style="font-size:15px;"> Mary moaned and tears streamed down her cheeks. Tears of rage, not pain. Tom was waiting on the footpath. What had he heard? What had he thought when the kitchen lights came on? What would he do if she didn’t show up?
Would she ever be able to see him again? She had to. No one could possibly understand how desperately she needed him. Every cell in her body yearned for the reassurance of his strong arms around her. She needed him to hold her as he murmured his pet name for her, over and over—the way he did when they made love. ‘Mary-Mary, Mary-Mary.’
Her father’s vicelike grip loosened a fraction, but not enough to release her. ‘Stop snivelling, girl,’ he hissed. ‘I can’t believe my own daughter could be such a fool. When you come to your senses you’ll be grateful. You’ll thank me for this.’
‘Never!’ Mary cried, hating him. She couldn’t bear to look at him and she let her tears fall, making no attempt to stop the sobs that racked her. ‘You’ve d-decided you don’t like T-Tom simply because he’s not an officer and—and he rides a motorbike.’
Her father swore and gave her shoulders a shake. ‘Pirelli is a hooligan, Mary. You know he’s been up before the Provost marshal for speeding, and he was involved in a brawl at a local nightclub. I’m not letting a man like that touch my daughter.’
‘But he has!’ Mary cried with a surge of triumphant defiance, and she lifted her head to meet her father’s hard grey glare.
I live for Tom Pirelli’s touch.
‘Where is he? I’ll kill him!’
‘Ralph, for heaven’s sake,’ her mother interrupted, coming close enough to tap her husband’s elbow in a hesitant attempt to soothe him. ‘It’s the middle of the night. Keep your voice down. Why don’t we go into the lounge and sit down and talk this through sensibly?’
‘There’s nothing to talk through,’ Mary protested. ‘Can’t you both understand? I truly love Tom and he loves me. I can’t live without him. If you don’t let me go, you’ll have ruined my life.’
‘Consider it ruined,’ her father snapped.
Mary wept noisily. How could her parents be so unjust and cruel to their own daughter? She felt as if they’d hurled her into the ocean with rocks tied to her feet. Inconsolable, she slumped against the pantry door. Her father released his pressure, but she knew it was useless to try to escape. She let her spine bump down the louvred slats as she slid to the floor and crouched in a miserable, undignified huddle with her arms wrapped around her bent knees.
She wanted to die.
Her cousin Sonia’s voice reached her through her misery. ‘Would you like me to go and tell Tom that you’re not coming?’
Mary’s head snapped up.
Sonia stepped closer and Mary realised for the first time that she was fully dressed, as was her father. Had they known her plans?
Her cousin had been living with her family for the past year because she was studying law at James Cook University. Mary drove Sonia to university each day but, because they were in different faculties, they saw little of each other on campus.
They hadn’t become close, and now the bright, fascinated light in Sonia’s eyes bothered Mary. But she couldn’t leave Tom stranded on the footpath waiting.
‘He’s waiting on the corner. Go and tell him what’s happened. Tell him that I’ll work something out,’ she said.
‘Don’t bother yourself, Sonia,’ interjected her father. ‘If anyone talks to Private Pirelli tonight, it will be me. I’d talk to the mongrel with my fists except that I don’t fancy being court-martialled for assault.’
Her mother had switched the kettle on and now it came to the boil. She turned to pour bubbling hot water into mugs with tea bags.
From behind Colonel Cameron’s back, Sonia sent Mary what might have been a sympathetic smile if her eyes hadn’t gleamed with suppressed excitement. ‘I’ll go back to bed, then,’ she mumbled sleepily, but then she sent Mary a wink. And, as Mary watched Sonia shuffle out of the room, she knew her cousin planned to sneak out through the back of the house to find Tom.
She wished she found that thought more comforting.
‘How did you know?’ she asked her parents, suddenly suspicious. ‘You were waiting up for me.’
‘Some people claim that Army Intelligence is an oxy-moron, but it comes in handy,’ her father drawled, and his mouth curved into a smug half-smile.
Still huddled on the floor, Mary shot him a glare filled with venom.
He let out an impatient sigh. ‘Look, Mary, I’m quite prepared to tell you why I’m opposing this. I simply don’t trust Pirelli.’
‘You haven’t given him a chance.’
‘I’m not going to. I can’t afford to take risks when my only daughter is involved. I don’t trust a guy who just doesn’t add up.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well…he tops bloody everything. IQ tests; language tests; shooting competitions.’
‘Really? He never told me that. But how can that be bad?’
A brief, startled reaction flickered in her father’s eyes, but he quickly recovered. ‘There’s something wrong with a guy who’s as bright as that and still acts like a hooligan. It’s not just his behaviour around town. On exercises, we never know what Pirelli will do. He questions and challenges commands. He won’t conform. That’s why I knocked back his promotion.’
‘Did you really?’ she murmured. ‘He didn’t tell me that either.’
‘No, he wouldn’t, would he?’ Her father’s jaw shot forward like a bulldog’s. ‘Private Pirelli is a bad bet, Mary. He’s the kind of soldier who will want to play heroes. He’ll throw himself into the front line. You know what I’m saying, don’t you?’
‘You mean he’s courageous.’
‘I mean he’s a fool. And tonight he’s proved it if he thinks I can’t see what he’s planning.’
Mary’s insides turned hollow.
‘Ralph,’ said her mother in a warning tone. ‘Be careful.’
‘I’m not the one who has to be careful, Anne. It’s Mary.’ He crouched low beside Mary and placed a broad hand on her shoulder. ‘Pirelli’s plan was to have his way with my daughter—to play with her and then leave.’
‘No!’ His words winded her. She couldn’t breathe.
‘It’s the truth, Mary. This crazy pretence at elopement is payback.’
‘No!’ Struggling for breath, she felt smothered by a thick black fog. Heavy, suffocating clouds crushed her chest as she tried to stand. She clutched at the pantry doorknob, trying to gain leverage, to regain her dignity. To fight back. ‘No, you’re wrong. It’s not like that. Tom loves me. He wants to
