To Touch the Clouds : The Frontier Series 5 (9 page)

When the loading was over, Giselle rode side-saddle down to the beach on a tough little pony. She wore a straw hat and long white skirt pinched in at the waist.

‘My father has sent his apologies for not being able to bid you a bon voyage personally,’ Giselle said, dismounting with easy grace to stand before Alex, sweating under the late afternoon sun. ‘We are having some trouble on the western border of the plantation with some natives from further up
the valley. He has been forced to fetch our local constabulary. But I have come to say goodbye – for the moment.’

Alex removed his hat and wiped his brow with a bandana from around his neck. ‘I may be back this way sooner than you think,’ he said. ‘I must say that you are the most beautiful and remarkable lady that I have ever met.’ Surprising both of them he suddenly reached out and drew Giselle to him. She did not resist and his lips met hers in a kiss that sealed his spoken words. Her arms went around his neck and she bent her body into his.

‘Good on yer, boss,’ a rough male voice yelled from the boats where a gang of men loaded the cargo, making Alex acutely aware that they were being observed by both the plantation workers and his own European crew. Although it was the time this was not the place to reveal his feelings.

They drew apart and Alex could see a slight frown on Giselle’s face. ‘You should have done that days ago, Alexander,’ she said. ‘Could you not see my feelings for you?’

‘I didn’t know,’ he blurted.

‘Well, if you are able to return before I travel with my mother to Sydney that would be very welcome,’ Giselle said, standing back from Alex on the beach. ‘For now, you must leave me, but I know in my heart, we will soon be together.’

‘I don’t want to leave,’ Alex said. ‘I love you and want to spend the rest of my time in this paradise on earth with you.’

Giselle looked at Alex with sad eyes, knowing that reality was his temporary absence from her life. ‘Your ship must sail,’ she said gently. ‘Time will pass and we will meet again.’

Reluctantly, Alex turned to walk to the last rowboat leaving for the steamer in the harbour, acutely aware that the ship had only a small window of time to steam away on the
tide. He was met by his Scottish engineer, a short but solidly built man in his early forties with a freckled bald head and a myriad of freckles on his pale grinning face. ‘Don’t say anything, Jock,’ Alex cautioned, stepping into the boat.

‘I was just going to say that you have good taste in lassies, Mr Macintosh,’ the engineer replied, shoving the stern of the boat off the beach and leaping aboard. ‘You should think about snatching her and taking her with you.’

Alex turned to his friend and employee with a dark look but the suggestion had merit. Maybe Giselle might welcome being kidnapped by him. His expression silenced the jovial sailor and Alex turned to gaze at the beach now under the soft shadows of the setting sun. Giselle stood holding the reins of her pony, staring back at him. She waved and Alex returned the gesture. But soon enough she disappeared on her mount into the rows of palms on the beach and his boat was bumping the side of the cargo ship.

Aboard, Alex was met by the captain, a tall, gaunt Englishman in his fifties, Ernest Delamore. ‘We have a radio telegram for you,’ he said in a less than welcoming tone. ‘Sydney is wondering what has held you up here.’

Alex glanced back at the darkening shoreline. He knew the answer full well but did not offer any explanation, other than to say it had been business. Delamore shook his head and walked away, leaving Alex to continue gazing at the shoreline, willing Giselle to make one more appearance. The ship rocked gently on the tropical seas and, with a clanking of anchor cables shuddering through the iron deck, the Macintosh ship prepared to steam north-east to Rabaul, leaving Alex’s heart on the beach.

As the ship chopped through a rising sea off the shore Alex chose to go below to his cabin. What the heck, he thought, climbing down the metal stairs to the deck below.
It did not matter how much he paid for the cargo and George could go to hell. After all, he was on a mission for his father. It was just a pity that his older brother could not be brought into the operation. George was under the impression that he had sent his younger brother on a voyage to make even more money for the Macintosh empire. But this was not the case. Alex opened the door to his cabin and felt a twinge of guilt as he slumped onto his narrow bed attached to the bulkhead. He had not really thought about it before but he was, in fact, betraying the trust of the Schumann family and their friends. And sadly that also included Giselle.

6

A
lthough the studio was running smoothly that balmy, late autumn day in Sydney, Arthur Thorncroft was distracted. As the scene was being filmed he sat in his canvas folding chair, his thoughts drifting to the reprieve the injection of money had made to the survival of the film and his company. George Macintosh provided no explanation as to why he was continuing support for the project and Arthur had not asked, although the film maker suspected that the young man he intensely disliked must have an ulterior motive. All that mattered was that the film would be finished and sold to the distributors.

‘You think that will do, Mr Thorncroft?’ the young cameraman asked from behind his camera.

‘What? Sorry,’ Arthur answered vaguely, his thoughts interrupted. He glanced over at his two stars. Fenella and Guy were staring back at him. ‘What do you think, Miss
Birney?’ Arthur asked the stern-looking, middle-aged woman with greying hair tied back in a bun.

She stood to one side of the set holding a clip board and adjusted her spectacles in an irritated manner. ‘If you ask me, Mr Thorncroft,’ she replied indignantly, ‘I think that they are ruining my work.’

‘I need a clearer explanation,’ Arthur said.

The scriptwriter rolled her eyes. ‘Obviously you were not concentrating on the scene,’ she said impatiently. ‘Otherwise you would have noticed how wooden Miss Macintosh’s performance was during her supposed loving embrace of Mr Wilkes. I could not feel the passion between them at all and think that you should re-shoot the scene.’

‘Sorry,’ Arthur sighed. ‘I was somewhat distracted but I will speak to Guy and Nellie.’

‘Good,’ the woman replied, satisfied that her hard work was being respected.

Arthur waved Guy and Fenella to him. They stepped out of the set that would soon be dismantled and the pieces converted for another shoot at a later date. Arthur rose from his chair and placed his arms around Guy and Fenella’s shoulders, huddling them to him. ‘What is going on between you two lovebirds?’ he asked in a paternal manner. ‘Where is the love between the two of you that the Australian public has come to expect?’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Guy scowled while Fenella remained silent.

‘I have noticed a certain amount of coolness between you over the past week or so,’ Arthur said. ‘Has something happened I should know about?’

‘We have just had a small spat,’ Fenella answered. ‘I am sure that it will pass.’

‘I hope so,’ Arthur commented. ‘Because in our business,
imparting feelings to an audience – who believe what they see up on the screen – is real. That is what we call acting. I cannot afford to have you bring any personal differences to the set.’

Guy and Fenella nodded and Arthur broke the embrace to glance over their shoulders at George Macintosh who had appeared on the set. Beyond him, his chauffeur stood idly by the Buick. George signalled for Arthur to join him.

‘Good afternoon, George,’ Arthur greeted. ‘I have not had the opportunity to thank you for extending funds for the completion of the picture.’

‘You know my only interest is that you turn a profit for all the money the Macintosh companies have put into the project,’ George replied. ‘I am only here today under instructions from my father that you use your contacts to buy the best movie camera you can with the additional funds I will allocate for its purchase.’

Arthur raised a brow. ‘What Patrick asks will cost quite a lot,’ Arthur answered. ‘But I can fulfil his request and, all going well, have the camera at the studio next week.’

‘No sooner?’ George frowned.

‘What you are asking is not sold in a grocery shop,’ Arthur replied quietly. ‘It just so happens that I know of a cancelled order for such a camera. It’s being shipped to Sydney and should arrive early next week. I will be on the wharf with the money to ensure it does not fall into any other film-maker’s hands. May I ask why your father has requested an extra camera for the company?’

‘He did not enter me into his confidence,’ George sneered. ‘Just contact me as soon as you have your hands on the merchandise and I will inform Father. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to speak with Mr Wilkes.’

George walked over to Guy who sat sprawled in a deck chair sipping from a silver hip flask. Arthur watched the two men huddled in a conversation they clearly did not want him to be privy to. Arthur was curious but shook his head and walked back to the office at the end of the studio as the crew went about preparing to shoot the scene again. In Arthur’s opinion, whatever the two men were discussing boded no good.

West of Sydney, in an isolated rural area, Matthew Duffy was in a state of near ecstasy, standing in a grassy paddock and gazing at the object that had his full attention.

‘Can you fly it?’ Patrick Duffy asked.

‘Matthew can fly anything that has wings stuck to it,’ Randolph answered in lieu of his friend.

‘A BE.2,’ Matthew said, walking towards the newly assembled canvas and wood biplane with its huge, four-bladed, wooden propeller. Designed as a two-seater, it had two cockpits. He stroked the metal engine. The men who had assembled the aircraft had done a good job; all the cross-wiring was taut between the struts.

‘I am afraid that the aircraft is only on loan from the chaps at Point Cook for the duration of the mission,’ Patrick said, noticing the avaricious look in Matthew’s eyes. ‘Colonel Hughes was able to convince the Prime Minister that it should be seconded to us for a matter of national security and the aircraft no longer exists in any records. I suppose that makes it a ghost aeroplane. No doubt you are eager to try it out,’ he said, reaching into his pocket for a cigar despite the strong acrid smell of fuel. ‘I have been informed by the mechanics that the winds are right and you have enough daylight to take it for a flight. But you will have to
fly low and keep out of sight of any habitation. She is, after all, a ghost.’

Matthew was well aware that the newly assembled aircraft bore no registration markings. It had been painted a dull green above and a light blue below along the fuselage and wings to blend with the earth below or the sky above depending on the perspective of observers. He took the goggles and leather skullcap from Randolph. Hauling himself into the rear cockpit, Matthew quickly assessed the controls and jiggled the moving parts that controlled his flight. Satisfied, he nodded to Randolph who moved into a position to swing the big propeller, activating the engine. It only took three hefty swings on the prop to cause the engine to splutter into life, spewing out a strong smell of oil and fuel from the exhausts along the engine.

Randolph jumped to the side and Matthew let the aircraft bump and jolt over the levelled earth of the paddock that had been prepared as an airstrip. Randolph held up a rag to indicate wind strength and direction. Matthew nodded, snapped off a mock salute and pulled out the choke, causing the engine to roar to life. The biplane roared down the strip until its tail rose and finally the aircraft itself lifted gently into the afternoon air, rising slowly to drone towards the west.

‘I told you he can fly anything with wings,’ Randolph said smugly.

Patrick was obviously impressed with how quickly Matthew appeared to master the unfamiliar aircraft as he rose higher in the sky. ‘For your sake I hope you are right,’ he replied with a slow smile, finally lighting the cigar cupped in his hands, ‘because tomorrow morning you are going up as his passenger to practise for the mission.’

Randolph already knew where they would be going
but had not been informed of what they were meant to do when they reached their target. Nor was he fully aware of their specific role in this possibly very dangerous mission. ‘What would be my part in this mission, Colonel?’ he asked as they both watched the tiny aircraft dip and disappear beyond a low tree-covered ridge.

‘What skills do you have operating a film-making camera?’ Patrick asked, puffing on the cigar while watching the ridge line to the west.

‘I have snapped a few photographs in my time,’ Randolph replied.

‘No, I mean a film camera – like they use to make moving pictures.’

‘None at all,’ Randolph answered.

‘Well, that is going to change,’ Patrick said, turning to the American. ‘Next week, I will arrange to have my friend Arthur Thorncroft organise for one of his cameramen to teach you all about using a camera. In the meantime, while we are out here, you and Matthew will get familiar with the BE.2. You will be using it in the job ahead of you.’

‘May I ask what that will be, Colonel?’ Randolph questioned.

Patrick gazed for a moment at the ridge he had seen the tiny aircraft disappear behind. The plane suddenly reappeared, droning up into the sky and rolling to one side in a turn. ‘All in good time, old chap,’ he answered.

Randolph knew that he would be wasting his time asking any more questions. Was it that the Australian colonel did not trust him because he was a Yank? Maybe he had a right to, Randolph realised. From what he had experienced of his own country’s history, the United States of America would not let itself become embroiled in any European
conflict. After all, the Europeans had a history of two thousand years of fighting among themselves.

A pleasant thought popped into the American’s mind. If he was to be trained to use a camera it just might place him in the company of Fenella. He was smiling at the thought when Matthew brought his aircraft soaring back to the makeshift airstrip. The two men instinctively ducked as the aircraft sailed overhead and turned to return for a perfect landing.