Chasing the figure, Jed sees him stumble down the concrete steps at the side of house. He stops at the top of the steps, moonlight and the street lamp reflecting off the rapier held ready to defend. The figure stands up, staggers backward and turns to disappear into the street. A glimpse of the face in the light of the moon and reflected glow of the streetlamp reveals a brief flash of familiarity he can’t quite place.
Back in the house, the atmosphere has changed. His comfortable home feels violated. He detests low-life burglars and the disruption their presence causes. He secures the doors and turns on the lights to check the rooms. Nothing taken! Rent money from one of his flats is still on the table, ready to bank, and an antique revolver is still in its display case. Perhaps he interrupted the intruder soon after entry. The study has been disturbed and on the living room floor his planning for locating the plane is scattered as if it has been searched or tramped through.
When he tidies things up the only thing he can’t find is the map on which he has marked possible tracks from the Philippines to Darwin.
What a useless thing to pinch! If it has been pinched?
Perhaps he has put it somewhere but can’t think where. Is he having a senior moment? Unsettled by a surprise intruder? Or has he simply forgotten? He goes through the pile of material again and finds that one photograph of the plane also seems to be missing. Very strange. He sits up late with a good port to calm his emotions before an unsettled night’s sleep.
Chapter Seven
Darwin is an exotic city at any time, but is at its best outside the wet season. Since it was destroyed by Cyclone Tracey, it has been rebuilt into a modern city reflecting a mix of nationalities from all over the world. Auckland has a similar feel but is a big city. In comparison, Darwin is small but exciting, a melting pot of cultures.
Their flights arrive in the early evening and they catch up for a drink before returning to separate rooms for some well-earned sleep. The day is going to be busy. He knocks on her door at what he considers a fairly reasonable seven thirty am. It is opened by a dishevelled blonde in a blue dressing gown and bare feet, greeting him with a tone matching the sharpness of his rapier.
“Give me at least half an hour and don’t even consider talking to me until I’ve had two mugs of coffee!” The door is shut firmly in his face.
He raises an eyebrow in contemplation.
Maybe it is a bit early,
he decides with a smile as he ponders the brief moment of intimacy and realises how attractive she is even without make-up and hair askew. Catching a quick glimpse of a scar normally hidden by make-up running down the right side of her nose, Jed wonders briefly what happened to cause it as he turns and goes to find a paper to kill some time.
Alexander, now immaculately made-up, meets him on time dressed in jeans, sneakers and an open-necked blouse. They settle on a Mitchell Street café with a sidewalk table in the morning sun, a full cooked breakfast of poached eggs on toast, tomatoes, mushrooms and salad followed by good coffee and a read of the papers.
Jed particularly enjoys the papers. The last mistake he married would have regarded reading the papers over breakfast as being disconnected and given him a hard time. Instead, he can now enjoy breakfast in good company. The sky is a cloudless bright blue and the temperature comfortable, a good time of year in Northern Australia.
While they wait for breakfast, Jed lets his imagination take one of its random journeys. “The Darwin of Karl’s time would have been a lot different to this!” he suggests thoughtfully as they watch the city coming to life.
“In what way?” Alexander asks with genuine interest, fired by the second coffee. She recognises the randomness of a restless mind similar to her own and identifies with it.
“In 1942, Darwin was a gathering ground of drifters, dead beats and men who wanted
Back in the house, the atmosphere has changed. His comfortable home feels violated. He detests low-life burglars and the disruption their presence causes. He secures the doors and turns on the lights to check the rooms. Nothing taken! Rent money from one of his flats is still on the table, ready to bank, and an antique revolver is still in its display case. Perhaps he interrupted the intruder soon after entry. The study has been disturbed and on the living room floor his planning for locating the plane is scattered as if it has been searched or tramped through.
When he tidies things up the only thing he can’t find is the map on which he has marked possible tracks from the Philippines to Darwin.
What a useless thing to pinch! If it has been pinched?
Perhaps he has put it somewhere but can’t think where. Is he having a senior moment? Unsettled by a surprise intruder? Or has he simply forgotten? He goes through the pile of material again and finds that one photograph of the plane also seems to be missing. Very strange. He sits up late with a good port to calm his emotions before an unsettled night’s sleep.
Chapter Seven
Darwin is an exotic city at any time, but is at its best outside the wet season. Since it was destroyed by Cyclone Tracey, it has been rebuilt into a modern city reflecting a mix of nationalities from all over the world. Auckland has a similar feel but is a big city. In comparison, Darwin is small but exciting, a melting pot of cultures.
Their flights arrive in the early evening and they catch up for a drink before returning to separate rooms for some well-earned sleep. The day is going to be busy. He knocks on her door at what he considers a fairly reasonable seven thirty am. It is opened by a dishevelled blonde in a blue dressing gown and bare feet, greeting him with a tone matching the sharpness of his rapier.
“Give me at least half an hour and don’t even consider talking to me until I’ve had two mugs of coffee!” The door is shut firmly in his face.
He raises an eyebrow in contemplation.
Maybe it is a bit early,
he decides with a smile as he ponders the brief moment of intimacy and realises how attractive she is even without make-up and hair askew. Catching a quick glimpse of a scar normally hidden by make-up running down the right side of her nose, Jed wonders briefly what happened to cause it as he turns and goes to find a paper to kill some time.
Alexander, now immaculately made-up, meets him on time dressed in jeans, sneakers and an open-necked blouse. They settle on a Mitchell Street café with a sidewalk table in the morning sun, a full cooked breakfast of poached eggs on toast, tomatoes, mushrooms and salad followed by good coffee and a read of the papers.
Jed particularly enjoys the papers. The last mistake he married would have regarded reading the papers over breakfast as being disconnected and given him a hard time. Instead, he can now enjoy breakfast in good company. The sky is a cloudless bright blue and the temperature comfortable, a good time of year in Northern Australia.
While they wait for breakfast, Jed lets his imagination take one of its random journeys. “The Darwin of Karl’s time would have been a lot different to this!” he suggests thoughtfully as they watch the city coming to life.
“In what way?” Alexander asks with genuine interest, fired by the second coffee. She recognises the randomness of a restless mind similar to her own and identifies with it.
“In 1942, Darwin was a gathering ground of drifters, dead beats and men who wanted
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