To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (47 page)

‘It appears so,’ Matthew frowned. ‘Why in hell would he not tell his father? The colonel mentioned nothing concerning Randolph when I asked him.’

‘I am afraid that I do not trust George any further than I could kick him,’ Arthur said, sipping his tea. ‘But I cannot say anything because he is Patrick’s son.’

‘The bastard!’ Matthew swore. ‘George has known all along and from what I can guess has not lifted a finger to help get Texas out of prison.’

‘George made me promise that I was to remain silent on the matter as he did not want to burden his father. But he said that he would do anything to free Randolph,’ Arthur said, placing his tea cup on his desk.

‘How do we spring Texas?’ Matthew asked.

‘Leave it with me,’ Arthur said with a grim smile. ‘I promise that Randolph will not be spending Christmas behind bars. I personally will speak with Patrick. I know he is good friends with the American ambassador and I am sure that a deal can be made.’

‘I should travel to Hawaii,’ Matthew said. ‘Texas has never let me down in all the years that we have shared.’

‘That will not be necessary,’ Arthur reassured him. ‘I am sure that you have immediate plans of your own and going to Hawaii is not as fast as a telegram transmitted across the Pacific, my boy.’

Matthew was grateful that he had been given an excuse not to spend the time travelling to Hawaii when, he considered selfishly, there was a possibility this war would be over before Christmas. He wanted a chance to try out some
of his ideas of aerial warfare before it was all over. He had already spoken with the colonel about the air training being held at Point Cook in Victoria and had been assured he would be granted a commission along with a posting to the newly formed training unit. Because of his flying experience he was considered the right sort of chap to be an officer with the rank of Second Lieutenant.

‘I trust you, Arthur,’ Matthew said. ‘All I ask is to be kept up to date with your efforts to free Randolph.’

‘I promise that I will keep you abreast of any developments,’ Arthur replied. ‘I suspect that you are just itching to get back into the sky again, and I have a pretty good idea where you will be heading. I suppose that one day man will say that there are some born to fly,’ Arthur continued kindly. ‘You, my boy, are one such person.’

Matthew looked just a little sheepish that his quick agreement with Arthur allowing him to handle Randolph’s bid for freedom should be so obvious.

He finished his tea, thanked Arthur with a firm handshake and stepped out of the office. He would return to his hotel and check out. The next day he would be on the train to Melbourne and back into the air where he belonged.

30

F
our days before Christmas, Colonel Patrick Duffy sat alone in his library with a tumbler of Scotch at hand. It was late in the evening and he had returned from a meeting of battalion commanders at Victoria Barracks. A month earlier Patrick hoped that he would be sent to South Africa with the newly formed Australian Imperial Force to assist Botha’s government put down an uprising of rebellious Boers in sympathy with the German cause. The uprising had been crushed and Britain had its first victory against a German colony on the Dark Continent. Where they would now be committed was still a mystery, but rumours of being deployed to Egypt to help defend the Suez Canal floated around the meeting he had attended.

Even with Christmas only a few days away the war was well and truly establishing itself in the green fields of Europe. The names of once obscure villages now began
appearing in the newspapers: Mons, Marne, Ypres, and on the eastern front the decisive German victory against the massive Russian army in the swamps and forests of Tannenberg. Grass was being rapidly replaced by mud and the clean lines of farming land were now crisscrossed with the jagged lines of trenches.

The Canadians had landed in England and this annoyed many of the commanders Patrick spoke with who were eager to join the battle against the enemy. Why had not Australians been deployed?

Patrick sipped his Scotch, his feet up on a chair. He could hear the old grandfather clock in the hallway tick-tocking in its monotonous way as it had for an earlier generation of his family. So much had happened in his life since the outbreak of war. Alex had quietly married Giselle at a synagogue in Sydney after Patrick had pulled strings to have her released for a secret, forty-eight-hour supervised leave of absence. Their short honeymoon had been spent in an expensive hotel and then Alex had been forced to relinquish his bride back to the internment camp, leaving them with the sworn oath that he would have his bride and her mother released before the next Christmas arrived in 1915.

George and Louise had been married in November in a lavish wedding ceremony attended by the who’s who of Sydney society. The pair had made a handsome couple, and their marriage dominated the social pages of the daily papers.

Alex had shared letters with his father from Matthew Duffy who had kept in contact with Alex as he put in his hours flying at Point Cook for the newly formed Australian Flying Corps. Matthew had written that he was itching to get into action and because of his previous flight experience was at the top of the list for deployment into active service.

That left his beloved daughter, Nellie. Patrick sighed
and raised his glass. ‘To you, my darling daughter, wherever you are.’

Patrick felt the tears welling. Fenella was so precious to him and he still felt the pangs of guilt knowing that she was innocent of any crime and yet still a suspect in the death of Guy Wilkes. The war had wiped away any real interest in the case and its strong hint of scandal. Patrick knew that his military career would be over if he provided the police with the real story of Wilkes’ death, even if he was cleared. It was not the done thing for an officer of the King to be embroiled in such sordid affairs and he would be requested to resign his commission should he reveal what he knew. But now the rapidly mounting body count of dead and maimed young men on the Western Front of Europe stunned the readers of Western newspapers and one man’s violent end was lost in the long lists of other young men.

As for Randolph Gates, Patrick admonished himself for ever suspecting that he had skipped with Macintosh funds instead of continuing his crusade to find Fenella. A talk with his American friend, the ambassador, had solved that problem. Randolph had been released two weeks before Christmas and a telegram from him in Pearl Harbour assured Patrick that he was chasing down a strong lead on Nellie’s whereabouts. Patrick had cornered George on the matter of why he had not been informed of the American’s incarceration in Hawaii after receiving a phone call from Arthur. George had dismissed Patrick’s anger with the explanation that he did not want to worry him any more and that he was looking into solving the problem. Needless to say, Patrick had reluctantly accepted his son’s explanation as he was forced to admit his older son’s astute business acumen was making the Macintosh companies more and more money each day with wartime government contracts.
Patrick knew he was not in a position to oversee the day-to-day dealings any longer with his full-time duties to the army and so he desperately needed his son to keep the companies afloat.

Patrick took a sip from his glass and stared at the dim shadows on the library wall opposite. Life was so bloody lonely, he thought, but also knew that this had been so at his own choice. With the death of his wife fourteen years earlier he had sworn never to neglect his children. To that extent he had avoided any romantic liaisons and allowed his time to be consumed by his militia duties.

But now, there was a promise that he would have his family around him for the Christmas of 1914. Again, Patrick had been able to pull strings and have some unofficial leave granted so Giselle and her mother could spend the day with him and the others at his place. So he would have two sons and two daughters-in-law at the Christmas table, and a place would be left vacant for Nellie. Oh, if only she was with them, he sighed, wiping away a tear running down his cheek. At least here in the privacy of his library he could allow himself to feel emotion.

Patrick finished the last of his Scotch and settled back at his desk to flick through the messages Angus had left from the day he was away on military duties. Besides the usual accounts and company papers to be signed was a note scrawled by Angus saying that Arthur Thorncroft had an urgent request for Patrick to meet him on the morrow in the afternoon at his office. Patrick puzzled over the note. What could be so urgent?

But with regard to his lifelong friendship for the former film producer, Patrick had Angus deliver him to Arthur’s office in the afternoon.

‘I will be forwarding an invitation for you to attend the
house on Christmas day,’ Patrick said by way of greeting. ‘I must apologise, old friend, for not keeping in contact more often.’

‘You are a very busy man, Patrick,’ Arthur said, taking Patrick’s extended hand. ‘And if I know the brash young officer I first met in the deserts of the Sudan, you are still eager to lead your men into battle.’

‘Not so eager anymore,’ Patrick replied. ‘I know that the time will arrive that I will be overseeing those terrible letters to wives and mothers saying that their husband or son has been killed in the service of the Empire. I am just glad that I will be able to share some precious time in the company of dear friends and family on Christmas Day. I only wish that list extended to others whose whereabouts and welfare are not known.’

Arthur nodded. ‘I think I understand,’ he replied. ‘But for now, you and I should go and see one of those Yankee films this afternoon, and then share a drink after it.’

‘A bloody film,’ Patrick said. ‘I have many important things to do, and watching a film is not really a priority.’

‘Just trust me,’ Arthur said, taking Patrick by the elbow and steering him out into the street. ‘Get that big, beautiful Scot to drop us off at the Odeon as I am sure that you need some light relief from your duties, and I can assure you that spending a little time in the theatre is the perfect way to leave the world behind for a short time.’

Reluctantly, Patrick let his persistent friend prevail and Angus drove them to the picture theatre, dropping them off. They were ushered to a seat on the sumptuous top balcony overlooking the cheaper seats below, and the lights went down. The patrons rose when the national anthem was played on a piano from the orchestra pit and sat down after it was completed. Tobacco smoke rose as patrons lit up
and the silver screen flickered into life. Patrick was slightly annoyed that he had let Arthur talk him into watching the Yank film. He really was a busy man, and watching films was such a trivial way to spend his time. Despite his impatience he settled back as the piano player rolled off the notes to the score, setting the mood for what was being displayed on the screen. It was obviously an American melodrama about a working man who had just lost his job. He was now sitting alone at a table with a bottle of rum before him. Close-ups of his face showed his despair as his wife entered the room to go to him. It was then that Patrick almost bolted from his seat. ‘Nellie!’ he gasped, recognising his daughter up on the silver screen. He felt Arthur’s hand on his arm.

‘Now you can see that she is safe and well,’ Arthur said gently. ‘She may not be able to be with us for Christmas, but she is now with the world, wherever this film is seen.’

Patrick settled back and for the time the film ran admired his daughter’s skill at acting. When the lights came on, he rose and shook Arthur’s hand. ‘Old friend, it is my shout at the pub,’ he said as they mingled with the crowd pushing their way to the exits. On a personal level 1914 was ending on a good note for him, Patrick thought. But what did 1915 offer for all those he held dear?

Across the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean, Randolph Gates strode along an avenue of shady trees. It had been many years since he had last passed through the town of Los Angeles and many of the houses around him still bore the architectural features of their Spanish heritage. The weather was pleasant and the skies clear blue – a marked difference to his home state of Texas which he knew a few days before Christmas would have a white sheet of snow across
the prairies and in the hills. But the hills and canyons surrounding the town he now found himself in were covered in orange groves and tough, stunted brush.

He found himself joining a happy throng of people walking under the ornate archway of a thriving film studio and into a world of people dressed in everything from cowboy outfits to pirate costumes as they strolled between the spacious buildings outfitted to make movies. It was an open day for movie fans to meet their favourite stars and Randolph was just one more tourist visiting this world of make-believe.

A uniformed elderly man, probably a retired policeman, Randolph thought, stood with his hands on his hips looking bored at the passing throng of visitors.

‘Hey, buddy,’ Randolph addressed the security man. ‘Where do I find Miss Fiona Owens?’

‘You mean the Scottish dame,’ the security guard replied. Randolph thought it was amusing that his American countryman did not know that Owens was in fact a well-known Welsh name and not Scottish at all.

‘Yeah, the Scottish actress,’ he said.

‘Just go down this road and you will see a building marked with an eight,’ he replied. ‘She should be in there doing a shoot.’

Randolph thanked the man and continued his walk along the road, passing a group of men dressed in the uniforms of the Confederate Army and leaning on old-style rifles. He found the building, a tall, huge structure where a couple of security guards were allowing a line of visitors to enter. Randolph joined the queue and was ushered inside into a world he was already familiar with from his time working with Arthur Thorncroft – cameras, sets and big lights on stands. Even the set of three walls constructed for
filming looked as familiar as those Arthur would have done up for an indoor scene. The only thing about this set, Randolph noticed, was how elaborate and large it was compared to those which he was familiar with in Sydney.