Women and War

by Janet Tanner

  ‘Of course you can.’

  ‘How do you know, that?’

  ‘Because you are a trouper, Tara. Come on, I have to be getting back to Darwin.’ He swung himself down off the stage and turned back to her. ‘Are you coming or do you intend to stay out here all night worrying?’

  ‘I’m coming.’ But when she reached the edge of the stage she drew back. She was trembling a little from exhaustion and nerves and the ground suddenly looked a long way down. ‘Oh – I can’t! It’s too high.’

  ‘Wait a minute, I’ll lift you.’ He put his hands one each side of her waist. She hesitated for a moment but the bunched muscles in his arms looked comfortingly strong. She placed her hands on his shoulders and felt the taut ridge there also, bracing to lift her as easily as if she weighed no more than a child.

  ‘All right?’ Her feet touched the ground but he did not release her. The pressure of his fingers through her thin blouse seemed to be raising tiny warm vessels beneath her skin and sending sharp prickly needles through her veins. Her eyes flicked up, surprised, and met his – hazel eyes flecked with green, dangerous as a tiger’s and very bright in his dark tanned face. Breath caught in her throat; she could not look away. His eyes hypnotised her; for a moment it seemed that everything in her was stilled and waiting, every muscle, every nerve cell, every thought even, and the world had reduced until it held nothing but the two of them standing there just outside the beam of the lights like cardboard cut-out characters against a picture-scope. His fingers tightened on her waist and the sensitized area around them grew and spread so that the whole of her body seemed to be suffused with warmth.

  ‘Dev!’ she tried to say: but no words would come. He was drawing her closer, she could feel his nearness through every pore in her body and his face was going out of focus. Then his lips were on hers and she was no longer thinking, only feeling.

  After a long moment he pulled away, holding her by the arms. She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her but his expression was masked by shadows. ‘You see, Tara, how good we are together? Didn’t I tell you that’s the way it would be? And to think now I won’t be seeing you again until the night of the show.’

  Her brow puckered. ‘ What are you talking about?’

  ‘I won’t be able to get down again until then. I have business that will keep me tied up – you know I’m doing some work for the Government? They want it finished in a hurry.’

  His words had sobered her and Tara became aware of sounds in the shadows telling her someone was there, only yards away. She jerked her head around, wondering who it was and whether they had seen her and Dev, and embarrassment made her tone sharp. ‘You’re not going to let me down, are you?’

  ‘Now, would I do a thing like that? I’ll be here in plenty of time to set up for you, darling.’ He was still holding her by the arms. She gave a little shake but he held her fast. ‘ Come here.’

  ‘No!’ she glanced over her shoulder into the soft dark. ‘Will you let me go? There’s someone there!’

  ‘You didn’t seem to mind that just now.’

  ‘I don’t know what I was thinking of just now. Please, Dev, will you stop it!’

  His mouth twisted into an ironic grin. ‘Oh Tara, Tara, what do I have to do to make you see?’ He let go of her arms. ‘Ah well, next time maybe. Because there will be a next time, I promise you! Now, if you like I’ll have one last look at my lights just to make certain they won’t catch fire, if that’s what is worrying you.’

  He strode away across the dark clearing, a stocky purposeful figure.

  Tara watched him go, letting her breath out in a long controlled ‘Whew!’ She felt shaky, still, her knees weak, and a nerve was jumping at the base of her throat. It was not the fact that he had kissed her that had shocked her so – but her own reaction.

  What in the world came over me? she thought. It was as if I was possessed. I’ve never felt like that before – never – as if I was being swept away and had no will of my own. It must be because I’m overwrought with worrying about this damned show!

  But somehow the explanation did not seem very convincing, even to herself.

  Tara slipped off her uniform dress, hung it in the open-ended cupboard at the foot of her bed which she shared with the sister in the bed on the opposite side of the ward and fumbled in the darkness to find her pyjamas. There was a thud as a shoe fell out of the locker and a voice from across the aisle grumbled: ‘Keep it quiet, can’t you?’

  Tara pushed the shoe back into the locker and straightened. A slight breeze kissed her sticky skin and she noticed that someone had opened the shutters a crack to let the air in. Fair enough – as long as they were not plagued with mosquitos. Even now she could hear them humming in the soft dark. Without bothering to search any more for her pyjamas, Tara turned back the single cool sheet and slid under it. But tired though she was sleep had never been further away. Every nerve ending in her body tingled and crawled and her mind ran in endless circles – around and around and always back to the same point.

  Dev.

  It wasn’t possible – it simply was not possible – that Dev should have had that electric effect on her. He was the bane of her life, wasn’t he? No. Not strictly true. She had told him he was the bane of her life, countering his teasing and banter with some of her own. In fact, if she was truthful she had a great deal to be grateful to him for. He had been on hand to get her out of trouble on more than one occasion and he was helping her now far more than she had any right to expect – without him and his electrics there would be no show.

  And he was without doubt a very attractive man. Not beautiful in the way that Richard was beautiful, but magnetic and virile. Dev was all male. She thought of him now, his dark muscular body, even white teeth and lips that could be as sensuous as they were mocking, and those hazel eyes with the dangerous green flecks, and in spite of herself felt the niggle of excitement stir again in the pit of her stomach.

  Funny she had never noticed it before. Funny it had taken something like this, totally unexpected and unasked for, to make her see him as more than a friend who loved to tease and needle her and who just occasionally had her best welfare at heart …

  The hut door opened and closed and Tara saw a shadowy figure move between the beds blotting out the moonlight as she passed each unshuttered window. One of the sisters, just off duty and heading gratefully for bed. It was no wonder it was almost impossible to get a good night’s sleep with all the comings and goings of the different shifts, Tara thought. But she knew that tonight she would have found it difficult to relax, however few the disturbances. She turned over, moulding her head into the hard pillow and stretching her body sensuously.

  Oh, why couldn’t it have been Richard who had grabbed her like that, kissing her until her head spun? But then, of course, Richard never would. He was too much of a gentleman. I’ll bet he has never grabbed anyone in his life, Tara thought. And he would certainly never grab me! Dev is probably right, damn him, and I am just crying for the moon. He never seems to notice me – I don’t think he knows I exist. As for Dev …

  I must make very sure I don’t get into a situation like that again. It’s just as well he won’t be coming back until the night of the concert. I’ve proved I can’t trust myself and I certainly can’t trust him. Now, for heaven’s sake get some sleep, girl, or you will be no use to man nor beast in the morning.

  Two days before the concert Joe Hanks, the Yankee pianist, came to see Tara.

  ‘Hey, hon, we’ve got problems.’

  The smile of greeting died on Tara’s lips. ‘What sort of problems?’

  ‘Big ones. I’ve been told I’m fit to be moved out to a convalescent hospital.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Today, the quack said.’

  ‘Oh, Holy Mother!’ Tara’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘They can’t do that!

  ‘They are doing it.’

  ‘But I need you!’ She stood for a moment chewing on her lips as she thought it
through. Any of the other performers they could have covered for one way or another. But not Joe – there was no way they could manage without Joe. He was needed for continuity and to accompany almost all the acts, her own included. Tara pulled herself up very straight. ‘ I won’t let them move you. Not before the concert, anyway.’

  ‘How are you going to stop them? You know the army. All red tape and bullshit.’

  ‘I’ll stop them. Don’t worry about it.’

  She tidied her hair, applied a little of the lip gloss that made her lips shine without looking painted, and made straight for the CO’s tent.

  Outside she was met by the quartermaster, who looked at her strangely.

  ‘Just a minute – where do you think you are going?’

  ‘To see Colonel Adamson.’

  ‘Hang about now. You can’t just waltz in like that. The CO is a busy man.’

  ‘He’ll see me,’ Tara said confidently.

  ‘We’ll see about that. Wait here.’

  Tara waited, tapping her heels impatiently. A few moments later the quartermaster was back.

  ‘All right, you can go in.’ His tone was short.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Tara replied sarcastically.

  The Colonel rose as she entered, coming around his desk to greet her.

  ‘Tara, my dear. Not more problems, I hope.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ She went on to outline what had happened. ‘Without a pianist we won’t have a show,’ she concluded.

  The CO smiled, his eyes twinkling darkly beneath the sandy brows. ‘A few more days of treatment will take care of the matter I presume?’ He turned to a corporal who was sorting papers at the filing cabinet. ‘Do the necessary will you, Seaton? No transfer for Joseph Hanks just yet. I will put it in writing if needs be, but if the paperwork has not been completed yet there should be no need to make it formal.’

  ‘Yessir!’ The corporal, a fussy little man, scooted out of the tent, leaving Tara and the Colonel alone.

  ‘Well, my dear, and how is it all progressing?’ he asked her. ‘The stage is completed, I see. Had a look at it the other evening. Most impressed. And you have got the lights from somewhere?’

  ‘Yes, sir. An electrician from Darwin working on a Government contract.’

  ‘Capital. No problems?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Good. Now Tara, my dear there is something else I wished to mention to you.’ He put his arm around her shoulders in avuncular fashion. ‘I have been most impressed with the way you have arranged this concert – it seems to me you have considerable powers of organization that are totally wasted in your present classification. You are a nursing orderly, are you not?’

  Tara nodded.

  ‘Yes.’ He paused thoughtfully. ‘I can’t help feeling there are other jobs which would suit you better.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tara looked up at him, genuinely puzzled. Then she saw the tiny beads of perspiration standing out on his lip just below the lines of his moustache – and understood.

  ‘I believe I could make use of your skills myself.’ Colonel Adamson smiled, his eyes narrowing beneath his beetling sandy brows. ‘I dare say we would have to list you as ‘‘clerk’’ but what I have in mind is that you should take responsibility for organizing recreational pursuits. Now the good weather is here there are all kinds of things that could be arranged – chop picnics, picture shows, sports – you know what I mean.’

  Yes, Tara thought, I know what you mean. And it is not only the sports and recreations of your members of staff that you have in mind, either.

  ‘I don’t know whether Matron would be agreeable,’ she ventured.

  ‘I’m sure she would raise no objection.’ He patted her shoulder amicably. ‘We have worked together very well on this concert, haven’t we? I see no reason why we should not work together well in other areas. Especially when we get to know one another’s little ways.’

  Tara hesitated. She would not be sorry to be relieved of all the messy chores which went with being a VA nursing orderly. She did not care if she did not change another bed as long as she lived, or boil up water for sterilizing instruments, or spray water on packed earth floors to stop the red dust rising; It would be wonderful never to have to face another bedpan or dress a festering wound. She wasn’t a nurse and she never would be, no matter how hard she tried. But working for the CO would mean she would see less than ever of Richard – and she saw little enough of him already.

  Moreover, she was not so naive that she didn’t know why Colonel Adamson wanted to take her on board. It would be all too easy to become the CO’s personal assistant in more ways than one and the inevitable gossip would spread like wildfire around the hospital. Already the quartermaster must be suspicious. And if Richard got to hear the stories he certainly would want nothing to do with her.

  ‘It’s very kind of you, sir,’ Tara began in an effort at diplomacy, ‘but I don’t think …’

  The CO’s fingers tightened on her shoulder, his smile was no longer avuncular.

  ‘I’m sure you won’t refuse, Tara, after all I have done for you,’ he said meaningfully.

  Her heart sank. So this was what it came down to. Blackmail. Do as I ask or I’ll scupper your show, his expression said more clearly than any words could and for a moment she was transported back across the years to when she had been a star-struck youngster in Sydney. It had been Red then who had held the reins of power to make her do what he wanted – but here in 138 AGH the CO was just as powerful in his own way. He could make life difficult for her if he chose – even get rid of her. The place was different, the circumstances were different, but the moral, in the end, was just the same.

  ‘Thank you sir, it would be a wonderful opportunity,’ she said demurely.

  The night before the show Tara scarcely slept at all for worrying about the hundred and one things which could go wrong and whether there was anything she had overlooked. By lunchtime she was feeling sick with nerves, and by the time darkness fell the adrenalin was pumping so hard it was almost impossible to think straight any more.

  And she needed to be able to think straight to sort out the inevitable hitches. They had been occurring all day – not serious, but trying. First, one of the balloons used by the drag act to form a whistle-worthy bosom had accidentally burst. Tara begged a spare brassiere from the bustiest of the AANS sisters and stuffed it full of surgical dressings. Then, an over zealous corporal managed to knock down half the greenery decorating the stage. Most worrying of all were the cracklings and whistles that came from the loudspeaker system each time the microphones were switched on.

  ‘If we can’t cut that noise we might as well give up and forget the whole thing!’ Tara snapped at the technicians.

  An hour before curtain up Dev had still not arrived. Holy Mary, where is he? Tara wondered frantically. What in the world will I do if he doesn’t turn up? Maybe I’d better have a look and see if he’s left it so that someone else can carry on if the worst comes to the worst.

  She clambered up to the lighting box on the rickety ladder made of creepers. Everything seemed to be where he had left it but there was no sign of any lighting plan. Without that it would be impossible for anyone else to attempt the programme she had asked for. She flicked a switch or two and the lights came on, bathing the whole scene in bright light and, unbidden, the imp of terror leapt inside her again.

  In less than an hour the stage would no longer be empty. The acts she had got together would be taking it in turns to perform in that brilliantly lit rectangle of isolation. She would be performing there … her throat closed with fear at the thought.

  Down below in the clearing the first members of the audience were beginning to arrive, determined to gain the best positions for the blankets and cushions they had brought to sit on. The sight of them panicked Tara still further. She flicked the light switches off and went to climb down the swaying ladder again.

  ‘Hey – what are you doing up in my
lighting box?’ a voice enquired from behind her. She jerked her head round, still hanging onto the creeper rungs for dear life.

  ‘Dev! I thought you weren’t coming!’

  ‘I told you I’d be here. Everything is ready – I’ve nothing to do but work to the plan I made. You haven’t touched anything, have you?’

  ‘I only put a couple of lights on to make sure they were working …’

  ‘Why couldn’t you leave it alone?’ he chided. ‘If you’ve messed anything up …’

  ‘I’m sure I haven’t! And where were you, anyway? It’s unforgivable turning up so late. I was having kittens in case you didn’t come at all.’

  ‘Oh, stop fussing, woman!’ he exploded. ‘And do you mind getting out of my way? I can’t do anything until I can get up to my box, now can I?’

  Tara jumped down the last two rungs, steadying herself on landing by hanging onto the ladder.

  ‘There you are, then. Don’t let me hold you up, for goodness’ sake.’

  He touched her shoulder lightly yet somehow it was almost a caress.

  ‘Make it a good show, Tara. Good luck.’

  Nerves jangling she thrust him aside. ‘You mustn’t say that!’

  ‘Mustn’t say what?’

  ‘Good luck. You mustn’t say it. You say break a leg.’

  ‘All right – break a leg!’ He sounded amused. But Tara had already gone and he did not know if she had heard him.

  More than halfway through and it was going well. Still so tense she was almost afraid to admit it yet beginning to flush with cautious relief. Tara stood at the side of the stage and watched Kath Rice rattle the spoons in an astonishing rhythm accompanied by Joe Hanks on the piano. She was good – she really was good – and a born performer too, milking her audience for every last scrap of applause. Which was more than could be said for the drag act, Tara thought a little crossly. The two medicos, overwhelmed by stage fright, had rushed through their routine so quickly that much of the humour of it had been lost. But then the audience didn’t know what they were supposed to have done and they had simply lapped up the spectacle of two respected doctors prancing about in skirts.