Women and War

by Janet Tanner

  He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. His lighter she noticed was chunky gold – a far cry from the cheap one he had used before.

  ‘It’s a long story. Suffice it to say we passed one very long night together stranded in a dry pub in the back of beyond. Naturally we had plenty of time to talk and by the time the ninth cavalry had arrived in the shape of one of his fleet of chauffeur driven cars we were mates. I’d told him some of the ideas I’d mulled over since we did that show about the ways lighting could be used to create special effects and he was very interested. To cut a long story short, he offered me a job.’

  He drew on his cigarette and as his cuff fell away from his wrist Tara noticed that his watch, too, was gold.

  ‘And a hefty salary to go with it, I imagine,’ she said pertly.

  ‘Oh Tara, marrying into the aristocracy hasn’t changed you one bit, has it?’ he chided. ‘You’re just as mercenary as ever.’

  ‘I am not mercenary!’

  ‘Oh yes you are. And you’ve still got your eye on the main chance, too. Which is why I risked getting the length of your tongue in coming to see you. I thought I might stand a chance now I have something to offer you. It seems I was wrong.’

  ‘What do you mean – something to offer me?’

  One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘Well, what you always hankered for, of course. A career in the theatre. But of course, since you are still married to the good doctor …’

  The adrenalin had begun to tingle in her again.

  ‘Explain yourself.’

  ‘If you were back in business as Tara Kelly, singer, I could make you a star.’

  ‘Oh!’ she said.

  ‘Tara! Where are you? Everyone on stage – final curtain!’ Footsteps in the corridor and a voice calling urgently. She sprang into action.

  ‘I’ll have to go.’

  He pushed a card into her hand. ‘Think about it. Here’s where you can contact me if you are interested.’

  ‘Right. Thanks, Dev.’

  When she came offstage again he had gone but she still had his card. In the bright light thrown by the bulbs around the dressing-room mirror she looked at it. Sean Devlin. Craigie Enterprises. Melbourne – Adelaide – Sydney. The knub of excitement deep in the pit of her stomach welled up into a fountain.

  A star, he had said. I could make you a star.

  Oh, Tara thought. If only I could!

  Her fingers closed over the card again. It was one tangible thing in the glory that had been this evening. She did not intend to let it go lightly.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Tara lay on top of the counterpane in the hotel bedroom. Beside her on the small wooden cabinet a tray set out with cup and saucer and a pot of weak tea stood untouched. The very thought of it made her stomach churn and a wave of nausea rise in her throat.

  Oh Holy Mary, she thought she should have known better than to drink water straight from the tap. Dev had warned her not to. In Adelaide sensible people drank only water that had been boiled or came out of a bottle. The dark brown water from the River Torrens was notorious for causing stomach upsets. But she had been tired and thirsty, drained by her sixth performance in as many days, and she had thought that just this once it would not matter.

  It had mattered. She had woken a few hours later wondering vaguely what was wrong with her, raised herself in bed – and then had to rush to the bathroom. Back to bed, dozing a little, and then up again for another dash along the dimly lit corridor. All day it had gone on until she had thought there could not be another drop of liquid in her body and still the slightest movement made her heave. Her stomach ached to the touch and she felt floaty and unreal, dozing off occasionally into nightmare ridden sleep and waking to worry frantically – whatever shall I do if I am no better tomorrow? I have a show to do – I’ll never be able to go on stage like this …

  Today at least was Sunday. Her one day off from the exhausting round of nightly performances. Dev had called her at lunchtime and when she had told him how ill she was he had sounded concerned.

  ‘You’ll be all right tomorrow, will you? You have another week to do here in Adelaide. I don’t want to have to replace you.’

  ‘I’ll be all right,’ she had said with more optimism than she was feeling. ‘It’s probably only a twenty-four hour thing.’

  ‘I hope so! Do you want me to come over?’

  ‘No. All I want at the moment is to die.’

  ‘Don’t do that. I don’t want a dead star.’

  She had managed to smile at that. The word could still cheer her, sick as she felt. A star. She was going to be a star. It was the one thing which had kept her going these last months through all the upsets and ructions, the exhausting rehearsals and draining performances, the sheer loneliness of endless hotel rooms. She was going to be a star. At last. The one thing she had ever really wanted!

  Now, in the small hotel bedroom overlooking the city parklands, her mind drifted back across the events of the last six months since Dev had come to see her perform in the Charity Concert in Melbourne.

  She had known, she now believed, even before she left the Town Hall, what she was going to do. Richard was in Singapore – heaven only knew how long it would be before he came home – and if he could take decisions without consulting her then why shouldn’t she do the same? The thought of more months living under his mother’s roof with nothing but endless dinner parties and stultifying politeness to look forward to was more than she could bear. Even Margaret didn’t really need her – she only slept, wet her nappies and took her feeds, and Nanny made it quite clear she was far better qualified than Tara to look after her. And here was Dev offering the kind of life she had always dreamed of. Margaret is too young to miss me and Richard doesn’t give a damn, Tara thought. Why shouldn’t I make a life of my own?

  That night with the adrenalin still pumping in her veins it had all seemed so easy. But of course it had not been.

  First there had been Richard’s mother to contend with.

  ‘How can you think of such a thing?’ she had asked, shocked, when Tara first told her of her plans. ‘It’s scandalous – an Allingham on the stage!’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t use your name,’ Tara assured her.

  ‘What difference does that make? Oh, I knew we should never have agreed to your taking part in that concert! What will Richard say about it?’

  ‘Judging by your remarks when he went to Singapore it will be a long time before Richard is in a position to say anything,’ Tara returned acidly.

  ‘What about Margaret? She needs you.’

  ‘Margaret is well looked after. And I’m not going to the moon, only to do a few dates here in Australia. I shall be able to come back and see her every so often. Anyway,’ she added, ‘when she’s a bit bigger she can travel with me. It’s time we had a home of own own. You’ve been very kind but we can’t impose on you forever.’

  Only Mrs Allingham’s good breeding allowed her to check her temper.

  ‘This is Richard’s home and you are his wife. Kindly remember that.’

  ‘Perhaps you should remind Richard of that fact,’ Tara said sweetly.

  It still hurt, hurt badly, that he should have chosen to go to Singapore rather than come home. Little as she had wanted to believe that he had in fact volunteered, the suggestion had taken root and spread like a cancer in her, fed and watered by her own nagging guilt and her observation of him since their marriage. And the antidote to the pain it caused her was anger.

  He was doing good work she had no doubt – his letters were full of suffering of the men he had gone to help. Ragged skeletons he called them, men deprived of nourishment and medical care, forced to live and work under appalling conditions and who now had to be helped back onto the road to recovery. But none of this eased her hurt that he should choose to be anywhere but with her. There were other doctors who could have gone to Singapore, equally well qualified and with fewer responsibilities. Perhaps if she showed him that she too was
capable of stepping outside the accepted framework he would take notice of her. Perhaps he would think more highly of her. After all, it had been after he had seen her perform for the first time he had begun to notice her.

  And so she had contacted Dev.

  As always he had been matter-of-fact. His wry amusement had raised her hackles.

  ‘Good. I’ll meet you at the Craigie offices, introduce you to the management and we can discuss contracts.’

  ‘You don’t seem very surprised,’ she said coolly.

  ‘I’m not. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist, Tara my sweet.’

  ‘I might have done. I’m not only a wife, I’m a mother, too, you know.’

  ‘You – a mother! Heaven help your child!’

  ‘Sean Devlin, if you continue to be rude to me I might still change my mind.’

  ‘You won’t,’ he said. And of course she had not.

  With the wheels set in motion events had moved fast. Contracts were signed, rehearsal schedules arranged. There were dressmakers, hairdressers and musical directors, all of whom tried to shape and change her. And there was Dev, insisting that she should remain herself, market nothing more and nothing less than the talent which had captivated night club patrons, troops and the entire well-heeled audience in Melbourne.

  To begin with she had performed mainly at establishments owned by the Craigies, at hotels and clubs which seemed little more than up-market versions of the Canary. But as time went by theatres were included in her programme. First, the small theatres in small towns, singing to a rowdy but appreciative audience still rooted in the traditions of music hall. And then the bigger ones. Adelaide had been her biggest engagement yet. Outside the theatre she had looked at her name on the billboard with a thrill of pride and excitement. Two whole weeks here and then on to Perth. She had never been to Perth and the prospect started more fires of excitement.

  ‘The sweetheart of a continent’ they had billed her – suddenly it had seemed the continent part at least was no exaggeration.

  One week in Adelaide down, one to go. And now this. She lay on the bed feeling like death and wondering what would happen if she was not fit to perform tomorrow.

  Don’t even think of it. You will be fit. You have to be.

  A tap came at the bedroom door and she moved restlessly. Could it be room service? Unlikely. She had not ordered anything and when they had brought the tea she had asked simply to be left alone. Dev, then. More possible. It would be very like Dev to come around. Checking on his investment. The phrase made her smile weakly. That was all she was to him these days. She could not remember the last time he had propositioned her. Could not remember when any man had been close enough to proposition her. She was a glamour figure, yes, but cocooned away from the public by a row of footlights, a succession of hotel porters and the professionals who surrounded her, all more interested in her talents on stage than off it. Not that she wanted attention, but it was ironic all the same.

  And now here was Dev, come to offer a little sympathy and a lot of advice on how to make it to the theatre tomorrow evening and sparkle under his new revised exotic lighting plan …

  ‘Come in,’ she called. Her voice sounded weak.

  The handle turned but nothing happened. She remembered it was locked on the inside, swung her legs gingerly over the edge of the bed and padded to the door, her head swimming. Unlocking it, she swung the door open – and gasped. Not Dev. Richard.

  ‘Oh!’ she said weakly.

  His face was like stone. ‘ May I come in?’

  ‘Yes – yes, of course.’

  She stood aside. Her legs felt like jelly. ‘I didn’t know you were home.’

  ‘You wouldn’t, would you, since you are not at home either,’ he said icily.

  ‘But you could have written.’

  ‘I did write. Perhaps the letter was delayed.’

  Or perhaps your mother did not bother to pass it on to me, she thought.

  ‘Anyway, the fact is I’m here. Pack your things, Tara. I’m taking you back to Melbourne.’

  ‘Now wait a minute …’

  ‘Pack your things. There is nothing more to be said. And what on earth is the matter with you? You look dreadful.’

  ‘You’re a doctor,’ she flared. ‘Perhaps if you had been in Australia looking after me I wouldn’t be here now – and I wouldn’t be ill.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said. ‘ I had a job to do. And if that is what this is all about, a fit of pique, I don’t think much of it.’

  The anger made her feel faint once more. ‘I’m sorry, Richard, I don’t feel up to arguing.’

  ‘I can see that,’ he said. ‘God in heaven, Tara, just what do you think you are playing at?’

  ‘I’m not playing at anything. Just making a life for myself while you were on the other side of the ocean.’

  ‘I was on the other side of the ocean, as you put it, to do my duty as a serving officer in the Armed Forces.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ She crossed to the basin, running the tap and splashing cold water onto her face. ‘ You mean you didn’t volunteer.’

  She snatched up the towel and turned, dabbing it to her mouth just in time to catch his expression. Guilt. Written all over him. So he had volunteered. His mother had been right.

  ‘Why?’ she said. ‘Why did you do it?’

  The lines of his mouth hardened. For a moment the expression behind his eyes frightened her. Don’t tell me! she wanted to cry. I know I asked, but – don’t tell me! I don’t want to know. Then his eyes fell from hers and she knew he was not going to tell her anyway.

  ‘Somebody had to,’ he said, ‘ and it was no reason for you to abandon Margaret and go chasing all over Australia.’

  ‘I did no such thing. She has her nanny and she’s too young to miss me.’

  ‘You have deceived yourself into thinking she wouldn’t miss you because you couldn’t keep away from the stage. You haven’t really thought about the implications at all. My mother is terribly upset.’

  ‘Your mother is probably delighted at having something to hold against me at last. She’s never liked me.’

  ‘That is hardly surprising when you behave like this!’ He looked around the room, saw her suitcase stowed in a corner and threw it onto the bed so that the lid flew open. ‘Come on now – pack!’

  Beneath the anger she felt the love welling up. She had never seen Richard like this before, so strong and decisive – except perhaps on the terrible day when Darwin had been bombed. Certainly he had never spoken to her like this before. Perhaps it meant he did care. Oh, if he did she would throw it all in, give up any thought of a stage career, go back with him and happily spend the rest of her life simply being his wife. Then she remembered the way his eyes had fallen from hers when she mentioned Singapore and hardened her heart.

  ‘I’m not coming back with you, Richard. I have another week to do here in Adelaide and then some other bookings to fulfil. I couldn’t back out even if I wanted to. I have signed a contract.’

  ‘That can be taken care of. Contracts can be broken. Our solicitor …’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t let them down like that.’

  ‘Letting us down doesn’t matter I suppose.’

  ‘I am not letting you down. When the tour is over I’ll come home.’ Her lip wobbled suddenly. ‘If you still want me.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tara!’ He gestured helplessly. ‘What am I to do?’

  She wrapped her arms around herself. She was feeling weak and ill again; for a little while the shock of his arrival had rallied her, now as the adrenalin drained away she was not sure how much longer her legs would support her.

  ‘You can give me something to clear up this tummy upset,’ she said.

  For a moment she thought he was going to refuse.

  ‘I don’t carry a medical chest with me when I rush across Australia to find my wife,’ he said shortly. ‘ Still, I suppose if you are adamant about seeing this nonsense through I can
hardly drag you back bodily.’ He fished in one of his pockets and pulled out a prescription pad. ‘If you are no better tomorrow when the pharmacists open you can get this made up. It should settle your stomach if it’s just an upset. If it continues, you will have to seek other advice.’

  Oh cold, so cold! Seek other advice! So professional – doctor and patient, not husband and wife. ‘Thank you,’ she said primly.

  He looked around. ‘It seems there’s little point in my staying here.’

  Again her heart bled. How long was it since she had seen him? How many long months? Oh this was some reunion!

  ‘Richard …’ she whispered.

  His back presented a hard line. ‘I hope you realize what you are dong, Tara. We’ll talk again at home. When you come to your senses.’

  Then he was gone. She almost ran after him, changed her mind and sank down onto the bed. Pointless to say more – she would not change her mind and neither would he. Oh Holy Mary, what am I doing? she whispered. She laid her head against the pillow, too weak even to cry, and the flimsy hotel bed shook with the violence of her trembling.

  She was still lying there in the half-light when Dev came.

  ‘Tara, for Chrissakes, what is the matter?’ He had come – in through the door left unlocked after Richard’s departure.

  ‘Oh Dev!’ Her voice cracked.

  He sat down on the bed beside her smoothing the damp curls away from her face. ‘I didn’t realize you were this ill. I’m going to get a doctor to see you.’

  ‘No!’ She laughed, weakly hysterical. ‘I’ve seen a doctor. That’s mostly what’s wrong with me now.’

  ‘What are you talking about …?’ He broke off. ‘ Do you mean what I think you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Richard came …’ And then it was all pouring out and he was listening, holding her hand, touching her face where the blue shadows lay.

  When she finished he was silent for a moment. ‘I’m responsible for this.’ His voice was low. ‘It’s my doing, isn’t it?’

  ‘No – no …’

  ‘Yes it is. Look, Tara, if you think you should go home I’ll arrange for you to be released from your contract. We won’t make a legal battle of it. God knows, I don’t want to wreck your marriage.’