by Janet Tanner
‘Oh Richard.’ She pulled away, shading her eyes with her hand. ‘Don’t you sometimes wish you had never been born?’
He looked at her, saw a girl who had been raised with all the trappings which could have made her utterly spoiled and selfish but who had lost none of her capacity for compassion, a girl who could endure her own suffering yet cry for the grief of others. And felt something deep and powerful stir within him.
‘No, Alys,’ he said truthfully. ‘Life may sometimes be hard. But no, I never have wished that.’
‘Then perhaps you are lucky,’ she said.
He turned on the engine, battling suddenly with a surge of desire so strong it threatened to sweep away all reason.
‘Perhaps I am,’ he said roughly.
Chapter Twenty-three
The silence in the tent was broken only by the even breathing of five of the six occupants. Quietly, Tara set down her bunch of clubhouse keys on top of the wooden box which served as her wardrobe, picked up her kitbag and crept between the beds where the other girls lay sleeping. Then she slipped out, fastened the tent flap behind her and stood for a moment breathing deeply to steady the racing of her pulse.
The night was balmy, the stars very bright in the soft velvet tropical sky. Beyond the tent lines the breeze stirred gently in the palms, reminding her briefly of another night when the undergrowth had whispered, disturbed not only by the forces of nature but by a human intruder. She shivered, then hoisted her kitbag onto her shoulder, pushing the thought away. If she dwelled on it she would run straight back to the safety of the tent and that certainly did not fit in with her plans.
The shiver became a tremor of excitement. She left the tent lines, walking quickly across the open patch of ground which separated them from the clubhouse. Dotted with tables and chairs which during the hot days and warm evenings were crowded with relaxing service personnel it was deserted now, the light of the moon showing it in soft relief. Tara glanced about her, ears cocked for the distinctive engine hum of an approaching ute. There was no sound but the everlasting chirping of the grasshoppers and crickets and she was aware of a twinge of misgiving.
Perhaps they would not come for her. Perhaps something unexpected had cropped up to prevent them. Perhaps the whole thing had been a joke from start to finish – a practical joke played by bored US air crew and they had never had the slightest intention of doing what they had promised. It was after all, a crazy idea, hopping over to Queensland to see Richard without telling anyone what she was doing, without permission from her superiors, without anything but the clothes she stood up in and what she could carry in her kitbag. But when she had got talking to the crew of the US transport plane in the club that evening and heard they were flying out, empty, in a few hours, it had seemed like the answer to a prayer.
She had to see Richard. Whatever the consequences. It might mean the end of her career as manager of the AAMWS club – it probably would. But if she could not get to Australia soon to see him she was terribly afraid it would be the end of her marriage. And when it came to weighing one against the other there was scarcely a decision to be made.
Why, of all possible postings, had Alys Peterson had to be sent to Queensland? Tara wondered, quickening her step to take her across the stretch of open ground. When she had joined the AWAS the authorities could have chosen to send her anywhere in the whole wide continent of Australia. But by some quirk of fate she had been sent to the very place where she was in contact with Richard. And not only in contact with him but very friendly from the tone of his letters. Tara had registered alarm bells the moment she had heard about it, back in the New Year. She did not like the way Richard looked at Alys, liked even less the fact that they had so much in common, which she and Richard did not. And when he had written to say that he and Alys were taking leave together to go to Melbourne it had been the last straw.
How could he do it? It was so long since they had been together and her own requests for leave had been constantly parried. But what was there to have stopped Richard hitching a lift to New Guinea to see her if he had really wanted to? Instead, he had chosen to go to Melbourne – with her (Tara could scarcely bring herself to think of Alys’s name, let alone speak it aloud) – travelling all that way, and seeing as much as he could of her while they were there, no doubt. Oh, keeping it all very proper, knowing him, but being with her, talking about things that she, Tara, would never understand, carrying her bag for her, solicitously making certain she was comfortable – and admiring, maybe even desiring, her. Jealousy so strong it outweighed every other emotion had coursed through her and for the first time Tara felt something akin, to understanding for Red. I’d kill her if I could, Tara thought. I’d like nothing better than to stick a knife in her and twist and twist. But there was no danger of that. Alys was too far away on the other side of the Torres Strait. With Richard.
Alongside the jealousy helplessness had burned. There was nothing she could do – nothing. She was stuck here in New Guinea, unable to fight Alys for her husband, tied hand and foot by a job which had at first seemed like a godsend. She had enjoyed every moment of running the club and thought she had done it well, but her very success had created the ties which kept her here.
If I was still cleaning latrines and washing bandages I’ll bet they would have authorized my leave, Tara thought, surprised by her own bitterness. As it is I have to sit here, organizing recreation for a lot of other women, while she steals my husband from under my nose!
And then, this evening, the US air crew had come out to the club.
‘Can I sign them in, Tara?’ Jill Whitton had asked. ‘They are only here for a few hours – they brought a load of troops this afternoon and they, are due to fly out again during the night. They could do with a drink and a bit of relaxation.’
Tara had smiled. ‘Don’t give me that. It’s not their relaxation you are thinking of, it’s all the spare dollars they have to spend on you!’
Jill pulled a face. ‘Well, that too. How about it – can I bring them in?’
‘As far as I’m concerned, yes. Just as long as they don’t overindulge on the drinks. I should hate them to give their passengers a bumpy ride home.’
‘They haven’t got any passengers on the way back. They’re empty.’
Tara snorted. ‘ What a waste! When there are so many people on this island just dying to get back to Oz – me included!’
But still the idea of actually begging a lift had not occurred to her. That came later as she looked at the happy-go-lucky group gathered around a clubhouse table, laughing as they peeled dollar bills from a wad of notes to pay for their drinks, muddying the air with the smoke of dozens of cheap issue cigarettes, looking as if they had not a care in the world. They took things so casually, the Yanks. Of course, it wasn’t really their war. That made a difference, she supposed, for the Jap attack on Pearl Harbor was the closest the enemy had ever got to ‘home’. But their whole attitude was devil-may-care, as if rules and regulations were there to be flouted.
They look like fun, Tara thought. I’ll have a word with them later. Maybe they’ll cheer me up a little bit.
Towards the end of the evening Tara always entertained with a song or two. Tonight the applause from the Yanks’ table was raucous and on her way back from the stage Tara stopped at their table.
‘Enjoying yourselves, boys?’
‘You bet!’ One of the Yanks, a tall lanky young man with a short-cropped crew cut, rocked his chair onto its back legs, eyeing her appreciatively. ‘How about letting us buy you a drink, baby? Singing is thirsty work.’
Tara cast a look at the crowd around the bar. Busy. But her girls seemed to be coping well.
‘Sure an’ why not?’ she said, sitting down on the chair that one of them pulled out for her.
The Yanks were good company. She stayed with them for a while, laughing at their jokes and enjoying the attention they were paying her.
‘I hear you are flying out tonight,’ she said. ‘Where a
re you headed?’
The Yank with the crew cut drained his glass. ‘Townsville.’
‘Oh, Queensland.’ Tara felt the familiar lump in her throat. ‘ I only wish I could come with you.’
The Yank, busy collecting glasses to shout another round, glanced round at her. ‘Why don’t you then?’
‘What?’
‘Come with us. We’ve got plenty of room to spare. We’ll give her a lift, won’t we, guys?’
‘I can’t do that,’ Tara said, and stopped. A lift to Queensland. She was being offered a lift to Queensland – and she was turning it down!
‘Why not?’
‘Because …’ Because I have no leave pass. Because if I go with you I shall probably be court martialled. Because what in the world is going to happen to the club – my club – if I do? The reasons raced through her mind and became unimportant. Richard was in Queensland. Richard and Alys. If she could only get to see him, hold him, love him, remind him of what it was they shared, perhaps she could drive out the spectre of Alys.
Oh Richard! The longing was so fierce in her it drowned out all other considerations. Tara had never been a one to waste time weighing odds. She had always acted on impulse – and she acted on impulse now.
‘Would you really take me?’ she asked.
‘Sure – as long as you keep quiet about it.’
‘Where are you going from?’
‘The airstrip, 0200 hours.’
‘I couldn’t get out there.’
‘We could pick her up, couldn’t we, Hank?’
‘Sure – why not?’
‘All right!’ Tara was trembling now with eagerness. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘O.K. We’ll pick you up at, say, 0100, somewhere about here. You won’t chicken out now, baby, will you? Wouldn’t want to make the trip out here for nothing.’
‘No, I won’t chicken out,’ Tara said.
The rest of the evening she was on a high, buzzing with nervous tension and suppressed excitement. She must be mad! No – she would be mad not to do it. When the Yanks left they merely waved to her from the doorway and she thought they were being discreet.
Now, however, waiting on the deserted roadway, she began to wonder if perhaps they had only been teasing, stringing her along. Or not taking her seriously. She glanced at her watch. Five past one. A sense of depression settled in the pit of her stomach. What was Richard doing now? In bed and asleep? Working on some patient, using all his talents to mend a broken body? Or sharing a coffee and a chat with Alys? The depression deepened. She looked at her watch again. Ten past. They weren’t coming. She was not going to be able to get back to see him after all. She would have to go back to her tent, unpack her kitbag, pocket the club keys before anyone found them and wondered why she had left them out on her cupboard, and settle back for more countless weeks or months knowing that he …
A bright path of light cut through the darkness. She drew upright, every nerve tingling, straining her eyes towards the lights. Closer, closer – and the engine sound of a ute drowning the chirping of the crickets …
Tara hoisted her kitbag onto her shoulder and ran towards the ute.
The crew cut Yank was driving; he leaned over and opened the door for her. ‘Ready then, gorgeous? You still wanna go?’
‘Well, of course I do!’ Tara said and climbed in.
In the grey dawn Tara walked towards 138 AGH. After a night without sleep her legs felt heavy, her mouth tasted stale and the excitement tingling within her was tinged with nervousness.
All very well to do something utterly crazy like this, but what was Richard going to say when he saw her? He would be shocked, of course – but would he be pleased? Suddenly, even that didn’t seem in the least likely. After all, he had gone to Melbourne instead of hopping over to New Guinea when he had his leave.
The cluster of huts which comprised 138 loomed up, slightly forbidding now she was this close to them. After the swift flight in the transport plane she had managed to hitch another lift to take her south; she shivered, the cold morning air seeming to dissolve every stitch of her tropical kit clothing and striking deeply chill against skin accustomed to twenty-four-hour heat.
The sound of a vehicle on the path behind her made her turn and she saw an ambulance approaching. Instantly she thought of Alys. She did not want to meet her before seeing Richard – she would not know what to say to her. And besides, she did not want Alys to be the one to tell Richard she was here. ‘I have a surprise for you – guess who’s here?’ she could imagine that cultured voice saying. And she would be the one to see the expression on his face when she said it and know whether it registered pleasure – or dismay.
The ambulance passed and Tara remembered that Alys was no longer working for the Red Cross but driving a US Army General. Typical. Typical of her to be assigned to top brass.
She walked on, praying there would be no provost at the entrance to the hospital. If she was asked for a pass the cat would be well and truly out of the bag. But when she approached the hospital buildings there was no sign of life. The ambulance was parked at the door of the admissions block, empty now. She hesitated for just a moment then gave herself a mental shake. Look tentative and someone would wonder what business she had being here. Tara had never been one to let her nervousness show. Life was an act, wasn’t it – so … act!
She pushed open the door and walked into the admissions room.
‘Could you tell me where I could find Richard Allingham?’ she said.
It seemed she had been waiting forever when she heard his voice in the corridor outside.
She jumped up, passing the astonished AAMWS clerk, and ran into the corridor. He had just passed through the door leading from the treatment room and she thought her heart would burst with happiness just looking at him, standing there with hands thrust into the pockets of his white coat, hair slightly rumpled as if he had just taken off a sterile cap.
‘Richard!’ Her voice was small and breathy. All the time she had been waiting while he was attending to the patient who had come in on the ambulance, she had been planning the million and one things she wanted to say to him; now she was face to face with him and every single one of them deserted her.
‘Tara?’ He said it questioningly, as if he simply could not believe his eyes.
‘Yes – it’s me!’ And then she was running to him, unable to restrain herself for another moment. ‘Oh Richard – Richard!’
She was in his arms, feeling the hardness of his chest beneath her cheek, the long sinews of his back with her outstretched hands, oblivious to the AAMWS clerk, oblivious to everything but that she was with Richard once more after the long months of separation.
After a moment he held her away. ‘What are you doing here?’
She looked up at him, seeing his beloved face through a mist of tears, and felt a small knot of panic tighten her throat. She couldn’t tell him the truth. Not here.
‘Oh, I got a three-day pass and hitched a lift with a US transport.’ The panic dissolved into longing and she hugged him tight once more, wanting nothing but to hold him and never let him go.
‘Tara …’ He took hold of her arms, pushing her away. ‘ Not here!’
Hurt, puzzled, she looked up at him and saw his expression – embarrassment verging on distaste.
‘Come on, we’ll go outside for a few minutes.’ His hand slid to her elbow, turning her, urging her back along the corridor. ‘I won’t be far away if you need me,’ he said to the AAMWS clerk.
The morning was brightening now towards full daylight, the hospital was beginning to come to life. A couple of sisters walked chatting between the buildings, an orderly trundled a trolley of linen. Tara did not recognize any of them – the hospital staff must have changed considerably in the time she had been away.
‘You should have let me know you were coming,’ Richard said.
Again the panic knotted her throat threatening to cut off speech. This was the moment to confess she had no business
being here at all – but she knew now she was not going to tell him. He would be shocked – furious with her, probably – and everything would be spoiled. Knowing him, he might even insist she return immediately before the provosts came looking for her.
‘There was no time,’ she said. ‘ I didn’t know myself until yesterday. I got the chance – and I just came!’
They were around the corner of the building now and she turned to him again, as desperate for reassurance as for his touch.
‘Oh Richard, I’ve missed you so!’
This time he did not push her away. She felt the response in his body and the hungry pressure of his lips on hers and for a few moments she let the avalanche of delight sweep away all her doubts and worries. She loved him – and if she had to spend the rest of the war scrubbing latrines and washing bandages to pay for her few stolen days it would have been worth it. Then, gradually, she felt the tide of his passion ebb, his back stiffening into rigid lines, his arms slightly tentative around her and she could almost imagine his eyes, alert and watchful, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was coming.
The pain of rejection destroyed her own mood of loving and longing. How could he be like this, so cool, so unmoved?
‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘Of course I am!’
‘You don’t seem very pleased.’
‘Oh Tara, it’s not that. But this is a hospital. I’m a doctor.’
‘You are also my husband and I haven’t seen you for months and months.’
‘There are some things you just don’t want to do when all the world is looking on.’
She stiffened. She should have known that Richard would never show his emotions in public. It was not his style. But surely after such a prolonged parting it was not unreasonable to expect him to display just a little pleasure – a little desire for her? But then passion was not Richard’s strong suit – even in private.
