Women and War

by Janet Tanner

  ‘Hmm. You’re in a tight spot, aren’t you?’

  ‘You could say that. Never mind, I expect I’ll survive.’

  His mouth twisted into that ‘S’ that she was beginning to know – and feel affection for. ‘I’m sure you will. You are a survivor, Alys.’

  Two days later he telephoned. Alys was in the garden cutting roses for Frances’ room when Norma called her.

  ‘A Mr Hicks for you.’ Her eyes were curious – not many men telephoned Alys. Alys bit back her amusement at the maid’s expression and took the call.

  ‘John – how did you know where to find me?’

  ‘There is only one Daniel Peterson in Toorak – only one in the whole of Melbourne probably.’ His wry tone told her he had realized who her father was. Still, to John Hicks that would be of no importance. Wealthy though her father was, John could probably buy and sell him several times over.

  ‘It’s nice to hear from you, anyway,’ she said.

  ‘Good. Look, Alys, I’m picking up the Buick this afternoon – it’s ready at last. It wouldn’t take me long to come on into Melbourne and pick you up. I know you’re keen to take her for a spin.’

  ‘Oh super! But don’t come here. I know this will sound odd to you but I learned a long time ago it’s better to keep my personal life and my family life separate. I’ll meet you in town – say beside the fountain in Parliament Place.’

  ‘That’s insane. I’m coming to Toorak or not at all.’

  ‘Not to the house, please. You’ll only upset Mummy. If you insist on coming to Toorak, I’ll walk up to St John’s Church. I’ll be on the corner.’

  He did not argue any more but later, while she was trying to enjoy the glories of the Buick, he raised the subject again.

  ‘I don’t honestly understand why I had to meet you away from your house. You’re quite sure you haven’t got a husband at home?’

  She laughed. ‘Chance would be a fine thing! No, as I told you on the telephone, I learned the hard way that my family feel they have the right to vet my choice of companion. And if they don’t approve they do all they can to make things unpleasant.’

  ‘And what makes you think they would disapprove of me?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Alys said irritably. ‘Let’s leave it. I thought the idea of this trip was to drive the car. So why don’t we drive it?’

  For the next hour Alys was able to lose herself in the intricacies of the Buick but though John did as she asked, dropping her off where he had picked her up, there was a slight tension between them that had not been there before and Alys hoped she had not offended him by her insistence that he should stay away from the house. But she could not bring herself to explain to him the way she tightened up inside at the thought of Frances’ reaction – the questions, the ill-disguised surprise that Mr Hicks was so much older than Alys, the refusal to believe that it was a friendly, platonic relationship and nothing more. Frances, with her insinuations and innuendos was expert at spoiling things – whatever her stroke had done it had not robbed her of her talents in that direction, Alys was sure.

  What a choice! she thought. Have John think I’m crazy – paranoid – or maybe that I really do have something to hide, or give Mummy and Beverley the ammunition to wound me all over again.

  Well, that had been decided now, Alys thought, as she carried the teatray to the drawing room where Frances was waiting. She had been seen with John and Beverley was now in full cry. Yet it had not worried her much. I think I handled it pretty well, Alys thought, smiling to herself. I didn’t lose my cool at all. Perhaps I’m growing up – at last!

  She pushed open the drawing room door. Frances was sitting in the wing chair which Alys had set by the window so that she could look out at the garden, but she was not admiring the view. Her head was half turned and cocked to one side; the expression on the good side of her face told Alys she had been listening. Alys’ heart sank. Ridiculous how that look from her mother could turn her into a child again.

  ‘What … was that?’ Frances demanded haltingly.

  ‘Nothing, Mummy.’

  Frances eyed her malevolently.

  ‘Don’t … lie, Alys. A man is it?’

  If you heard why are you asking? Alys thought. Aloud she said: ‘Yes.’

  The good corner of Frances’ mouth tightened so that it almost matched the pulled side.

  ‘No!’ Her tone was violent. ‘No! Don’t want you to …’

  Alys had begun to tremble. How the hell was it her mother could do this to her? With an effort she attempted to reconstruct the cool attitude she had adopted when speaking to Beverley.

  ‘He is just a friend, Mummy, that’s all. I have to have friends.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘You’re getting worked up about nothing.’

  ‘No! You … and men …’ her mouth worked for a long moment. ‘Miserable!’ she finished triumphantly though Alys felt sure it was not quite the word she had been searching for. ‘I … worry ’bout you.’

  Oh yes, thought Alys. Same old story. Do as I want or you will worry me. Same old blackmail. I am your mother. Don’t cause me unhappiness.

  ‘Look, Mummy, I have stayed here to look after you and I am doing the best I can, but I have to have some life of my own.’ Alys’ voice was rising though she had meant to keep her temper. ‘You can’t expect me to do nothing but stay in all the time.’

  ‘You don’t want to …’ Frances’ voice, too, was rising tremulously and there were tears in her eyes. ‘I’m as … I am … and you … begrudge me … You’re hard, Alys …’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ Alys exploded.

  ‘Alys!’ It was Beverley, standing in the doorway looking shocked and angry. ‘I thought you had come in here to upset Mummy!’

  ‘I did no such thing!’ Alys retorted. ‘I never intended …’

  ‘Well, for someone with no intentions you have made a pretty good job of it!’ Beverley stormed. ‘ You should be ashamed of yourself. Just look at her, Alys! Look what you’ve done!’

  Alys looked. Frances was without doubt in a state of agitation. Her colour was high, her mouth worked, a tic pulled jerkily at the one good eye.

  ‘You’ll bring on another stroke before you’ve finished,’ Beverley hissed, adding under her breath: ‘It’s probably what you want to do!’ she crossed to Frances, going on her knees beside her and taking the lifeless hand in her own.

  ‘It’s all right, Mummy.’ Her voice was loud and patient as if to a deaf child. ‘Alys doesn’t think, that’s all. She won’t worry you any more, will you, Alys?’

  Alys could not find the strength to answer. She turned away, sick at heart. How did one cope with moral blackmail of this kind? She simply did not know. All very well to refuse to be blackmailed, all very well to try calmly to enforce one’s own point of view. But supposing Frances did have another stroke? It was quite possible. Even Dr Whitehorn had said so.

  Oh God, where will it end? Alys wondered helplessly. How much tighter does she want to weave her web? He’s only a friend, for goodness’ sake, but he gave me something to look forward to. Surely she can’t intend to have even that ounce of flesh?

  She glanced back at Beverley on her knees and Frances slowly calming under her soothing words.

  If this little scene was anything to go by it certainly looked as if she intended to try.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tara tidied her hair with her fingers, straightened the skirt of her uniform dress and went into the hut where Richard had just finished taking his morning surgery.

  ‘Richard – I have to talk to you. Please!’

  He looked up from finishing his notes, a small frown puckering between his eyes. He had just seen almost twenty men, spread right across the board from the malingerers looking for an excuse to get out of an honest day’s work, to those who had tried too long to avoid bringing their condition to the attention of a Medical Officer – including one married man with advanced VD and an alcoholic who had bruise
d his ribs badly in an inebriated fall – and his mind was still busy with their problems.

  ‘Please, Richard!’ she begged. ‘I know you’re working but I never seem to see you these days.’

  The urgency of her tone seemed to get through to him. He put down his pen, straightening up and looking at her anxiously. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I – I don’t know how to tell you.’

  Oh my God, he thought. Aloud he said: ‘ You’re pregnant.’

  ‘I think so. I’ve missed a period. And I never miss periods. I’m very regular.’

  He picked up his pen again, scribbling calculations on the edge of his blotter. ‘Let me see, when was it we …? It’s too early yet to be sure.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’sake, stop being a doctor!’ she snapped. ‘It’s my body, isn’t it? I ought to know, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘Not necessarily. You could be late for all kinds of reasons.’

  ‘Oh, I see! So you’re trying to get out of it now, are you? Here am I, worried sick, and you talk about ‘‘all kinds of reasons.’’ I might have known you didn’t mean what you said about marrying me. Well, all right. I’ll have the baby alone. But I shall make certain everyone knows who the father is! And …’

  ‘Calm down, Tara, for goodness’ sake!’ He got up, crossing the room to her and taking her by the shoulders. ‘I said I’d marry you and I meant it. I’m only saying it’s far too early yet to be sure if you’re pregnant or not.’

  She shook free. ‘Oh yes, and by the time we wait to be sure, anything could happen. You could be posted abroad – I could be sent to AAMWS Training Camp – anything. At the very least everyone will be able to do sums and know that we – that I – was, well, you know, before we were married …’

  The tired lines of his face softened.

  ‘Oh Tara.’ He turned away, paced to the window and back, his fingertips pressed to his lips, eyes distant and thoughtful. Tara waited, shoulders drooping, eyes downcast, and felt as if her chest would compress and collapse beneath the weight of her own breath. When she could bear it no longer she sobbed softly.

  ‘I’m sorry. Oh Richard, I’m sorry. But I’m just so worried …’

  ‘I know.’ He dug his hands deep into the pockets of his medical coat, leaning back against his desk. Then he sighed and raised his eyes to hers. ‘ Don’t worry any more, Tara. I’ll fix everything up.’

  He missed the quick gleam of fear. ‘You mean …?’

  ‘I mean I’ll arrange for a special licence. I don’t know if we can be married here or if we have to go into one of the towns. I’ll find out.’

  ‘Oh yes!’ The fear was gone now, replaced by something quite different. ‘I really am sorry, Richard.’

  ‘You are not the one who should be sorry.’

  She ran to him, burying her face in his chest.

  ‘It will be all right, you’ll see. All the things that worry you about committing yourself in wartime – none of them will happen. We’ll be happy, Richard, really happy, I know we will.’

  ‘Yes.’ He touched her forehead lightly with his lips. ‘Now, I have a lot of work to get through, Tara.’

  ‘You’re not angry?’

  ‘Of course I’m not angry.’ He kissed her lips as lightly as he had her forehead. ‘Keep smiling. It doesn’t suit you to look so glum.’

  She nodded. ‘I’m all right now. Everything is all right now.’

  As she left she looked back. He smiled briefly but by the time she closed the door the smile had gone. Richard went back around his desk and sat down but the stack of notes ceased to hold his attention now. There was a new problem to add to those of the married man with VD and the alcoholic who had finally decided to admit to his weakness.

  This time it was his own.

  Tara’s feet flew her back across the camp to her own hut. At this time of day it was empty – all the girls she shared with were at work, none sleeping off a spell of night duty, thank goodness. She let herself in, closed the door and leaned against it, sighing with relief. She had done it. He had accepted her word for it. They were going to be married.

  Oh thank you, Holy Mary, thank you! she whispered and realized she was trembling from head to toe. Had ever anything been as important to her as this? She couldn’t remember that it had been, not even when she had been fighting so desperately for a job in the clubs of Sydney. Then, it had always been at the back of her mind that there were other clubs, other places, other cities the world over. But there was only one Richard. She had gambled everything on this one throw – the prospect if she had lost just did not bear thinking about. But she had not lost. She had won. Richard’s strong sense of responsibility had carried the day. He was going to marry her …

  If nothing went wrong now.

  Oh, don’t let it take too long for him to arrange the wedding! Tara prayed. If it takes too long he might come the heavy doctor again and discover there really is no reason for him to rush into marrying me – well, no reason that he would count good enough, anyway.

  She walked the length of the hut to her bed and lay down, glad to remove the responsibility of balance from her shaking legs.

  Oh, the nights she had lain awake here since that day at Reg and Bluey’s farm, praying that she really would be pregnant and there would be no need to deceive. There were enough girls, goodness only knew, who had ‘got into trouble’ with just one deviation from the straight and narrow. Why shouldn’t it happen to her? But it did not happen. The day before her period was due the warning niggles began deep in her stomach and there it was, not only on time, but – insult to injury – early! Tara had leaned against the wall of the toilet tent with the frogs croaking and multiplying in the quagmire beside her and wept.

  That was it, then. She wouldn’t get another chance – Richard would make sure of that. He would make quite certain they did not get into a situation where a repeat performance of the ecstatic ten minutes in the stable was possible – he had even been avoiding her since it happened, she suspected. Oh, the hospital had been very busy it was true, but then it always was and he had managed to find time to see her before.

  Not only that, she sensed a reserve about him when she was with him and it was a barrier she was unable to break through, however hard she tried. It was as if having been taken unawares once and overcome by emotions he had been confident he could control, he no longer trusted himself under any but the most unpromising circumstances. His attitude not only dismayed but infuriated Tara. If this was what being a gentleman entailed, then to hell with it!

  But even as she poured mental scorn on his attitude she knew her own weakness – it was because Richard was as he was that she loved him; his total variance to anyone she had ever known before was the very thing which attracted her.

  So – that was it. Or was it? When the plan had suggested itself to her it had momentarily shocked even her. She was not pregnant, but if she could make him believe that she was … The sense of shock subsided, leaving her mind very clear and sharply alert like a live wire brought to humming activity by a surge of electricity. She turned the idea over, looking carefully at each facet. It was possible. She could do it. And afterwards she could explain it all away as a mistake – or worse.

  Just so long as he did not say ‘wait and see’. If he did it would not only be the end of her plan, it would also mean he did not really care. She would have lost him. Her stomach contracted at the thought.

  But he had not said it. Well, not absolutely. It was all right. They were going to be married.

  I can make him happy, I know I can, Tara thought. I love him so much. If he only loves me half as much we shall be all right.

  The door of the hut opened and Kate came in.

  ‘Tara! What are you doing here? Are you okay?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure, I’m fine,’ Tara said, wondering whether she should tell Kate the news here and now, then deciding against it. Better to wait until Richard had made some plans and everything was a little more definite. They would know,
all of them, soon enough. And how surprised they would be!

  Colonel Adamson straightened himself to an upright position in his chair, easing his damp shirt away from his sweating back with fingers that were beginning to turn yellow from tobacco stains. Before the war he had almost managed to give up smoking, now, dammit, the strain of duty in the tropical conditions of the Northern Territory had undone all the work his will power had done for him. Cursing himself he reached for the packet lying open on the desk, took one and lit it before remembering Richard, sitting opposite him.

  ‘Sorry, Allingham – do you want one?’ Richard shook his head and Colonel Adamson felt a stirring of bad-tempered dislike. Bloody self-righteous young sod! ‘Now what was it you were saying? You have a request to make? Well, no need to be so formal. Just spit it out.’

  ‘Very well, sir.’ Richard hesitated only briefly. ‘I want to get married.’

  The words caught the Colonel at the moment of inhaling; he spluttered slightly and the smoke came out in a cloud temporarily obscuring his vision.

  ‘Married. Married, eh! Well, well, you do surprise me, Allingham. I didn’t realize you had a serious young lady. Someone at home in Melbourne, is it?’

  ‘No, sir. She will need your permission to marry too. It’s Tara. Tara Kelly.’

  ‘Good God.’ The words were out before he could stop them; he looked at Richard with a mixture of admiration and disbelief. ‘I knew you’d been seeing her, of course, but I never dreamed … Good God!’

  Richard’s face showed no hint of emotion. ‘As we are both on active service, sir, I realize we shall need not only your permission and Matron’s, but also that of the General Officer Commanding. But naturally I am speaking to you first before putting it in writing.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘The thing is, sir, we would like to make it as soon as possible.’