by Janet Tanner
But when she sought out the AANS sister in charge of the ward to confirm her suspicions, Tara was in for another shock of quite a different kind.
‘You’re talking about Lieutenant Devlin are you?’ she said coolly.
Tara almost dropped the mop she was still carrying.
‘Lieutenant? How did he get to be a lieutenant?’
The AANS sister gave her a strange look. ‘He’s quite a hero by all accounts. Acquitted himself very well on the Kakoda Trail and earned himself a commission by his exploits. And yes, you’re right, he has come down with malaria. Very unfortunate. He was due to be going home – then the day before he should have sailed this had to happen.’
‘What a shame.’ Tara said, but her head was spinning. Dev – an officer! She’d never have believed it. Surprise enough to find him in the army at all. How had he managed that?
Later, he was to tell her how with his business in Darwin non-existent, he had volunteered for the AIF and been accepted, how he had done a spell at the Jungle Training Camp at Conungra and then been posted to New Guinea, and how he had fought long and hard on the notorious Kakoda Trail. What he would not tell her was that she had had a great deal to do with his decision to enlist. That last night after the concert he had finally conceded defeat and it had been the most painful thing he had ever had to do. He would not admit that, any more than he would boast of the courage and good humour, grit and perseverance and qualities of leadership that had made him a legend on the Kakoda Trail and led to his commission – and a decoration for valour. It was not in his nature to wear his heart on his sleeve and so there were things that Tara had no inkling of that day as she left the ward, surprised and oddly cheered to find a familiar face here in New Guinea, even if he was a patient – and a rather sick one at that.
I’ll come and see him whenever I can, Tara decided. For after all, shouldn’t old friends stick together?
Chapter Twenty-One
The intravenous quinine injections did their work. Gradually, during the weeks of spring, Dev began to recover, emerging from that strange cloudy land somewhere between coma and dozing to lie, weak but more rational, staring at the canvas tent walls and wondering how the hell a damn silly thing like malaria had managed to put him in hospital where the Japs had failed. For someone as fit as he had always been, it was a blow to his pride, and he snapped irritably when the medic questioned him closely as to whether he had been taking his atebrin tablets and hinted he might be one of those who avoided them because of the rumoured risks to manhood.
‘Where the bloody hell have you been sitting out this war? We haven’t seen a woman for months on end. Not being able to get it up would be the least of our worries. Christ, some of you HQ wallahs seem to think we have had nothing to do but cavort about on the beaches with dusky lovelies. Well, let me tell you, sport, it has been nothing like that!’
‘All right, there’s no need to lose your temper,’ the HQ wallah murmured petulantly and in spite of his own annoyance – and his weakness – Dev had to smile. It was about time they sent some of these cossetted clerks out into the battle lines and taught them, to be real men. Not that he personally would want one of them standing shoulder to shoulder with him when the chips were down – on second thoughts perhaps it was better to leave them where they were after all. At least this way they could only irritate a bloke, not get him killed.
The HQ wallah’s lips tightened as he noticed the grin.
‘It really is not funny,’ he said primly. ‘We can’t afford to lose men unless it is absolutely necessary.’
That caused Dev to roar with laughter, but moments later the laughter had turned into a fit of convulsive shivering. They still came regularly, these bouts when every hair on his head – and body – seemed to stand on end and his teeth chattered uncontrollably. He hunched himself over, ignoring the medic as he tried to gain extra warmth from the blankets, and when at last the spasm passed the man had gone – crept away rather than face the reality of malaria, no doubt, Dev thought scornfully.
He lay for a moment with the blanket still wrapped around him, cursing his luck once again. It was so bloody frustrating, being laid up – even now when he was still too weak almost to walk down the ward unaided it was getting to him. What it would be like as he began improving he dreaded to think.
There was one bright spot, of course, Tara. Since the day when she had discovered he was in the hospital she had come to visit whenever she could. Just to see her sitting there beside his bed was as good as a tonic. And the envy of the other men had done his heart good too. But now that he was getting better and his brain was functioning more normally he found that seeing Tara was just another frustration. It would have been bad enough knowing, as he had done in Northern Territory, that she regarded him as an old friend and nothing more, but Dev was not used to being a loser and he thought that he might have looked on this encounter as one more chance to try to get through to her. But things were different now. She was someone else’s wife. Not a nice thought at all – and that was putting it mildly.
He had tried, God knew, to be pleased for her. He had known, after all, how badly she had wanted Richard Allingham. But self-sacrifice had never been one of Dev’s strengths, he had always laughed at nobility and scorned submissiveness. Now, the best he could do was pretend indifference and so salve his pride.
‘Well, well, Tara, so you married the man! Congratulations!’ he had drawled when she had shown him her wedding ring. ‘I never thought you’d make it, but …’
‘Why not?’ Her eyes had snapped blue fire.
‘Oh, come on now, Tara, it wouldn’t be chivalrous of me to spell it out. And chivalry is something you prize very highly, isn’t it? It must be or you wouldn’t have fallen in love with Richard.’
She looked at him sharply, suspecting that he was mocking her yet not able to put her finger on exactly how he was doing it.
‘If you are going to be rude, Sean Devlin, I shall not come in to see you any more. I’m not a ward orderly here, you know, I’m a maid of all work. And I am visiting you out of the goodness of my heart in my own time.’
‘Sorry – sorry!’ He raised his hands in mock surrender, a ghost of his old smile creasing his face.
He had no idea of the way his appearance had shocked Tara – ‘He was such a fine, upstanding man, now he looks like a scarecrow!’ she had confided to Jill Whitton. She kept her shock well hidden, however. It would not do for him to know what she was thinking every time she looked at his emaciated frame and sunken cheeks.
‘And it’s sorry you should be!’ she said tartly. ‘ Just thank your lucky stars they brought you here. At least you had a friendly face when you came around. You weren’t surrounded by strangers.’ She leaned closer. ‘I think if I’d been as ill as you were and I woke up to find myself surrounded by the natives, I’d die.’
Dev’s lips twitched. Marriage had not changed her one scrap.
‘Those natives have not been christened the Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels for nothing. We’d never have done what we did without them. And they always seem to be cheerful. Always smiling, never mind the fact that every tooth in their head may be gone and the gums turned red from chewing betel nuts.’
‘Well, I think they look fierce,’ Tara said.
Dev was silent for a moment, remembering the native New Guinea islanders upon whom they had relied in the mountains – men whose dark curly hair receded from high veined foreheads, who went bare-chested but often knotted a scarf around their necks or adorned themselves with all the bracelets and rings they could find. Perhaps it was the thick eyebrows, set low over their eyes, which gave them their fierce appearance; perhaps it was just that to Tara they were an unknown quantity. But he knew them better than that; knew the way they could unerringly find paths through the rain forests, their bare feet sure as a mountain goat’s despite the slippery mud and rippling tapestry of tree roots; knew that as stretcher bearers they were dedicated to getting every wounded man to medical aid.
‘That’s right. I shall expect a little more respect from you in future.’
‘Respect – hah!’ she was laughing. ‘The best you can hope for is that if you behave yourself I shall come and see you again.’
‘Quite an honour, I agree,’ he said, heavily sarcastic, and to his surprise saw the colour flame in her cheeks. Tara embarrassed? Never!
She leaned over, dropping a quick kiss on his cheek. The touch of her lips made the tiny pinpricks tingle over his skin as if he were about to start another shivering fit. He reached out and caught her around the wrist. In his haggard fevered face his eyes were very sharp.
‘Is this a bonus I get now that you are a married lady? If so – it was almost worth losing you. Especially as your husband is a good long way away.’
She looked at him in confusion and he shook his head sadly.
‘He has never known how to look after you, that bloke.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s obvious isn’t it? If you were my wife I would never let you be posted so far away.’
‘And how could you prevent it?’
‘Oh, I’d find a way.’
‘Well, I am not your wife.’ She snatched her hand away. ‘And I’ll be much obliged if you would remember that.’
Suddenly, he felt very tired. Strange how it could creep up on him so suddenly that one minute he could be feeling he was well on the way to recovery, the next as if he was being dragged down into that morass of muddled dreams which had stretched end to end through the early days of the illness.
‘Tara.’ He controlled the movement of his lips with difficulty. ‘Tara – did I ever tell you you are beautiful?’
Then, before he could hear her reply, before he could see the expression on her face when he said it even, he was asleep.
Tara stood in front of the notice board gazing longingly at the announcements and invitations. A picnic to Fisherman’s Island – a visit to a native village a sailing trip on a lak-a-toi – a dance in the mess at Base. The visit to the native village did not interest her, nor the sailing trip – just the thought of it made her feel seasick all over again. But the picnic and the dance – oh, it would be so good to put on a pretty dress and enjoy herself for a little while!
Teeth holding her lip in the effort of concentration, Tara calculated on a mental calendar. No. The picnic was out. Definitely not one of her days off. But the dance – she was almost sure that was a day off – and even if it was not she should be through with her duties in time to go.
Tara scrabbled around in her bag, found a stub of pencil and added her name to the list. Four names up already and with any luck there would soon be two more. Six girls to be interested in any invitation before it could be accepted was the rule, and six escorts to go with them.
A shadow fell across her shoulder and Tara turned to see Jill Whitton standing behind her.
‘What’s on then?’ she asked.
‘There’s a dance,’ Tara pressed hopefully. ‘Shall I put your name down?’
‘Well yeah, all right, go on,’ Jill agreed. ‘I expect I can wangle it even if it means swopping duties with that dill Edna Royston. How did she ever come to be an AAMWS, I’d like to know?’
‘She’s mustard keen, she’s efficient, she does twice as much work as anyone else in half the time.’ Tara added Jill’s name to the list and turned to grin at her. ‘She’s a gem. I’ve heard Sister say so.’
Jill snorted. ‘She is also the biggest crashing bore I’ve ever met. She is so earnest, Tara. And the clothes she wears when we get out of uniform for an hour or two! I wouldn’t put my grandmother in them!’
‘It’s one less to compete with then, isn’t it?’ Tara teased.
The girls fell into step heading back towards their tent.
‘If there’s one thing I like about this war it’s the men!’ Jill said with a laugh. ‘ So many to choose from! Not that there’s much chance to misbehave. Back home they seem to think we are all fallen women. They don’t seem to realize we’re too tired most of the time for carryings on, even if we did have the opportunity. Not that it bothers you much, I suppose, as a married lady.’
Tara pulled a face. ‘A ring on your finger doesn’t change you that much. I still long to have a bit of fun.’
‘Well, now’s your chance. There are a lot of Yanks about – and I’ve heard they can get you all kinds of things our lads can’t. Silk stockings, perfume, even pretty underwear, if you play your cards right. And ciggies and chocolate and cookies …’ Jill broke off, laughing. ‘All I hope is if we get to go to this dance that my escort doesn’t turn out to be a killjoy. They can be, can’t they? They tend to get carried away with the responsibility of making sure your honour is preserved and act as if they – own you!’
‘Hmm, I think I might just take my own escort,’ Tara said.
‘Your own? Oh, you mean that officer with malaria who you’re always trotting in to see.’
‘Yes. He’s so much better now I think I’ll ask him.’
‘I can see you were right – marriage certainly doesn’t seem to have changed you!’ Jill remarked and Tara failed to notice the sprinkling of spite in her tone.
‘Yes, I’ll have to get clearance from the MO first to say he’s fit enough and then I’ll ask him,’ she said.
The Aussie army truck ploughed its way along the muddy road and each time the wheels slithered and spun, the six girls piled in the back held their breath. As it was after sundown they were dressed in their safari jackets and trousers – civilian dress was restricted to the hours of daylight even on special occasions – but no one wanted to arrive at a dance covered in mud after having to push a truck which had become bogged down.
‘You’d never think there could be so much water up there would you?’ Doreen Callis, one of the AAMWS remarked, peering up into the thick haze which almost obscured the tops of the trees. ‘You’d think the whole sky was going to fall down.’
‘Yeah, it reminds me of when I was in sugar country up in Queensland …’ one of the men began, but Tara was not listening.
The storm and the truck jolting over the boggy track had brought back memories of her own, though she had no intention of sharing them. That night when she and Richard had gone down to the Freeman brothers’ farm was too private – and too precious – for that.
Oh Richard, so damned far away! Tara thought, and in spite of the crowded company in the truck she felt lonely. She had told Jill marriage had not changed her much and probably that was true. But falling in love most certainly had.
A cheer of relief went up when the driver ground to a halt outside the base camp recreation hut where the dance was being held. They all piled out and headed in the direction of the music – popular tunes being played by the unit band.
The hall, scarcely big enough to contain all those, who wanted to let their hair down, was already crowded. A thick haze of cigarette smoke floated just below ceiling height. Dev managed to fight his way through the crowd at the bar to fetch a drink for himself and Tara, then they stood squeezed into a corner sipping them. As the crush increased Tara glanced at him anxiously. He still looked far from well, though perhaps it would be less obvious to someone who had not known him before. He was thin and wiry now where before he had been strongly muscled, his skin an unhealthy yellow instead of his normal deep tan. As if reading her thoughts he grinned at her over the rim of his glass.
‘Stop worrying, love. I’m not about to pass out on you.’
‘I hope not!’
‘No way am I going to miss out on the chance of a dance with you. After all, it might be my last.’
‘Your last? Whatever do you mean?’
‘If they think I’m fit enough to be allowed out on escort duty for an evening, they must think I’m damned near fit enough to be discharged.’
Tara ran a finger around her mout
h wiping away a tiny fine line of beer foam. ‘ But the thing with malaria is it can keep coming and going, surely.’
‘Yep. For years. They can’t keep me that long. Especially when I’m taking up a bed that could be needed urgently.’
‘But yours is a particularly nasty sort of malaria. I thought they wanted to study your case.’
He laughed. ‘Tara Kelly – Allingham! – I don’t believe you want me to go!’
‘Hah!’ she snorted, but the thought passed through her mind – no, I don’t believe I do.
Dev took the glass from her hand, putting it down with his on a table.
‘Come on, let’s have that dance while we can. Before long the floor is going to be so crowded not even a flea would be able to do a hop on it. Now, hang on to my jacket and we’ll see if we can get through without losing one another in the crush.’
He ploughed off in the direction of the dance floor and Tara followed. A breathless romp to ‘The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy from Company B’ was just coming to an end – just as well, thought Tara. She really did not think Dev would have been up to leaping about to that. No, the tune the band had just begun to play was much more suitable the slow, haunting ‘String of Pearls’.
‘Right then, Madam, may I have the pleasure?’
He executed a small theatrical bow and she giggled.
‘How could I refuse?’
His arm went around her waist, his hand held hers, firmly and steadily. No hint of the ‘shakes’ now. For a moment she moved unselfconsciously in his arms, enjoying the lift she always got from being at one with music, feeling it flow through her veins, touch and sensitize every muscle, every nerve ending. Her head was thrown back, lip caught between her teeth, eyes half-closed as she lived each throbbing beat. He was watching her though she did not know it; as she brought her head forward their eyes met.
And suddenly it was not just the music that was singing in her. It was more, much more, and it had to do with Dev and the way he was looking at her. Deep within, she felt something lurch and then it was as if every bit of her was being drawn towards him, as if his eyes were magnetizing her just as they had that day back in Darwin when he had been helping her prepare for her show. Only then she had been able to escape.
