That evening Hugh and Joan met for supper at Comino’s Oyster Saloon on William Street.
‘That is what I call an unqualified success!’ Hugh said as he handed her a bag containing the wig and overcoat Violet had worn. Under the table he slipped her the envelope of banknotes. ‘I had to pay two people a small fee for playing their part, but you still have close to six hundred and forty quid there for your folks. Keep it somewhere safe. Not a bank. I suggest you give it to your parents in instalments so as not to alarm them. Say you got a raise. Or a big advance on a novel! Two novels maybe? You don’t want to draw attention to your sudden fortune.’
Joan kissed the handsome face of her clever and fearless warrior of justice, her desire mixed with gratitude that he had been amenable to her playing a part in their elaborate subterfuge. It was the most breathtakingly exciting thing she had ever done.
‘Tell me, why were you wearing that flash suit earlier?’ she asked, as they recalled the scene of their triumph.
Hugh was back in his shabby trousers and jacket. The nasty bruise on his forehead, hidden under his hat earlier that day, was beginning to fade a little but was still noticeable. She did not know which Hugh she preferred: the ragged, idealistic soldier-poet or the smartly dressed fellow at the Hotel Australia. Was there not an in-between version of Hugh she could wholeheartedly embrace?
Having shared the thrill and danger of today’s adventure, Joan felt closer to Hugh than ever before. Part of her was desperate to share the news from Tempe with him and hear what he thought. She wanted to make Hugh her confidante, her partner, her colleague in solving this case. She felt so alone in her quest for the truth. Not even Bernice, her closest friend, was above suspicion. But something held her back. Hugh had been so cross when she had first confessed to taking the note from the crime scene and making the phone call to Gordon. Would he be similarly angry—or, even worse, dismissive—of her amateur sleuth efforts? Would he insist now that she turn the whole thing over to the cops? Joan was reluctant to test the waters. How disappointed she would be to find out Hugh was no different to Bill Jenkins and all other men!
Hugh sat back and spread his fingers before him; he was clearly in a relaxed, expansive mood. ‘Let’s order something nice to eat. And then I’ll tell you an interesting story.’ He had a big grin on his face. Something about the gleam in his eye set her heart fluttering, as if she were perfectly poised on the edge of excitement and fear; her instinct told her that her understanding of the world was about to take another unexpected turn.
And so it proved as, over a hefty pile of oysters and chips, Hugh Evans unfolded the story of his secret double life …
When he had returned from the war, he had been lost and angry for a long time. And then a bloke from his battalion had invited Hugh to a meeting of the Balmain branch of the Australian Communist Party. And everything he heard there made sense of a world gone mad and called to the volcanic rage inside himself.
Around the same time, he had also been invited for a drink or two and a nostalgic yarn at the Tattersalls Club with his commanding officer, Major Gordon Fielding-Jones. ‘You were one of my finest, Hugh,’ he had said. ‘If there’s ever anything I can do …’ The door had been left open and it got Hugh to thinking that he must keep in touch with the Major.
‘I’ve never wavered in my commitment to communism, Joanie,’ he insisted now. ‘I want you to remember that when I tell you what happened next.’
When the New Guard was being formed the year before, Gordon had approached his trusted lieutenant to recruit him to the cause. It was then that Hugh had conceived an audacious plan which he took to the Balmain branch of the ACP. He knew that the police planted undercover agents in the ranks of the party and no doubt inside the fascist militia as well. Why shouldn’t the party do the same to the New Guard?
‘We need eyes and ears inside this new militia,’ Hugh, who had worked in military intelligence for a while during the Great War, told his comrades. ‘I could use this opportunity to get close to some of the senior command.’ And then he revealed the most daring aspect of his proposal. ‘To fully win their confidence, I will offer to be their spy inside the Australian Communist Party.’ As a double agent, Hugh would have to provide the New Guard with some credible intelligence but, in return, he hoped to learn critical information about their plans. The party saw merit in this scheme and thanked their comrade for his courage and self-sacrifice.
‘So that’s how I became a member of Gordon’s personal bodyguard, one of his trusted right-hand men. Hence the flash suit and hat, my disguise as a New Guardsman.’
Joan stared at him in utter astonishment, at a loss for words.
‘Two days ago, Gordon asked me to take care of some nasty blackmail business, though he didn’t go into details. “A commie scumbag trying to make trouble for me,” he said. That made me laugh! So I was able to plan our little blackmail operation from both sides. He’ll be furious we didn’t catch the blackmailer, of course, but it’s not like he can’t afford the money.’ Hugh drained his glass and reached for another oyster. ‘I’m not sure what the party would make of our little Robin Hood stunt, though. They’d approve of stealing from the rich to help the poor, but I didn’t do it in the name of class struggle; I did it for you.’
No wonder Hugh had been so confident their blackmail scheme would work: he’d been pulling the strings from both sides! Joan was stunned by these revelations. But while they deepened her admiration for Hugh’s nerve, she did not like to think about what would happen if the New Guard discovered the truth.
‘I imagine my uncle is pretty jumpy right now,’ she said. ‘I hope he doesn’t start suspecting that one of his bodyguards is a snake in the grass.’
‘Your uncle believes that all the men who served under him regarded him with nothing but love and respect and willingly followed him into the hell-fire of every battle—me most of all.’ There was a note of bitterness in Hugh’s voice.
Joan had to believe that Hugh knew what he was doing; he was a war hero, after all, and he had faced much worse dangers than this and knew which risks to take. But, oh, how tempted Joan was to tell him what Ruby Dawson had told her! She was convinced now that Gordon was Ellie’s ‘mystery man’. But was Ruby’s recollection evidence enough? Would the cops think that Joan had influenced her, corrupted her memory perhaps?
Joan needed more concrete proof—and it occurred to her that, as a member of Gordon’s personal bodyguard, Hugh was probably in an ideal position to find the evidence she needed. Letters? A diary? A souvenir of their secret liaisons? Was it possible Gordon would be that careless? It looked like he had given Ellie the number for his direct line at work, that he had gone shopping with her in town and dropped her off at her mother’s house in Tempe. Was he really such a reckless, sentimental fool? Anything seemed possible.
But Joan realised she was being rash, even selfish. If she persuaded Hugh to go snooping, she was putting him in danger of blowing his cover as a double agent, perhaps even risking his life. In a few days, she was about to see behind the closed doors of Kingsmere for herself when she and Bernice attended the meeting of the Ladies’ Bacchus Club. It was up to Joan to take the next step. She could not in good conscience ask Hugh to do any more. He had already stuck his neck out to help, purely out of love for her.
Joan raised her glass and toasted her modern-day Robin Hood. He was just like Premier Lang, who wanted to levy a tax on the wealthy to maintain some human dignity for the wretched unemployed. Not that Hugh would like that comparison!
‘Here’s to stealing from the rich!’ she said.