AT TEN minutes before midnight Mary Cameron crept out of
bed, fully clothed, her heart racing. Thick carpet
silenced her movements as she tiptoed to the window, drew
the curtain aside and peered through the slanted slats of
the venetian blinds.
Tom was waiting for her. He was standing on the corner,
just outside the pale lemon circle cast by the street
light. She could see the defiant splash of his white T-
shirt beneath the bulkiness of his black leather jacket.
His wide shoulders were squared and his hands rested
lightly on his hips, as if he were poised ready for action.
Truth was, Tom Pirelli was always ready for action. And,
on this balmy North Queensland winter's night, he was
ready to run away with her.
A delicious thrill rippled through her. With one finger
she dipped a slat in the blind so she could see Tom more
clearly and he lifted his hand to wave. His mouth tilted
in his familiar unhurried smile and her heart flipped. By
this time tomorrow they would be far away from Townsville.
And she would be Tom Pirelli's wife. Over the past weeks
she had thought of nothing but marrying Tom. She hadn't
been able to concentrate on her studies, had hardly heard
any of her family's conversations. The single most
important thing in her life was a twenty-two-year-old
soldier with a devastating slow smile and even more
devastating, slow kisses.
He filled her head and her heart and she was certain she
couldn't possibly live without him.
"I'm coming, Tom," she whispered as she released the slat
and let the curtain drop back into place.
Heart knocking in her chest, she stooped to pick up her
small backpack. It held little more than a change of
clothes and her toiletries, but she couldn't risk carrying
a bulky pack through the dark house. It would be a
disaster if she knocked something over and woke her
parents. Besides, she would be travelling on the back of
Tom's motorbike, which meant travelling light.
Travelling light and lighthearted and in love. With Tom.
Her insides jumped and danced with excitement. She was so
heart-and-soul in love with Tom that it still came as a
shock that he loved her back. She had to be the luckiest
girl in Australia. No, make that the universe.
Without a backward glance at the pretty bedroom that had
been home to her secret dreams for so many years, she
hurried out into the hallway.
Here, there was danger. The polished timber floors of the
living areas were noisy, so she carried her shoes in her
hands and prayed that her socks would muffle her
footsteps. All would be lost if her father woke up.
Oh, help! At the thought of her father, Mary came to an
abrupt halt, frozen by a panicky rush of guilt. Heaven
knew this wasn't the way she wanted to be married. Until
she'd met Tom she'd enjoyed a happy relationship with her
parents, and it was just awful now to be torn between her
family ties and her passion for her man.
But her father wouldn't listen when she tried to defend
Tom, so he'd left her with absolutely no choice. She could
only hope that once she and Tom were married all would be
well. Her father would have to see that they were meant
for each other.
She had no doubt that she and Tom would win her parents
around. Once her dad got to know Tom, he couldn't help but
admire him. Tom would be an adoring husband. In the years
to come he'd be a wonderful father for their children and
the perfect son-in-law for her parents. Everything would
be fine just as soon as she was safely outside. With Tom.
She took a deep breath and began to tiptoe forward again.
She'd practised creeping through the midnight-silent house
several times in the past weeks, so she knew about the
creaking board outside her parents' bedroom and another
near the entrance to the dining room. Once these were
safely bypassed she began to breathe more easily.
As she neared the front of the house she could hear the
hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen. It was reaching the
end of its long cycle. Brilliant timing! She could
coordinate the moment she opened the front door with the
final gush of the rinse water gurgling down the drain.
At last she was safely through the house and in the slate-
tiled front entry, where faint light from the street
filtered through long narrow panels of glass on either
side of the front door. Almost free.
The hiss of water in the kitchen was her signal. Quickly,
Mary thrust her feet into her shoes, took a deep breath
and stepped to the door, then slowly, slowly, turned the
handle of the doorknob, praying that it wouldn't make a
sound. Not now. Not with freedom so near.
Not with Tom waiting outside. Already she could picture
the glimmer in his dark eyes when she reached him, the way
he would haul her close, enfolding her inside the
protection of his leather jacket. Already she could feel
the warmth of his arms around her and his lips nuzzling
the side of her neck as he whispered, "Mary-Mary."
Holding her breath, Mary inched the door open and the
potted palm beside her seemed to move. It startled her and
she jerked the door back, making its hinges squeak.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Her father's
voice exploded beside her in the dark. Swift and terrible
as a lightning strike, panic flashed through her. With a
gasp of despair, she wrenched the door wide and hurled
herself forward, but hands, strong as talons, gripped her.
"No!" she cried as she struggled to tug herself free. "You
can't stop me!"
Her arm was almost pulled from its socket and her backpack
fell to the floor as her father hauled her back through
the doorway.
"No," she sobbed. "You can't do this! Please, no, you
don't understand."
She cried out as the door slammed shut. Horrified, she
slipped sideways out of her father's grasp and took off
through the dark kitchen, skirting the island bench as she
headed for the back door.
"Don't be so stupid, girl," her father roared, hot in
pursuit. Again his hands came from behind her and he
seized her arm. Again she tried to break free, but he was
too big and too strong. She had no hope of trying to
outrun a trained army officer in his own home. She was
yanked backwards and pushed hard against the slats of the
louvred door on the pantry cupboard.
"You've got to let me go," she panted. "I'm an adult. I
have every right."
Colonel Cameron's dark face loomed above her. "Call
yourself an adult?" he sneered. "An adult wouldn't slink
away in the middle of the night to a pick up with a no-
good lout like Pirelli."
"He's not a lout. You don't know him." Light flooded the
kitchen and, through her pain and her tears, Mary squinted
against the sharp brightness. She saw her mother standing
in the doorway in her nightgown and, behind her, her
cousin Sonia, staring with huge, fascinated eyes.
"You can't hold me prisoner," Mary sobbed at them. "I'm
not going to let you spoil this. I have to go. Let me go!"
"Mary, be reasonable," came her mother's voice. "No! You
be reasonable," Mary cried back, as she struggled against
her father's tight hold.
Refusing to look at his angry red face, she focused on her
mother, who looked so much more vulnerable at midnight in
her pale nightgown and without the careful mask of the
make-up she always wore.
"You're backing Dad against Tom when you don't even know
him. You won't let me bring Tom into our house, but you
can't do this to me. I'm twenty, Mum. I'm old enough to
know what I want. Tom and I love each other and you've got
to let me live my life. I've got to go to him. I've got
to!"
"Over my dead body," her father roared and, to emphasise
his point, he gripped her shoulders harder and forced her
back against the cupboard again.
"Ralph, there's no need to be rough," came her mother's
voice.
Mary moaned and tears streamed down her cheeks. Tears of
rage, not pain. Tom was waiting on the footpath. What had
he heard? What had he thought when the kitchen lights came
on? What would he do if she didn't show up?
Would she ever be able to see him again? She had to. No
one could possibly understand how desperately she needed
him. Every cell in her body yearned for the reassurance of
his strong arms around her. She needed him to hold her as
he murmured his pet name for her, over and over — the way
he did when they made love. "Mary-Mary, Mary-Mary."
Her father's vicelike grip loosened a fraction, but not
enough to release her. "Stop snivelling, girl," he
hissed. "I can't believe my own daughter could be such a
fool. When you come to your senses you'll be grateful.
You'll thank me for this."
"Never!" Mary cried, hating him. She couldn't bear to look
at him and she let her tears fall, making no attempt to
stop the sobs that racked her. "You've d-decided you don't
like T-Tom simply because he's not an officer and — and he
rides a motorbike."
Her father swore and gave her shoulders a shake. "Pirelli
is a hooligan, Mary. You know he's been up before the
Provost marshal for speeding, and he was involved in a
brawl at a local nightclub. I'm not letting a man like
that touch my daughter."
"But he has!" Mary cried with a surge of triumphant
defiance, and she lifted her head to meet her father's
hard grey glare.
I live for Tom Pirelli's touch. "Where is he? I'll kill
him!" 'Ralph, for heaven's sake," her mother interrupted,
coming close enough to tap her husband's elbow in a
hesitant attempt to soothe him. "It's the middle of the
night. Keep your voice down. Why don't we go into the
lounge and sit down and talk this through
sensibly?" 'There's nothing to talk through," Mary
protested. "Can't you both understand? I truly love Tom
and he loves me. I can't live without him. If you don't
let me go, you'll have ruined my life."
"Consider it ruined," her father snapped. Mary wept
noisily. How could her parents be so unjust and cruel to
their own daughter? She felt as if they'd hurled her into
the ocean with rocks tied to her feet. Inconsolable, she
slumped against the pantry door. Her father released his
pressure, but she knew it was useless to try to escape.
She let her spine bump down the louvred slats as she slid
to the floor and crouched in a miserable, undignified
huddle with her arms wrapped around her bent knees.
She wanted to die.
Her cousin Sonia's voice reached her through her
misery. "Would you like me to go and tell Tom that you're
not coming?"
Mary's head snapped up. Sonia stepped closer and Mary
realised for the first time that she was fully dressed, as
was her father. Had they known her plans?
Her cousin had been living with her family for the past
year because she was studying law at James Cook
University. Mary drove Sonia to university each day but,
because they were in different faculties, they saw little
of each other on campus.
They hadn't become close, and now the bright, fascinated
light in Sonia's eyes bothered Mary. But she couldn't
leave Tom stranded on the footpath waiting.
"He's waiting on the corner. Go and tell him what's
happened. Tell him that I'll work something out," she said.
"Don't bother yourself, Sonia," interjected her
father. "If anyone talks to Private Pirelli tonight, it
will be me. I'd talk to the mongrel with my fists except
that I don't fancy being court-martialled for assault."
Her mother had switched the kettle on and now it came to
the boil. She turned to pour bubbling hot water into mugs
with tea bags.
From behind Colonel Cameron's back, Sonia sent Mary what
might have been a sympathetic smile if her eyes hadn't
gleamed with suppressed excitement. "I'll go back to bed,
then," she mumbled sleepily, but then she sent Mary a
wink. And, as Mary watched Sonia shuffle out of the room,
she knew her cousin planned to sneak out through the back
of the house to find Tom.
She wished she found that thought more comforting. "How
did you know?" she asked her parents, suddenly
suspicious. "You were waiting up for me."
"Some people claim that Army Intelligence is an oxy-moron,
but it comes in handy," her father drawled, and his mouth
curved into a smug half-smile.
Still huddled on the floor, Mary shot him a glare filled
with venom.