Sunset Ridge (38 page)

‘They're marvellous,' Madeleine told her. ‘Do you know anything else about them?'

Sheila took a sip of the black coffee Sonia handed her. ‘Only what Mum told me yesterday. A few garbled stories have been passed down through the family. Whether there's any truth to them is another matter. One story is that Miss Waites died of a broken heart; another is that she left Banyan in the 1920s after your grandfather married. She was engaged at one stage, but I don't think she married locally. She did live in the Banyan boarding house for quite a while and it's said she kept to herself and didn't have many friends, except for a young girl by the name of Corally Shaw, whom she taught for a couple of years.'

‘What happened to Corally?' Madeleine asked, aware of Sonia's eyes on Sheila.

‘Who knows? That's about all I can tell you, Madeleine, but I would like to loan these to you for the exhibition if it goes ahead.'

Madeleine walked around the kitchen table and hugged Sheila. ‘How can I ever repay you?'

Sheila grinned and lit another cigarette. ‘Send me an invite to the opening night. I love a good party.'

They shook hands. ‘You're on,' Madeleine promised.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chessy farmhouse,
ten miles from Saint-Omer,
northern France
August 1917

Thaddeus and Dave stood at the edge of the pond, camouflaged by the drooping branches of a willow tree. It was cool beneath the canopy and they waited patiently, enjoying the soft feel of the air and the scents of still water and stacked hay.

‘How come you and Harold aren't mates anymore?' Dave could tell that the question caught Thaddeus off guard. It wasn't the first time he had broached the subject. ‘You barely talk to each other, and the other day in the trench I thought you two were going to have another fight.'

‘It's a bit hard for him, I expect. We've always been –'

‘Competitive?' Dave suggested.

‘And now I outrank him.'

That didn't seem to be a good enough reason for Dave. ‘But you were friends first.'

There was a scuffle to the left of them and the brothers squatted at the tree's base, expecting an angry Frenchman to appear. Branches rustled and Dave reached automatically for his pistol. Thaddeus placed a hand over the barrel and lowered the weapon to the ground.

‘We're not at the front now, Dave,' he said gently, as Luther and Harold appeared through the tight knit of woodland.

‘Anything?' Thaddeus asked once Luther and Harold joined them.

‘Nothing,' Harold replied. ‘Not even a farmer.'

They were half a mile from the Chessy holding, on land belonging to another farmer. ‘It beats me how they manage to produce so much off such small acreage,' Thaddeus said as they looked across the surface of the pond. The water was pale green, with a third of its surface covered in water lilies. Birds darted across the water to the far bank, where thick trees fringed the lush herbage leading to the water's edge.

‘It seems a pity to ruin it,' Dave observed as they walked free of the willow tree. ‘It's so peaceful.'

‘Yeah, it is,' Harold agreed, ‘but I haven't had a decent feed of fish since I arrived over here.'

‘It's a bit different to th-the B-banyan River,' Luther admitted. ‘Prettier. I bet th-they don't have floods and droughts here.'

‘No, they've got wars,' Dave reminded him.

‘I still l-like it here,' Luther argued, ‘war or no war.'

‘That's because you're good at it,' Dave told him.

‘Good at what?' Luther replied.

‘Killing,' Dave said softly.

‘Stop talking.' Harold pointed over the water. ‘Did anyone hear that?'

Thaddeus scanned the far bank. ‘It could be an animal.'

Harold looked doubtful. ‘Something is moving over there.'

‘There'll be hell to pay if we get caught.' Thaddeus sounded testy.

‘Spoilsport,' Luther scoffed. Taking two grenades from a haversack, he walked to the edge of the pond and, after briefly checking the surrounds, pulled the pins and threw them into the water. There were consecutive bangs and then two great plumes of water broke the surface and speared the sky. The men watched as birds took flight and the liquid arced upwards and then fell back to land with a loud splash. The water rippled in concentric circles as dead fish rose up to float on the surface.

Luther turned to his mates, clearly pleased with himself. ‘D-dinner is served.'

From across the water they heard a series of yelps and then a group of naked men ran out from between the trees and dived into the pond.

‘Bloody hell,' Harold complained. ‘They're Aussies.'

‘Well, come on, th-then,' Luther yelled, pulling off his boots, ‘they'll be nothing l-left!' They dived into the water fully clothed and swam towards the floating fish.

‘Grab as many as you can!' Thaddeus spluttered, shoving a fish down his shirt front.

Great splashes of fragmented silver sprayed up into the air as the men tried to rescue their catch. Shouts and laughter sounded as fish slipped from lunging hands, until finally a punch was thrown. Harold emerged from the water with his slouch hat filled with fish. The other boys pulled fish from inside shirts and tunics, letting them drop at the edge of the pond.

‘You b-buggers!' Luther yelled at the retreating men. ‘You're m-meant to be on our side.'

‘Thanks, cobber!' a voice called from the far bank as five skinny buttocks disappeared into the foliage.

‘B-bloody Australians,' Luther muttered, before he burst out laughing.

 

Dave sat at Madame Chessy's kitchen table and deftly added a number of strokes to the defiant jawline. The Frenchwoman sat perfectly straight, her fine patrician nose and clear oval eyes immobile. A fire crackled in the hearth. Water bubbled in a pot swung across the flames. The room, although clammy, smoky and claustrophobic, was warm and safe. It was with reluctance that Dave added the finishing touches to the portrait. On the other side of the kitchen, Lisette sat quietly in a faded floral chair. There was a laying hen in a box at the girl's feet and although she pretended not to be interested Dave knew she examined him. He added a little shadowing, an effect that gave further contour to Madame's face.

Dave still wondered at the few brief lines recently received from Corally Shaw. He had written back immediately, assuring her of his wellbeing and thanking her. Although unexpected, it was nice to receive a letter from someone other than his mother, with content that didn't need to be shared. Both his brothers had received mail the day Thaddeus made sergeant, as well as Harold, and although Dave longed to query who their letters were from, a sense of privacy stopped him. They lived their lives like rats only feet from men who wanted to kill them; every day was spent in the company of others where nothing was private and life was a game of chance. Corally's note reinforced and fed his need for normalcy, and Dave silently thanked her for that.

David,

I wanted to tel you that I wory for you. I care for you.

Plese rite, Corally

‘
Fini
.' He slid the sketch across the table as the vibrations from the Allied bombardment continued to shake the few possessions on cupboards and shelves that encircled the room. Madame Chessy admired the work, pouring him a second glass of wine. Dave waved away an offer of more eggs and potato but drank the wine gratefully. It had surprised him how quickly he had developed a taste for alcohol. Despite his age it was accepted that he would drink as much as the rest of the men.

‘You are very good,' Madame Chessy announced in her heavy accent. She sat the sketch on the kitchen cupboard next to a picture of two boys in French uniforms.

‘Not so good.' Dave wiped slivers of charcoal from table to floor, recalling the day on the veranda at Sunset Ridge when Miss Waites had explained how to stop the fragile charcoal tip from falling to pieces. He had not thought of the governess for many weeks. ‘I'm still learning.'

The Frenchwoman's gaze lingered on her sons' picture. ‘I think you go soon,
oui
?'

Through the grubby window flashes of light haloed the horizon. ‘
Oui
,' Dave agreed. ‘In the morning, I think.' The Allied guns, which had been hammering away for a number of days, sounded as if they were only down the next road. There was a new offensive in the wind and although no one as yet knew the details, the whispers suggested a much larger push than that of Messines. Passchendaele lay on a ridge east of Ypres, and Thaddeus talked of a railway junction five miles away from this spot at a place called Roulers, a vital part of the supply system of the German Fourth Army. But first they had another work detail.

The Frenchwoman sipped her wine. Their raiding parties had produced two bottles of Scotch, a crate of wine and a side of veal. Combined with some potatoes and three chickens, which Lisette complained to Dave bore an uncanny resemblance to the hens from her father's farm, the takings had been good. Madame Chessy was overjoyed with the shared hoard.

‘You come back,
oui
?' the woman encouraged. ‘Then you draw Lisette.'

Dave longed for the opportunity, although the chance to sketch Lisette was secondary to his desire to touch the curve of a cheek, perhaps even press his lips against the redness of hers. It seemed such a small thing to want, yet it had become extraordinarily important to him since his receipt of Corally's letter. He didn't want to die never having kissed a woman.

‘Now?' he asked hopefully, the charcoal warm in his hand.

The Frenchwoman twirled the glass on the table. Dave suspected that she guessed his motives. Lisette glanced at the older woman.

‘Why did you come here?' Madame Chessy asked in French, gesturing with her hand for Lisette to translate. ‘You live so far away.'

‘To help. If the Germans were to invade France, where would they end up next?'

Lisette shifted forward in the chair. ‘My papa says we will be saved by the Allies, especially by
Australie
. You are very brave soldiers.' She repeated the sentence in French for the benefit of Madame Chessy.

Dave sat the piece of charcoal on the table. ‘We are no different from the rest.'

‘My boys thought you were,' the older woman disagreed. ‘They fought at Verdun.' She clucked her tongue. ‘Young men die for old men's mistakes.'

Lisette rose and, taking the picture from the mantelpiece, pointed out the Chessy twins to their visitor.

‘They say Antoine is missing in action, presumed dead. Francois is wounded.'

‘I'm very sorry.' The Frenchwoman's sons could not be much older than him. A distant memory interrupted his thoughts; a pile of bodies and a feral-looking dog. ‘Did you say Antoine? Your son is Antoine Chessy?'

Madame Chessy looked hopeful. ‘
Oui
.'

What was he to say, Dave wondered: that her son's identity discs had ended up around the neck of a dog? ‘I think I met someone who mentioned him,' he said slowly. ‘They said he was very brave.' He felt Lisette's eyes on him as she translated.

Madame Chessy sighed. ‘They say Francois may not survive. A nurse wrote to me from a field hospital many days' travel from here to tell me of his wounds. He has lost a leg and there is an infection of the bone making his recovery difficult.' She looked away while Lisette translated.

‘I'm very sorry,' Dave repeated, at a loss for something more effective to say.

‘Your Captain Egan tells me there are still passenger trains running but there are also many delays due to the movement of troops and munitions and other supplies. I would visit him but I cannot be sure I would only be gone for one week, and if I went, what would I come back to? And I could certainly not expect Lisette to stay here alone.'

Dave waited for Lisette to translate and then agreed that the times were difficult. An empty farmhouse might well be stripped of its contents if word leaked that the owner was away. The Allied soldiers were adept at scrounging for small comforts. As for Lisette, while there was always the chance of a wayward soldier taking advantage, she was fortunate not to be in an area closer to the front. The Germans took their occupation rights seriously and were not averse to raping French women, although it was equally true that some women acquiesced to their advances in order to survive.

‘I have nothing except this farm.' Madame Chessy's hand trembled as she brought the wine to her lips.

‘You can send him this drawing and perhaps the one of the farmhouse. Most of the soldiers I sketch send their portraits home to their families. You could do the same,' Dave suggested.

Madame Chessy clapped her hands and replied in English: ‘This I will do. Thank you.
Oui
,
oui
.'

Lisette topped up their wine glasses and poured water for herself. ‘There were explosions last month. They were very big.'

‘Messines,' Dave explained. ‘It was a series of underground mines. Tunnellers worked for months to lay the mines beneath the German trenches. The whole place lit up like a Christmas tree and the brass reckoned Fritz was blown to bits.'