Beyond the Horizon (14 page)

Matthew took the handful of glass capsules and the needle. The medical rule was that victims suffering stomach or head wounds were not to be given morphine. Surely Saul must have known that, Matthew thought, and was about to reject the offer when the realisation hit him. He exchanged a pitiful look with Saul, who now turned and slowly walked away.

Joanne had her eyes closed as Matthew prepared the syringe. His hands shook so badly that he dropped the needle, but he picked it up and wiped away the sand.

‘Matthew my love,' Joanne muttered and Matthew leaned over to kiss her lips, dry and chaffed from the sun. As he did so he slid the needle into her arm and gently pushed down on the pump. Joanne opened her eyes at the prick of the needle and smiled at Matthew. ‘I love you with all my body and soul,' she said. ‘Thank you, my love. Love our children . . .' Her voice trailed away as the powerful drug took hold.

Matthew cradled her head in his lap and stroked her hair until her breathing stopped and her eyes glazed over in death. Then he was racked with a pain and a sobbing that seemed as though it would never end. Saul stood close, his hand on his shoulder.

‘She's at peace,' he said softly. ‘She is with the angels.'

Benjamin and Adar removed their head gear out of respect for the remarkable young woman. It appeared that the Turks had fled and the small party was not in any immediate danger, so they remained on the hilltop until late afternoon. Matthew stayed by Joanne's body, talking to her as if she were still alive.

Saul was satisfied that the Turkish patrol had cleared the area but still remained cautious as there was a chance that they were rallying to pursue them. He was anxious to get away, but did not want to disturb Matthew in his last moments with Joanne.

When the sun was low on the horizon, in that time before the arid lands took on the coolness of the star-filled night, Saul and Benjamin buried Joanne in the hard earth, finding rocks to mark her gravesite. There was nothing more that Saul could do for her, so he turned his attention to Matthew, who sat on a rock holding Joanne's revolver in his hand, staring blankly into the distance.

Saul walked over to him. ‘We will leave under cover of darkness,' he said. ‘I am certain that Joanne will expect you to look after your son and daughter, so don't go and get yourself killed.'

Matthew did not look up or reply. Eventually, though, he rose and tucked the pistol into the waistband of his trousers. Saul felt a great sense of relief as he had feared his friend might choose to join Joanne in death.

Matthew rode in silence on Joanne's tough little mare. The four men picked their way westward towards Jerusalem under a sky of spectacular stars. They stopped in the early hours of the morning to tend to one of the horses that had gone lame, and Matthew joined Saul examining the horse's hoof by kerosene lantern light.

‘I killed her,' Matthew choked. ‘I killed her.'

Saul was bent over the horse's foot. ‘No, Matthew,' he said, looking up, ‘the war killed her. You ended her suffering, you gave her peace, but you were not responsible for her death.'

Matthew stood silently for a moment. ‘If it hadn't been for me, she would have been safely back in Cairo.'

Saul eased down the horse's leg and stretched wearily. ‘She loved you, Matthew. She would have done anything to make sure you were safe. You would have done the same for her. There's nothing more important in this world than love, and Joanne died knowing that. She would want you to carry her love with you into your life, into the lives of your children. Don't waste the gift she has given you, old cobber.' Saul embraced his friend; he could feel Matthew's body shaking with grief.

‘Thanks, my friend,' Matthew said eventually and broke from the embrace to walk back to his horse.

He knew now that he must ensure the futures of his children – it was all that mattered now. One day he would be buried in these ancient, biblical lands beside Joanne – when his own time came to him for that endless peace. Matthew had often heard Saul use both the Hebrew and Arabic words for peace. After love, peace was the next most beautiful word in the universe.

13

S
ean Duffy hated the winter charity ball season. He was never comfortable in the company of Sydney's elite, who knew nothing of the hell of war. Civilians would prattle on about shortages, about no longer being able to buy the luxuries they had once taken for granted. It infuriated Sean, who knew that just being safe and well was a luxury soldiers fighting in the war had long since foregone. He had only accepted the invitation to tonight's ball because it was raising funds for wounded servicemen.

Sean was standing in the glittering ballroom of one of Sydney's best hotels, surrounded by elaborately dressed men and women, a handful in uniform. He propped himself on his walking cane, glancing around at the throng of laughing guests. He had attended unescorted – his work and, to an extent, his drinking, left little time to socialise with the eligible ladies of Sydney. He wore a black suit and bow tie and wore his medals in miniature, as required by protocol.

A solicitor he knew from a rival firm greeted him, extending his hand. Sean racked his brain for the man's name. Clarence Hurley, that was it. He was the same age as Sean, but heavy, with a red flush to his face that indicated a taste for good ports.

‘Major Duffy, old chap,' he said, shaking Sean's hand with a limp, sweaty grip. ‘No need for you to avail yourself of charity, not from the way your firm is fairing. But it's grand that you bring some colour to the place and, with your gammy legs, a reminder of why we have spent our hard-earned money to be here.'

‘The men we are gathered here to support have given a lot more than money,' Sean said quietly, fixing the pompous man directly in the eyes and causing him to look away sheepishly. Sean had never liked his learned colleague much; he had resigned his military commission with a militia regiment at the outbreak of war to pursue a career in politics. He had gained a seat in the state parliament but maintained his legal firm. Sean had heard rumours that Hurley was George Macintosh's fix-it man in the government.

Hurley looked over Sean's shoulder. ‘Excuse me, old chap,' he said. ‘Someone I really must talk to,' and he hurried away.

Sean leaned on his cane, hoping a waiter might pass by with a tray loaded with drinks. The band struck up a waltz and the crowd gave way to dancers, who swirled across the highly polished floor.

‘Hello, Sean,' said a voice behind him. Sean fought the feeling that he might topple over. ‘I think you should find a seat.'

Sean turned to see Louise standing an arm's length away. The sight of her beautiful face caught him offguard and he couldn't speak. The old feelings welled up and memories of their lovemaking flashed through his mind.

‘Hello, Louise,' he finally answered. ‘It's good to see you. It's been a long time. What? A year or more?'

Louise's smile flickered with uncertainty at the mention of their last encounter. They had been lovers until George had threatened to take their son from her, although Sean was not aware of the reason she had broken off the affair.

‘Where is your husband?' Sean asked, leaning hard on his walking stick.

‘Oh, I daresay he is off plotting another scheme to enrich the Macintosh coffers,' she answered, glancing around the room.

‘Is it wise for you to be seen speaking with me?' Sean asked.

‘I cannot think why anyone who knows me would see any scandal in that tonight,' Louise said softly. ‘After all, when I look around I do not see many other men wearing decorations for bravery. This event is a kind of recognition for those who have sacrificed so much, too much.' Sean knew that Louise was making reference to his legs, which had been blown off in the trenches by a German artillery round; he was not offended, and it had never worried her in the depths of passion.

‘It's good to see you looking so well,' he said as a waiter appeared and Louise took two small flutes of champagne from his tray.

‘Why don't we sit down for a moment,' she said, and led him to a table with several free chairs.

Sean was astute enough to notice two matrons putting their heads together behind the fans they waved, to tut-tut about him being seen in the company of Mrs George Macintosh. Sean ignored their snooty looks and sat down beside Louise. For a moment they watched the dancers swirl past in a foxtrot.

Sean took a swig of his champagne. ‘Giselle tells me that she receives a steady stream of news from you in your letters,' Sean said by way of polite conversation, trying to ignore the desire that was flooding through his body.

‘She and David are coming down for Christmas. I am so looking forward to seeing them. It was George's idea, oddly enough. I am hoping that this is my husband's way of mending broken bridges.'

‘It was George's idea?' Sean frowned.

Louise did not miss his dark expression. ‘I know that George can be ruthless in his business dealings, but I also think he may be capable of some charity.'

Sean snorted, but before he could say anything the man he hated most in the world appeared at the table, his face full of fury.

‘Louise, you will accompany me back to our guests,' he said, ignoring Sean.

‘Your wife was just discussing how the proceeds of tonight's ball should be administered,' Sean lied. ‘Perhaps she and I might discuss the matter a little longer.'

‘Keep out of this, Duffy,' George snapped. ‘I will not allow you, a damned cripple, to question my right to command my wife.'

Sean could feel his anger boiling over into rage but this ballroom was no place to start a scene. ‘Commanding is something I know a little about,' Sean replied icily. ‘But have I never applied the word to women.'

George Macintosh looked Sean up and down, as though weighing him up and then dismissing him as being beneath his attention. ‘I do what I like,' Duffy,' he said. ‘You are not playing soldier boy with your men any more. You are in my world now, and I would remind you of that.'

‘Is that a threat?' Sean countered. ‘If so, I doubt you would be man enough to carry it out yourself. Who will you hire – Detective Inspector Firth? Or will the threat come from some hoodlum you have on your payroll? No matter, Macintosh – I will be ready.'

A silence had fallen around the men as people strained to hear what they were saying.

‘George, I will accompany you back to our table,' Louise said wearily, rising from her chair. ‘This is no place for grown men to fight.'

Sean did not stop her but continued to fix George's eyes with his own. ‘I am sorry we did not have the opportunity to finish our conversation,' he said to Louise, still keeping George's glare. ‘Another time.'

George took his wife by the wrist and pulled her after him. Sean watched them go, picked up his flute of champagne and turned to those still watching avidly. ‘Cheers,' he said, raising his glass in a mock toast. They looked away with embarrassment. No doubt the heated exchange would be all the talk in Sydney's upper-class parlours tomorrow, but Sean did not care.

All he could think about was Louise. How beautiful she was; how much he missed her. Then he remembered that George had suggested she invite Giselle and her son down for Christmas.
A leopard does not change its spots
, Sean thought. There was something wrong, and George's words – ‘You are in my world now' – brought that fear into focus. If Giselle and her son were to come to Sydney they would be in George's world, and Sean knew how murderous that could be.

Not bothering to excuse himself from the table, he made his way to the exit. He had put in an appearance and given everyone something to talk about, and now it was time to be alone to think. He knew his own life was in danger – because of his connection to Giselle and David. Sean had sworn an oath to Patrick Duffy before he was killed in action that he would protect Alexander's family. But with Harry still locked up awaiting a bail application, and him with his crippled legs, Sean didn't think he stood much chance if Macintosh set his hired thugs on him.

Before he left the room he looked back to see Louise watching him with an enigmatic expression. He smiled and nodded his head, and carried the memory of her out into the night.

George refused to speak to Louise on the journey home in the chauffeured limousine, but as soon as they were inside the house he turned on her savagely.

‘How dare you speak with that man?' he snarled. ‘Do you wish to make me the laughing stock of Sydney?'

Louise brushed past him into the spacious foyer of their palatial home. ‘The servants will hear you, George,' she hushed.

‘I don't give a damn if they do,' George shouted, and Louise could see that he was in a dangerous rage. ‘I explicitly told you that you were to have no contact with him.'

‘I was merely engaging in harmless chitchat,' Louise replied mildly, trying not to show how frightened she was. ‘It was, after all, an event to raise money for Major Duffy's comrades who have been wounded as he has.'

George gripped her arm and brought his face close to hers. ‘Do you still hold feelings for him?'

Louise attempted to step away, smelling the alcohol on his breath. ‘No, he is nothing to me now, merely someone I once knew.'

The back-handed blow to her face sent Louise reeling back and smashing against the wall. She could feel that her lip was split and her thoughts spun in a shower of stars. She sank to the floor, tears welling as much from indignation as pain. She struggled to sit up, aware that her husband was now towering over her. Inflicting pain had changed his expression to that of sadistic pleasure.

‘I would not strike me again if I were you,' Louise said, looking up at him defiantly.

‘I will do what I damn well like to my property,' George sneered.

‘I can inform you that I am with child again and you might damage your
unborn
property,' Louise said, and George's expression changed. He occasionally forced entry to her bed, to prove his virility more than anything else.

‘How long have you known?' he asked.

‘A week or two,' Louise said. ‘But do not think that my pregnancy has made me joyous. I shudder every time I think that I am simply bearing you heirs to this empire built on innocent blood.'

George glared at his wife, then turned around and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. No doubt he was off to visit one of his many mistresses, she thought bitterly. Her life was nothing but a sham; from the outside they looked like the model couple. George could be so charming, but Louise knew that beneath the veneer of good manners lurked a man without a soul. She thought of Sean and his tender love for her, and the tears of pain turned to tears of sorrow. Oh, how she had missed him, but this pregnancy sealed her fate with her husband. She would grow old raising her children and in her latter days remember the strong, courageous and intelligent man who had once loved her so passionately. So often she had considered divorce, but she knew that divorce would bring the full weight of George's wrath down on her head and she would lose her children to him. She could not approach her father for help – he would only remind her of the duties of a wife. She had nowhere to turn, and the only friend she could confide in was a thousand miles north in Queensland.

Louise raised herself from the floor and stumbled to her bedroom. The servants had had the good sense to remain in their quarters. It did not pay to come between a man and his wife – especially if that man was their employer.

That night Louise lay staring up at the dark ceiling of her room. It was cold and she pulled up the thick eiderdown to stave off the chill. At least she would be seeing Giselle and David in a few months; maybe she would be able to talk her best friend into staying in Sydney for a while. Sleep did not come easily but as she slipped into the small death of the night she thought of the baby that she carried in her womb and tried to be glad.

George felt his rage turning to desire as his weary chauffeur drove him to one of the many tenements he owned in the inner city. It was not the worst of areas but it was still squalid and rough.

George made his way to the front door of the double-storeyed house and rapped on the big brass doorknocker. After a few minutes the door was opened to reveal a young woman. She had a shawl wrapped around her shoulders and wore a long, filmy nightdress. Her face was pale but pretty, and her long raven hair flowed over her shoulders.

‘It is you, Mr Macintosh,' she said, blinking away the sleep from her eyes. ‘It's the middle of the night.'

George pushed past her and immediately reached down to grasp her buttock and squeeze it. She did not attempt to shake him off. ‘It is late and I need to sleep,' she said.

‘I pay for you and you do what I want,' George said savagely, taking her by the hand and leading her to the narrow stairs. ‘You know what I want.'

Maude Urqhart let him take her upstairs. Maude had left the slums and her abusive father when she was eleven. She had become an urchin on the hard backstreets of Sydney, where she turned to prostitution to survive. Maude was a streetwise and ambitious young woman who had decided that she wanted more from her life. She'd met the eminent George Macintosh at the brothel and discovered that she could manipulate him by pandering to his perverse needs. It was not long before he proposed to free her from her constant stream of clients and moved her into one of his tenements for his exclusive use. Maude had happily accepted the position of his mistress, and the money he gave her provided freedom from the streets.

Out of curiosity Maude had once travelled across the city to the Macintosh mansion on the harbour. She had stood outside the gates of the big sprawling house with its manicured gardens and had seen a woman exit with a toddler. Maude guessed that the lady with the boy was George's wife and she felt a surge of jealous anger towards her, not because she was married to George but because she lived in such luxury and had the air of one born to money. Why should this woman have so much and she have so little? Maude wanted those privileges for herself.