Women and War Page 11

  One day I’ll find somewhere I can sunbathe without a stitch of clothes on and get this brown all over, Tara promised herself.

  Her wash completed, Tara put on her robe again and started back to her room. In the passageway she heard the men’s voices louder than before and realized they must just be leaving. Hastily she slipped back into the kitchen. She didn’t want to walk into them half dressed as she was – let them go first.

  For a long while it seemed they remained in the veranda doorway while someone told a joke, perhaps, for after a little silence there was a raucous laughter. Then she heard them calling goodnight and the sound of the door slamming and the bolts being drawn. Relieved that she could now escape to bed she emerged from the kitchen to see Dimitri disappearing back into the dining room. Her heart sank. Oh, he wasn’t going to expect her to help him tidy up tonight was he? Why hadn’t she had the sense to stay in her bedroom out of the way!

  As she passed the doorway he looked up and saw her. ‘Ah, Tara!’

  ‘Oh, leave it can’t you, Dimitri?’ she pleaded. ‘I’ll get up earlier in the morning and do it then. I’m just so tired …’ He did not answer. ‘There’s no one staying tonight,’ she went on. ‘We won’t have to do breakfast so I …’ Her voice tailed away.

  Dimitri had not moved except to straighten up from the chair he had been repositioning but there was something about the way he was looking at her that was disconcerting – no, worse, downright unnerving. Tara had seen that look before and knew what it meant. But never before had she felt so totally paralysed as if she had no will of her own to move away from those bright intent little eyes that were mentally stripping her of every stitch of her clothing.

  She stood mesmerized while those eyes moved slowly and lasciviously from the V of tanned flesh at the neck of her wrap down over the swell of her breasts to her waist, neatly defined by the tie-sash, and down over her hips, belly and legs where the silk clung to her still-damp skin. Then he jerked his head, flicking the greasy flop of hair off his forehead and the movement broke the spell. Tara raised her hand to pull the robe more tightly around her, horribly aware that beneath it she was totally naked, and backed away a step into the passage.

  Still Dimitri did not move. His tongue had crept out a fraction; it curled over his lower lip pink, moist and somehow obscene. His eyes were fixed on her face now. Half hidden as they were in the folds of flesh they were nonetheless compelling. She took another step backwards and her shoulders encountered the wood panelling of the wall.

  ‘Tara …’ His voice was thick, very foreign.

  She drew herself up. ‘You have had too much to drink, Dimitri. And I am going to bed.’

  She turned with a flounce of composure she was far from feeling, marched along the passage and up the stairs. Only when she was back in her own room with the door closed behind her did she crumple, her breath coming out on a sigh, her whole body shuddering with distaste.

  Ugh, but he was revolting – a great fat slug – and the way he had looked at her made her feel like washing all over again. Strangely, it had never occurred to her before that she might have to be wary of him and now she cursed herself for being a fool. Just because he was married to Tina didn’t mean he had no eyes for anyone else – she of all people should have known that. But circumstances had made her forget – perhaps because, drudging in the kitchen as she had been since coming to Darwin, she felt so dreadfully unattractive herself. It had not occurred to her to worry when Tina and the children had been evacuated and she was left alone with Dimitri – no, not even tonight when she had paraded in front of him wearing nothing but her robe. She had hidden in the kitchen so that the other men should not see her but she had stopped to speak to Dimitri without giving it a second thought.

  With a sense of shock Tara realized how foolish she had been to forget Dimitri was a man – a man who had not seen his wife for almost two months. Well she would not forget it again. She untied the sash of her robe and began to slip out of it, then changed her mind and refastened it around her. Since coming to Darwin she had always slept nude – in the heat it was the most practical way. But tonight she did not want to. Hot or not she was going to keep her wrap on.

  She turned back the single rough sheet and lay down, pulling the silk across her legs. For a moment it reminded her of the silk sheets she had used to sleep between. Something halfway between regret and nostalgia stirred a haunting chord within her and with it a rush of loathing for this room, so different from the one she had shared with Red.

  What had she come to, she who had sworn that she had finished with squalor and poverty? She had drifted back to it because she had been afraid. But now … maybe the time had come to stop being afraid and to move on. She had been given the opportunity tonight by the Captain of the Fortuna – perhaps she should take it. Perth was a long way from Sydney just as Darwin was and possibly a good deal more pleasant. And what if Red did find her there? He could only kill her as he had threatened to do – and the life she had now was barely worth living in any case.

  And yet …

  I can’t go without weighing it all up and I’m too tired to do that tonight, Tara thought. Already a delicious drowsiness was beginning to creep over her making her limbs leaden and entwining silly nonsensical thoughts with the coherent ones. Tomorrow she would be up early and she would think then what she would do. The Fortuna would not be sailing too early. Red would not let it. No – not Red – the Captain. Red was in prison so there was no need to worry about him. No – wrong. There was every reason to worry. He was in prison because of her. And a man with his influence could still find a way to reach her.

  Oh Red, Red, you were power, she thought, and then she was drifting again with sleep weighing down her eyelids.

  Suddenly, shockingly, she was awake once more. Someone was in the room with her. As she opened her eyes to see the bulky form between her and the light she screamed and a hand covered her mouth – a hand smelling of beer and tobacco and sweat.

  ‘Quiet! Do you want to wake the whole of Darwin?’

  She wrenched her mouth free of the hand.

  ‘Dimitri! What the hell do you think you are doing?’

  The bed dipped as he lowered himself onto it.

  ‘Come on, Tara, don’t play games with me. We’re on our own, both of us. And you like me, don’t you? I’m not so bad!’

  He rolled towards her. Heat seemed to flow from him in waves and the rank body odour turned her stomach. As his hand slipped through the opening of the loosely tied robe she rolled away across the narrow bed deftly missing the chest. He followed her but less adroitly; his leg caught the corner of the chest, rocking it, and he swore violently.

  ‘Argh! Bitch! Where do you think you are going? Come back here!’

  He lumbered towards her, trapped between bed and wall. The pain of his barked shin had inflamed his passion still further; weeks of frustration burned in his blood and crawled on his greasy skin.

  ‘Keep away from me!’ she warned him.

  The rasp of his fevered breathing came closer and his bulky shadow blotted out the pale light filtering in through the window. He reached for her, closing in, and as he did so she brought her knee up in the time-honoured defence she had learned in the back streets of Sydney. It was a trick she had not used since those long-gone days but it had never failed then and it did not fail now. As her knee connected with his groin he caught his breath and doubled up in agony. Contemptuously she pushed past him.

  ‘Now get out of my room!’ she ordered.

  ‘You bitch!’ he growled, still holding himself.

  ‘Get out this instant unless you want Tina to know what you’ve tried on. Out!’ she threw open the door and stood waiting for him to go.

  ‘OK, OK, I go. But you’ve been asking for this. Begging!’

  ‘Out, you old fool!’

  He lumbered past her still groaning and she slammed the door after him leaning her weight against it. He wouldn’t try anything else tonight. But
there would be other times when they were alone; other nights. If she had been undecided before about whether to leave Darwin or stay, now her mind was made up. She would not spend another night under the same roof as that dirty old goat.

  Tomorrow, as soon as it was light, she would pack her things, go down to the wharf and take up the offer of the passage on the Fortuna.

  Chapter Three

  Tara was just finishing her packing when Dimitri pushed open the door and walked in.

  ‘Hey, come on, we have work to do …’ He broke off. ‘ What do you think you are doing?’

  Tara slammed down the lid of the expensive pigskin suitcase that had been a present from Red.

  ‘I’m leaving. I’ve decided to take up the offer of a berth on the Fortuna.’

  ‘Leaving! You can’t! What am I supposed to do without you?’

  ‘I don’t know, Dimitri. But if things are as bad as everyone says they are you won’t have a business here much longer anyway.’ Tara turned to collect her few trinkets from the small chest. ‘ Look, I’m sorry, but there it is. Tina went, didn’t she? You didn’t try to stop her. And I may not get a chance like this again.’

  ‘Of all the ungrateful …’ Dimitri waved his hands expressively. ‘I have treated you like one of the family, Tara.’

  ‘Huh!’

  ‘It is true!’

  ‘You’re over familiar with me if that’s what you mean. Barging into my room without knocking for one thing – and as for that episode last night …

  He coloured. ‘I had been drinking. Men do many things when they have been drinking.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear your excuses,’ she said.

  ‘It’s not an excuse. Besides, I had every reason to think …’

  ‘Because you kept me working here, I suppose. For that I am supposed to fall into bed with you out of gratitude. Gratitude! For the privilege of being treated like a drudge!’

  ‘You can’t go!’ he protested. ‘I won’t let you!’

  She picked up her suitcase. ‘Try stopping me. And you owe me two weeks’ wages, by the way.’

  ‘Two weeks …!’ He was almost speechless. ‘ I can’t pay you just like that – and I wouldn’t if I could! You see – you’ll have to wait. Don’t go until the end of the week.’

  Tara sighed. ‘If I wait until the end of the week I shall have missed the boat. No, I shall just have to let you have a forwarding address when I get wherever I’m going and trust you to send it on to me.’

  ‘You’ll be lucky!’

  ‘Yes, I thought you would say that. Still there are sometimes things which are more important than money. I’m going now – if you would please get out of my way.’

  ‘No!’ As if suddenly making up his mind he positioned himself in the doorway. ‘No, I refuse to let you pass. Soon the boat will sail and then you will have to stay.’

  ‘Out of my way you old fool or you’ll get more of what I gave you last night!’ she moved towards him purposefully and he sidestepped smartly.

  ‘Tara …’

  ‘Goodbye, Dimitri, I’m sure you’ll manage without me.’

  His reply was in his native language but without the help of an interpreter Tara still knew what he meant to convey and she smiled to herself as she ran down the stairs her suitcase bumping against her leg. Dimitri was not well pleased! Well, tough luck. If he had been fair with her she might have taken her chances and stayed to help him out. As it was he could look for someone else to do the cooking and washing up and share his bed. She was not going to stand for it any longer.

  She let herself out of the house and into the small garden. The sky was clear as yet, the sun high and bright in defiance of the lowering clouds that would soon gather and thicken to herald the daily downpour, but the air was heavy with the bitter sweet scent of henna and Tara felt the beginnings of a headache, legacy of an almost sleepless night, throb in her left temple. She walked down the path between the crotons, garish almost in their bright autumn hues, and hibiscus, red and pink against the lush green foliage. Pawpaws overhung them in pendulous clusters and Tara reached up and picked one, biting into its delicious juicy flesh.

  How long would it be before she ate again? She did not know but it was the least of her worries. She was leaving Darwin, she was leaving Dimitri, and she was leaving the threat of invasion. If she was putting herself in danger from Red once more, well, there were only so many things a person could worry about at any one time.

  As she drove her ambulance along the Esplanade with yet another supply of comforts for the hospital ship Manunda, Alys had a perfect view of the harbour but the sight of all the ships gathered there did not disturb her as they had disturbed James Crawford.

  War is terrible, Alys reminded herself. But it made no difference to the way she felt – the sharp needle edged thrill, half fear half something else – a primeval emotion handed down from the beginning of time and conjuring up a dozen pictures coloured in the green and gold of glory, the scarlet of freshly spilled blood … Roman legions marching, Royalists and Roundheads clashing in sunlit clearings, cavalry at full gallop heads held high and unafraid … Into the valley of death rode the six hundred …

  War is terrible, she reminded herself. But at the same time she was honest enough to admit that it had brought her alive in a way that nothing had ever done before.

  On the Esplanade Alys stopped her ambulance outside the post office, a solid stone building where so much of Darwin was timber and corrugated iron. The previous evening she had written a letter to her mother explaining why she was not coming home and she was anxious to post it as soon as possible. But there was a long queue waiting to be served and Alys thought she had better not wait. She was already running a little late for she had been delayed at Red Cross HQ while a missing consignment of comforts was located.

  The clock in the post office said 9.45 a.m. Alys waved to Iris Bald, the postmaster’s twenty-year-old-daughter, who was just passing through with a library book under her arm, and wondered why she was not at her desk in the Taxation Office where she worked. Then she stopped for a moment under the veranda to check her private mailbox and turned back to her ambulance. Get the comforts delivered and then she would come back to post her letter.

  She was driving towards the harbour when she saw the aeroplanes. At first she took no notice. There was always activity in the skies over Darwin – if it was not the Aussie Wirraways it was the American planes who used the base. Then something in the sound of the engines made her uneasy. They did not sound like Wirraway, Kittyhawks or Hudsons. They sounded heavier and more ominous …

  And suddenly there were objects besides the aircraft in the sky – slender objects catching the light of the morning sun as they fell. Alys gasped, jamming on her brakes and feeling a slow sharp edge of terror slice up her spine. It couldn’t be a raid – could it? There had been no warning.

  At that very moment the siren began to wail.

  Tara was on the wharf when the Japanese bombers came. It was an ugly and inconvenient structure supported on steel and wooden piles which jutted out into the harbour from Stokes Hill then dog-legged through an angle of 90° to run parallel with the shore and provide berths for two ships, a large one on the outside and a smaller one on the inner. On the landward end of the wharf a locomotive pulled the trucks to and fro, but it could not negotiate the acute angle of the dogleg and to overcome the problem a turntable operated by a donkey engine had been installed. Trucks were shunted onto this turntable two at a time then pushed by hand one at a time to the waiting ships.

  As on the previous day the harbour was crowded. Two vessels were unloading and it was for one of these that Tara was making. Back in the docks she had enquired for the Fortuna and the man she had asked had pointed to the ship tied up at the outside berth. At the time it had seemed like good fortune not to have to find a launch to take her out to the Fortuna. Now, as she lugged her suitcase along the seemingly never-ending length of the pier, she was not so sure.


  Oh, it was so hot! Early as it was the atmosphere was suffocating, made heavier, it seemed, by the clouds of steam rising from the hardworking locomotive and impregnated by the sharp whiffs from the iron ore loading jetty and the bitumen plant. Tara’s head throbbed with every step she took, her arm ached from the weight of her suitcase and she thought she was starting a blister on one heel.

  At the dogleg angle of the wharf she paused, setting down her suitcase and idly watching the engine shunt a couple of trucks onto the turntable. Two wharfies were waiting for them, swarthy little monkeys of men in vests and shorts, their muscles hard and rippling beneath skin tanned to burnished leather by constant exposure to the sun.

  As the trucks angled off onto their section of rail they took charge, calling their intentions to one another then man-handling them on their way with the ease of toys.

  ‘Smoke-oh!’ A shout close at hand startled Tara and she turned to see another wharfie standing in the open doorway of a shed which also occupied the dogleg. He was a larger man than either of the ones working on the trucks, with a beer pot which hung over the top of his shorts and heavy, unshaven jowls. The one who got out of manual work as much as possible, obviously; the self-appointed tea-maker. ‘Smoke-oh!’ he bellowed again, then leered at Tara. ‘You want a cup, darlin’?’

  Tara shook her head and picked up her case once more. Wharfies were drifting down the jetty now in groups, making for the recreation shed; they ogled and whistled at her as they passed. As she came closer to the two ships that were tied up she felt the first niggle of doubt. The smaller one on the inside berth was a freighter, the Barossa. But the other was a much bigger ship than she had expected. Officers from a ship as impressive as that one did not usually dine at the Savalis’ place, for all Dimitri’s delusions of grandeur.

  Another wharfie was heading towards her and Tara approached him.

  ‘Excuse me, is that the Fortuna?’