Far From Home (29 page)

He gave a deep sigh as he squinted out over the sparkling water. ‘It has everything a man could wish for.’

She heard the wistfulness in his voice and could see it in his eyes as he continued to stare out to sea. ‘You miss it dreadfully, don’t you?’ she said softly.

‘Reckon I do,’ he admitted. ‘It’s God’s own country, Cissy,’ he said, his gaze returning to her. ‘I wish I could show it to you.’

‘Describe it for me, Joe,’ she said softly. ‘Let me see it as you do.’

‘Let’s have some tucker first,’ he said, as he dug into the deep pocket of his coat and pulled out four bottles of beer and a packet of sandwiches. ‘I thought that as it was such a nice day, we’d have a picnic.’ He carefully folded the long coat over the arm of the bench and settled down to his beer, his hat tipped back, face lifted to the sunshine.

They sat in companionable silence for a long moment, just enjoying the beer, each other’s company and the chicken sandwiches. Cissy was at ease with him in a way she’d never felt with a man before, and she kept glancing at him through her lashes, wondering if he realised how little she knew of the world and how naïve she really was despite her pretensions of sophistication – and if he had realised, was he bothered by it? It suddenly mattered quite a lot that he wasn’t.

He seemed relaxed enough, with one booted foot on the knee of the other leg, his free arm stretched along the back of the bench within inches of her shoulder as he continued to soak up the sun and drink his beer. But then, she rationalised, he was a man of the world – a man who had seen things she could never imagine – a man who no doubt was used to sitting beside girls in the sunshine.

The sandwiches had been eaten, the wrappers stowed back in the deep coat pockets and the last two beers had been opened. Settling comfortably on the stone bench, he tugged his hat-brim low to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare on the water and began to speak.

‘I was born in Sydney twenty-five years ago,’ he drawled in that slightly nasal twang. ‘My mum and dad still live there and it’s a bonzer place, but by the time I’d left school, I was restless. It’s a big country, Cissy, and I wanted to see as much of it as I could before I had to settle down.’

Cissy’s heart thumped at the thought he might be married.

He grinned down at her, seeming to read her thoughts. ‘I’m still fancy free,’ he drawled, ‘if you don’t count the seven hundred square miles of property and four thousand head of cattle I run on it.’

‘Seven hundred square miles?’ she breathed, unable to comprehend any farm being that big.

He shrugged as if this was commonplace. ‘It’s not much compared to some, why, there’s cattle stations out there over two thousand miles square. But I do all right.’

Cissy listened to the slow, drawling voice which held the very essence of his homeland, and found it soothed and yet excited her. He was so different to anyone she’d ever met before – almost exotic, with that deeply tanned skin and strong features that could soften so quickly into a smile.

She listened as he told her how he’d moved from place to place, learning the skills that would one day help him to run his own cattle station. He described the homestead he’d built at Wallaby Creek so well, she could see the fly-screens over the door and windows, and how the sweeping corrugated-iron roof dipped past the sturdy stone chimney to shelter the deep verandah from the sun.

His words painted pictures of mile upon mile of dusty red earth that shimmered beneath a cloudless sky, and the hazy blue of a distant chain of mountains. She could almost hear the raucous chatter of the white cockatoos as they raided the grain stores, and the rustle of the hot wind in the sweet-smelling eucalyptus trees that looked so silvery-grey and delicate against the cobalt sky. And when he told her about the long days he and his men had spent in the saddle as they drove the cattle to market, she could almost hear the jingle of harness, the bellow of the cattle, and taste the dust kicked up by the many hooves.

Cissy watched him as he talked of his home, and could see the love for it shining in his eyes. This was a man from a very different country – a man who belonged in the great red heart of Australia, who was at home in the awesome outback silence with his cattle and the heat and the flies. How small England must feel, she thought. How dull and colourless he must think we all are after being surrounded by such vibrancy.

‘I could have stayed,’ he said finally, ‘beef cattle are vital for feeding the army – but I wanted to be with my mates, and I could trust Wally and Sam to look after the place while I was gone. My dad fought in the first war, and we Aussie blokes don’t like sitting back while there’s a fight on – we have a reputation to keep.’

He grinned as he looked back at her. ‘So, that’s my story, Cissy. Now it’s your turn. And I want to know
everything
.’ There was a teasing light in his eyes that made her blush.

‘It’s not half as interesting as yours,’ she replied, ‘and there’s hardly anything to tell. I’m almost nineteen, and I’ve lived in the same house since I was born. After I left school, I got a job dancing and worked in Woolworths part-time until it was bombed out. I’ve got two much younger brothers who’ve been evacuated to Somerset, and an older sister, Anne, who is married to an RAF pilot. She’s expecting her first baby in the new year.’

She fell silent, not wanting to tell him about her dancing and the ambitions that had dwindled over the past few weeks. It would simply make her look foolish, and she so desperately wanted him to like her. ‘That’s about it really,’ she said shyly. ‘I did warn you it was a bit boring.’

‘Not at all,’ he protested. ‘It’s just a different sort of life to mine, that’s all – and if it hadn’t been for this war, I would never have left home or seen anything of the world at all.’ He fell silent for a moment. ‘Your mum and dad seem real nice,’ he murmured. ‘That’s quite a houseful you’ve got there. How are you all coping with the bombing raids and the rationing?’

Cissy grimaced. ‘We manage, and although it’s terrifying when those bombers come over, we’re getting a bit fed up with having meals and sleep and every other thing interrupted. As for the rationing, Mum and Mrs Finch do very well, and those chickens are a godsend.’ She grinned back at him. ‘Thanks to you, we had fried eggs for breakfast instead of the usual powdered stuff. They were delicious.’

He shrugged off her thanks. ‘No worries. I just wish we could have brought more stuff, but the MPs are keeping a closer eye on the stores. They seem to think someone’s been pilfering tea and butter and suchlike.’ He chuckled. ‘Those flaming chickens nearly did for us, squawking and carrying on, with the guard right on the other side of the wall. Luckily he was too busy chatting to one of the WAAFs to take much notice.’

‘Mrs Finch was right,’ laughed Cissy. ‘You are a rogue.’

‘Fair go, Cissy, a bloke’s got to do what a bloke’s got to do. There is a war on, you know.’ His smile slowly faded as he looked at her. ‘Can you stay with me a while? Spend my last evening with me? Or do you have to go back to the theatre for tonight’s show?’

‘What about June?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘Won’t she be expecting to see you on your last night?’

He shook his head. ‘June and me had a bit of fun together, but we’re just mates. She won’t mind if I don’t turn up with the others tonight. There’ll be plenty of other blokes about to keep her occupied.’

Cissy doubted June would see it that way but wasn’t going to argue her case with him. The wonder that he wanted to spend the rest of the day and his last evening with her was overwhelming, and she forgot about June, forgot about Witherspoon and the theatre, and threw caution to the wind.

‘They won’t miss me if I don’t turn up at the theatre,’ she said quickly. ‘Besides, my ankle’s still too sore after rehearsing all morning.’ She grinned up at him impishly. ‘Let’s go and find a cup of tea, and you can tell me more about Wallaby Creek Station.’

Polly had returned from her long walk and, despite the heavy weariness in her limbs, her mind was still racing. She had gone straight into the kitchen in search of something to drink, and, as she’d feared, Peggy had heard her come in and was now hovering anxiously in the doorway.

‘I’m all right,’ she said firmly, after gulping down the glass of water. ‘Please don’t worry about me, Peggy.’

‘But …’

‘I know you mean well,’ Polly said softly, ‘but I really don’t want to talk about anything right now.’ She washed the glass and upended it on the draining board. With a glance at the clock, she gathered up her things. ‘I must get ready for work. Visiting starts in an hour, and I want to see Adam before my shift starts.’

Peggy was still blocking the doorway. ‘But I sent a note to Matron, telling her you wouldn’t be in for at least two weeks,’ she said, wringing her hands. ‘It’s too soon, Polly, dear. You can’t possibly go back to work yet.’

‘I have to, Peggy, or I shall go mad,’ she said hoarsely, her throat restricted as the tears threatened yet again. ‘If I sit about all day I won’t be able to escape it. I’m better off working and concentrating on something useful.’

‘I see,’ murmured Peggy. She sighed. ‘You know best, of course,’ she said, her brown eyes warm with sympathy, ‘but you mustn’t overdo things.’ She licked her lips, clearly hesitant about saying more. ‘Have you decided what to tell Adam?’

Polly was on the brink of giving in to the tears, and furiously blinked them away. ‘He’s not well enough yet, and I can’t afford for him to have a relapse – not now – especially not now.’ She glanced at the clock again, desperate to be away. ‘I’m sorry, Peggy, but I really must get changed.’

Peggy stood to one side as she dashed past and ran up the stairs. Without giving herself time to think, Polly swiftly changed into her uniform and cleaned her teeth. Eyeing her reflection in the mirror above the gas fire, she put powder over the dark shadows beneath her eyes, mascara on her lashes and the tiniest dab of rouge on her cheeks. Her hand was shaking so badly that she had to reapply her lipstick twice.

Taking a deep breath, she looked into her reflected eyes and forced herself to smile. The muscles in her face felt stiff, the smile barely warming her grey eyes, but this was the face Adam would see tonight, she thought determinedly, and even if it was agony, she would just keep on smiling.

‘See you tomorrow morning,’ she called out to Peggy, who was crashing saucepans in the kitchen.

With the front door firmly closed behind her, she ran down the steps and hurried towards the hospital. She needed to see Adam, to hold his hand and hear his voice – to find the reassurance and strength his very presence always gave her. Even if it meant looking him in the eye and keeping the awful truth from him as she smiled and chattered about nothing in particular.

Mary was sitting at her desk in the centre of the ward, and when she looked up, Polly could see the shock in her eyes. It was clear that her news had spread, so at least she didn’t have to go through long, painful explanations.

‘You’re not supposed to be on duty tonight,’ said Mary, who seemed to understand that if she touched her or tried to sympathise it would be too painful. ‘Adam’s asleep, I’m afraid, but he seemed a little more coherent this afternoon.’

‘Thanks, Mary.’

Polly forced a smile and kept it in place as she hurried to Adam’s bedside. Sitting down, she reached for his hand. It was warm and oh so familiar despite the lack of strength in the fingers and the softness of the skin. She held it against her cheek and had to bite her lip to stop herself from pouring out her pain and despair. She had never kept secrets from him before, and it was far harder than she could possibly have imagined.

‘Polly?’

She rapidly pulled her thoughts together and plastered on a smile. ‘Hello, darling,’ she murmured. ‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Tired,’ he said on a sigh, ‘and my head hurts.’ He didn’t open his eyes; it seemed the light was bothering him.

She looked at him in alarm. ‘You mean you’ve got a headache?’

‘It’s a blinder,’ he replied, wincing as he rolled his head on the pillow. ‘Do you think you could persuade Sister to give me something for it?’

‘I’ll ask, but I doubt she will,’ said Polly. ‘You’re already on so many other things.’ She felt his forehead. He was too warm, and there were high spots of colour blossoming on his cheeks. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ she murmured, kissing his hot cheek.

She did her best to keep the panic out of her voice, but the tremor betrayed it. ‘Mary, I think Adam’s temperature’s up, and he’s complaining of a headache.’

‘It was up a little this morning,’ said Mary, leaving her desk, ‘but he made no mention of a headache.’ She bustled to Adam’s bedside and took the thermometer from the small tube of disinfectant that was on the wall above his bed. Giving it a shake, she carefully placed it under his tongue as she checked his pulse.

Polly watched anxiously as Mary checked the thermometer and noted down her findings on his chart. Her friend was giving nothing away in her expression. ‘He hasn’t got an infection, has he?’ she asked fearfully.

‘I don’t think so, but I’ll need to get the duty doctor to come and give him the once-over.’ She shot Polly a warm smile. ‘Don’t worry, Polly, I’m sure it’s nothing serious.’

Polly remained at Adam’s bedside, holding his hand, talking to him in murmurs as he lay with his eyes closed. She could tell he was in pain, and she felt utterly helpless. Why didn’t the doctor hurry up?