Gallipoli Street (48 page)

Pete waiting impatiently, tapping his hand against the chessboard and looking at his watch again. Five minutes to nine. He stared at the doorway then out at the night, willing her to arrive.

The moon moved between the high skidding clouds like a brilliant white pearl dancing with feathery veils, a golden ring surrounding it in a vast halo. A lover's moon. Pete cursed his injuries, wishing he could make love to Theresa in the moonlight, her dark eyes beckoning as he lay her down, like Adam and Eve. Just a man and a woman crying out to the stars, primitive and wild like the jungle itself.

Time was skidding along with those clouds and suddenly he only had tonight to capture her heart. Who knew when he would see her again? Or whether he would? Coming so close to death had made him desperate to live every second and more than anything right now he wanted those seconds, those precious hours of living, to be with her.

He thought about Australia, about going home at last. Pete was shocked to realise that a part of him didn't want to go. As much as he longed to see his family and friends again, he could almost prefer to sit in this stinking bed in this stinking jungle with Theresa. Maybe it was love at first sight, or maybe he was just a cliché: a typical wartime patient with a thing for his nurse. Maybe the jungle had finally sent him mad. But there was something about her, a familiarity that resonated from her eyes; it was like an old truth that she was always going to be the one, as if she were made for him. Impossibly and illogically, it just felt so right.

He turned to the door, willing her to appear again, and this time she did, filling the space, everything around her fading to nothingness. The gramophone from Dr Kindred's quarters nearby filtered ‘Moonlight Serenade' across through the trees and Pete felt every note as she moved towards him in the soft light.

She had changed out of her usual nurse's uniform and into a soft white blouse and pants, a yellow cardigan draped casually about her shoulders and her hair freed from its usual cap. It was even softer and fairer than he had imagined and it seemed to Pete to be made of moonlight as she walked towards him.

‘You look beautiful,' he said, the words hanging between them.

She sat down on the chair next to the bed and smiled, pulling at the cardigan a little self-consciously. ‘Just felt like being comfortable. I haven't worn anything but my uniform for months.'

‘I've been wondering what you looked like without it.' He gave her a look that was half longing, half devilish delight, which made her blush and smile in return. Pete decided he would spend the entire time they had tonight trying to recreate that delicious response.

‘Black or white?' she said, turning up the lamp and picking up the chessboard, placing it between them on the blanket.

‘Lady's choice,' he responded and watched as she picked up the white pawn, moving it two squares forward.

He moved in kind and waited as she frowned, planning her game.

‘Who taught you to play?' he asked, watching her fierce concentration in amusement.

‘One of the nuns at the orphanage,' she replied, jumping her knight. ‘Sister Carmel. Nicest lady in the world but terrifying when armed with a miniature army.'

‘Do you remember your parents at all?' he said after a pause.

Theresa shook her head. ‘No, I was only about two when I arrived in Australia. No one even knew their names or where I had come from, only that my grandmother had died on our passage over from France during the war.'

‘Didn't anyone come to collect you?'

‘No. There was no one. No enquiries. Nothing.' She shrugged nonchalantly but Pete glimpsed an old hurt.

‘Difficult to solve mysteries during wars,' he offered.

‘I didn't even know this much until a few years back,' she admitted, sharing with him the story of finding out about her possessions and how her fate had unfolded. ‘If it wasn't for Sister Carmel it's quite obvious that Father O'Brien would have left me in the dark and there I'd be, in the middle of a jungle in an uncomfortable uniform in the tropical heat…hold on. There's something rather familiar about that.' She began to laugh and Pete joined her, coughing a little from the exertion. She immediately handed him a glass of water and he took it, watching her thoughtfully over the rim.

‘I suppose there's no escaping it,' she sighed as he drank. ‘I'm destined for a life of servitude and penance after all.'

‘Why penance?'

She placed the glass back on the table and, picking up her bishop, pointed it his way. ‘For defying my betters.'

‘On the contrary,' he suggested, following her hand as it placed the bishop on the board. ‘I'd say you bettered yourself through defiance.'

Theresa laughed again. ‘You really are a lawyer, aren't you?'

They played in companionable silence for a while and Pete stroked his chin as she dramatically took his knight.

‘Sister Carmel must have been a better teacher than my dad,' he said.

‘Must have been nice though…having that time together, I mean.'

Pete tilted his head, wondering how to explain things. ‘It was actually. Helped us to get along better.'

‘Hadn't you always?'

He wondered how much to reveal, but then again she was being so open it seemed right somehow. ‘No…he found it very hard. After the war.'

Theresa watched him thoughtfully, her brown eyes filled with understanding, and he realised he wanted to tell her everything. A sudden need for confession; a baring of the soul. ‘He drank a lot,' Pete admitted, ‘and it was a bit rocky between us when I was younger. It changed him when he drank that much. Made him…angry.'

‘Ah.' Theresa nodded. ‘Well, after what I have seen of war I can't judge anyone too harshly for that. I don't imagine any of us will be the same after this.'

‘All the death…' he said quietly.

‘And the hate too, I think.' Theresa held the rook, twisting it around in her hand. ‘I've had moments here when I hear the priests' words over and again in my head: turn the other cheek, love one another.'

Pete nodded. ‘Feels as though we were taught one set of values in church and quite another set out here.'

‘Exactly. No one taught us how to achieve that when someone so young is holding your hand and the life is…just…' She shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. ‘Just stolen. And I…I hate all the people responsible, you know? And then I hate the Japs, hate them with all my heart, and I think I'm going straight to hell.' She ran her hand across her eyes, the rook still clenched tightly. ‘Sorry…'

‘Don't be,' he said.

She looked at him, a little embarrassed. ‘You must be a good lawyer. You're extracting all kinds of secrets from me tonight.'

‘What you see is what you get.' He smiled easily, his gaze becoming serious once more as the lamplights flickered. ‘Dad had to figure it all out and Mum helped him of course. She was pretty amazing when I think about it,' he admitted, missing her in a sudden rush. ‘I guess seeing him do that gave me hope that it doesn't have to ruin the rest of your life. Plus he told me some good advice and that helps. He said you can't let it make you feel like that. No matter what happens, no matter what you have to see or what you have to do. All of this death…it's to stop it from reaching home. That's war. That's the job.'

‘And the hating?'

‘It's the war you really hate. And God knows the war deserves to be hated. He won't punish you for that.'

She stared out at the night. ‘No, it's not just war…I do hate the Japs. When I hear what they do and see it with my own eyes…'

‘No you don't. Not really.'

She looked at him quizzically. ‘Don't you?'

‘No.'

‘Honestly?'

‘No,' he said again. ‘I mean sure, the politicians are fools and I hate what they're doing…and when I'm getting shot, well…there's no love lost. Could have strangled any one of them when I saw my mates' faces after…you know…' He gestured out at the jungle and shook his head, trying to eradicate the images of Sully and Dom and the recent carnage. ‘But after the battles are over and my blood has cooled down a bit that kind of goes away. I've seen dead Germans, dead Italians, dead Brits…we all kind of look the same then. A dead Jap is just another soldier who tried to get out and didn't make it.' He shrugged. ‘So I figure they are just like us really. Trying to survive, trying not to look at the faces of their mates when they fall. Wanting to go home to their families. Those blighters out there are going through the same thing as us,' he gestured at the chessboard, ‘just on different bloody sides of the game.'

She stared at him in amazement. ‘But surely after what you have been through…'

‘Same thing they're going through, isn't it? Only none of them have an angel sent to save them.' He smiled at her, feeling his heart contract as he realised how much he actually meant it. To him she was like a pure ray of light that had suddenly appeared at his darkest hour.

‘I'm no angel, Pete.'

‘Yes you are. Look at your halo,' he teased, lightly touching her hair.

‘I'm a fallen one, if that.'

‘What great sins have you committed? Hating the enemy? Hating the war? I've told you, God understands.'

‘No, it's not just that.'

Theresa paused, looking at his easy expression, his open confident gaze. A man who had been given every advantage and made something of each and every one of them. A man so loved throughout his whole life he could even forgive an enemy trying to kill him. How could someone like him ever comprehend what it was like to have no family, no home? To be left to fend for oneself in the clubs of Kings Cross? To fall for the first conman who promised stability and family. ‘You wouldn't understand.'

‘Try me.'

She frowned, trying to form the right words. ‘You're not like other people…you're different…' she began hesitantly.

‘Hey, I'm just a digger, lying in a hospital bed, trying to get to know my beautiful nurse,' he protested charmingly.

‘But you're not just a digger. You're the one who is perfect…a golden boy. Lawyer, sportsman, cherished son in a loving family…you have racehorses, for goodness' sake. You're…blessed. I've never met anyone like you.'

‘Just because I'm some kind of…golden digger doesn't mean I won't understand you,' he said, taking her hand.

She stared at it for a moment before pulling away, moving the chessboard to the table and straightening his sheets. ‘I think it's time for you to rest.'

‘Theresa,' he began.

‘You're leaving tomorrow,' she reminded him, stilled by his imploring eyes.

‘Then stay this last night near me.'

There was no point, she knew, no possible future with this perfect man, but she found herself pulling the chair close anyway, matching his gaze until his eyes closed. Wishing for a life by his side where every night the kind eyes of this golden digger were the last things she saw.