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  She spread her legs. Luke’s hand found its way between her thighs to where her pubic hair was moist; it was overwhelming to know she was wet and so eager, it was like everything he’d dreamed of — and, in that moment, his imagination went wild. He couldn’t prevent it. He was ejaculating only seconds after entering her.

  “Oh God,” he said, but it was more like a groan. “Oh bugger and fuck, I’m sorry.”

  There was no immediate response.

  “I’ve jumped the gun.” He felt desperately mortified. “Shot my bloody bolt … went off quicker than Phar Lap.”

  He sensed a giggle, then she took his hand.

  “Never mind, darling,” she whispered, “we’ve got all night. Let me put your hand where I think it ought to go. Yes, that’s the spot — you are clever to find it — and now … yes … just like that, my darling, gently and then … OH, YES, that’s lovely, just keep on doing that …”

  It began to happen almost at once. Her whole body was moving in rhythmic answer to his fingers. Luke was also starting to respond as she suddenly came, her body jerking in violent spasm, her arms gripping him, sharp fingernails fiercely recording tramlines on his back. He kept his fingers working until she sighed happily.

  “Oooh,” she whispered at last, “you devil, you clever you.”

  “Not so clever. I was premature.”

  “Shhh.” Her voice was soft in his ear as she recovered her breath, “Luke my love, think of it as an hors d’oeuvre. Let’s rest a while, until you’re nice and ready for the main course.”

  The main course was soon reached. They reached it twice before midnight, the tempo and his control improving both times, then slept locked in each other’s arms until the first sign of daybreak. The warmth, the feel of their naked bodies caused a new arousal, not so frenzied this time; it was slow and loving, both wanting to prolong it for as long as possible, and the climax was such extended bliss that Claudia said it brought her close to tears of joy.

  Before anyone was on the golf course or the beach they ran down to Fisherman’s Cove and dived into the sea, dried themselves and changed into the clean clothes they’d brought. Then, like two people out for an early swim, they strolled to a café that served breakfasts. Sitting across the table from her, eating bacon and eggs, Luke took delight in just gazing at her gorgeous face. He knew, no matter what risk, the pair of them would be making use of their gun pit on the headland as often as they dared.

  But the description ‘gun pit’ didn’t resonate at all. During breakfast they decided on their own strictly private name, and christened it ‘The Shaggery’.

  FIVE

  JAPANESE SUBMARINES ATTACK SYDNEY

  It has been confirmed three Japanese midget submarines entered Sydney harbour last Sunday night and launched a surprise attack. Residents in waterfront suburbs heard a series of explosions before midnight, and shells landed alongside homes in Rose Bay and Vaucluse. Torpedoes were fired, and twenty-one naval cadets on the vessel Kuttabul were tragically killed by a torpedo that was apparently intended to sink the American cruiser Chicago anchored close by. It is believed two of the midget invaders were sunk, but a third is still missing. According to reports they came from a submarine fleet, and a reconnaissance floatplane was launched from a mothership before the attack, to identify defences and targets in Sydney Harbour.

  It was so unexpected many considered it a hoax. Others in safer parts of Sydney refused to believe the attack. More difficult to accept was a mystery floatplane flying over Sydney Harbour in broad daylight, launched from an offshore mothership. But with the official confirmation, another batch of eastern-suburb residents locked their doors and headed for safer refuge in the Blue Mountains. Some went further west. Renting a house in Bathurst or Dubbo or as far as Broken Hill seemed an even more secure option than their luxury waterfronts. Within days there were FOR SALE notices and bargains galore.

  If the attack caused only limited domestic destruction, it achieved major impact in the Pacific. That night began a series of assaults on coastal shipping. In the next few weeks fourteen vessels were torpedoed, six of them sunk with severe loss of life. In the meantime, divers recovered the wrecks of two submarines and found two bodies in each tiny vessel. Their cremation, with full naval honours and the Japanese flag draped over each coffin, created dissension.

  “I’d have left the buggers down there, to give the sharks a feed,” was Barry Silvester’s belligerently voiced opinion.

  “Populist savagery,” Steven retorted. It was inevitable, whenever there was contention, Luke would find his friends on opposite sides.

  “Populist,” Barry taunted. “Been at the thesaurus, have we, Steve?”

  “You’re a drongo,” Steven replied. “Whatever their nationality any submariners are courageous. It was a decent and civilised way to behave.”

  “Civilised! Fucking rubbish. Haven’t you heard about Changi and the other camps? Aussie troops being worked to death, starved or beheaded with swords. Civilised! Don’t talk crap! They’re animals.”

  “If they are, there’s no need for us to be animals as well.”

  “They’re at it again,” said Claudia, who was decidedly on Steven’s side. Barry overheard her remark to Luke, and interpreted her bias.

  “And which position do you take?” he challenged her.

  “They were brave, and now they’re dead,” Claudia replied. “Do you really think they should also become shark bait?”

  “I think they should be left like stinking sardines in their tin cans and allowed to rot. I don’t think we should be giving them naval honours. And anyone who supports that is, in my humble opinion, a fucking dill.”

  “My father supports it,” Claudia said.

  “Well, you better do what Daddy tells you, Claudia. His Excellency the diplomat would have to be right.”

  “Enough,” Luke said, feeling this was getting too personal. The constant arguments between Baz and Steven were one thing. Barry in full attack against Claudia was not something he’d tolerate. She didn’t like him — Barry knew it and responded — but it was imperative to call time out.

  “I’m outnumbered by the bleeding hearts,” Barry declared, “but at least I know most of the population would be on my side.”

  “You’re welcome to them, Baz.” Steven for once got the last word.

  The Recorder was a local newspaper thrown into front yards each morning, arriving dry and able to be read if the weather was fine, or a soggy mess fit for the garbage bin if it rained. It was pouring rain when an early morning phone call from Claudia suggested he rescue his copy and read what was on page ten. He managed to decipher an advertisement. CADET REPORTER REQUIRED. NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY.

  An hour later they were aboard the bus on their way to the office in Brookvale.

  “No experience.” Luke was still surprised. “They usually insist.”

  “It clearly stated none needed.”

  “They’re bound to ask.”

  “Tell them you came first in English,” Claudia suggested.

  “But I didn’t. Guess who did?”

  “Don’t tell me who did. Just impress them with your boyish charm.”

  It seemed to be his lucky day. When they arrived he was the only applicant. “Be confident,” Claudia said with a kiss, and waited outside.

  A receptionist asked for his name, and said the editor would see him now. “Luke Elliott, Mr Thorley,” she said, and smiled encouragingly at Luke.

  The editor sat at a table marking up the front page for the next edition. He was a thickset man with a tanned face, who rose to shake hands. “James Thorley,” he introduced himself, and said approvingly, “You’re quick off the blocks, Luke. I like the enthusiasm. Sit down and tell me about yourself. What school did you attend?”

  “Brookvale Grammar, sir.” He thought ‘sir’ would show respect.

  “And what experience have you had?”

  “None, sir, I’m afraid. But I’m keen and willing to learn.”
r />   “Oh, good God,” Thorley said frowning. “None at all? What’s the point of coming here?”

  “But, sir …”

  “We’re short-staffed because our cadet reporter was called up last week. But I’ve no time to teach newcomers the ropes.”

  “But the advertisement, sir …”

  “I know what the advertisement said. It was a stupid mistake, and the person responsible has been fired …”

  “I’m a fast learner,” Luke said.

  “What do you mean?” the editor asked.

  “How’s this for a fair deal, Mr Thorley? I work for a few weeks without pay, no pay at all, and if I don’t impress you can fire me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, son. Absolutely not. Out of the question.”

  “Why … sir?” He was taken aback. It seemed like a reasonable offer, one he’d conjured up on the spur of the moment.

  “You’ve obviously never heard of the journalists’ union. The AJA. They’d go bananas. You go and get some experience. You’re welcome to come back and see me when you’ve got some.”

  “What an absolute bummer,” Claudia said in the bus on their way home. “So unfair. How the hell can you have experience unless someone gives you a chance to gain experience? If you follow what I mean.” She knew Luke felt humiliated, and wished she’d never seen the advertisement. Wished she’d let the bloody paper lie in the rain until it became papier-mache.

  The cameramen of Cinesound and Movietone brought the war to local screens, and there were queues at the newsreel venues throughout the day. Audiences were spellbound by the authentic glimpses of combat, and sat in awed silence to witness the close range jungle fighting. But to Luke this was made nightmarish by the savagery. It was also alarming the soldiers in these encounters were barely older than him, and if the government changed the conscription laws he could soon be forced into the army.

  Unlike Steven, he had no wish to be there. In their shared confidences, Steve had the opposite view.

  “I’m going to be in it, although my father’s determined to keep me out. Our firm’s a protected industry and I’ll be safe from a call-up, he says. But I’ve decided not to join the firm.”

  “Not till later, you mean?” Luke asked.

  “I mean not ever,” Steven said. “And I’ve told him that.”

  “Strewth!” Luke was startled. It had always been assumed Chip would spend his life in the family firm. His father, Jerold Pascoe, was notorious for his temper. “What did your old man say?”

  “He went berserk. Threatened to disinherit me. I said, leave it to the cats home, or whoever. We had a war of words, and he’s retired hurt and considering his position.”

  Luke laughed, but he was rueful. “You and I are in constant pitched battles with our fathers. Mine wants me in the war as fast as possible. Yours wants you kept out, no matter what.”

  Steven’s discord with Jerold Pascoe was strictly about family succession. He was the only male child, and was depended on to continue running the firm and keeping the name alive. Luke’s friction with his father felt deeper and far more personal.

  He found it difficult to talk about it, even to Claudia. One day when she was off-duty at the hospital they went to Manly to see a movie. He was moody after yet another row about giving up his stupid dream of earning a living by writing. His father had shouted the usual diatribe about white feathers and slackers, calling him a fairy and showing his disgust for a son who refused to do the right thing. Luke had been upset and taciturn ever since.

  “You are in a mood,” Claudia had murmured.

  “It’s the weather,” he’d replied, but of course it wasn’t, even though the harbour looked bleak, with clouds scudding across the sky, and a west wind rocking the ferries. He took her hand as they walked down the Corso towards the surf beach and its spectacular pine trees.

  “Tell me what’s wrong, darling.”

  He wasn’t sure he could. They bought sandwiches for lunch, and sat on a bench beneath the pines. A magpie on a branch above them uttered a squawk of protest at the intrusion. He flew off, but not before dropping an accurate discharge that landed on Luke’s sandwich.

  “Oh, well done!” he shouted at the departing bird.

  Claudia couldn’t stifle her laughter. “It’s supposed to be lucky.”

  “Lucky for those whose lunch wasn’t shat on,” he replied, and made her laugh all the more.

  She divided her sandwich and gave him half. “Poor little Maggie,” she said, “poor little thing. Probably daydreaming of how to find a maggie-mate, and you frightened the shit out of it. Literally!” She giggled, puckering her lips to kiss him on the nose. “Poor little thing.”

  “You’re a softie,” he smiled. “I love you. I’ll never love anyone the way I love you.”

  “If we’re making statements, I’m glad I came home to find you,” she said. “You’re the best thing that ever happened in my entire life. Now, tell me. You know you can tell me.”

  And of course she was the only one to whom he could confess his predicament.

  “Your father, isn’t it?”

  Luke nodded. “He keeps banging on. Time to join up, don’t let him down. The bloody fool doesn’t realise he’s made me into a pacifist. He was almost salivating when Hitler invaded Poland because another big stoush was happening.” He shook his head at the memory. “I was sixteen. My father said, you’ll soon be old enough to go over there and get stuck into it, as if it was going to be a pivotal moment in my life.”

  “I know you hate all his militarist jingoism. The Returned Soldiers’ League, the silly People’s Corps.”

  “It’s worse than that, Claudie, my love. I’m actually scared. Nobody is supposed to be scared in this gung-ho nation of ours. Steve has a fair idea, but even he doesn’t realise the extent of how I feel. I grew up hating drunken celebrations of Anzac and Armistice Days. Men rejoicing, as if the awful botched landing at Gallipoli or mass slaughter on the Somme in France had been a cause for veneration and carousals. I’m really not sure if I’m a pacifist or just frightened. I’m disturbed by the mindless violence we see in the newsreels. The thought of New Guinea, rabid with malaria and dysentery, those Jap soldiers yelling Banzai, their steel bayonets ready to disembowel some poor bastard, their fanatical soldiers who prefer to die rather than surrender — it truly scares me. That’s what my bloody father’s done.”

  Claudia had listened carefully. She said they should skip the pictures; the film was one with some Hollywood hero winning yet another war, so they could do without it. They should take the bus back to Long Reef. “By the time we reach there,” she said, “the golfers will all be gone. Let’s stroll up to you-know-where and spend a little time there.”

  “You’re trying to cheer me up,” Luke said, summoning a smile, “and I think you’re succeeding!”

  They got off the bus a stop earlier and walked arm in arm across the Long Reef Beach, then up the path that led to the headland. It was becoming dark by the time they reached the top and paused for breath. A sudden beam of light came on, shining into their faces and blinding them.

  “Who goes there?” a loud voice demanded.

  “Who the hell are you?” replied Luke.

  “Twenty First Artillery. What are you doing here?”

  “Taking a short cut home across the golf course,” Claudia said.

  They were confronted by two uniformed men, one of them a corporal. “Let’s see your identity cards,” he said.

  It was the first time they’d been asked to produce them. The corporal scrutinised them, while the searchlight kept them blinded.

  “Why are you here?” he asked, handing back the cards.

  “We told you,” Luke said, “a short cut to Suffolk Avenue.”

  “This ain’t a short cut to anywhere,” the corporal answered.

  “If you don’t believe us then arrest us,” Claudia said.

  “Here for a bit of slap and tickle, eh?” the corporal suggested.

  “Don�
�t be disgusting,” Claudia retorted. “He’s my cousin. Could you please turn off that searchlight? It hurts my eyes.”

  “The lady’s asked us to turn off the light,” the corporal shouted. “I’ve had a look at her and she’s a good sort, but I don’t think she’s an enemy agent.” There was laughter from someone as the light went off. In the semi-dark they could see the outline of a different and quite modern gun.

  “When did this happen?” Luke asked.

  “This morning,” the corporal said. “Someone noticed the old job here hadn’t been used since the Boer War. And probably not then. So we’ve got a real artillery cannon now, the 21st is in charge, and ammunition is stored in case there’s an invasion. So don’t come this way again, will you, ‘cos there’ll be troops watching the approaches, and keeping guard on the ammo.”

  “Thank you,” Claudia said. “It’s reassuring to know we’ll be safe on the Peninsula.” They were bid a cheerful goodnight, and the searchlight was courteously turned to help light their way down the dark golf links.

  “And so,” Claudia muttered to Luke, “we say a sad farewell to the Shagging Sanctuary. I was feeling quite fruity.”

  “Me, too,” Luke said. “It was a lovely thought. I suppose we should be grateful the Collaroy golf course is safe from invasion.”

  SIX

  An armada of what were called Liberty ships began to cross the Pacific, bringing soldiers, trucks and jeeps, landing barges and weapons. General Douglas MacArthur became supreme commander, and with the flood of American troops there were soon two wars. One against Japan, and one on the home front between Australian troops and the US army.

  The locals came to resent the newcomers with their smarter uniforms, higher rates of pay and consumer-friendly PX stores. They had easy access to rare items like chocolates and silk stockings, could afford taxis, and they tipped well. Cab drivers became notorious for their reluctance to pick up civilians or those in Aussie uniforms. But by far the greatest source of angst was how swiftly and easily the Americans attracted local girls. Before long the phrase ‘oversexed, overpaid and over here’ became a bitter refrain. The civilian population welcomed them, and their arrival boosted morale. The army was not so affable.