Miles Off Course (6 page)

“No, sir—Kings initially, and then abroad.”

“I see.” Page, a surgeon, studied him as if he were some kind of perplexing symptom. Rowland stood his ground, but he was uncomfortable. “I’ve known your brother for a
number of years—upstanding man—but I must say he’s not spoken of you a great deal.”

Rowland’s lips twitched upwards. No doubt Wilfred felt the less said the better.

“And what is it that you do, Sinclair?”

“I paint.”

“Rowly’s with Dangar, Gedye and Company.” Wilfred glared at Rowland.

“Oh yes… I forgot… the Dangars Board.”

“Of course. Dangars. A fine establishment.”

Wilfred briefly introduced Milton and Clyde as Rowland’s colleagues and quickly moved their conversation to a discussion of the latest Lister diesel generator which was currently being
imported by Dangars. It sounded too much like a board meeting to maintain Rowland’s interest. He glanced towards Charles Hardy, who had escorted Edna over to meet the ladies. Judging by the
refined laughter, the senator was making charming and witty introductions.

Wilfred nudged his brother’s arm, directing his attention back as he introduced, or rather, reintroduced, a third man. Rowland had met Dr. Frederick Watson before. His property,
Gungaleen,
was between Yass and Canberra, which in loose terms, made them neighbours. If Rowland’s recollection was correct, the good doctor was a writer of sorts, with a talent for
ponderous referential texts.

“Dr. Watson, how do you do, sir?”

“Rowland,” Watson returned, hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat. “It’s good to see you back at
Oaklea
. It’s been a while since I’ve
had the pleasure myself what with one thing and another.”

“Freddy’s just published a volume on constitutional reform,” Wilfred said. “A very comprehensive work.”

“I think you’ll find the full title is
Constitutional Reform as the Basis for the Economic Reconstruction of Australia
.” Watson rocked back on his heels beaming
eagerly.

Rowland shifted uncomfortably.

Watson continued. “I’ll have a copy sent over for you—a young man with your prospects should understand the issues… of course, I’m happy to discuss it with you at
any time.”

Commendably, Rowland’s reaction was polite, though slightly less than enthusiastic.

“Capital idea,” Wilfred approved. “Rowly has some business to see to, but I’m sure he’ll be very keen to call on you at
Gungaleen
as soon as he’s
back—won’t you, old boy?”

“Indeed,” Rowland replied a little tensely.

“Come on, Rowly, we’d best get you a drink.” Wilfred guided his brother away from the doctor. “The Watson girls have grown into very handsome young ladies,” he said
quietly. “It wouldn’t hurt you to get reacquainted.”

“Sod off, Wil.”

Wilfred smiled faintly as he poured a whisky and handed the glass to Rowland.

Rowland glared at him. Wilfred knew full well that he detested whisky.

“Just try it, Rowly,” Wilfred insisted. “It’s jolly time you started to drink like a man.”

“Well said, Wilfred.” Earle Page was back.

Rowland left the whisky on the sideboard and poured himself a glass of sherry, ignoring them both. Wilfred had always considered his refusal to drink the malted liquor as a character flaw.

Page shook his head. “I say, we didn’t see many sherry drinkers at the front, did we, Wilfred? Of course I don’t know what old Fritz was drinking. It might well have been
sherry.” He looked Rowland up and down. “But I don’t suppose you saw service did you, my boy?”

Wilfred started to look a little uneasy. “We didn’t enlist children, Earle.”

“Nonsense… I can’t tell you the number of boys I patched up—some no more than fifteen.”

Rowland glowered but he held his tongue. He had not been ten when the war started, but somehow he was marked by his lack of military service all the same. There was nothing he could politely do,
but allow Page to rub his nose in it.

Page continued as if Rowland was not there. “You know, Wilfred, that fellow Menzies has been getting in Joe Lyons’ ear—it seems he fancies his chances in the federal
sphere.”

“Yes, I heard.” Wilfred was non-committal.

“I can’t imagine he’ll get far. It seems he didn’t enlist either.”

Now Wilfred looked distinctly irritated.

Rowland maintained a stony silence. He had no idea why this Menzies chap had not enlisted but he deeply resented Page’s implication.

Kate joined her husband, suddenly. Perhaps she sensed the tension in that corner of the room. “Wil, you must stop monopolising Rowly. The ladies wish to meet your mysterious
brother.”

T
he seating plan at the table of Mr. and Mrs. Wilfred Sinclair had been somewhat disrupted by the addition of so many extra guests, and the fact
that the gentlemen now outnumbered the ladies. It did cause the hostess a little consternation, but it could not be helped. Rowland found himself seated between Ethel Page and Charles Hardy.

It was an interesting gathering. The senator was charismatic and quick with wit and compliments, which he showered upon all the ladies present, though Edna seemed to receive the lion’s
share. Rowland watched Alice Hardy glance disdainfully at her husband on more than one occasion, but she seemed otherwise accustomed to the liberality of his attentions.

On the other side of the table, Watson referred repeatedly to his various publications bringing them into the conversation in a manner which was indirect and often quite inventive. It appeared
there was no topic to which
The History of the Sydney Hospital, The Beginnings of Government in Australia
or some other of his weighty manuscripts, did not relate in some way worth a
mention. For a while, Clyde, who was seated beside the literary surgeon, tried valiantly to steer the conversations away from Watson’s tedious publications, but to no avail.

Mrs. Page regaled Kate with the benefits of securing a French governess; it seemed Kate was hesitant about relinquishing young Ernest to the care of a boarding school.

“He’s just so small,” she said, clearly reluctant.

“The other boys will be too,” Wilfred said firmly. The Sinclair men had always gone away to school before they were seven.

Earle Page was expounding the details of the great hydroelectric schemes of North America, about which it seemed he had considerable and detailed knowledge.

Rowland noted with interest that Hardy, Watson and Page seemed to have little time for each other. Indeed, it was Wilfred who appeared to be keeping any exchange between them amiable. It was
intriguing. Rowland wondered what business could have brought the three men to
Oaklea
. He was aware that, despite having never sought office, his brother was politically powerful. Perhaps it
was Wilfred’s political enemies who had accosted him at the Hydro Majestic.

In time, all the courses were complete, and the ladies retired to the drawing room while the gentlemen remained to smoke and drink brandy. Watson and Page produced pipes. Although Clyde usually
rolled his own, on this occasion he followed the lead of his host and partook from the mahogany box of fine cigarettes which was placed on the table. Neither Milton nor Rowland smoked. Senator
Hardy pulled a pipe from his jacket but he did not fill nor light it, seemingly content to simply chew the mouthpiece.

“Mustard gas… during the war,” he confided when he noticed Rowland’s glance. “Wrecked my lungs.” Hardy sucked on the pipe and winked. “Still…
don’t like to be unsociable.”

“Tell me Charles,” Wilfred asked, as he lit a cigarette. “What does Campbell hope to achieve with this tour he’s undertaking?”

Rowland looked up. Colonel Eric Campbell was the commander of the New Guard, a citizen’s army which had at one time threatened a revolution in New South Wales. Somehow Rowland had found
himself acting as a spy within the New Guard’s ranks, a sequence of events which had ended badly and seen him exiled abroad for most of the previous year. Indeed, in some quarters it was
claimed that Rowland Sinclair had attempted to assassinate Eric Campbell.

Charles Hardy glanced at Rowland curiously before he replied. The senator kept himself well informed. “Oh you know Eric,” he said, unlit pipe clenched between his teeth.
“He’s quite happy to go halfway across the world to have his photograph taken with that Hitler fellow.”

“Damned fool,” Page muttered. “Courting the bloody Germans!”

Wilfred kept his eyes on Hardy. The senator had co-operated with Eric Campbell in the past.

“It’s probably not safe to write Eric off yet,” Hardy said cautiously. “Who knows what he may pick up in Europe. He’s not a stupid man and,” Hardy’s
eyes flickered just briefly back to Rowland, “there are still many men who will settle his scores.”

Wilfred’s voice was hard. “We’ll just see how successful this tour to meet the leaders of Europe proves to be,” he said quietly.

The conversation moved to more local politics. It was then that Rowland understood the commonality between Wilfred’s guests; they were all secessionists: advocates of subdividing New South
Wales into smaller states. He studied his brother who seemed to be directing the dialogue, subtly pointing out the benefits of an alliance of like minds.

Like Rowland, neither Milton nor Clyde attempted to contribute to the discussion in any way. Wilfred was polite but it was clear this was not a conversation into which Rowland or his friends
were welcome. And so the three observed in silence as the establishment dealt with the nation’s future.

And then things became awkward. It was Earle Page who first raised the issue of the Communists and with them the trade unionists.

“Of course you couldn’t expect the red vermin to do anything but stand in the way of the nation’s interests. They’ll fight any secession to the last man.”

Rowland stiffened. Clyde and Milton were both Communists and unionists. There was only so much he could ask them to tolerate in the name of civility.

In his condemnation of Communists, Page had an enthusiastic ally in Charles Hardy. “We’ve always had men more than ready to give the Bolshies a fight. They tend to be bloody cowards
anyway.”

Rowland glanced at Milton. The poet’s eyes were darkening. Even easy-tempered Clyde looked tense. Wilfred cleared his throat warily.

Deciding on a peremptory exit, Rowland checked his watch and stood. Clyde and Milton followed suit.

“At the risk of being frightfully rude, I’m afraid I must ask you gentlemen to excuse us. We have another long trip in the morning, so we might just bid the ladies good evening and
retire.”

“Good idea, Rowly,” Wilfred said, relieved. “You lads will have a rather early start to get yourselves organised.”

Thus having been given leave to do so, they withdrew, pausing briefly in the drawing room to wish the ladies a good night. Edna remained, waving them away with a declaration that women did not
tire so easily. Rowland smiled as he caught the tight purse of Ethel Page’s lips.

“You know, Rowly, Hardy could have a point,” Clyde said, as they climbed the stairs to the upper floors.

“What? About the Communists?”

“No—of course not. I mean about Campbell and the New Guard. They might still be looking to teach you a lesson.”

Milton nodded. “Could be it was Guardsmen who came a calling at the Hydro Majestic.”

“But Campbell’s abroad.”

“As the senator said—he still has men who do his bidding… and I reckon they’d still be smarting over what you did.”

“It doesn’t help that half of Sydney thinks you tried kill Campbell,” Clyde added. “They won’t have forgotten, mate.”

Rowland shrugged, leaning back on the banister as they paused on the landing. “Maybe. Hopefully.”

“What do you mean hopefully?” Milton folded his arms. “They nearly beat you to death, if you remember.”

“I do. But if it’s the New Guard, there’s no need for Wil to worry about the boys.”

“There is that,” Clyde agreed. “But it doesn’t get you off the hook, Rowly.”

Milton grinned. “On the other hand, we can’t be sure that it’s anything to do with Campbell. Your brother seems to be running the country. I’d bet there’s a few
people who’d want the Sinclairs out of the way.”

Rowland smiled. “Just Wil, old boy. I’m charming.”