As the train pulled away from the platform, Rob Harvey sat back and stared out the carriage window. His Saturday night excursion to Sydney had served its customary purpose: he’d picked up a girl in one of the classier bars and they’d gone to his hotel and had sex – it had been over four months since he’d slept with a woman. She’d been a nice girl: they’d had a laugh and they’d talked and, afterwards, she hadn’t counted out the money when he’d given her the envelope. He’d enjoyed her company even more than the sex. But when she wrote down her telephone number and told him to contact her any time he was in Sydney, he’d decided he wouldn’t. His intimacy with the girl had only served to remind him how lonely he was.

He wasn’t thinking of the girl as he stared intently out of the window; nor was he paying any attention to the shunting yards as the train slid past, or the rows of shabby houses and the back yards of Sydney’s poorer inner suburbs. He was trying to keep his eyes averted from the woman sitting opposite, and he was finding it difficult. There were just the two of them in the dogbox carriage, and he wished he’d bought a newspaper, or that there were others with whom he could strike up a conversation. It was going to be a long eight hours to Cooma, he thought.

He knew that the woman was travelling to Cooma – he’d heard her ask a porter on the platform. He’d already been seated in the carriage when he noticed her through the window – it was difficult not to. Perfectly proportioned, she carried herself proudly and her short-cropped fair hair framed a face that was strikingly handsome. She was possibly the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

‘This is the train to Cooma, isn’t it?’ she’d asked.

‘That’s right,’ the porter had said, ‘leaves in three minutes,’ and he’d opened the carriage door for her.

‘Allow me.’ Rob had taken her case and lifted it up onto the overhead rack.

‘Thank you.’ Her response had been polite, but she hadn’t smiled. Then she’d sat, her hands folded in her lap, and stared out of the window, even though the train was still stationary. She hadn’t initiated conversation and Rob had felt awkward, although he’d understood. Such a woman would invite the attention of men; she obviously considered it necessary to present an aloof exterior. But it was disconcerting nonetheless.

Now, as the train picked up speed, they both maintained their gaze through their respective windows, but Rob sensed that the woman, like him, was not really seeing the outside world. She was in a world of her own, he realised as he watched her in his peripheral vision. In fact, she was so lost in her thoughts that he was able to risk the odd glance before guiltily returning his eyes to the suburbs whizzing by.

Ruth wasn’t being intentionally rude to the pleasant man who had helped her with her suitcase, but having now embarked on the final leg of her journey, she needed time to think. She concentrated her attention on the smudgy stain on the carriage window, thankful that the man respected her privacy and was not attempting conversation.

What would she do when she got to Cooma? She hadn’t really made any plans beyond reaching the Snowy Mountains of Australia. She would try to find Samuel, yes, but he’d believed her dead for over eleven years. His life could have taken many a path – he may even have remarried, she told herself. Just as she was no longer the girl he’d once known, Samuel, too, would have changed.

Ruth had thought of her husband a great deal over the past three months since she’d discovered he was alive. She remembered the love that they’d shared, but she did not pin her hopes on that love’s survival. She had become too practical, too hardened: life held no romantic miracles, and she expected none. But finding Samuel had given her fresh purpose – or perhaps simply something to do, she thought; ‘purpose’ had become an empty word. Her search for Samuel had, however, brought her to a new country. Perhaps it was this country that held the answer. Who could tell?

Her attention was distracted beyond the carriage window’s smudgy stain. They were out of the city now, they had been for some time, but she hadn’t noticed. And the vista was breathtaking, rugged rocky ridges towering over huge valleys of native forest that stretched as far as the eye could see. Ruth thought she’d never seen a landscape so vast and majestic.

‘How beautiful,’ she said, leaning forward in her seat to gaze out at the grandeur.

‘Yes, isn’t it.’ Rob was relieved that she’d spoken at last.

‘The trees almost look blue from here,’ she marvelled.

‘It’s the eucalypts,’ he said. ‘The oil from their leaves lends a haze to the air, and from a distance the forests look blue.’

‘Eucalypts?’

‘Aussie gum trees, indigenous to this country. There’re hundreds of varieties.’

‘And the oil from their leaves lends a haze to the air,’ she said, thinking how pretty it sounded.

‘Yeah, so I believe, and in the right atmospheric conditions and from a distance it makes the trees look blue.’ He felt himself relax. She wasn’t really aloof at all, he told himself, and she couldn’t help being beautiful. ‘You’re going to Cooma, aren’t you? I heard you ask the porter.’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘It’s a beaut town, you’ll like it.’ He wondered why she was going to Cooma, but he didn’t ask. Her reply had been pleasant enough, but he’d sensed that the walls had gone up again. ‘Of course there’ve been a lot of changes with the Snowy.’ Eager to continue the conversation, he was about to explain the Scheme to her, but she nodded.

‘The Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme, yes, I know.’ Ruth had made enquiries in Sydney about the Snowy Mountains. Thousands of migrants had been employed there, she’d been told. And Samuel would be one of them.

Rob felt like a bit of a dill. Of course she’d know about the Scheme, he thought, she probably had a job lined up through the SMA in Sydney; he was sure she was a migrant. Her English was perfect, but her accent was slightly stilted. He liked her voice.

‘You’re going to work for the Snowy, are you?’

‘No, I hadn’t planned to.’ She’d planned nothing beyond her search for Samuel, but it occurred to her that it was a good idea. She would get herself settled first so that she wasn’t a burden to him. ‘But I think perhaps I shall look for a job,’ she said, ‘that is, if I can find one.’

‘Oh you won’t have any trouble,’ he said. ‘There are tons of jobs going around Cooma and the work camps. I’m Rob, by the way,’ it was time for introductions, he thought, ‘Rob Harvey.’

‘Ruth Stein.’ She offered her hand and they shook. She hadn’t intended to get into conversation; she usually avoided situations like this. The icy reception she offered men who approached her always cut them off at the pass. But there was an engagingly genuine quality to Rob Harvey, and she was interested in learning about her destination.

‘So tell me about the Snowy Mountains Hydro-Electric Scheme,’ she said. ‘What exactly is it?’

‘It’s the biggest engineering and construction feat this country’s ever undertaken.’ Rob was relieved to no longer feel like a dill. ‘A river’s being diverted from its path to the sea and channelled through tunnels beneath a mountain range,’ he said impressively.

‘Good heavens.’ She was certainly as impressed as he’d intended her to be, but she was also a little mystified. ‘For what purpose?’

‘Irrigation of the dry interior,’ he said, ‘and the harnessing of hydro-electric power.’ Rob warmed to his theme as he described the principles of the dams and power stations. Her questions were perceptive and her interest rewarding. As they talked, he forgot to be in awe of her beauty. She was an intelligent woman whose conversation he was enjoying.

‘And I’ve heard that the Scheme employs principally migrant labour,’ she said.

‘In the main, yes,’ he replied. ‘There was a shortage of local labour after the war so the government brought out thousands of migrants.’ He gave a laconic grin. ‘The Europeans outnumber the Aussies on the Snowy now, and it’s the best thing that could have happened all round, I can tell you.’

‘Why is that?’

‘The Europeans have found a new life here, and we’ve found that ours isn’t the only way to live. We can be a pretty parochial bunch, us Aussies.’

She found him a most interesting man. He looked and sounded like the quintessential Australian, or rather the way she’d pictured a quintessential Australian might look and sound. He was lean and fit with the weathered face of one who’d lived in the sun, and he spoke with a lazy drawl. Yet there was a worldliness about him. The contradiction was not unattractive, but there was a self-consciousness to it, as if he wished to disguise his obvious intellect beneath a casual masculinity. She wondered if other Australian men were like that; she hadn’t really met any – in the few days she’d been in Sydney she’d kept to herself, wandering about the city, taking in the beauty of its harbour.

They were beyond the leafy Southern Highlands now and she looked out at the dry and rolling hills. The country itself seemed a series of contradictions.

‘What an ever-changing landscape,’ she said, not realising that she’d voiced her thoughts out loud.

‘You wait till you get to the Snowies and the Monaro.’ He was glad she was again inviting conversation; she’d gone silent for a while and he’d felt that he might have been talking too much. ‘You’ll see more landscapes there than you can shake a stick at.’

She smiled at the quaintness of the expression.

It was the first time she’d smiled, and he was once more struck by her beauty. He wondered about her background. Where was she from? Why didn’t she smile more often? But he asked no questions; it was obvious that she didn’t want to talk about herself. So he talked about the countryside instead, finding a lyricism he hadn’t known he possessed. He wasn’t sure why; he wasn’t trying consciously to impress her. Perhaps he simply wanted to welcome her; she was a newcomer to Australia, and she seemed to him very lonely.

Ruth liked the way he talked. He wanted to share his passion for his country, and she thought how good it was to hear someone speak about their country with a passion that was not possessive. They had spoken about Israel with passion, she remembered, but it was always accompanied by the rancour of ownership. ‘This land is ours and we will not share it,’ they’d said. They’d killed those who had wished to share it.

Samuel had made a good choice, she thought as she listened to the Australian; he had been wise to come to this country. Rob Harvey had said the Europeans had found a new life here, and she hoped that had proved so for Samuel. She wondered if perhaps Rob Harvey knew him. It was quite possible – Rob worked for the Snowy, he was a site engineer, he’d said. But she would make no enquiries until she was settled. She would not intrude upon Samuel’s new life until the time was right.

‘Well, that was a quick trip,’ he said as the train pulled into Cooma. It was late afternoon and there were now others in the carriage, from various stops along the way, but he’d barely noticed them. He hefted her suitcase down from the overhead rack.

‘Thank you, Rob,’ she said as they stepped out onto the platform. ‘I’ve enjoyed talking to you very much.’

Still no smile, but he could see that she was genuine. In fact, he wondered how he could have found her aloof – there was not a shred of artifice about her; she appeared quite unaware of her beauty.

‘Where are you staying?’ he asked, signalling a taxi.

‘I don’t know, I haven’t booked in anywhere. I thought I’d just …’

‘I’ll take you to Dodds Hotel. It isn’t the classiest accommodation in town, but it’s a family-run pub and they’re nice people. They’ll look after you there.’

The taxi pulled up and he piled her suitcase into the boot, along with his rucksack.

‘Really, it’s not necessary …’

‘Course it is, I’m not leaving you here on your own. Besides, the train was early, I’m not being picked up for another half an hour yet.’

The train hadn’t been early at all, and as he opened the taxi door for her he looked around for the Land Rover – it’d arrive any second. Lucky wouldn’t be driving it as he usually did – he had taken a couple of days off to go to Sydney with Peggy and wouldn’t be back until Tuesday – but Karl Heffner was due to collect him. Karl had spent the weekend in Cooma and was going to drive them back to the work camp.

The taxi pulled away from the kerb just as Rob saw the Land Rover turn into the station courtyard. Sorry, mate, he thought, you’ll just have to wait.

He booked her into Dodds, personally introducing her to Rita and Bob, and as Bob Duncan carried her suitcase upstairs, he scribbled a couple of addresses on the notepad Rita had given him.

‘There you go,’ he said, tearing off the page and handing it to her. ‘That’s Kaiser’s offices here in town and the other one’s the Snowy Authority headquarters. Give them both a burl and mention my name – one of them’s bound to come up with a job.’

‘Thank you, Rob, you’ve been very kind.’

‘No worries,’ he said. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to settle in.’ As she started up the main staircase, he slung his rucksack over his shoulder. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he added as if it were a casual afterthought, ‘I’m coming into town next weekend, meeting up with a mate for dinner here at Dodds.’ It was a lie, but he wasn’t sure if she’d agree to go out with him alone. ‘Perhaps you’d like to join us?’

She hesitated, and he realised that the invitation hadn’t sounded right at all.

‘There’ll be another lady present,’ he hastily added, ‘my mate Lucky’s just got himself engaged.’

She remained hesitant, and he thought that perhaps a cosy dinner with another couple had sounded a bit too intimate.

‘There’s always a good crowd at Dodds on a Saturday,’ he said hopefully, ‘I could introduce you around, you’d get to meet some of the locals.’

He was a nice man who was trying too hard, she thought. She could tell he was interested and she didn’t wish to encourage him, but he’d been so welcoming, she also didn’t want to appear rude.

‘I’d be delighted, thank you.’

‘About seven o’clock then, I’ll meet you here in the lobby.’

She nodded and smiled.

The smile was only one of common courtesy, he realised, but at least it was a smile.

 

It was four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon, and Lucky and his team were just coming off the day shift when Rob Harvey arrived. In their grimy overalls and hardhats the men were gathered around the huge tunnel entrance lighting smokes and chatting while Lucky marked their footage up on the blackboard. He wrote it with a flourish, and they all gave a cheer – they were well ahead of the graveyard shift who’d knocked off at eight that morning.

Rob greeted the others who called ‘G’day boss’, and then he drew Lucky to one side.

‘Are you and Peggy having dinner at Dodds this Saturday?’ he asked; he knew that the two of them often did.

‘Yes, with Pietro and Violet – there’s a band booked to play and we’re staying on for the dance.’ Lucky presumed Rob was tying up the transport into town; it was customary for them to liaise about transport.

‘Oh. Right.’ Rob hadn’t anticipated the band, or the young couple whom he barely knew, and he was aware that the request sounded strange. ‘Would you mind if I joined you?’

Lucky was surprised. Rob Harvey was a man’s man. He didn’t go to dances, he shared a beer with the blokes in the bar.

‘Why not,’ he said. ‘The more the merrier.’

Rob decided that he’d have to come clean. Lucky was looking at him curiously, wondering why he’d choose to be such an odd man out.

‘Well, actually, I’ll have someone with me.’

‘Ah.’ Lucky grinned as the penny dropped. Rob Harvey had found himself a woman.

‘Yeah,’ Rob admitted a little self-consciously, ‘I met her on the train from Sydney, and I thought I could do with a bit of back-up, you know?’

‘Sure,’ Lucky said, ‘we’re meeting in the lounge around half-past six,’ and he left it at that. He could have ribbed Rob Harvey, but he didn’t. He had the feeling that, for all his acute intelligence and his confidence in the workplace Rob Harvey was shy and insecure when it came to women.

 

It was on the dot of seven that Ruth walked down the main staircase to where he was waiting in the lobby; he’d been there a full five minutes.

‘Hello, Rob,’ she said.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered, and he was aware of the glances from several men who’d just walked through the front doors. He felt shockingly self-conscious; she was actually too beautiful, he thought, and it made him uncomfortable.

‘G’day, Ruth.’ They shook hands. ‘How’s your week been?’ He couldn’t think of anything better to say.

‘I found a job right here in Cooma,’ she said, ‘with the Snowy Mountains Authority. I’m to teach English to migrants, and it’s all thanks to you.’

She’d put him at his ease in an instant and he thought, as he had when they’d got off the train, how surprisingly free of pretension she was.

‘That’s good,’ he said, ‘I’m glad.’

‘Yes, so am I. I’m glad I came to Cooma. I like it here.’

As they walked through to the main lounge, Ruth told him about her new job. She had to undergo the standard government medical clearance, she said, but that shouldn’t take more than a week, and then she could report for duty.

‘I’ll be working with psychologists too,’ she said, ‘as an interpreter. Interviewing migrants with problems, helping them settle in. I’m really looking forward to it.’

He wondered again at her background. She obviously had excellent qualifications. Where did she come from? Where had she studied? But now was not the time to ask. Ahead, at a table in the centre of the lounge, sat Lucky and Peggy with the young Italian and his wife. Rob took a deep breath. He wasn’t looking forward to this – he was not one for social chit-chat. He would far rather have talked to her on her own.

‘That’s my mate, Lucky,’ he said, indicating the table, and he took her arm as they wove their way through the lounge.

But Ruth had seen him the moment they’d stepped through the doors. Samuel. His arm around a woman, and plainly in love. There was nothing she could do. She was on a trajectory through a crowded room in a place called Cooma, and she was about to collide with her past.

‘G’day, Lucky,’ Rob said. ‘This is Ruth. Ruth, this is Lucky and his fiancée, Peggy, and this is Pietro, and …’ Rob faltered embarrassingly – he’d forgotten the name of the young Italian’s wife.

‘Violet.’ It was Peggy who dived in to save the day, wondering why Lucky hadn’t.

‘How do you do,’ Violet said, her hand outstretched.

‘Hello, Violet.’ Ruth shook hands with all of them. ‘Hello, Lucky,’ she’d left him till last.

‘Ruth,’ he said.

‘Yes, that’s right. Ruth Stein.’

The disfiguring scar on his face shocked her, but she’d been prepared for whatever she might find. She’d been prepared for this meeting for some time now.

Lucky had undergone no such preparation, and he stared at her dumbly, unaware that he was holding on to her hand far too long.

Ruth tried to signal him an apology. She had not intended it to happen like this, her eyes said. Then she turned away, withdrawing her hand.

‘We need some more chairs.’ Rob Harvey thought it was a bit much, Lucky ogling Ruth like that, and in front of his fiancée.

‘Yes, of course.’ Lucky sprang to his feet.

The exchange had gone unnoticed by Pietro and Violet, who themselves had been openly admiring Ruth.

‘She should be in the pictures,’ Violet had whispered.

But the moment had not been lost on Peggy. Lucky and this woman had shared something, she’d sensed it. Did they know each other? If so, why were they saying nothing? What did it mean?

Lucky offered his chair to Ruth and he and Rob Harvey fetched two more from a nearby table. Lucky’s mind was reeling. She was alive, she was here. It was incomprehensible As he sat, he tried not to stare at her.

Rob ordered another round of drinks and they discussed the luxury of late-night licensing. The long awaited change had come into being only several days before.

‘We were out at the work camp,’ Rob said, ‘but I’d bet a penny to a pound there was some partying going on in town that night.’

‘There sure was,’ Violet nodded. ‘You could hear them all over Cooma.’

‘Here’s to the end of the six o’clock swill,’ Rob said as Peter Minogue arrived with the drinks. He raised his beer glass and the others joined in the toast, explaining to Ruth the meaning of the term, which she found most colourful, which led to a discussion of other Australian colloquialisms.

‘Running around like a headless chook.’

‘Mad as a cut snake.’

‘Flat out like a lizard drinking.’

They all had their offerings, even Pietro, who admitted to finding it rather confusing, and Ruth finally shook her head.

‘I obviously have a great deal to learn,’ she said, and the others laughed.

‘How long have you been here?’ Lucky asked, finally forcing himself to look at her directly.

‘I’ve been in Cooma for a week, but I arrived in Australia ten days ago,’ she replied.

‘You will like it in Cooma,’ Pietro said. ‘Cooma is very nice place. You will stay here?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘Course she will,’ Rob insisted heartily, wondering why she sounded uncertain. ‘Ruth’s just got a job with the SMA – she’s going to work as an interpreter and an English teacher.’

‘Oh.’ Violet was most impressed. ‘Peggy’s a teacher too,’ she said.

Peggy smiled. She was trying to join in the conversation, but she was having trouble – her feminine instincts were working overtime. She sensed something between Lucky and Ruth, something unspoken, but electric and palpable. Yet no-one else seemed aware of it. Was it just her own insecurity? Did she find the woman’s beauty a threat? Perhaps she was jealous. But she’d never been so superficial in the past. She’d never envied women their beauty; she’d admired them for it.

She continued to reason with herself as they adjourned to the dining room, but her feelings persisted. And Violet didn’t help.

‘I think we should have champagne,’ Violet said when the men asked the ladies what they’d like to drink. ‘We have to toast Lucky and Peggy’s engagement.’ Violet didn’t particularly like the taste of champagne – she preferred orange juice – but champagne was essential to romance. ‘They only got the ring last weekend. Show Ruth, Peggy.’

Peggy extended her left hand. Was she imagining it, or could she sense discomfort in Lucky beside her? He was no longer being physically demonstrative either, he hadn’t put his arm around her once since Ruth had arrived. Peggy felt mortified and she wished Violet hadn’t brought up the subject of the ring.

‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’ Violet said. Pietro was going to buy her her own engagement ring soon, now that she could openly wear one, and tomorrow she was taking him home for Sunday lunch with the family. Her mum wanted to meet him, and her dad had calmed down – well, at least that’s what her mum had said over the phone – so things were working out fine. And when they bought the ring she’d choose something really flashy. Pietro had said she could have whatever she wanted. Not that she was critical of Peggy’s choice – it was very tasteful.

‘How exquisite,’ Ruth said as she examined the ring. ‘It’s quite lovely. Congratulations, Peggy.’ And she turned to Lucky: ‘Congratulations to you both.’

‘Thank you,’ Lucky replied, and Peggy wondered why she felt a shiver of foreboding.

After dinner, they returned to the lounge where the band was striking up. The best tables had been taken and they had to make do with a small one in the corner where they were rather cramped for space.

‘Who cares?’ Violet said with gay abandon. ‘We’re here to dance.’ She was in a very flamboyant mood: she was unaccustomed to alcohol and the two glasses of champagne had gone to her head. ‘Come on, Pietro,’ she said as she whisked him away.

‘Peggy?’ Lucky knew it would seem odd if he didn’t ask her to dance.

She stood, feeling wretched. She could tell that Lucky, who was normally so eager to whirl her onto the dance floor, didn’t really want to dance at all.

Ruth and Rob Harvey were left at the table, and he turned to her apologetically.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m not much of a dancer.’

‘That’s all right, I’m quite happy to watch.’

They watched together; it was a waltz, and Lucky and Peggy were executing each step like true professionals.

‘They’re very good, aren’t they?’ he commented.

‘Yes, they are.’ Samuel had always been an excellent dancer.

The waltz ended, and the next number of the bracket was a samba. Peggy loved the samba, they both did – she and Lucky loved all the Latin American dances.

‘Shall we go back to the table?’ she said. She didn’t love the samba tonight.

‘Sure.’

Normally he would have insisted on dancing the whole bracket, she thought as they returned to the table.

The four of them sat in silence watching the dancers. To Peggy it was a most uncomfortable silence; she was sure that Lucky and Ruth were avoiding each other’s eyes. She couldn’t bear it any longer, and, painting on a smile, she stood.

‘Rob, I insist that you dance with me,’ she said brightly, taking him by the hand.

He was forced to rise to his feet. ‘I’m not much of a dancer, Peggy, I have to warn you,’ he said, embarrassed.

‘Then I’ll teach you. Come along.’ And she dragged him onto the dance floor. She would give Lucky and Ruth time alone to sort out whatever it was that rested so uneasily between them.

A minute or so later, as she glanced over Rob’s shoulder and saw the two of them leaning close to each other, deep in conversation, Peggy felt the sickest feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

‘I’m sorry, Samuel, I didn’t mean it to happen like this.’

They spoke softly, and they had to lean in close to hear each other above the noise of the band.

‘I thought you were dead, Ruth. I searched everywhere.’ As he looked at her, Lucky was engulfed by the past.

‘I know. I know you did. But I’m here. I’m alive.’ She would have liked to have touched his face – her beautiful Samuel, so scarred. ‘I’m alive, just as you are.’

‘And Rachel?’ He held his breath as he asked the question.

‘She didn’t survive.’

‘Ah.’

He nodded as if he’d expected as much. But Ruth had seen the flicker of hope in his eyes and she wanted to hold his hand, to offer him some comfort. She made no move.

‘We mustn’t talk any longer,’ she said, aware that they were looking conspicuous and that Peggy was watching anxiously from the dance floor. Ruth was guiltily conscious of the fact that Samuel’s fiancée had sensed something between them.

‘Can I meet you tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘Some time in the morning?’

‘Of course.’

‘Centennial Park, do you know it?’

She did, the little park on the corner, right in the centre of town. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘At ten o’clock.’

By the time the others returned to the table, they were once again sitting in silence watching the dance floor.

 

Peggy tried to make conversation as she and Lucky walked the several blocks from Dodds back to her cottage. She didn’t ask him about Ruth, she had decided not to. She would wait until he told her. Told her what? she wondered.

But he said nothing. And later, as they lay side by side in bed, he remained deep in his own thoughts. By now they would normally be making love. Why weren’t they? she asked herself. What had happened? She rolled over on her side, with her back to him.

‘Goodnight,’ she whispered.

‘Goodnight, Peggy,’ he replied, and he remained gazing up at the ceiling. He knew she was puzzled, and possibly hurt, that he had made no physical overtures. But he couldn’t make love to her – he no longer had the right. And what was he to say to her by way of explanation? I am married? My wife has come back from the dead?

Lucky’s mind was in turmoil. His lives had collided – he was two men now. What was expected of him? What must he do?

In the morning he was still preoccupied and there was an awkwardness between them. Peggy cooked breakfast as a matter of course, but they didn’t eat much. Peggy thought how they would normally have eaten Sunday breakfast in bed, rolling about and making love among the crumbs.

‘I have to go out for a while,’ he said.

She started clearing the table. He never went out on a Sunday morning. She knew he was going to meet her.

‘Will you be coming back?’ she asked. ‘For lunch, I mean? Will I get lunch?’ She walked over to the sink so that he wouldn’t see the tears that had sprung to her eyes. She hated the way she sounded so pathetic. She should have yelled ‘tell me what’s going on’, but she couldn’t. She could only wait until he told her it was over.

Lucky registered the strain in her voice and crossed to her, seeing the tears that she tried to blink furiously away.

‘Yes, I’ll be coming back.’ He held her close. She was hurt, confused by his remoteness. He owed her an explanation, but he was confused himself. He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. So he told her the truth about his feelings instead. ‘I love you, Peggy Minchin,’ he said. ‘You are the world to me.’

The words which had meant so much only the previous day now had a hollow ring to Peggy, and when he’d gone she busied herself with unnecessary household chores, filling in the morning until his return, all the while fearing the worst.

 

Maarten Vanpoucke popped into the newsagents and bought himself a paper to read over his coffee and pastry, as he did every Sunday morning. Then, browsing the headlines, he ambled down Sharp Street towards the little cafe which he regularly frequented just opposite the park.

Ruth walked briskly along Bombala Street. It was a few minutes to ten and she didn’t want to keep Samuel waiting, but the park was only a block away now. She could see it up ahead, just the other side of Sharp Street.

She increased her pace but, as she reached the junction of the two streets, she was so intent upon crossing the main road that she collided with a man who hadn’t seen her coming, his attention focussed on his newspaper. The man looked up, rescuing his spectacles which had threatened to fall off, and for an instant their eyes met.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. Then she continued on her way.

Maarten didn’t move. He stood and watched as Ruth crossed the road. Then he tucked his newspaper under his arm and followed.

 

‘I’m sorry, I’m not late, am I?’

Lucky was sitting on a bench and he stood as she approached. ‘Not at all,’ he said, ‘ten o’clock on the dot. Do you want to walk or shall we sit?’

Ruth looked around. It was a fine day and the park was a popular place on a Sunday: young couples sat on the grass, children played, families gathered. She and Samuel weren’t within earshot of others, and no-one was paying them the slightest attention.

‘Let’s sit,’ she said. She took a deep breath. They sat. ‘Who’s going to start?’

‘You,’ Lucky said. ‘Yours is a more important story than mine.’

She knew he meant Rachel, and calmly, succinctly, as she’d promised herself she would, Ruth recounted the facts exactly as they’d happened.

They shot the babies as soon as they arrived, and usually the mothers as well.

As he heard his daughter’s fate, Lucky clearly recalled the brutal words of the Auschwitz inmate he’d met at Camp Foehrenwald.

She told him about Mannie too.

‘I tried to save him, Samuel. I had “connections” in the camp, a “benefactor” – that’s how I survived.’

She said it with self-loathing, and Lucky was taken aback; it was the first time she’d shown any emotion as she’d talked.

‘But it was my “benefactor”, the very man whose help I sought, who ordered Mannie’s execution.’ She stared down at her hands, her fingers laced together, kneading her knuckles, her resolve to remain detached starting to crumble. ‘I realised later that I was responsible for Mannie’s death.’

‘You were responsible?’ The obvious burden of her guilt was more than Lucky could bear. ‘Ruth, he went in my place! It should have been me who faced that firing squad. I am responsible for Mannie’s death, not you.’

She looked at him. Poor Samuel, she thought. He had carried his remorse all these years, just as she had. He was trying to spare her now, but he couldn’t. He could no more save her from her guilt than she could save him from his.

‘My poor love,’ she said. Then she smiled and raised a hand to his cheek, gently tracing the cruel course of the scar with her finger. ‘My poor, beautiful Samuel.’

A smile, Maarten thought. He had never seen her smile.

From his position beside the rotunda, as he leant against the railings with his open newspaper in front of him, Maarten Vanpoucke studied Ruth’s every nuance. The fondness in her eyes, then the smile, and the tender gesture of the hand. Husband and wife reunited, he thought, how touching. He’d ached for her to show him such tenderness. He still did.

‘And after the war?’ Lucky asked, when he’d told his story briefly and without embellishment; having heard hers, his was of little importance.

‘After the war I lived in Israel for a number of years.’ She had no wish to talk about Israel and her purposeless existence on the orchard, or what had driven her to an empty life with a man she didn’t love. She never spoke of Deir Yassin and the massacre. She never would.

‘It was in Jerusalem that I saw Efraim,’ she said, changing the subject, ‘and when he told me you were in the Snowy Mountains of Australia, I’m not sure which I found more unbelievable: the fact that you were alive, or that there was snow in Australia.’

She asked him questions and he answered in detail. She wanted to know about his arrival in Australia, and about the Snowy and his life at the work camp. He told her that he loved the work, and he loved the country, and he talked about every aspect of his new life, with one exception. Peggy.

Finally, Ruth ran out of questions and Lucky ran out of steam, and they sat in silence, both conscious of the one question that still hung unasked in the air.

‘So what do we do?’ It was Lucky who voiced it.

‘We?’ To Ruth, the question had been answered long before she’d encouraged him to talk about his life on the Snowy. ‘We do nothing, there is no “we”, Samuel.’ An edge of practicality, even hardness crept into her voice as she continued. ‘You have a new life and a woman you love. What we had is over. It was a love shared between two different people, surely you can see that? We’ve changed, you and I.’

They had, he thought. He hadn’t been Samuel Lachmann for years, and Ruth, too, had changed, he could see it. Even her beauty had changed. She was more arresting than ever, the bloom of youth replaced by the sexual allure of a woman in her thirties, but her beauty had a remote quality now, a wariness. It was not difficult to guess why, he thought, recalling the self-loathing with which she’d talked of her ‘benefactor’ in Auschwitz. Her beauty had been the source of her survival, and she’d been left with terrible scars. Gone was the gloriously vibrant, supremely confident young Ruth, and in her place, through no fault of her own, was a woman who didn’t particularly like herself – or the world.

‘Yes, we’ve changed,’ he said, ‘but we can start anew.’ Even as he spoke the words, Lucky sensed their emptiness. ‘We must, Ruth. You’re my wife.’

‘No, my dearest, I’m not, and I have no desire to be.’ It was the truth, she realised. She’d intended to release him from any obligation the moment she’d seen him so obviously in love in the lounge room at Dodds. But relinquishing any claim was no longer a selfless act on her part. Being with Samuel had brought back the past with a pain too raw. And it would be like this always, she thought: they shared wounds too deep to heal.

‘We could never be together again, Samuel,’ she said. ‘Rachel and Mannie would be with us every minute of every day. I couldn’t bear that.’

Lucky had no answer; Rachel and Mannie were with them right now, he thought.

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and looked out over the park, his attention caught by a little boy of around three galloping an imaginary pony on the grass.

They’d both lapsed into silence. Ruth, too, had focussed upon the child who, aware that he was being looked at, galloped towards them. He fell flat on his face several paces away, then sat up, unhurt, but unsure whether or not he should cry.

Ruth rose and picked him up, slinging him on one hip, while the mother, who’d been watching, made her way towards them. The child laughed, accident forgotten.

Lucky noted the ease with which she handled the child. Was she thinking of Rachel? he wondered. If the little boy had been a girl, he might well have been Rachel, they were about the same age.

No, he reminded himself, the little boy could not have been Rachel. If Rachel had lived, she would be fourteen this year.

Ruth was right, he thought, as the women exchanged pleasantries and Ruth handed over the child. Their lives would be haunted by the past. But although he agreed with her, he felt ill-prepared and indecisive. The speed of events left him stunned.

She returned to the bench and sat by his side.

‘What shall we do?’ he asked, after a moment or so. The decision had to be hers. He took her hand. ‘What is it that you want, Ruth?’

‘I want what you have.’ She looked down at their fingers entwined together. ‘I want a new life.’ Then she met his eyes with candour. ‘I believe I could find it here in Australia, but it doesn’t have to be Cooma, if you would rather I left.’

‘Of course it has to be Cooma. You have a new job, and you have friends here.’

‘Friends?’

‘Me.’

She laughed – a flash of the old Ruth which surprised them both – and he delighted in the sound.

‘I think that, given the fact you’re about to commit bigamy, it might be best if I kept my distance,’ she said.

She laughed, Maarten marvelled as he watched from behind his newspaper. She’d actually laughed. He would have given anything to have heard the sound of her laughter.

Lucky’s smile faded. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly.

‘You must say and do nothing, Samuel,’ she said. ‘You must live your life as you have planned it – there is no necessity for others to know of our past. I am legally Ruth Stein – my passport and my papers are all in my maiden name. I left you behind a long time ago, my darling.’

She was so incredibly strong, he thought, but then she always had been.

‘I love you,’ he said. ‘I will always love you, Ruth.’

‘Of course. As I will you. And that’s what you must tell Peggy.’

He was dumbfounded.

‘Peggy knows, Samuel. She knows there’s something between us.’

‘But how? How could she know?’

‘A woman’s intuition,’ Ruth smiled at his naiveté. ‘We always know.’

‘So what do I tell her?’ Lucky was stumped. He’d never understand women – but then, what man did?

‘Tell her that we’re old friends from the past who once loved each other. Tell her as much of the truth as she needs to know: that we met at university, that we were each other’s first love. Don’t try to hide it – she’ll know if you do.’

‘Right.’ Lucky’s nod was dubious.

‘You’ll manage, Samuel,’ she assured him. ‘Just be yourself, she’ll love you for that. I did.’ She rose from the bench. ‘I must remember to call you Lucky,’ she said. ‘It’s growing on me; I think it suits you.’

Maarten folded his newspaper. They were leaving the park, heading straight towards him. He stepped behind the rotunda.

‘I’ll walk you back to Dodds,’ Lucky said.

‘There’s no need.’

‘I’d like to.’

As they passed the rotunda he took her arm, but then stopped as a familiar figure appeared before him.

‘Lucky.’

It was Maarten Vanpoucke.

‘Hello, Maarten.’

‘How nice to see you. What a perfect day, isn’t it?’

Maarten’s manner was effusive: he seemed in the mood for a chat, and Lucky had no option but to introduce Ruth.

‘Ruth, this is Maarten Vanpoucke,’ he said.

‘How do you do,’ she responded.

‘Maarten, this is Ruth Stein, an old friend of mine from university days in Berlin.’

‘Delighted.’ He had not introduced her as his wife, Maarten noted, and she wore no wedding ring. So they did not intend to acknowledge their relationship. How extraordinary, he thought, and how opportune. If Lucky was still planning to marry his little schoolteacher, then Ruth would be available.

As the two shook hands, Lucky remembered the night Maarten had seen the photograph. She’s very beautiful, your wife, the Dutchman had said. It was ironic, he thought, that of all people it should be Maarten Vanpoucke they’d bumped into – no-one else in the whole of Cooma had seen the photograph, not even Peggy; he’d returned it to the drawer of his lowboy. Lucky studied the man keenly for any sign that he might find Ruth vaguely familiar.

‘You’re the young lady who nearly bowled me over,’ Maarten said.

‘Oh, was it you? I’m so sorry.’

‘No, no, my dear,’ he laughed amiably, ‘it was my fault entirely; I wasn’t watching where I was going.’

Lucky breathed a sigh of relief: there was not a flicker of recognition. But then it was not surprising: Ruth was no longer the carefree young student in the photograph.

‘Ruth’s just arrived in town,’ he said.

‘Really? Welcome to Cooma.’

‘Thank you. I’ve only been here a week, but I love the place already.’

‘And she has a job as an interpreter and teacher with the SMA,’ Lucky boasted.

‘In just one week?’ Maarten smiled his congratulations. ‘Well done.’

‘Oh I haven’t started – I have to get my medical clearance yet.’

‘Indeed? Well, if you wish to cut corners and avoid any delays, I’d be only too happy to oblige.’

‘Maarten’s a doctor, Ruth,’ Lucky explained as she looked a query at him, ‘he has a private practice in Vale Street. It’s not far from Dodds – I can show you where it is.’

Maarten produced a card from the inner pocket of his jacket and presented it to her. ‘Ring my receptionist and make an appointment for next week,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow, if you like, I think there are one or two holes in the day. I’ll give you top priority, I promise.’

‘Thank you, Doctor Vanpoucke, that’s very kind.’

‘Any friend of Lucky’s …’ he smiled, ‘and do call me Maarten.’ He turned to Lucky. ‘And you, my friend, you’ve been neglecting me sadly of late. Could I inveigle you into a game of chess next Saturday, and dinner perhaps?’

Lucky hesitated awkwardly, put on the spot, as was Maarten’s intention.

‘I think he’ll be dining with his fiancée, Peggy,’ Ruth said, ‘they usually do on a Saturday, I believe, isn’t that right, Lucky?’

‘Yes.’ She’d said it with such ease, he was lost in admiration. ‘We go to Dodds as a rule, it’s become a bit of a custom.’

‘Yes, of course, how silly of me to forget,’ Maarten replied, and he turned to Ruth. ‘Lucky’s engagement is the very reason for his neglect of me – lamentable but understandable. Well, it’s been lovely to meet you, Ruth.’ He shook her hand again, relishing the touch of her. ‘I’ll see you during the week.’

How neatly things were falling into place, he thought as he left them and strolled up Sharp Street.