Gallipoli Street (53 page)

She smiled as her grandmother patted her cheek again and felt that much was true. Even after only knowing them this brief time she felt she belonged in that home, with its stories and its ghosts, and with the living members who remained to her: the uncle, the grandmother and the cousin. She was, finally, with family.

Greenshades, Christmas Day 1942

Pattie watched her from the window, her mind in conflict. She supposed the girl couldn't help being who she was but it was still difficult to accept that this person, Rose's daughter, would marry her beloved nephew and become a part of their family. After all that had happened Pattie still couldn't forgive Rose for breaking her brother's heart and nearly ruining her best friend's chances at happiness. Veronica could forgive that easily, and even Jack had fallen under the girl's spell, but Pattie couldn't bring herself to trust Theresa or Elizabeth or whatever they were supposed to call her.

‘You have to get past it,' a voice observed from the doorway.

‘I know,' she sighed, turning to stretch out her arms as Mick came over and held her. ‘Veronica is convinced it's fate. Destiny at work, but I just can't bring myself to trust her. It's like déjà vu. Greenshades, Pete strutting about looking so happy, her putting all the men in a tizz. I'm just waiting for some bozo to walk in the door and announce she's already agreed to marry him and we'll be set.'

He kissed the top of her head. ‘Come on now: she's a very different girl. Rose was spoilt rotten and it made her the way she was, but this girl…she's done it tough. She's got kindness in her and she's giving. Look at her down there with the kids. She hasn't forgotten where she's come from or who she is.'

They watched her play with the orphans near the pool and Pattie conceded she was certainly a far less selfish person than Rose; but still, it was difficult to trust a woman who looked like that and she voiced this unworthy thought to Mick.

‘I don't know. You're built for sin and I trust you.' He grinned, sliding one hand up her skirt.

‘Stop that,' she said, but he didn't, and all conversation about Theresa was over.

Father O'Brien sipped on his tea, bored by the constant fawning of those around him, particularly Father Francis who seemed far too weak a man to handle such a blue ribbon community. What he wouldn't give to take the reins. He'd been contemplating a change. Perhaps his days at St Rueben's should come to a close, he thought to himself, eyeing the surrounding luxury and considering the alternative. Maybe having to spend Christmas recuperating from his operation in Sydney at this parish was a fortuitous situation after all.

‘A miracle really. Her family had given up on ever finding her and then there she was, named Theresa no less, standing in the hospital room, engaged to the boy who grew up just across the road,' Father Francis said, continuing the story that had taken a good part of ten minutes and which Father O'Brien had long since lost interest in.

He scanned the lawns instead, ignoring the other priest's drone and watching the children with disinterest as they played games and sports in an array of activity before him. There was a crowd of them gathering at the pool and he leant forward to see what had piqued their particular interest. It was a young woman clad in one of the latest, scandalous swimsuits that were all the rage. She was dancing to a gramophone, long legs kicking in high, practised routines and the orphan girls were trying to imitate her every step. Disgraceful, he thought in disgust.

The young woman turned, pulling off her swimming cap, and Father O'Brien blinked in startled recognition at the flash of white-blonde hair in the sun.

‘Ah there she is, the girl I was telling you about,' Father Francis said, peering over to see who or what had taken his interest.

‘Theresa Jones.'

‘Yes,' said Father Francis, taken aback. ‘How do you know her last name?'

Father O'Brien stared across at Theresa, stiff with indignation at the thought that this girl, this disrespectful harlot of a girl, would marry into this prestigious family. ‘I know quite a bit about her in fact,' he replied.

‘Ah, here's our fellow,' Father Francis said, turning as a tall man crossed the lawn towards them, towel in hand. ‘Off for another swim?'

‘Yes, Theresa wanted another lesson, although I think she's going in to dress for dinner.' He looked towards her departing figure, disappointed. Father O'Brien's eyes narrowed at the realisation this was Theresa's fiancé, the much admired Lieutenant Peter Murphy.

Peter paused to smile at Father O'Brien politely. ‘I don't think I've had the pleasure, Father…'

‘O'Brien,' he supplied, shaking Peter's proffered hand.

‘Peter Murphy. Welcome to Greenshades,' the young man said, displaying a charming smile along with his manners. ‘Are you here to say mass with Father Francis? Two priests and a dozen nuns,' he shook his head, ‘we may have to start our own church right here on Aunt Marjorie's lawn.'

A well brought up Catholic boy who was both rich and handsome, Father O'Brien noted. Surely he couldn't know the truth about the girl he was about to marry. He decided it was time to do his Christian duty and enlighten him.

‘I was just saying to Father Francis that I am well acquainted with your…uh…fiancée. She was a member of my parish for a long time.'

‘Really?' Peter seemed very surprised. ‘Well that's wonderful news. I haven't met anyone yet from her home town.'

‘No, I wouldn't imagine you had,' Father O'Brien replied. ‘I'm quite sure you won't be either, if she has a choice in the matter.' Peter had stopped smiling and was now looking at him with an air of wary confusion, as was Father Francis.

‘On the contrary, Theresa is very keen for me to meet her friend Missy…'

‘Ah yes, well I tend to cast them both in the same mould. Neither are considered a part of our town anymore, nor the parish, but I'm sure you are well aware of that.'

Father Francis fidgeted with his hat nervously as the other two men faced one another.

‘Father O'Brien was it? Yes, I do seem to recall the name now.' Peter's tone was casual but there was a glint of anger surfacing in his eyes. Father O'Brien pushed on regardless.

‘I must commend you on your strength of forgiveness. Not many men would have been able to overlook such a past.'

‘Surely a convent upbringing, in a town such as yours, is nothing to be ashamed of…' Father Francis interjected, red-faced.

‘I wasn't referring to her country days,' Father O'Brien continued, ‘it was the life of sin on the streets of Kings Cross that ruined her. But if you can see your way past it, again, I must commend you.'

‘You can't possibly be suggesting…surely you can't be serious…' Father Francis was blustering but Peter remained cool, betraying nothing of what he must be feeling.

‘I am sure you have been the victim of idle gossip, Father. My fiancée was merely a dancer before the war and I am quite aware of the reasons she had for leaving your parish. I would say she showed great courage and dignity under the circumstances and I would be very disappointed to have it said otherwise in our family's home.'

‘A dancer you say? Is that what she told you?' Father O'Brien couldn't hold back a derisive chuckle. ‘One of my parishioners saw her act and I can assure you it was hardly ballet.'

‘I don't know what seedy clubs the men of your church frequent but Theresa was not the girl he saw. She was a professional dancer before the war – full stop.'

‘Oh well, if that is the story you choose to believe…'

‘I believe the woman I love, yes,' Peter's voice was steel-like now and Father O'Brien suddenly lost the desire to laugh. ‘I recommend you believe her too, lest other stories,
true
stories about attempted theft and the manipulation of young women by certain men of the cloth come to light.' He was standing close and Father O'Brien felt suddenly very small next to the younger man's large, athletic frame.

‘If you'll excuse me,' Peter finished, leaving abruptly.

Father O'Brien let out a long breath, cursing the legacy of Eve. What hope had mankind if they couldn't seem to resist the sins offered by women?

Theresa put on the dress and turned to look in the mirror, admitting to herself it really did suit her. The new cut had worked perfectly and it looked as fashionable as the latest styles in Pitt Street, despite the fact that the fabric was almost thirty years old. But such fabric! She stroked the gold satin reverently as it hugged her figure, the hues touching highlights in her hair, which she wore up on one side, fastened by an elegant gold and diamond clasp that had also belonged to her mother, the waves falling forward on the other. The overall effect was seductive and she knew Pete would find it hard to control himself, which sent her stomach into spirals.

She had to tell him the truth. She had resolved to, many times, but the moment never seemed right, especially when he wasn't up to physical exertion anyway. But now that they were here on holiday and he was strong again, the chemistry between them was charged. She knew she had to make her confession, particularly considering the wedding was now set for two weeks' time and soon after he would be sent back to fight. She wasn't willing to squander any more of the precious days they had left on waiting to be together. And she certainly didn't want to risk him finding out during the act, a possibility that could well eventuate if today was anything to go by.

There was something very sensual about this place, with its lush gardens and beauty. It was almost as if the jungle air had found them again and was cloaking them in its heat and seduction.

Last night at the family Christmas party she had found his eyes trailing her wherever she moved, watching her mouth as she talked and his hands glided against her as they danced in a slow, rhythmic way that caught her breath and made her wish they were alone.

She'd woken from a restless night to spend half her day distracted by his bare torso as they'd played with the children at the pool, finally managing a brief private moment together walking back from lunch.

‘Come here,' he'd whispered, pulling her through the frangipani trees and into a hidden little copse. It was fast and frantic and he'd been desperate for her, kissing her throat and baring her to the waist in a sudden rush of wanting.

‘Oh God, you're so beautiful.' He kissed her breasts and she felt the warmth of desire suffuse her entire body before he drew away, fighting for control. ‘We have to stop,' he'd panted, leaning his forehead on hers. ‘We can't.'

‘I want to,' she protested, trailing kisses down his chest, the heat sweet in her veins.

‘No love, we'll wait. The first time should be as man and wife.' He'd resisted, his fingers a little shaky as he'd pulled her costume back up and ran his hands over his face. ‘But for pity's sake stop flashing all that skin my way. You're going to send me into a relapse.' He sent her a smile, his face lighting up in the incredibly handsome way that broke her heart, and she knew now was the time to tell him. But the words were left behind as he grabbed her hand and led her back to the pool, jumping in and laughing with the others. Cooling off in more ways than one. Theresa decided right there and then she would tell him before the day was over because it was becoming more than a secret, it was becoming a deception. Here he was, holding himself back for his ‘virgin bride', and she was letting him believe that's what she was. He deserved better than that.