Amongst the Dead (34 page)

I hadn’t heard the door behind us open, and when Nigella Fowler spoke I turned my head rather more quickly than was good for my almost-repaired neck. Consequently, the expression on my face was one of pain and not pleasant surprise.

‘That’s not a look that makes a girl feel very attractive,’ she said.

When she spoke, I became immediately confused about the antipathy I’d been feeling towards her. Proximity to her disrupted all my powers of critical thinking. I’d once, in what now seemed a distant time and place, made a declaration of love to her, and I had hoped then that the success of this enterprise would encourage finer feelings in her for me. Through the static of the adolescent emotion I was feeling, I was only faintly sensitive to those qualities in Nigella Fowler that gave one pause. She could deceive without compunction — I knew that — and she was fearless. She’d also killed a man — a salutary achievement in a woman one might wish to marry. Through all this I felt, as I looked at her now, what I’d felt on our first meeting: beneath her plain, dressed-down exterior there were great reserves of kindness and sympathy — and kindness and sympathy were elements I would welcome into my life.

She held out her hand, and I rose and shook it. She shook Brian’s hand as well, and asked if he’d fully recovered from the scorpion bite. Clearly, she’d been properly briefed.

‘There’s still some numbness in the foot. Apparently I should avoid scorpions,’ he replied.

‘You’re not in uniform,’ she said to both of us.

‘They were rags,’ Brian said. ‘And the Tivoli isn’t going to be happy about the state of the costumes. They’re mostly mould with a bit of fabric in between.’

‘So you’ll need new ones,’ she said lightly.

I was smiling, and my smile froze. Something passed between her and her brother, some flicker of unease that she’d made a misstep.

‘Will,’ she said quickly, ‘can we walk for a bit? It’s stuffy in here.’

Brian seemed oblivious to this rather obvious ploy to separate us, but I had no real objection to leaving James Fowler, who’d become the focus of all my disquiet about Army Intelligence.

I’d forgotten, in the humidity of the Northern Territory, that a Melbourne summer could produce days of enervating, blazing heat. This was such a day. It was barely nine-thirty in the morning, but it must already have been close to a hundred degrees in the shade. We stood on the curb of St Kilda Road, waiting for a break in the traffic so we could cross into the gardens opposite.

‘I see your propaganda unit is still busy,’ I said. On a lamp post there was a poster showing the mask of a smiling Japanese face being removed to reveal the sneering, leering creature beneath. ‘Beware the mask of friendship,’ it read. ‘It hides Japanese greed and treachery.’ Above it, a simpler poster reminded people what to do, ‘If the air-raid siren wailed tonight … Don’t rush. Don’t panic. Don’t telephone.’ Having experienced a Japanese air raid, my own inclination would be to both rush and panic.

‘The crypt in the Shrine is cool,’ Nigella said.

‘Maybe we could just sit in the shade of a tree and pretend that this bloody war isn’t happening,’ I replied.

We sat cross-legged, and I enjoyed the relative luxury of having only a few flies to swat away.

‘How much do you know about what happened up there?’ I asked her.

‘I know what they want me to know.’

‘Fulton?’

‘Yes. I was sorry to hear about that.’

‘How can you work for those people, Nigella?’

‘I am one of those people, Will.’

Her expression was cool.

‘Yes, I suppose you are. Are you meant to be talking me into another job? Is that what this is about?’

She looked back towards Victoria Barracks.

‘No, Will. You’re here with me so that James can talk with Brian.’

I thought about that, and was seized by a chest-gripping sadness.

‘When Brian walks out of there,’ I said, ‘I’ll never be able to trust a single thing he says.’

‘He mightn’t want to work for us. He might want to return to his normal life.’

‘I’ll never know though, will I? Not for sure.’

‘No,’ she conceded quietly. ‘Not for sure.’

There was silence between us after that, and the distance that separated us became unbridgeable.

‘What will you do?’ she asked.

‘I really don’t know. I might have to learn to juggle.’

‘You’re too old to run away and join the circus.’

‘I used to think the circus and the Tivoli were grubby professions. Now I know there are worse choices that people can make.’

Nigella stood up and dusted off her skirt, immune or indifferent to the insult.

‘Goodbye, Will.’ This time she didn’t offer her hand.

On the opposite side of St Kilda Road, Brian appeared at the gates of Victoria Barracks. He saw us and waved. I waited while Nigella crossed the road. She spoke briefly to him and went through the gate. He stood with his hands on his hips, clearly deciding what to do. His mind made up, he began to dodge the traffic, and when he reached the footpath on my side he was smiling broadly. He walked up the grassy incline towards me, and I arranged my features carefully in readiness to hear his first lie.