Beyond the Horizon (32 page)

‘I was the medical officer who delivered your daughter, Jessica,' the doctor said. ‘Miss Joubert insisted that I promise that your daughter have her real father's name registered on her birth certificate. I kept that promise, although I was not sure if you had survived the war. But here you are.'

‘Can I see my daughter?' Tom asked.

‘The matron has gone to fetch her,' the doctor replied, and just then the door opened and the matron walked in holding a small bundle in her arms. She passed the baby to Tom.

Tom looked down into the bundle and was met with a smile from the baby, who was wide awake and gazing at up him. She reached up a little hand to touch him on the nose.

Tears rolled down Tom's cheeks and splashed onto Jessica's face. She frowned in surprise before squawking her disapproval at being made wet by this stranger holding her.

‘Jessie, my love,' Tom said softly. ‘Your mother is alive in you.'

For Tom Duffy, the former tough soldier whose physical courage had borne him through some of the worst battles the Australian army had experienced, the little creature in his arms instantly became his whole world.

James Barrington Snr received a telephone call that he was needed urgently at his office at his bank. The caller was one of his senior managers and he said that he did not wish to elaborate over the phone the reason that required his urgent attention.

Barrington had his chauffeur drive him to his bank through leafy avenues and past splendid mansions to rival his own. His manager had sounded nervous, which was not like the man. Barrington wondered what was going on.

He arrived at the bank and pushed past his staff to go straight to his office. When he flung open the door he was met by the sight of a well-dressed woman in her seventies sitting calmly at his desk, a teacup balanced in her hand. Barrington's manager was standing by a window looking uncertain.

James Barrington removed his hat and placed it on the hat stand.

‘Who is this woman and why is she sitting at my desk?' he demanded.

‘This is Mrs Kate Tracy from Australia,' the manager said quietly. ‘And she is now the owner of your bank.'

Stunned, Barrington stared at Kate, who smiled back at him as she placed the cup and saucer on the great polished desk. Kate rose and walked across the room to him. He could see that she had once been a beautiful young woman, and time had not aged the beauty of her face with wrinkles and blotches.

‘Mr Barrington, it is a pleasure to meet with you,' Kate said, extending her gloved hand.

Without thinking, Barrington accepted the hand. ‘I'm sorry, Mrs Tracy, but I do not know you.'

‘Well, you know me now, and I must apologise for the circumstances under which we have met,' she said, smiling and withdrawing her hand. ‘As your manager has just informed you, I have bought your bank and you will soon receive the papers to confirm the purchase. I must apologise that I have done so without your knowledge. It seems that your shareholders were open to my rather generous offer. After all, that is the way of American business, is it not?'

Reeling in confusion, James Barrington was trying to take in everything that was happening. ‘I will fight your takeover,' he warned. ‘I have spent a lifetime building on my father's achievements in banking.'

‘That may not be necessary,' Kate replied, ignoring his threat. ‘I have purchased banks before and find that they are always a risk. You and I have something very precious
in common, Mr Barrington, and I wish to speak with you in private about it.'

Barrington turned to his manager and with a movement of his head dismissed the man from the room. Then he turned to Kate. ‘I cannot comprehend why an Australian would wish to buy an American bank, Mrs Tracy. You are out of your depth over here.'

‘Well, I could start by telling you that my dearly departed husband and father of my only son was an American citizen,' Kate replied, removing one of her gloves. ‘So you might say that I have purchased your bank for sentimental reasons.'

‘I find that hard to believe,' Barrington scoffed.

‘As I said, I find the banking system risky and would give back control of your bank to you, shifting my purchase to that of a major shareholder. I am sure you would not object to the injection of money from the purchase,' Kate said, returning to the desk to sip from her cup of tea.

‘That would be acceptable,' Barrington conceded, knowing he had little choice if he was to retain his principal bank. He had plans to extend and the extra capital would finance that move. ‘You said that we had something in common.'

‘Yes,' Kate replied. ‘Our grandchildren.' Barrington thought that he had heard wrong and gaped at Kate in shock. ‘Oh, I forgot to mention that my only son is Captain Matthew Duffy, who I believe you met late last year under tragic circumstances. I know the difference in surname is confusing but my son took on my maiden name when he enlisted many years ago against my wishes in the South African campaign against the Boers. He chose to retain my maiden name in honour of the men he served alongside and who died in the fighting.'

‘Goddamn!' Barrington exclaimed.

‘All I ask is that I am able to see my grandchildren while I am here and I will draw up papers to switch the purchase to a stakehold in your bank,' Kate said serenely, placing the cup of tea on the desk. ‘And this desk will be your desk again,' she said, stroking the highly polished surface.

Barrington stood at the centre of the room, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Mrs Tracy, you have a deal,' he said, extending his hand once again. After all, his bank was his identity and he would have killed to have it back. He was smiling and Kate could see an expression of begrudging respect for her ruthless mission of blackmailing him. She accepted the gesture and returned his smile.

‘I feel that you and I should be able to get along in the future, Mr Barrington,' she said.

‘I underestimated your son last year,' Barrington said. ‘If I had met you earlier, I would not have made the same mistake.'

‘Well, I think it is time for us both to retire to your home,' Kate said. ‘Your decision has made a grandmother a very happy woman, Mr Barrington.'

‘I have always said that those of Irish blood are cunning and not to be trusted,' he said. ‘I will ensure that I am more careful in the future.'

Within the day Kate Tracy held in her arms her reason for being on this earth. For she held in her arms the future of her blood line.

AUTHOR NOTES

D
uring the 1950s I grew up on a soldier settler farm at a place called Warrawidgee, west of Griffith in New South Wales. At the end of a working day the settler families would gather at a crossroads where a former yank, Danny, ran a sly grog shop. As kids we would mingle with the adults: the ladies in the back of the shop swapping stories, the veterans shouting beers and talking of farming woes and, sometimes, their war experiences. I vividly remember seeing the scars of war on the men drinking, and observing the lingering effects of what they called shell-shock. They were veterans of the Boer War, the Great War and more recently World War II and Korea. The Korean veterans were the youngsters. I listened to the men swap stories of action they had seen from the veldt of Africa to the hills of Korea, and only now do I truly appreciate that I was hearing history. Now, those men are just about all gone and even our World War II veterans are becoming scarce. Soon they, too, will be a memory.

This book has been written with the thought that we must never forget the sacrifice generations of men and women have made to give us what we take for granted today. I am grateful to Professor Michael Roe's lectures in Australian history at the University of Tasmania in the late 1970s, and it is to him that I owe a lot for research methods and inspiration to write this saga.

The terrible influenza epidemic of 1919 has almost been forgotten. It has been said that if it had lasted another month or so, Western civilisation might have been set back a hundred years. Australia was able to quarantine the epidemic through far-sighted medical procedures, but the death toll was still horrendous. It could be said to be nature's extension of the Great War as the conditions in the trenches weakened men and the disease was carried by them home to kill those they had fought to protect. It was a time when two of the four horsemen of the apocalypse rode the earth.

In my research for this novel I was fortunate to have a former commanding officer of my old army reserve unit, the First Nineteenth Battalion of the Royal New South Wales Regiment, release his brilliant account of the battalion's day-to-day life on the Western Front. Peter McGuinness is the author of
Boldly and Faithfully: The Journal
and in my many years of research rarely have I found a source so detailed of those terrible days. As such, most of the experiences of Sergeant Tom Duffy and his comrades are based on the actual events of the battalion's experiences on the Western Front. This magnificent book is a day-to-day account from the battalion's actual diary and brings readers closest to the conditions of what it was like for our digger ancestors. It is a collector's item and may be purchased by contacting Bob Pink through email at
[email protected]
. Limited editions are available from the publication of this historical record.

For the coverage of the air war in Palestine, I was fortunate to be able to refer to FM Cutlack's
Australian Flying Corps
Vol VIII: Official History of Australia in the War of 1914–18,
Angus & Robertson: Sydney, 1940.

All sorties described in Captain Matthew Duffy's experiences are based on the actual missions by the AFC. The incident of being forced down and then taking off again actually happened to Lieutenant Drummond and all the following missions that Captain Duffy flew are records of real sorties.

It is interesting to note that other than the charge against Beersheba by the Australian Light Horse, very little is mentioned these days of the desert war where Australians played such a critical role in defeating the Ottoman Empire. Our AFC and Light Horse continuously found themselves in action at the most critical points of battle, helping change the course of history.

All else in the story is fiction.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

M
y thanks are extended to the team at Pan Macmillan publishers who have worked on this project directly or indirectly. They are Cate Paterson and Libby Turner, who read and commented on changes, Julia Stiles, copyeditor, Deb Parry, cover design, Roxarne Burns in accountancy, Tracey Cheetham, head of publicity and my publicist, Caitlin Neville.

As always, my many thanks to my agent, Geoffrey Radford for his continuing support.

On the subject of publicity I would like to extend my thanks to one of Australia's best broadcasters in radio, John Carroll. John has consistently brought to attention my books through the
Super Radio Network
on Sunday mornings to a great bulk of NSW listeners. In the same field I would also like to thank Kristie Hildebrand for her work on my Facebook page and those who have joined.

A thanks to Peter and Kay Lowe. Peter keeps my webpage up to date and a special thanks to an extraordinary man and fellow author, Dave Sabben MG, whose stay with us in Maclean has inspired me in my future work.

A continuing thanks to Dr Louis Trichard and his wife, Christine. Louis helps keep me alive.

As usual my thanks are extended to friends whose influence is felt in my writing life. They are Mick and Andria Prowse, Larry Gilles, John and Isabel Millington, Kevin Jones OAM and Family, Jan Dean, Bill and Tatiana Maroney, John and June Riggall. A special thanks to my wonderful Auntie Joan Payne and family in Tweed Heads for their never-ending support.

A reminder to Peter Watt readers that they should also purchase Tony Park's
Dark Heart
novel at Christmas time. Tony covers the other side of the Indian Ocean with his truly exciting novels centred around Africa, whilst I look after the eastern side of the Indian Ocean.

A special thanks to Rod and Brett Hardy who are still working to get the
Frontier
project on the screen. It takes time and patience. A special mention to the real Diane Hatfield whose name appears in the pages of this book. Diane participated in a name inclusion auction conducted by the
Mackay Flagon and Dragon Club
, raising a generous amount of money for two hospital wards for children in Mackay.

I would also like to extend my thanks for the camaraderie extended to me by the members of the Gulmarrad Rural Fire Service team of which I have recently joined. They are a wonderful band of community members who volunteer to protect against one of the major enemies of Australia in the fire season. Whilst writing in Finch Hatton, Queensland, I spent eighteen months as an emergency ambulance driver, and I would like to thank that community for the friendship I experienced living there. You are not forgotten, nor are the people of Corowa, on the Murray River.

On a sadder note I would like to mark the passing of my wonderful younger sister, Kerry McKee nee Watt this year. But life is such that born into the family has been Eliza to my niece, Shannon and her husband, Aaron Herps. My love is extended to my brother Tom and his Family at Hazelbrook and beyond.

In Tasmania my congratulations to my sister, Lindy and my brother-in-law, Jock for becoming grandparents for the first time to Frida Winsome Barclay.

Fair winds and safe sailing to my much loved brother-in-law, Tyrone McKee who has set off to sail his yacht, the
Sahara
, solo around the world with my sister's ashes and spirit travelling with him.

To Naomi, my undying love and thanks for being there in tough times and good. You are the reason I keep going.

Peter Watt has spent time as a soldier, articled clerk, prawn trawler deckhand, builder's labourer, pipe layer, real estate salesman, private investigator, police sergeant and adviser to the Royal Papua New Guinea Constabulary. He speaks, reads and writes Vietnamese and Pidgin. He now lives at Maclean, on the Clarence River in northern New South Wales. He is a volunteer firefighter with the Rural Fire service, and fishing and the vast open spaces of outback Queensland are his main interests in life.

Peter Watt can be contacted at
www.peterwatt.com