To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (19 page)

‘It can be both,’ Matthew said, feeling that he may just have an edge on his cousin who was now glowering at him from the table. ‘But we could discuss it if you can make a place for me on your dance card.’

Louise glanced at her card and, with a small pencil, wrote in Matthew’s name. ‘I think that the next dance would be available, Mr Duffy,’ she said sweetly. ‘George can use the time to talk to his business colleagues.’

The band had struck up a Scottish reel and Matthew extended his hand. Louise rose and he led her onto the dance floor. With whoops and yells the dancers swung around the floor. Louise was light on her feet. All the time, Matthew did not take his eyes off his dance partner.

When the dance was over, Matthew reluctantly escorted her back to the table. George was not there and Louise invited Matthew to sit and talk to her.

‘I can see that you have served in the army,’ she said, glancing at the medals on his dinner suit. ‘Are you still connected with the military?’

‘No,’ Matthew lied, putting aside his links with the colonel’s covert operation. ‘I am involved in exploring the possibilities of flight for our country’s rural needs.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Louise replied. ‘Why have you chosen to be an aviator?’

Matthew thought about her question for just a moment. No one had asked him so directly before why he loved to fly. ‘Do you ever sometimes sit and look up at the clouds?’ he asked.

‘Often,’ she replied. ‘I imagine the clouds are creatures with their different shapes.’

‘Well, so did I and now I am able to go close enough to touch those creatures.’

Louise laughed lightly at his explanation. ‘How exquisite!’ she said. ‘I would love to do that.’

‘With all going well, I may be able to make your wish come true,’ Matthew said. ‘I actually own an aircraft but alas, it is a single seater, but I intend to soon purchase a twin seater.’

‘I would love to fly with you,’ Louise said, leaning forward so closely that Matthew could smell her perfume. He was about to reply when George suddenly loomed above them.

‘I believe the next dance is mine,’ he said to Louise as the band struck up once again. ‘If you will excuse us, Matthew.’

Matthew watched as Louise accompanied George onto the dance floor. Deep in his heart he knew that he had established a rapport with the beautiful young woman. He would see her again. What the bloody hell could she see in that fool George? But his question was gloomily answered as he watched them dance together. George was good-looking, rich and a very eligible catch for any woman, whereas he was not independently rich and led a life that left little time for a permanent relationship.

‘Are you about to join the bachelor regiment?’ a voice asked from behind him. Matthew turned to see Alex in company with a German officer.

‘Major von Fellmann, I presume,’ Matthew said, rising from the table and extending his hand.

‘Matthew Duffy, at your service.’

Kurt accepted the extended hand. ‘I have heard of you,’ he responded warmly. ‘You fought our Dutch cousins in Africa.’

‘You are well informed,’ Matthew answered. ‘Welcome to Australia.’

‘The way things are going between my sister and Texas Slim,’ Alex said, the effects of just one or two many champagnes becoming apparent as he spied the couple dance past, ‘I doubt that we can include him in the bachelor regiment anymore. Who would have guessed?’

‘Not me,’ Matthew said, shaking his head. ‘Your sister might be responsible for breaking up a grand team of men if Randolph keeps going the way he is.’

‘Uncle Arthur has offered Texas a full-time job with his studio, doing the dangerous stunts for Guy Wilkes,’ Alex
continued. ‘But that won’t be possible until you two complete your mission for Father.’

‘What mission is that?’ Kurt asked.

Alex suddenly realised that the alcohol had loosened his tongue and that he was saying things in front of an officer from the very country that they were planning to spy on. He also noticed the warning in Matthew’s eyes.

‘Oh, nothing much,’ Alex corrected himself. ‘It’s just a job filming some farmland west of here.’

‘An interesting idea,’ Kurt persisted. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘The farmer wants to know how best to set up irrigation on his property,’ Matthew said, cutting across any further explanation from his cousin. ‘How about we retire to the bar where we will be closer to the supply of these good wines?’

As the three men weaved their way to the bar, Matthew realised that he would have to keep an eye on his cousin who was quickly succumbing to the bonhomie of the evening.

Matthew was able to secure another two dances with Louise Gyles before the ball came to an end. More importantly, he had been able to convince her to leave her visiting card with him.

Hardly anyone noticed the announcement of Pastor von Fellmann’s arrival at the ball later in the evening. Already the champagne and music had fired the revellers into a noisy, dancing, chattering throng. However, Kurt saw his brother, dressed in a simple black suit, step into the room and look around for a familiar face. Kurt excused himself from the table he shared with some young officers from Patrick’s
regiment and hurried across to his brother. Both men’s eyes met and an immediate warmth could be seen in their expressions. Kurt stepped forward and thrust out his hand. ‘It is good to see you, my brother,’ he said, holding Karl’s hand firmly in his own. Their strict Prussian upbringing forbade more overt expressions of fraternal love in public.

‘Time has been good to you, Kurt,’ Karl said, reluctant to let go his brother’s grip. ‘You must tell me how things are with our family in Prussia.’

Kurt allowed himself the gesture of placing his arm around his brother’s shoulders and guided him to a quiet alcove where he briefed his brother on the situation he had left behind at their family home in Germany.

‘You must realise that we could be at war with the English before the year is out,’ Kurt said when the conversation concerning family had ceased. ‘It is time that you considered returning to our Fatherland. Or you may become a prisoner here.’

Karl gazed at the happy revellers and smiled sadly. ‘I am at home, brother,’ he replied.

‘But you are German,’ Kurt reminded him. ‘You were born a German and will die so.’

‘My beloved wife Helen is buried up north in Queensland,’ Karl responded. ‘I wish one day to lie beside her for eternity.’

Annoyed, Kurt attempted to reason with his brother whom he loved dearly. ‘The Australian authorities will not be so sentimental if we are at war with the British Empire. You may die in some concentration camp like our Dutch brothers did in the last war the British fought. You may as well be safely at home until it is all over. You owe them nothing for your selfless missionary work among the heathens of this desolate land.’

Karl responded to his brother’s words with a gentle smile. ‘Do you know, my dear brother, a few years ago I might have agreed with you but for the last years I have seen the face of God in the desolate lands that I have served for the Church. I think that I have taken on some of the native spirituality although I dare say my divinity teachers back home would find this heretical. I have been exposed to the solitude of a land in a way that is not unlike the experiences of the old time recluses who found their own peace in the deserts of the Holy Lands. Do you know, my spiritual guide is a heathen Aboriginal by the name of Wallarie. An old man, he is the last of his tribe after we Europeans slaughtered all his people many years ago. He comes to my mission station from time to time to sit under a tree and simply reflect on the world around him. At first I tried to bring the word of Jesus to him but he gently rebuked me. And now I find a peace in his words concerning our place in this world. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I am still a good Lutheran pastor but I have also found a tolerance to all that I do not always understand. No, dear brother, I will die out there with my brother Wallarie. It has been foretold by him.’

‘God in heaven!’ Kurt exploded. ‘Does our mother know of your plans never to return?’

Karl looked away. ‘I pray that you will be able to explain to her why I must remain in this land.’

Kurt shook his head. ‘You are my brother and I will do my best to explain,’ he said sadly. ‘Still, you must realise that if war comes we may never see each other again.’

‘I know that you will carry on the family name,’ Karl said. ‘That is what is important to the family.’

Kurt was pleased when Patrick made his way to them. The German officer was having trouble restraining his
emotion and knew well that it was not manly to display his true feelings. Before long, Karl was introduced to the rest of their distant Australian relatives and the night continued into the early hours of the morning.

Very few of the departing revellers took much notice of the two men saying goodbye to each other – one in the uniform of a German officer and the other in the dress of a Lutheran pastor. Had they taken more notice they might have commented on the remarkable likeness between the two men. But how different they really were; one followed the way of the sword, the other the way of the Lord.

12

T
he meeting between George Macintosh and the German consul official, Maynard Bosch, was less than friendly. They stood in the shadow of the 125-foot high obelisk with its Egyptian design near the Bathurst Street entrance to Hyde Park. The air blowing around the two men was as chilly as their feelings.

‘You failed to carry out your side of the bargain,’ George scowled, his hands in his pockets and his coat collar pulled up around his neck in the late afternoon. ‘My brother is alive and well.’

Bosch shivered against the cold and gazed across the central park of Sydney. ‘We are not murderers, Mr Macintosh,’ Bosch replied. ‘Your brother was not under our control when he departed our territory. We could not simply pursue him across the sea and then execute him.’

‘But you had all the evidence that my brother is planning
to carry out subversive activities in Neu Pommern,’ George protested. ‘Even I can guess that he is engaged in plotting to map out possible landing sites for an invasion of the island.’

‘That may be so,’ Bosch replied, ‘but we are not at war and your brother is a highly placed person because of your father. We would need to have absolute proof before we took any action. We would appreciate it if you could reveal the precise dates that this plan would be put into place.’

‘I can tell you when my brother will be shipping out next and with what cargo,’ George replied. ‘That is something I feel is worth a lot to your government.’

‘To know would be very helpful,’ Bosch replied. ‘At this stage our source has only been able to provide an approximate time for the operation in our territory. More accurate knowledge would put less strain on our limited resources to catch your brother and his comrades in the act of subversion.’

‘I will be able to do that for you,’ George answered. ‘But this time you must be able to eliminate my brother – and I mean I expect to hear that he is dead.’

Bosch looked at the Australian with barely concealed contempt. ‘If that is all, I will bid you a good afternoon, Mr Macintosh,’ Bosch said, moving away from the man he loathed.

George watched him walk away. His thoughts were consumed only with keeping his brother and sister from any chance of future inheritance. With some smugness he felt that he had at least been able to use Guy Wilkes to ensnare his sister in the world of elicit drugs. According to Wilkes, Fenella was now verging on total addiction to heroin and it was beginning to show in her work. She was missing appointments on the set or, at best, arriving late. Fenella was becoming more and more fixated on how she would
obtain the next dose of the drug to get her through the day and to that end Wilkes was her saviour.

Besides the small fortune George paid Wilkes to encourage Fenella into a world of drug taking, Wilkes himself was more than happy to assist. Fenella had dumped him in favour of the American and the actor did not take kindly to being rejected.

In their last conversation Wilkes had suggested that perhaps George could make his move. Fenella’s condition was ripe to exploit, George mused. Maybe it was time to visit his father and pour out his heart about dear Nellie’s unfortunate situation. He could already anticipate his father’s reaction to the news about his one and only daughter’s slide into drug taking. George smiled. His weak siblings would never see it coming, he thought. They were too stupid to understand why he alone must rule the family.

George Macintosh strolled across Hyde Park through a swirl of crisp brown leaves under naked trees. He had an appointment to see Miss Louise Gyles for dinner at one of Sydney’s finest restaurants, but he felt a twinge of uncertainty. Matthew Duffy rose into his thoughts. There had been something about Louise’s reaction to meeting the aviator at the regimental ball a week earlier that disturbed him. George Macintosh was not a man who abided any competition in either his private or public life.

Randolph Gates watched a flock of seagulls rise on the wind over the beach, squawking a protest as he and Fenella approached. Beside him, Fenella had slipped off her shoes and could feel the wet sand squelching between her toes as she walked along the edge of the cold, grey sea rolling in from the Tasman.

‘Manly has always been the family’s favourite place to retreat from the world,’ she said, avoiding a sharp-edged sea shell washed ashore by the winter winds. The two were virtually alone on the beach and behind them was the picturesque village of Manly itself, a place popular all year around with the citizens of Sydney who could take a ferry from the southern shore to lose themselves in the beauty of the northern one. ‘Our family maintains a little cottage here.’

Randolph stopped and gazed out to sea. A coastal trader was steaming south. For a moment he was reminded that within weeks he would be departing on a dangerous mission north into German territory. He had been sworn to secrecy by Matthew on the nature of their mission and could not even tell Fenella.

‘You are miles away,’ she said, noticing the distant expression in his eyes. ‘A penny for your thoughts.’