalising will o’ the wisp full of hidden menace.
And then suddenly someone else was in the light. A figure – just a dim silhouette, but she did not need to see the face to know who it was and why she had been afraid.
‘Red,’ she said and the name brought the silhouette to life. She could see his face clearly now and he was smiling, but it was not a pleasant smile.
‘So you came, Tara,’ he said.
She nodded.
‘Come closer,’ he said. ‘You must come closer.’
Her lips were dry. ‘Why?’
‘Because, my dear, I am going to kill you.’
His hands flashed beneath his jacket and she knew he was going for his gun but she could not move. Transfixed she waited, knowing how it would feel even before the gun cracked, smelling the acrid smell of spent bullets, feeling the sharp pain, the burning sensation, the certainty that her head would burst wide open. And still the gun cracked – again and again – and she was falling … falling …
Slowly, she came through the layers of sleep. For a moment she lay motionless, her body bathed in sweat. Then suddenly the whole hut was brightly illuminated and the loud crack which she had believed a moment ago was coming from Red’s gun came again, volley upon volley, echoing around the corrugated iron sheets that formed the walls of their quarters.
Oh, Holy Mother, not another raid! she thought, sitting bolt upright. Then, as the rain began hammering down onto the tin roof like a hail of bullets, she awoke sufficiently to know that the noise was neither a gun nor an air attack.
Thunder and lightning and rain. A thunderstorm.
Goodness only knew she liked storms little enough. As a child she had clung to Maggie when they came and Maggie had been no help at all for she had been as afraid as Tara. In fact, Tara thought, maybe it was Maggie’s fear that had planted the seed for her own. But just now the reality of the storm had paled into insignificance compared with the horror of her dream. Even awake she could see Red’s malevolent face, hear his voice – ‘ I am going to kill you’ – and a fresh sweat broke out on her already clammy skin.
It had been just a dream this time, but next time it could be real. Oh, she had hidden herself as well as she possibly could without leaving Australia altogether. But Red had friends – and enemies – everywhere. Sooner or later he would catch up with her and then the dream, horrific as it was, would become the reality.
She shivered, pulling the sheet up over her as if to shut out her fears but there was no escaping them. They were there in the dark beside her, so real that she expected to see Red or one of his henchmen there beside her as the lightning illuminated the hut, gun at the ready as it had been in her dream.
Almost directly over her bed a leak developed in the corrugated roof and water began dripping through with monotonous regularity. But Tara scarcely noticed it. Determined to exorcize the demons she reached beneath her pillow and pulled out the rosary which Kate had spurned. Then, counting the beads between finger and thumb, she began to pray.
Tara filled the kettle and set it to boil on the ring in the ward kitchen. She was on night duty now and, as usual, tired out. The previous few days had been hectic ones – the rain which had accompanied the thunderstorm had continued remorselessly for twelve hours, lashing down furiously to lie in pools on the sodden ground and seeping into every nook and cranny. The downpour had delighted the frogs who frequented the camp – and particularly the toilet tents; they seemed to multiply in the space of a few hours and their croaking could be heard even above the lashing of the rain. Eventually, the river had threatened to burst its banks and there had been talk that the entire hospital would have to be moved to higher ground.
‘Sure why didn’t they think of that before they chose their site?’ Tara had asked Kate and was unfortunate enough to be overheard by Anastasia Bottomley.
‘If you spent more time learning to be a good nurse and less in criticising the decisions of others you would be a great deal more help to us!’ she had snapped.
The rain had stopped now but the river was still high and would be until the Dry came but that, everyone said, could not now be far off.
As she waited for the kettle to boil, Tara set out the cups and poured milk into them, but she did so absent-mindedly. Since the night of the storm she had been unable to get Red out of her mind and the vividness of the dream was as real to her now as it had been then.
How much longer would it be before he was released from prison and came looking for her? His sentence had been a long one but with Australia now so involved in the war she wondered if excuses might be found to empty the gaols of as many prisoners as possible. Even in time of peace she could not imagine Red remaining in prison very long. It was only surprising he had been sent there in the first place considering his power and his friends in high places.
Perhaps it would be wiser to get out of Australia altogether, Tara thought. Though where on earth could I go with half the world fighting?
The kettle boiled and Tara was pouring the water into the pot when a low whisper from behind her made her jump out of her skin.
‘Hello there, nurse!’
She swung round, kettle still in hand, to see Dev grinning at her.
‘Sean Devlin! What are you doing out of bed? You should be asleep!’
He pulled a mock frown. ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport! I’m a big boy now.’
‘Not so big you won’t be in a deal of trouble if Sister catches you wandering about in the middle of the night!’
‘She won’t.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Col Dempsey is making a fine job of keeping her busy for a while.’
‘Col Dempsey! When Sister Harris was called to his bedside a minute ago it was made to sound as if he had taken a turn for the worse. Are you telling me now there is nothing wrong with him?’ Tara exploded.
Dev put a finger to his lips. ‘ Shh! You don’t have to tell the world, do you? I just wanted her out of the way for a minute or two and Col is a sport. He obliged.’
‘And why did you want her out of the way? Because you could smell the teapot I suppose and fancied a drop. Well, it’s wicked of you!’
‘Tara!’ He laughed and put a hand on hers. ‘ Just listen for a minute. I didn’t come for a cup of tea. I came to tell you I’ve been discharged. I’ll go in the morning – if I can get transport out of this place.’
‘Oh!’ she said and wondered why she felt unexpectedly bereft.
‘I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye to you – and ask you the little questions I couldn’t in front of a wardful of wounded men, like when can I see you again?’
Something sweet yet sharply painful twisted deep inside, disturbing her. She lifted her chin.
‘And what makes you think I’d want to see you again? Haven’t you been the bane of my life ever since I clapped eyes on you?’ she demanded.
He pretended to wince. ‘I was afraid you might say something like that. Ah Tara, you’re a hard-hearted woman. I suppose it’s still that damned doctor standing in my way.’
The reference to Richard Allingham brought her upright, all the old fire blazing in her eyes. ‘And what business is that of yours?’
‘None I suppose. I just wish you’d come to your senses and realize he’s not for you.’
Inexplicably she had begun to tremble. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘He’s not your type, Tara. Now ask me how I know and I’ll tell you. He is a little bit better than the rest, isn’t he – out of the top drawer as they say. You can tell it the way he speaks, the way
he walks, the way he wears his uniform even. And you, my love? Well, you aren’t out of the top drawer, are you. Oh, you might put it on a bit when he’s within earshot and pretend you’re something that you’re not, but how long can you keep it up, eh? Not long I reckon. It would be a terrible strain, even for you.’
She was trembling in earnest now. ‘Of all the nerve! Putting me down that way and all the while thinking yourself so good …’
He laughed. ‘Not in the least. We’re the same, Tara, out of the same mould. That’s why we’d be so good together.’
She ignored this. ‘And supposing he does come from a better background than I do – what’s wrong with that? why shouldn’t I better myself?’
‘No reason – if you can get away with it. I just don’t think you would. He would ask you all kinds of awkward questions, Tara my lovely, and if he didn’t it’s a pound to a penny his highly proper family would.’ He paused, looking at her under his eyelashes. ‘ I wouldn’t ask you a single awkward question, like who you are or how you made your living before you came to Darwin. And that’s a solemn promise.’
For a second he had her almost nonplussed. No one had ever been that frank with her. Red Maloney had been cruel and cutting on occasions, but his minions had been made to respect his woman. And Dev wasn’t being cruel – merely mocking. Scenes of her early life flicked before her eyes – and a few more recent ones too – and then her ready instinct for self-preservation asserted itself.
‘I don’t know what you’re hinting at, Sean Devlin, but if you must know I was in show business.’
One corner of his mouth lifted – an easier movement now that his face had recovered a little from the onslaught of fists and boots.
‘Just as I thought.’
‘It is not what you thought! I was a singer and if the war hadn’t come along to spoil everything I’d be a star by now.’
He leaned back against the table eyeing her lazily. ‘In that case I am surprised you’re not doing your bit to entertain our long-suffering patients. They could do with something to brighten their lives.’
She looked at him intently, her annoyance forgotten.
‘I think you should organize a concert,’ he went on. ‘I’m sure you’d find there are others about with talents of one sort or another and you could be the star – you’d like that!’
‘What a wonderful idea!’ she was too excited even to be annoyed by his last remark. ‘But where could we put it on? There’s no spare tent.’
‘The Dry is coming. You could have a stage out in the open. Somebody would be only too pleased to build it for you, I’m sure, and there would be no restriction on the number you could seat. They’d come from miles around if I know anything about it – all the camps like a concert.’
‘You’re right!’ Her eyes were shining. ‘But it would be at night. What would we do for lights?’
‘I could do those for you. I’m an electrician by trade.’
‘But you won’t be here.’
‘I could always come back. I mean – if I can be of service to our gallant soldiers, sailors and airmen …’
‘You are the craftiest man I ever met!’ she said, but she was laughing.
‘How about it then? Do I get the job?’
‘You certainly do – if I can get permission for the concert that is. Now listen – Sister Harris will be back in just a moment and if she finds you here you’ll be for it, especially if she’s been taken for a ride by Col Dempsey.’
‘Don’t I get a goodbye kiss?’
‘What are you thinking of? You really would be in trouble then!’
‘Like I said, you’re a hard woman! Well, in that case, Tara, I’ll bid you goodnight.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘Don’t let the tea stew now!’
‘Get away with you!’ But she was smiling and the smile lasted on her lips until Kate returned, grumbling about that hypochondriac Col Dempsey, and deep inside her for much longer than that.
Colonel Adamson, CO of 138 AGH, stretched his large frame carefully against the canvas back of his chair hoping as he always did that it would not collapse beneath his weight and deposit him ignominiously on the ground. The folding chair was the only concession to the fact that his office was now a tent – desk and filing cabinets were all solid enough, even his aide had a real chair, even if it was of the compact straight-backed variety. Colonel Adamson made a mental note to get on to Stores again about it, but he knew already what the answer would be and the thought of being denied such a basic need made his voice brusque when he addressed the young woman in VA uniform who was facing him across the desk.
‘Yes?’
Tara hesitated briefly. Now that she had got as far as the CO himself she wanted to be sure she was presenting her plan to him in the best possible way.
From the moment Dev had suggested a concert to her she had thought of little else. Even her obsession with Richard Allingham had been dwarfed by it. To sing again – oh, the longing it had started in her! At once, Tara had begun putting out feelers and already she had mustered more support than she had dared hope for – an orderly, a carpenter in civilian life, who had offered to construct a stage and some scenery; a junior MO whose friends vouched for him having the best voice ever heard in the showers and a surgical officer who was known for the clever conjuring tricks he could work with a pack of cards and a length of string.
Matron Swift had proved the greatest barrier so far. A big bustling no-nonsense woman she had viewed the idea with some scepticism but eventually Tara had persuaded her to allow her to put the scheme before the CO.
‘You must realize his decision will be final,’ Matron said. ‘If he raises any objection then that will be the end of the matter. This is a hospital, not a variety theatre, and Colonel Adamson may very well feel as I do that we have quite enough on our hands without playing at concerts.’
‘Thank you, Matron,’ Tara had said demurely, all the time thinking, If I can get it past a grumpy old woman like Matron I can certainly get it past the CO!
Now, as she confronted him, she consciously gathered all her charms and smiled at him, the wide sparkling smile which lit her eyes to blue pools and made the dimples play in her cheeks.
Well?’ Colonel Adamson said again but this time his tone was noticeably softer. ‘What can I do for you, Miss Kelly?’
‘If you won’t have me court-martialled for saying so it’s what I can do for you, sir, and all the others here in the camp,’ Tara said pertly.
The Colonel raised his eyebrows, great sandy thatches which seemed to meet across the bridge of his rather thin nose.
‘I’m an entertainer you see – or I was before I came to Darwin,’ she went on quickly. ‘ I’d like your permission to put on a show for the hospital. I could sing myself and I’m sure there is far more talent right here than you would ever dream. It would be so good for morale to have a concert, don’t you think?’
‘A concert, eh?’ The CO boasted a fine sandy moustache to match his eyebrows; now he fingerd it softly, smoothing it outwards from the fleshy curve of his lips.
‘I could do it – I’m sure I could!’ Tara pressed on enthusiastically. ‘I would need help with setting up a stage of course but that would be no problem …’ she broke off, biting her tongue as she realized it would not be very tactful to let the Colonel know she had already sounded out one or two people before seeking his approval. ‘ I could arrange the programme myself and rehearse the acts, and I am sure if I could count on you for backing, sir, everything else would fall into place too.’
‘Hmm.’ The subtle compliment had gone home; Colonel Adamson began to forget his collapsible chair. ‘A show is certainly good for morale – and we don’t get any concert parties up here. Too far from civilization for them, I dare say.’
‘Oh yes, that’s so,’ Tara agreed. ‘To most people the Top End hardly exists.’
Colonel Adamson leaned back, still playing with his moustache and eyeing her appraisingly.
He had not bee
n keen to take her on board. When Sylvia Crawford had asked him to, he had been on the point of refusing. An eminent surgeon who had cut his military teeth in the Army Medical Service during the Great War and kept his hand in by remaining with the militia afterwards, he had little time for women aids on active service. The sisters of the AANS and the masseuses were an asset, he knew, but when it came to orderly work there were so many jobs a man could do which a woman could not – lifting and carrying, chopping wood, a hundred and one heavy jobs. But Sylvia was both an old adversary and a valued friend and he had given in to her request. Now he looked at Tara and felt his earlier misgivings about her stir again.
Was it better for the men’s morale to see a girl as attractive as she was about the place, or did her presence merely cause tensions, frustrations and petty jealousies? Probably a little of each, but at least while the men were ogling her they were not getting up to more serious trouble. And if she really was capable of organizing a concert then it certainly would be a morale booster.
Once again his eyes ran over her, lingering a little too long on the trim flare of her hips and the curve of her breasts and by the time they had moved up to the full pout of her lower lip, pink and inviting and rucked slightly back by the grip of small even white teeth, his own mouth felt slightly dry and the palms of his hand moist.
‘Very well,’ he said, arranging the papers on his desk into a neat pile to hide the faint tremble of his hands. ‘I approve the idea, in principle at any rate. See what you can do and if there is anything you need or if you encounter difficulties of any kind, be sure to report straight back to me.’
He was rewarded by seeing her face light up so that her eyes danced like blue pools.
‘Oh thank you, sir, that’s very kind of you!’
‘Not at all!’ Beneath the beetling sandy brows his own eyes narrowed slightly. There would be, he decided, just enough difficulties to make Tara a regular visitor to his tent.
