‘My God, just look at you,’ Stan said, holding his son at arm’s length, a proprietorial hand on each shoulder. ‘Army life suits you, my boy, there’s no doubt about that.’
‘Dad’s right,’ Kate said, eyeing her brother up and down admiringly. ‘I never realised you were so handsome.’
She was joking, but it was true nonetheless. He had always been good looking, but now Neil’s body had filled out, the musculature clearly defined; he was not only fit, he was strong and it showed. But more than that, Kate registered a new self-assurance in her brother, a new manliness.
Neil laughed and hugged her. ‘You’re not too bad yourself, Sis.’
The Christmas luncheon was a repetition of the previous year with the same intimate gathering of family and friends. The Krantzes were there – Ivan with his wife and son – and the Fiorellis – Luigi, his wife and two children, foregoing their customary extended family gathering for the honour of dining at The Big House. But there was a subtle shift in relationships, or so it seemed to Kate. Surely Ivan is a little less deferential, she thought, his manner a little bolder. It would make sense of course. Ivan was no longer dependent upon Elianne for a living. Elianne was only one in any number of Krantz & Son clients, the most important admittedly, but just one nonetheless. Ivan and his son were doing very well, she’d been told.
‘We’re branching into some exciting new investment areas, Stan,’ Ivan said. ‘We’d love to run them by you, wouldn’t we, Henry?’ Henry nodded. ‘These are thrilling times for the sugar industry. Times of expansion, times of change –’
‘Yes, yes, we’ll talk later,’ Stan said dismissively as he reached out and speared another slice of turkey from the platter. ‘Now’s hardly the time.’
There had been occasions in the past when Kate had felt herself cringe at her father’s arrogant treatment of others. She didn’t now. She thought it crass of Ivan to talk business over the family Christmas lunch, and she wasn’t the only one. Glancing at her mother, she caught Hilda’s eye peering over the rim of the champagne glass she’d just lifted to her lips. Poor form, Hilda’s eye said, pushy, vulgar. Hilda, too, was pleased to see Ivan put in his place. And put in his place Ivan was. He backed down immediately.
‘Of course, Stan, of course,’ he said with a bonhomie that denied the insult he’d just been delivered, ‘wrong time to talk, I agree.’ He beamed at his son. ‘We tend to get a bit carried away with the excitement of it all, don’t we, Henry?’
Henry nodded again. Neither of them wanted to end up on the wrong side of Stan the Man.
Kate was briefly distracted from the interplay of friction by her grandfather’s quiet signal for the hot mustard. She passed him the pot for a second time and watched with amusement as Bartholomew piled another heaped spoonful onto the side of his plate. Then, as she ate her own meal, she looked around at the gathering.
It isn’t just Ivan, she thought. The table seemed fraught with undertones, or was it just her imagination working overtime? The glances her father kept darting at Alan and Paola seated together with eyes for none but each other clearly signalled his disapproval, which was hardly surprising. But there was a guardedness also from Luigi, who every now and then scowled in the young couple’s direction, he too distracted by the attention they were paying each other.
Maria Fiorelli nudged her husband. Kate was not the only one who’d noticed Luigi’s ill humour.
‘
Non rovinare le cose
, Luigi,’ she whispered.
Luigi re-directed his scowl to his wife. What did Maria mean? How was he spoiling things?
‘
Guardo a voi. Non cipiglio. È Natale
.’
‘Ah.
Scusa
.’ Luigi hadn’t even realised he’d been scowling. Maria was quite right, he told himself, he mustn’t spoil Christmas. He painted on an obliging smile, which looked rather fake and foolish and Maria smiled gratefully in return.
Maria Fiorelli was not overly concerned about her daughter. She was of the same mind as Hilda Durham, the argument she’d presented to her husband having been very similar to that proffered by Hilda to Stan.
‘It is a first love and an innocent one, Luigi,’ she’d said when he’d voiced his worry. ‘Alan is a good boy. He would not take advantage of Paola. You of all people would know this.’
Luigi did. If there were any one boy in whom he would place his trust it was most certainly Alan Durham. Luigi had been a true friend and mentor to Alan for the whole of the boy’s life; he knew the boy better than did the boy’s own father. But what if over time the relationship between Alan and Paola developed into something more serious? The two could not marry.
His wife was quick to address his fears. ‘And if it were ever to become serious,’ she continued, ‘you would always have an ally in Mr Stan.’ Unlike her husband, Maria was not on first-name terms with Stan the Man. She did not wish to be: respect demanded their employer remain ‘Mr Stan’ at all times. ‘Mr Stan would never allow his son to wed a Catholic,’ she said.
‘So you do not think I should forbid Paola this friendship?’
‘No. That would only make matters worse. And here is something else to think upon, Luigi. Alan’s presence will protect Paola from less desirable youths who may come sniffing about. Best we leave things as they are for now. When she is of age we will remind her of the nice Catholic boys she has grown up with. Or we will write home to see if someone there has a son worthy of our Paola.’
‘Very well, Maria, I will trust in your wisdom. We will say nothing.’ But despite his wife’s common sense, Luigi did not stop worrying.
Nor did Stan Durham, and as both families maintained a pained silence, the only two oblivious to the undercurrent of disapproval were Alan and Paola.
Throughout the main course, the customary toasts were made to friends and family, but Stan ensured the principal toast was reserved for Neil and his forthcoming tour of duty in Vietnam.
‘To Neil and his military service to this country,’ he said solemnly, rising to his feet.
There was a shuffling of chairs as the others quickly followed suit, glasses raised. ‘To Neil,’ they said.
‘So when do you think they’ll send you over there?’ Ivan asked when they were once again seated.
‘None of us knows for sure,’ Neil said, ‘but not for a while yet. We’ve got close to another five months of training to go, so I reckon around May some time.’
The general discussion then not unsurprisingly turned to the war in South Vietnam and not unsurprisingly Stan was quick to express his opinion. Stanley Durham was very much in favour of Australia’s commitment.
‘Communism’s spreading like a rampant bloody disease throughout Europe and now Asia,’ he said, downing his knife and fork and pushing his plate from him. ‘If the Reds take South Vietnam we’ll be next in line you can bet on it. They have to be stopped.’
Prior to his son’s conscription, Stan had shown little interest in the conflict in Vietnam, which had seemed to him so very far away. A civil war in a remote Asian country couldn’t possibly affect us here at Elianne, he’d thought, if indeed he’d given the matter any consideration at all. He was of quite a different mind these days and, never one to dither, his views were as always black and white. Shades of grey rarely entered Stan’s arguments.
‘But you surely don’t believe,’ Ivan said, ‘that mandatory national service is the answer.’ He cast a deferential look to Neil, intending no disrespect. ‘I mean Australians said no to conscription twice during the First World War. To introduce it now, and without a referendum, seems a radical move by the government, don’t you think?’ Ivan Krantz was only too relieved that his son Henry had missed out on the government’s national service lottery by a good two years.
‘If conscription is what it takes to stem the spread of communism then yes I most certainly do,’ Stan declared emphatically. ‘Our boys are being called up to serve a noble cause and they should feel proud to be a part of it.’
Ivan didn’t agree at all, but he retired from the discussion, knowing argument would be futile; and besides, he had no wish to cross Stan.
Kate felt intensely irritated. Ivan’s views obviously differed from her father’s and he was an intelligent man – he should have answered back. She wasn’t sure which aspect of the exchange irritated her most, her father’s belligerence or Ivan’s lack of spine, but she found herself diving in.
‘What about those who oppose the very principle of war?’ she demanded, squaring up to her father across the table. ‘What about those who are against the taking of human life? Should they be conscripted? Is it right they should be forced to do what they believe is morally wrong?’
Silence descended. Even the clink of cutlery ceased.
‘Yes,’ Stan said, glowering darkly at his daughter. ‘Sacrifices are made in a war: men kill and are killed. Cowards cannot be tolerated.’ He shifted his focus, directing his attention solely to Neil. ‘If my son is to answer his country’s call, then so must the sons of others.’
Kate had no comeback to that. He’d bested her by personalising the argument and bringing Neil into the equation. She looked at her brother, hoping she hadn’t caused offence, and was grateful when his eyes signalled she hadn’t, but she knew that to continue the discussion was pointless and in Neil’s company tasteless.
Stan smiled a victor’s smile. ‘Besides,’ he said to the table in general, ‘the Americans will have this war over in no time, and by joining them we’ll have earned the gratitude of a valuable ally. All the more reason to send our boys over there. We have the future to think of when all’s said and done.’
Having clinched the argument to his own satisfaction he gestured for Ivy to clear away the plates, even though several guests hadn’t quite finished their main courses. Then he turned to his wife. ‘Shall we have some more champagne before dessert, my dear?’
‘An excellent suggestion,’ Hilda replied, relieved that the tension was dispelled.
The exodus that followed lunch found the younger members of the company pondering what to do next.
‘I need a swim,’ Neil said as the junior Durhams and Fiorellis stood in the baking sun waving goodbye to the Krantzes’ Ford Zephyr. ‘Let’s head for the dam.’
‘You’re on,’ Kate said, but Alan cast a hesitant glance at Paola. The deep dam with its steep banks was a dangerous place for all but the most experienced of swimmers. She was bound to find it alarming, if indeed she dared venture in.
‘What about Bargara?’ he suggested thinking of The Basin, but the other two shook their heads.
‘Too far, can’t be bothered,’ Neil said.
Alan didn’t push the matter further as a better idea occurred. ‘Can I borrow the Holden and take Paola for a drive then, Kate?’ he asked. ‘Only around Elianne,’ he added in the moment’s pause that followed, ‘I promise.’ He raised his hand as if swearing an oath.
‘Sure,’ Kate said. ‘I’ll grab the car keys while we put on our togs. Won’t be a tick.’
As she and Neil set off up the stairs, she heard young Georgio Fiorelli behind her.
‘Can I come too, Alan?’
And Alan’s good-humoured rejoinder, masking any reluctance he may have felt: ‘Course you can mate. The more the merrier.’
Minutes later she and Neil, clad in bathing togs, T-shirts and sandshoes, towels draped around their necks, stood watching as the Holden drove off in the direction of the mill.
‘A disaster waiting to happen, those two,’ Neil said. ‘Did you feel the tension over lunch?’
‘Hard not to, surely everyone did.’
‘Everyone except Alan and Paola.’
‘You’re right there.’
The two of them stared thoughtfully out at the trail of dust winding its way up the dirt road.
‘Do you reckon one of us should have a word with him?’ Kate asked, but even as she did she knew the answer, and turning to each other they shook their heads in unison.
‘You know Alan,’ Neil said with a shrug.
‘Yep, he’d only close off. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens, I suppose. Race you.’
She sprinted out of the driveway, her brother hot on her heels, and together they raced along the dirt track that led through the bushland to the Pump Hill railway track, their objective the main dam.
Situated high above the banks of the Burnett River, the main dam was fed with a constant supply of water via the pumping station far below. Here, well upriver, the water was fresh and the main dam was the principal source of irrigation for the cane fields. A further dam up near the mill supplied water to the homes on the estate and the mill itself, but it was the main dam that had always been of greatest significance to the Durham children. Throughout the whole of their lives the main dam had served as a favourite summer playground and, barely a half a mile from the big house, the run there had always proved a gruelling competition, particularly between the two older siblings.
For the past several years, the race had been a neck-and-neck affair, but this time things were vastly different. This time Neil came in the easy winner and by the time Kate reached the dam she discovered him sitting on the small wooden jetty, taking off his sandshoes and barely out of breath.
‘Not fair,’ she panted collapsing beside him. ‘Not fair at all, the army’s made a new man of you.’
He grinned. ‘I believe that’s the general idea.’
She flopped onto her back, chest heaving, feeling the sun-drenched wooden planks warm against her shoulders. ‘So I suppose it means I won’t get to beat you from now on.’
‘S’pose it does.’
‘What a bugger.’
They spent the next hour being ten again, racing each other to and fro across the dam – she could equal him in the water – and scrambling up the steep banks to throw bombshells off the jetty, keeping an eye out for snakes all the while. Snakes held little fear for them, accustomed as they were to the many species that abounded, most of which were highly venomous, but like all the locals they were wary of the Brown snake. Browns were not timid. They did not shrink from human contact as other snakes did, you couldn’t shoo them away with a stick. Brown snakes were aggressive, and to be carefully avoided.
Exhausted at long last they stretched out on the jetty. They didn’t even bother drying themselves off, but just lay on their backs soaking up the sun.