To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (15 page)

Bob Houston stepped forward to hand out the bottles,
and Arthur made a small speech congratulating his people on the fine job they had done of turning a script into a visual story. A breeze gently stirred the sand around their feet as the stars mixed with sparks swirling skywards from the fire into the clear skies.

Randolph had noticed how Guy Wilkes hovered around Fenella and was astute enough to see that she was not encouraging his presence. The American sat on a large driftwood log sipping his beer and chatting to the cameraman whom he had befriended on the set. Bob Houston, his teacher and now a good friend, commented that he should consider a career behind the small wooden box cranking the handle. ‘You have a gift, Texas Slim, that you should take seriously.’ He raised his bottle to the stars. ‘I am sure Arthur would find you a spot in the team.’

Randolph was only half listening; his attention was on Fenella and Guy Wilkes who were apparently arguing. He could see them silhouetted against the star-studded moonless sky and did not answer Bob.

‘Are you going senile, or something?’

‘Sorry, what?’ Randolph replied.

‘You’re not listening, are you, cobber,’ Bob said, prodding Randolph in the ribs.

‘Just thinking about things,’ Randolph said, swigging his beer from the bottle. Suddenly, he handed Bob his beer and rose to his feet. ‘Just got something to see to.’

Bob watched as Randolph walked into the dark towards the beach. The American had noticed that Wilkes appeared to be getting very pushy with Fenella. He had his hands on her shoulders and appeared to be shaking her.

‘Anything wrong?’ Randolph asked, looming out of the night beside the couple. They were standing at the edge of the sea, water breaking around their bare feet.

Wilkes swung on Randolph, his hands dropping from Fenella’s shoulders. ‘None of your business,’ he snarled. ‘Get lost, Yank.’

As Randolph took a step closer, ready to fight, the actor noticed his threatening stance.

‘Are you okay?’ Randolph asked Fenella who had her head down as if she had been crying. She responded by shaking her head. ‘Maybe you should come with me back to the party,’ he urged gently, ignoring Wilkes who he sensed was not about to take any action against him.

Randolph took Fenella’s hand in his and led her away. She did not resist and as they were nearing the blazing fire he stopped to gaze into her face. He had been right in his guess; Fenella had been crying.

‘I don’t know what was said between you two,’ Randolph said, producing a clean handkerchief and passing it to her. ‘But I do not like to see you so upset.’

‘It was nothing of any consequence,’ Fenella answered, passing back the handkerchief after wiping away her tears. ‘I will be all right, but thank you for your concern, Randolph.’

The American felt a surge of warmth hearing Fenella use his first name. ‘Would you like to join me on my log?’ he ventured lightly.

‘I think that would be nice,’ Fenella said, with a weak smile.

Randolph led her to where Bob remained with the two bottles of beer in his hands. When he saw Randolph with Fenella he handed the half-empty bottle back to the American and discreetly excused himself from their company.

‘Do you have another bottle of beer?’ Fenella sniffed.

‘I did not think that ladies drank beer,’ Randolph answered. ‘But I will fetch one for you.’

‘There is a lot that you do not know about me,
Randolph,’ Fenella said quietly. ‘A lot that you may not approve of.’

Randolph felt awkward. ‘I doubt that anything you have done could shock an old cowboy like me,’ he replied. ‘I think that you are the finest lady I have ever met.’

‘Oh, Randolph,’ Fenella said, squeezing his arm impulsively, ‘I wish that were true, but I think that you would change your mind if you knew what I would like to confide to you.’

‘Does it have something to do with the argument you just had with Wilkes?’ he asked, gazing towards the eastern horizon. When Fenella did not reply Randolph rose to his feet. ‘I will go and get that beer for you,’ he said.

When he found the crate of beer he also found Arthur.

‘Is Nellie okay?’ Arthur asked.

‘Why would you ask that?’ Randolph replied, scooping a bottle from the crate and removing the lid.

‘I saw you go down to the edge of the beach. Guy just stormed past me headed for the cottage. I doubt that your intervention in whatever happened between them improved his humour.’

‘Miss Macintosh is fine,’ Randolph answered defensively. ‘We are just in conversation.’

In the flickering shadows by the bonfire Arthur’s expression of concern was visible. ‘Take care, Mr Gates,’ he said. ‘Believe me, Nellie has a problem that is beyond your assistance.’

Randolph was intrigued by the producer’s warning, but knew it would not be wise to ask him any more on the subject. Surely Fenella would explain when the time was right.

When Randolph returned Fenella was sitting with her arms wrapped around her legs and her head on her knees.

‘Your beer,’ he said, passing the bottle to her. She accepted it and took a long swig from the slender neck. Randolph sat beside her with his back against the trunk of a tree that had washed ashore.

‘If you want to talk about what is troubling you just consider me a shoulder to cry on,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m kind of used to being out on the range listening to the noises in the night.’

‘Thank you,’ Fenella replied. ‘But I would rather you and I talk of things near and dear to our hearts – rather than about my problems.’

Randolph shrugged. If that is what Fenella desired, then so be it. Strangely, he found that she changed from someone beset by despair to the bright, young woman he had first met at the Macintosh house by the harbour. Without heeding time they talked and laughed together until the bonfire on the beach was only a smouldering glow of hot coals and the crew had crept away to sleep. The constellation of the Southern Cross was on the horizon before they realised the time and bid each other a good night.

Fenella leaned over and kissed Randolph on the cheek with more than friendly affection. ‘Thank you,’ she said, gripping his arm. ‘You are truly a remarkable man with a beautiful spirit.’

Before he could reply, she rose and walked towards the cottage, leaving him with two empty beer bottles and swirling thoughts. He remained in the dark, his mind going over the events of the evening. If Fenella was hiding something, it meant little to him. He was in love with her.

The following morning dawned a perfect day for filming with clear blue skies and a gentle breeze. The cast and crew
moved sluggishly but cheerfully. A small gauge rail track was laid out along the beach and a hand-propelled trolley set up for the cameraman to move with the action. A saddled, spirited shiny black stallion was led down to the beach by its handler for the scene.

Arthur stomped around the beach issuing directions and checking angles. Randolph stood idly by, watching the commotion but mostly keeping an eye out for Fenella. He knew that this was the scene where Guy rode along the beach at full gallop, swung himself from the saddle and swept Fenella into his arms while she stood up to her knees in the surf.

‘Nellie, you are late again,’ Randolph heard Arthur chide.

Randolph turned to see Fenella walking barefooted down from Arthur’s cottage. She was wearing a long, flowing white dress and no hat. He frowned when he saw Wilkes follow her, wearing jodhpurs and a silk shirt unbuttoned to the chest. He strode across to the horse and the big animal attempted to prance away when Guy reached out for it.

Randolph grinned. It was obvious that the actor was going to have a hard time with his scene. From where he stood the American could see Guy berating the horse handler. Then he stomped angrily over to Arthur who was supervising the set-up of the camera with Bob Houston. More harsh words were exchanged and Arthur threw up his hands in obvious despair. Fenella sat down on the log that she and Randolph had shared the night before, watching the tantrums with a bemused expression.

‘Texas,’ Arthur called to Randolph. ‘Could I have a word with you?’

Randolph walked across to the huddle of cameraman, director and actor.

‘Do you think that you might be able to handle this horse?’ Arthur asked with a pained expression, gesturing to the snorting stallion. ‘I believe that you were once a cowboy in your own country.’

‘And a stockman here,’ Randolph added. ‘I will see what I can do.’

He walked over to the horse handler who was holding the reins. ‘What’s the big fella’s name?’ he asked.

‘Darkie,’ the handler replied. ‘He don’t usually play up like this. Looks like he don’t like the other bloke.’

‘That means Darkie and I have something in common,’ Randolph said, reaching out to touch the snorting horse on the nose. With gentle strokes, Randolph spoke softly to the horse as one would croon to a child. Soon the horse stopped its snorting and appeared to quieten. ‘He and I will be good pals,’ Randolph said, turning to the handler and taking the reins from him.

Arthur joined Randolph by the stallion. ‘I know that I am asking a favour but do you think you could do this scene and ride at full gallop along the beach, leaping from the horse when you reach Nellie? I can substitute Guy in the editing and have him swooping Nellie into his arms and kissing her. All you have to do is ride like the devil and leap from the horse.’

‘Sure,’ Randolph said with an easy smile. ‘What do I need?’

‘Well, you will have to change into clothing to match Guy’s outfit,’ Arthur said with a tone of relief. ‘We have a spare outfit up at the cottage that I think will fit you.’

‘Won’t it be obvious that it is me and not Guy on the horse?’ Randolph asked.

Arthur broke into a broad smile. ‘Dear chap,’ he said, ‘this is the magical world of movie making. We have ways
to make it look like Guy. All you have to do is ride the horse, leap off into the surf and leave the rest to me.’

‘Okay,’ Randolph said, looking across to Fenella who was shading her eyes and obviously watching him. Randolph gave her a wave which she returned.

When he had changed and returned to the beach Fenella was already standing in the gentle surf, waiting for him to do his part in the scene.

Randolph swung himself into the saddle and the horse barely flinched at the stranger on its back.

‘Take him down about a couple of hundred yards and when you ride towards us keep parallel with the track,’ Arthur directed. ‘Bob will be attempting to move towards you on the trolley.’

Randolph glanced down at Bob Houston kneeling behind his camera while two burly men crouched in a position to push him as fast as they could when the time was right. With a mock salute, Randolph swung the horse’s head around and cantered down the beach. He swung the horse around and waited for Arthur’s command.

‘Go!’ Arthur shouted through a megaphone.

Randolph kicked the big mount into action. He was pleasantly surprised to feel the horse react so well to his handling and charged forward. He could hear the crew cheering him on and before he knew it Fenella loomed up before him in the surf. With practised ease, Randolph swung himself from the saddle and swooped Fenella into his arms, kissing her passionately on the lips even as he could hear from the beach something about ‘cut’. Fenella’s surprise was such that she did not resist and melted against him, returning the passion. The kiss seemed to go on forever and Randolph could hear the cheering from the crew as they watched the unscheduled scene.

Breathlessly, Fenella finally broke the spell and drew back, a dreamy expression on her face. ‘That was not supposed to happen,’ she said with a warm smile.

‘Sorry,’ Randolph replied without really meaning it. ‘I got a bit carried away with this acting thing.’

‘I hope that you were not acting,’ Fenella chided gently.

‘I wasn’t,’ Randolph said, grinning down at her.

They both burst into laughter and Randolph lifted Fenella off her feet in a bear hug, carrying her back to the beach where the crew were clapping their appreciation.

However, Arthur was frowning. ‘That was not part of your instructions,’ he said and suddenly burst into a broad smile. ‘But your acting was so good that I think we will have trouble editing it out. Well done, Texas.’

Randolph made a short bow and looked up at Guy Wilkes whose face was a mask of fury. Randolph grinned a challenge to do something about his bold advance on Fenella, but the actor simply turned on his heel. As he stomped away. Randolph realised that Fenella was still holding his hand.

10

S
ister Bridget considered herself a dedicated nun, one whose life would most probably end in the jungles of the Pacific Islands, serving the needs of her church. She was the fifth in a family of eight girls and two boys, born into an impoverished life in Dublin. The Church had offered the young woman an opportunity for a life outside the soul-destroying slums of the Irish city. For the past twenty years Sister Bridget’s only contact with her family in faraway Dublin had been by letters – mostly from her younger brother who followed her in the order of birth. As children they had been close, living and playing in the filthy back streets of the Irish capital. In those days Bridget had been her brother’s protector but now he was dead. Liam had not died of natural causes, but from the bullet of a Lee Enfield rif le in the hands of a British soldier. For Liam had been a revolutionary, sworn to
freeing his country from the occupation by the Protestant English.

Sister Bridget was now in the fifty-fifth year of her life and had witnessed first hand the suffering of the Tolai people under the yoke of German rule. She was fluent in German and also the Tolai language, and although she despised the German government she did not hate the German people. Liam had often stressed to her that if any country in Europe rallied to assist in the struggle for Irish independence from England, it would be Germany, a natural enemy of the British people.

‘He rambles about clearing the jungle,’ Sister Bridget said to Hauptmann Hirsch, standing in the shade of a grove of rainforest giants just a short distance from the clinic where Alex lay in a fever. ‘I do not know what he means.’