Chapter 27

27

brISBANE – DECEMBER 1998

Rebekah and Paul sat in the car outside Darrell Taylor's small home. Rebekah held the file and the letter on her lap. She took a deep breath and looked at Paul.

‘He's expecting us now. We'd best go in,' she said, opening the car door and hoping they weren't about to cause an aged man undue grief.

When they knocked on the door, they heard a surprisingly sprightly footstep in the hallway, and when the door was opened, they saw before them a man who was still tall, slim, and with the unmistakably suave bearing of a man of the air force. Rebekah realised she had been expecting someone very elderly, which she now knew to be stupid: Peggy had been seventy-eight when she had died, but that was from cancer. She was still fit enough to help with gardening before the illness had weakened her. Darrell was probably no more than eighty himself and seemed to be fit as a fiddle and looking sharp too.

He welcomed them in, through the small home and out to the little patio at the back where he had laid out plates, cups and saucers for morning tea.

‘I've made us some scones – my wife's pumpkin scone recipe, and it never fails,' he said, as he went back to the kitchen.

‘Thank you so much for agreeing to see us, Mr Taylor. I'm aware we might be dragging up history that could be difficult for you to revisit,' began Paul, who was more used to this kind of thing than Rebekah.

‘Whatever it is you want to share is all from a very long time ago,' Darrell said. ‘There's probably not much you can tell me that will be news,' he added, buttering the scones and pouring coffee for them all. ‘But I'm all ears, just the same.' He smiled.

‘You mentioned your wife,' said Rebekah. ‘Is she here today?' she asked, looking around and wondering if the mention of a past lover might cause problems.

‘Sadly, no. Beryl passed away a few years ago now. We'd been married since 1948 – almost made it to our golden wedding anniversary, but missed out by a couple of years,' he said, turning to show them a wedding photograph that hung on the wall inside.

Rebekah cleared her throat and decided to plunge right in.

‘Mr Taylor, during the war, when you were in England, did you know a Miss Peggy Symonds?' she asked and saw the flash of something like horror in Darrell's eyes as he nearly dropped his cup. He coughed a little and looked over his shoulder as though there was someone behind him.

‘I knew Peggy Symonds very well. I was in love with her. I intended to marry her, if the truth be known. But she cast me off for some other bloke she seemed to like better. He died, actually – up to no good and probably a spy, I think, but he died and Peggy loved him more. That's all there was to it. So, I cleared off – got a transfer out of Poole as soon as I could. No good hanging around a woman and playing second fiddle to a dead man, is there?' he said, rather gruffly.

Rebekah and Paul exchanged glances and wondered how to continue, but Darrell helped them out.

‘So, what news do you bring me? Something about Peggy, is it?' he asked.

Paul began with what he had uncovered about Peggy's life, and how she had lived from 1941 onwards. He had discovered that she joined an undercover government agency, been trained as an agent, and had worked mostly in Dorset, but occasionally in France, throughout the rest of the war.

‘Peggy? But she was a fisherman's daughter – a sharp and beautiful one, mind you, but just a boatwoman. She worked on the launches for the flying boats when I met her,' Darrell said.

‘Yes, that's right – and that remained her cover for most of the war, when she wasn't off in action elsewhere. But it seemed that at one stage, she had reason to believe her life might be in danger, and she wrote a letter to be passed to you in case she lost her life. We have that letter here for you, Mr Taylor,' Paul said, handing over the envelope.

Darrell took the letter and opened it, patting his top pocket, looking for reading glasses which he had to go inside to find. Back at the table again with them, he opened the envelope and studied the date first.

‘Hmm, that's the time I got to know Peggy,' he said, and settled back to read the letter. As they watched him, Rebekah saw the emotion in his face change from interest to delight to a kind of horror and then disbelief. As he finished the letter, he looked up at them both, and then, open-mouthed, read the letter again.

‘She was a spy? She was casing Charlie for the government, not flirting with him? I don't believe it! But when he died, she was devastated – I saw it with my own eyes,' he said, resting his head in his hands. ‘Unless… unless she was just overcome with the trial of it all. And I didn't give her chance to explain.' He laughed, mirthlessly. ‘We could have had it all – a whole life together, and I gave it up on a stupid assumption,' he said, and sighed.

‘But life turns in strange circles, don't you think, Mr Taylor?' asked Rebekah, worried now that he would suffer terrible regret. ‘If you hadn't moved away, you might never have met and married Beryl, and you'd have missed all the joy of those years.'

‘You're right, but all the same, it is good to know this,' he said, clutching the letter to his chest. ‘I held such bitterness for many years over Peggy, you know, and it was all needless.'

Another thought seemed to occur to him now.

‘What happened to her after the war? Did she make it to the end?' he asked.

Rebekah swallowed, unsure now of the wisdom in passing on this news.

‘She did. She worked for the agency until the end of the war, and then, she moved to Australia. To Brisbane. She was my next-door neighbour in Bracken Ridge when I was growing up.'

‘Well, I never. Here in Brisbane, all that time? What a small world,' he said, and Rebekah felt calmer to see that his mind was more happily reflective again.

For the next gloriously hot and sunny fortnight, Rebekah showed Paul the best of Queensland. She drove him up the mountains into the slightly cooler climes of the rainforest in Lamington National Park, where they enjoyed the welcoming hospitality of O'Reilly's guest house. There Rebekah connected with old friends she had known from her days as a Queensland Parks and Wildlife ranger.

‘Tell me, Rebekah,' whispered her friend Lydia while Paul was deep in conversation with the guide who'd led them on their waterfall discovery walk earlier that day, ‘are all the men in England this hot, or did you just pick the best of the crop?'

The women laughed out loud, drawing the attention of more than a few dinner guests around them.

‘You know me, Lyds, I never really noticed what any of them looked like – even the hot ones. Not until I met Paul. He's just so different, and I don't think he even knows that he's good to look at,' she said.

‘Like you, you mean?' said Lydia with a knowing smile.

‘I'm nothing special – you know that. I'm just a girl who likes a good walk in the outdoors. I've never been into that "look at me" kind of life. And I never even wanted to attract a man, anyway,' Rebekah said.

‘Exactly – and that is why they were always all mad for you!' Lydia replied, a little too loudly for Rebekah's liking.

‘Who was always mad for you?' asked Paul, returning to her side and putting on an arch look.

‘Nobody! But Lydia here would have you thinking every guy at university was after me!'

‘Well, that I can believe,' Paul said. ‘But I'm glad you never fell under any of their spells.' He kissed her then, and for Rebekah, the world disappeared for a few moments like it always did when they locked eyes and lips, however briefly.

Lydia left them to enjoy their dessert and coffee, and went to mingle with other guests.

‘She's lovely – and she's very fond of you. They all are,' Paul said, signifying the other rangers and guides who helped guests feel at home in this gorgeous rainforest retreat. ‘They give me the impression that Queensland was sorry to see you go when you left for England – and they're surprised you've stayed so long. Mitchell there was asking me if you're coming back for good now.'

‘Really? I was only working with them for a short while, after university that is. But I did love my time with them. I'd always intended to go to Poole though – they knew that,' she said.

‘And how do you feel about staying now? In Poole, I mean?' he asked her as he ran his spoon around his dessert bowl, licking up every last drop of rich chocolate mousse.

‘It's so strange, coming back. I do love it here, and the smell of the forest, the birdsong – the family – all of it tells me I'm home. But Brownsea feels like home, too. And you're in England, Paul, and you feel like home most of all,' she said and he kissed her again.

‘You feel like my home too,' he said taking her hand and grabbing a quick breath as if he was about to say something else.

‘Coming to watch the film tonight, you two?' cried Mitchell from the doorway, not realising what he was disturbing. ‘We've got the lyrebird film to show you, in readiness for the dawn walk tomorrow. Starting in five minutes,' he said, and as Mitchell left the main dining room, Paul sighed and looked a little flustered.

‘We should watch it, and then you'll know what you're looking for in the morning – or listening for, more like. It really is something special,' Rebekah said as she left to freshen up before going into the small dining room that had been set up as a private movie theatre for house guests.

‘Something very special indeed,' muttered Paul to himself, as he watched the most beautiful woman in the room leave his side.

The dawn walk did not disappoint, and as they crunched stealthily over the humus of the ancient forest floor, the scent of damp eucalyptus, fresh after an overnight rainstorm, filled their senses. At first, it seemed all they could hear was the sound of their own footsteps but the guide brought them to a standstill to listen for a moment. Rebekah whispered to Paul, the nearness of her breathy voice in his ear making him shiver and tingle.

‘Can you hear that high-pitched tinkling sound?' She spoke under her breath, not daring to make a sound.

‘Like bells?' he asked.

‘Exactly like bells – that's the bell miner, or bellbird. And if you listen carefully, you can hear another call that sounds similar, but several tones deeper – that's the eastern yellow robin – we'll see some soon I expect. They're not shy.'

‘And the louder sound, like a whip cracking?' Paul asked, listening intently for a moment.

Rebekah nodded. ‘A whip bird,' she said.

‘Pretty imaginative with your bird names, aren't you?' he joked, and Rebekah struggled not to laugh out loud. She'd already had to deal with him joking about the rainbow lorikeets, so named because they wore so many different colours – a vibrant green back and wings with a cobalt-blue face, orange beak, yellow and orange breast, and a blue belly. When they gathered in a flock to feed from the bright-red bottlebrush flowers in her mother's backyard, they created a storm of colour like fireworks.

‘Hey,' she breathed, ‘we're Australian – we tell it like it is,' she said and poked him gently in the ribs before they walked on.

The guide indicated they should squat down to wait for a while as he'd heard a lyrebird in this area in the last few days. Rebekah closed her eyes and focused on nothing but the sounds, then she gasped lightly and snapped her eyes open, mirroring the guide's reaction.

The expression on Paul's face showed her that he'd recognised the sounds, but only she and the guide knew that he was mistaken.

‘A kookaburra? Whip bird… the king parrot?' he asked growing confused and knowing Rebekah had taught him all these bird songs in the last few days.

‘Well done. You're learning fast, but you're wrong, I'm afraid. All those sounds are being made by the Albert's lyrebird. It's a fantastic mimic and often repeats seven or eight different calls – all ones that you would hear in the area. Listen up,' she whispered, holding up a finger to ask for silence while she concentrated on the forest sounds.

‘There, did you hear that? The deep, rich whistling, and then chirping?' she said, again so quietly that nobody but Paul could hear her. The guide had raised his hand and indicated to the other walkers that this was their prize – the Albert's lyrebird. He waited until they all had heard it and then they crept, like soldiers on a secret mission, around the next bend of the forest path until he froze them again.

Rebekah squatted behind Paul and put one hand on his shoulder, her face pinned close to his, cheek to cheek. She pointed into the thick undergrowth towards the flash of some long feathers, determined he would be able to follow her line of sight. Someone behind them stumbled over a rock and the sound was enough to frighten the bird, which froze for a second before running deep into the forest and away from them.

‘Did you see it?' she asked him, breathlessly.

‘I saw long feathers moving in between the ferns,' he said, more in question than with confidence.

‘That was it! Not many people get to experience that, you know? You're a very lucky guy,' she said, as always, not understanding how incredibly blessed Paul felt to have this rare prize in his life.

After the rainforest retreat, where Rebekah could have stayed for months, and Paul grew fond of hand-feeding the wonderfully tame scarlet and cobalt coloured crimson rosellas, they drove for two days to reach the tropical gateway to the Whitsunday Islands, Airlie Beach. They had booked ahead and arranged a three-day sailing tour around the islands, with snorkelling gear all included.

‘Rebekah, this place is absolute heaven,' he said as he relaxed in his swimming trunks on the deck of the yacht, eating sliced mango, dragon fruit, and cherries, while sipping a glass of chilled Champagne. They had spent the morning snorkelling on Hook Island Reef and then enjoyed a delicious lunch of cold meats and salad – the routine they'd grown used to over the last two days while they'd been exploring different turquoise waters alive with fish and coral all around the island group.

‘Everywhere is heaven when you're on holiday,' she said thoughtfully, ‘though I do admit, even if I was working, this place really is paradise. But so is Brownsea Island. I've been obsessed with Dorset and Poole Harbour all my life, thanks to Peggy, and it still feels like a dream to wake up and see Corfe Castle and Old Harry Rocks from my bedroom window every morning.'

‘It must be wonderful for your work to also be your joy,' Paul said, finishing his glass and lying back with his hands behind his head.

‘Would your work have been your joy if you'd continued with music, do you think, and gone professional?'

‘Probably, yes. Though I do enjoy what I do. And it has all kinds of bonuses. I have a lot of flexibility to follow leads that interest me, and I travel a lot, and meet some great people. Some are particularly wonderful,' he said, shading his eyes from the sun and smiling up at her. ‘And I think that joy in work is all about being grateful for the small things – making the most of all the situations life throws at you.'

The details that Darrell had revealed to them about the life Peggy had lived during the war were scant, and he'd left some gaping holes that Rebekah was eager to have filled. But the simple facts had left a lasting impression: Peggy had been a capable boatwoman, a beauty without compare, and a woman who was prepared to take risks for the good of her country. She'd obviously had nerves of steel and skills that had been used by her country in ways that probably nobody would ever really know.

‘When we get home, to Brisbane I mean, I think I'd like to offer to take Darrell to the cemetery where Peggy is buried. He may not want to go, of course, but I'll offer all the same,' said Rebekah.

Rebekah made her phone call to Darrell once they arrived back in Brisbane, and they agreed a good day for the trip to the cemetery would be Christmas Eve. The day began, hot and sunny as ever, and Paul waved Rebekah off as she set out to fetch Darrell. Paul watched the car disappear around the bend and went to finish his coffee on the back deck, where Helen joined him.

‘And how are you going to fill your day, love?' she asked him.

‘Is there anything you need help with before tomorrow? I'm happy to go and fetch groceries, and can make myself useful in the kitchen?' Paul offered.

‘That's very kind of you Paul, but it's all done. We keep our Christmas preparations very simple here. The weather is looking glorious for a day under the mango tree tomorrow – not too humid,' she said.

‘If you don't need me, there is something I'm keen to do – but I'd need to borrow the car and probably have a good lesson in navigation to get there alone. I'm hoping to visit the antique markets at Paddington. Rebekah told me about them, and partly as a historian I'm interested, but I'm hoping to do a little Christmas shopping while I'm there too,' he explained.

‘Why don't I come with you, if you don't mind, that is? It's a pig of a place to get to, navigating from here on your own, and it's been a few years since I went for a look around. If you don't mind the company, I can drive you if you like?' Helen said, and a short while later, they were stepping over the threshold to the old cinema that had been converted into an antiques market.

‘Wow, there's a lot to discover in here,' Paul said as they walked in.

‘You can spend hours here – and I often have done. I'll go this way and leave you to it – come and find me if you need anything,' she said as she went off to rake through the vintage clothing section that she loved.

Paul was amazed to discover antiques from so many different parts of the world, a fact that signified the widely multicultural society that Australia had become since its colonial beginnings – very recent history in the timeline of Australia's ancient civilisation. But he had never expected to find treasures from Poole. One of the first sections he browsed had a glass cabinet full of distinctive Poole Pottery from across the twentieth century. Paul picked out a display plate that was painted with an ancient map of Poole Harbour, with all the islands labelled and decorated with pine trees. He traced with his finger the route he'd taken around Brownsea Island the first night he'd met Rebekah, and smiled, taking it to the front counter to keep safe until he'd finished browsing.

Each individual collector's area had its own style, designed to showcase the different kinds of pieces each focused on: lamps, clothing, military memorabilia, china, and jewellery – the real reason he'd come.

The antique rings were as widely varied as all the other delights in this real treasure trove. There were Australian opals aplenty, as well rings featuring pearls, many of which would have been harvested in Western Australia. But it was the ruby and sapphire gemstone rings that caught his attention, and for a while he couldn't decide between the two colours, until he found the perfect combination.

He paid for his purchases at the front counter and had them both gift-wrapped so they could be placed straight under the tree back at the Martins' home when he arrived.

When Rebekah came home from the outing with Darrell that afternoon, she was exhausted. The day in itself was not particularly tiring, but the emotional journey had been draining. Both she and Darrell had wept at Peggy's graveside and Darrell had been quiet on the drive home again. But he had thanked her for bringing this news into his life, and told her how it had lightened his heart to know there had never been anything to hold against Peggy after all.

That night, Rebekah dressed carefully for dinner. Paul had booked a table for them at a restaurant that Tim had suggested – with a perfect view of the city at night from the top of the lookout at Mt Coot-Tha.

‘I'll drive, Rebekah, but you'll need to navigate to get us there,' he'd joked as they got into the car.

At the restaurant, he had taken Tim's advice and booked the corner-most table for two where they sat with their backs to the other restaurant guests and a picture view of the whole city lit up at night.

After they ordered, and sat sipping their wine, Paul tentatively introduced the subject that had been on his mind for the last few weeks.

‘I could happily spend the rest of my life like this, Rebekah.'

‘Mmmn, so could I – holidays and travelling and eating out in posh restaurants – it's marvellous. But we'll have to get back to normality in the new year,' she said.

‘I wasn't so much thinking of the holiday, and all its delights, though this has been the most amazing experience. I'm more thinking of just this: sitting here beside you, watching you look at the world, eating with you, talking to you, listening to you,' he said and she turned to give him her full attention.

‘Paul, you put that so beautifully, and I know exactly what you mean.' She grew quiet and he gave her space for her thoughts.

She had drifted back to the night she'd discovered that Ben was seriously interested in her. She had not chosen the long-term acquaintance who offered the security and predictability of a life she understood, but instead chose Paul – the out-of-town stranger who thrilled her with his spontaneity. Gabriel Oak and Frank Troy came to join her in her thoughts again.

‘Have you read Far from the Madding Crowd , Paul?' she asked, and from the startled look on his face, it was hard to tell if he was unsure of the book or just thrown off course by her sudden change of subject.

‘There are two main characters who vie for the attentions of the heroine, Bathsheba Everdene. One is a playboy who excites her with his wild ways,' she said, raising an eyebrow which made Paul chuckle. ‘The other is a farmer, steady and plain, who promises her nothing more than constancy. He says this wonderful line when he describes their future together, "And at home by the fire, whenever you look up, there I shall be – and whenever I look up, there will be you,"' she finished and sighed.

‘That's a lovely picture, and one I can certainly relate to,' he said, taking her hand. ‘Was that his proposal to Bathsheba?' he asked, daring to utter the word for the first time.

‘It was part of it, yes, but she didn't take him – not then at least. She preferred the excitement of Sergeant Troy.'

‘The cad you mean? Why?' Paul asked, incredulous.

‘Because she thought she wanted more than security.'

‘And who am I? The playboy or the reliable one? Do I want to know?' Paul asked, uncertain now where this might be leading.

‘That's the interesting thing. To begin with, you were the excitement – the spontaneity – the way you turned up in the night and thrilled me every time your plans changed. But now that I know you, now that we're such good friends,' Paul winced at the way this little speech was going, ‘now that we can be together so happily whatever we do, I realise you've become my Farmer Oak.' She smiled gently.

‘The dependable one?' he asked.

‘That's right. Now you're the only person in the world I want to sit beside on a cold evening, and look up and see you there.'

Paul heaved a big sigh.

‘This is very good news. Because all I want to do for the rest of my life is look up and see you there beside me, too.'

Rebekah reached out to stroke his cheek and leant across to kiss him, long and slow, and with a tenderness that had the power to connect their souls, bonding them as if the precious gold from two jewels had been melted together and remade into a newer, stronger treasure.