“But that’s not fair. You were famous in America. Don’t they know that?” Alex thinned his lips when he stared at her, disbelief written all over his face.
“Honey, I know what I was, but that was then. This is now and Sydney Herald have their own crime reporters.” She smiled and hoped she could make him believe her because she’d had trouble convincing herself. “Guess what my first big assignment is?” The handle of her bag slipped off her oversized shoulder pads and she let it slide to the ground.
He took the bait just as she hoped he would. “What?”
“An old house, shrouded in mystery and intrigue.” His face crumpled as he digested the information.
“An old house. How is that interesting?” Alex bit his bottom lip, thinking. “Murder’s much more your style. Don’t they know that?”
“It’s okay, Alex. I don’t mind, really I don’t.”
“And dusty old houses are so very interesting if you know what to look for.” Hamish smiled down at her. “I majored in Australian History before I did my Doctorate in Psychology. If I can help, let me know. Nothing I like more than digging around in dusty old files and boxes everyone else has forgotten about.”
“No way.” Alex snorted and glanced at his mother before gawking at Hamish again.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. When I first started uni I wasn’t quite sure where I was going career wise and for a nerdy kid like me, history was a given.” He smiled down at Billie. “If you want help, you only need to ask.”
“Thanks, Hamish.”
“Gran said for you to go up and have a drink with them when you got home. She wants to hear all about your job now you’ve settled in.” He grinned at Hamish. “I think you should come too. Kind of celebrate how well we’ve both passed the first week mark or something, what do you think?”
“If that’s okay with your grandparents, sure. How about I meet you there in a few minutes? I have something to do first.” Hamish stood up and with a hooded glance in her direction, hurried to his door.
Billie spoke to her son. “You go ahead and warn Gran that I’m home. I’ll dump my stuff, powder my nose and be there in a second, okay?”
“Sure, Mom. Don’t be too long.”
She hurried up the steps to the house and slipped her key in the front door. “Come on Alex.” He ran past her and up the stairs. She continued through the house and out the back to their flat almost tripping over the schoolbag Alex had been dumped in the doorway. She stepped over it and hung her own bag up. A block of cheese and a loaf of bread sat on the kitchen counter. Normally a reliable self-sufficient child, today he’d obviously been in a hurry and hadn’t cleaned up after himself. They might need to have a few words.
Two minutes later, Billie hurried up to her bedroom, kicked off her shoes and slipped on a pair of comfortable flats. After she checked her hair and make-up in the bathroom mirror, she unhooked the gold clips on her ears, rubbing the lobes to encourage the blood flow again. She opened the drawer in her bedside cabinet to throw her earrings in and paused.
Held together with a faded pink ribbon lay the letters she’d found in the box with the watch, a hairclip and a small enamel container. Strange that Lucy had asked about them this morning and had been so easily put off. And stranger still was the pull Billie felt to keep them hidden from her mother. Could it have been the wary look in Lucy’s eyes when she asked about the watch that made Billie deny there was anything with them? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she wanted to hide them from her mother until she’d had a chance to read them.
She reached out, dropped her earrings and picked the bundle up. The faint waft of perfume still clung to the aged envelopes. Before she could change her mind, she pulled the top one free of the ribbon and opened it.
23rd June, 1940
My dearest Wilz,
How I miss you.
The training is hard, harder than I thought it would be but I’m enjoying it so much.
I cannot believe what I have to learn in such a short time. I wonder how I will remember it all. Some days my addled brain is so overloaded, I fear I will forget my own name!
One poor girl got sent home today. She fainted when we had to change a dressing on a returned soldier’s leg and refused to come back to the ward. Matron berated her and that was the end of it. She stormed off and said she couldn’t cope with the horrors of war.
I honestly don’t blame her. It was shocking. The poor chap had been caught in a hail of bullets and one of his legs which had to be amputated while he was still overseas or he would have died. He lay in the mud for days before they got him out and of course it got infected, hence the surgery.
I shan’t subject you to anymore horrific details but suffice to say, I surprised myself by helping the doctor deal with the wound and I was allowed to redress it on my own. I knew I could do this job!
We only have two weeks of training to go before we get shipped out. They refuse to tell us where we’re going but I have the feeling it will be to the Middle East first. The rumours are flying around and Matron has done nothing to try and refute them.
I will attempt to call you before we depart. I’d love to hear your voice, regardless, I will keep you posted of my exciting new life by mail.
I do hope Papa hasn’t been too difficult and you are coping with the estate. Have you managed to get things organized yet?
