As the Crow Flies Read online

  Daniel smiled. Although he enjoyed the play, he found he enjoyed Jackie’s company during the interval, after the show and then later over a meal at Romano’s—a little Italian restaurant she seemed acquainted with—even more. He had never come across anyone who, after only knowing him for a few hours, could be so open and friendly. They discussed everything from mathematics to Clark Gable, and Jackie was never without a definite opinion, whatever the subject.

  “May I walk you back to your hotel?” Daniel asked when they eventually left the restaurant.

  “I don’t have one,” Jackie replied with a grin, and throwing the rucksack over her shoulder added, “so I may as well walk you back to yours.”

  “Why not?” said Daniel. “I expect Mrs. Snell will be able to supply another room for the night.”

  “Let’s hope not,” said Jackie.

  When Mrs. Snell opened the door, after Jackie had pressed the night bell several times, she told them, “I hadn’t realized there would be two of you. That will mean extra, of course.”

  “But we’re not—” began Daniel.

  “Thank you,” said Jackie, seizing the key from Mrs. Snell as the landlady gave Daniel a wink.

  Once they were in Daniel’s little room, Jackie removed her rucksack and said, “Don’t worry about me, Dan, I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  He didn’t know what to say in reply, and without uttering another word went off into the bathroom, changed into his pajamas and cleaned his teeth. He reopened the bathroom door and walked quickly over to his bed without even glancing in Jackie’s direction. A few moments later he heard the bathroom door close, so he crept out of bed again, tiptoed over to the door and turned out the light before slipping back under the sheets. A few more minutes passed before he heard the bathroom door reopen. He closed his eyes pretending to be asleep. A moment later he felt a body slide in next to his and two arms encircle him.

  “Oh, Daniel”—in the darkness Jackie’s voice took on an exaggerated English accent—“do let’s get rid of these frightful pajamas.” As she pulled at the cotton cord on his pajama bottoms, he turned over to protest, only to find himself pressed up against her naked body. Daniel didn’t utter a word as he lay there, eyes closed, doing almost nothing as Jackie began to move her hands slowly up and down his legs. He became utterly exhilarated, and soon after exhausted, unsure quite what had taken place. But he had certainly enjoyed every moment.

  “You know, I do believe you’re a virgin,” Jackie said, when he eventually opened his eyes.

  “No,” he corrected. “Was a virgin.”

  “I’m afraid you still are,” said Jackie. “Strictly speaking. But don’t get worked up about it; I promise we’ll have that sorted out by the morning. By the way, next time, Dan, you are allowed to join in.”

  Daniel spent most of the next three days in bed being tutored by a second-year undergraduate from the University of Perth. By the second morning he had discovered just how beautiful a woman’s body could be. By the third evening Jackie let out a little moan that led him to believe that although he might not have graduated he was no longer a freshman.

  He was sad when Jackie told him the time had come for her to return to Perth. She threw her rucksack over her shoulder for the last time, and after he had accompanied her to the station Daniel watched the train pull away from the platform as she began her journey back to Western Australia.

  “If I ever get to Cambridge, Dan, I’ll look you up,” were the last words he remembered her saying.

  “I do hope so,” he said, feeling there were several members of Trinity High Table who would have benefited from a few days of Jackie’s expert tuition.

  On Thursday morning Daniel reported back to the Immigration Department as instructed, and after another hour’s wait in the inevitable queue, handed his receipt over to the assistant who was still slumped across the counter wearing the same shirt.

  “Oh, yes, Guy Trentham, I remember. I discovered his particulars a few minutes after you’d left,” the clerk told him. “Pity you didn’t come back earlier.”

  “Then I can only thank you.”

  “Thank me, what for?” asked the assistant suspiciously.

  Daniel took the little green card the assistant handed to him. “For three of the happiest days of my life.”

  “What are you getting at, mate?” said the other man, but Daniel was already out of earshot.

  He sat alone on the steps outside the tall colonial building and studied the official card. As he feared, it revealed very little:

  Name: Guy Trentham (registered as immigrant)

  18 November 1922

  Occupation: Land agent

  Address: 117 Manley Drive

  Sydney

  Daniel soon located Manley Drive on the city map which Jackie had left with him, and took a bus to the north side of Sydney where he was dropped off in a leafy suburb overlooking the harbor. The houses, although fairly large, looked a little run-down, leaving Daniel with the impression that the suburb might at some time in the past have been a fashionable area.

  When he rang the bell of what could have been a former colonial guest house, the door was answered by a young man wearing shorts and a singlet. Daniel was coming to accept that this was the national dress.

  “It’s a long shot, I know,” Daniel began, “but I’m trying to trace someone who may have lived in this house in 1922.”

  “Bit before my time,” said the youth cheerily. “Better come in and talk to my Aunt Sylvia—she’ll be your best bet.”

  Daniel followed the young man through the hall into a drawing room that looked as if it hadn’t been tidied for several days and out onto the verandah, which showed indications of having once been painted white. There seated in a rocking chair was a woman who might have been a shade under fifty but whose dyed hair and over-made-up face made it impossible for Daniel to be at all sure of her age. She continued to rock backwards and forwards, eyes closed, enjoying the morning sun.

  “I’m sorry to bother you—”

  “I’m not asleep,” said the woman, her eyes opening to take in the intruder. She stared suspiciously up at him. “Who are you? You look familiar.”

  “My name is Daniel Trumper,” he told her. “I’m trying to trace someone who may have stayed here in 1922.”

  She began to laugh. “Twenty-five years ago. You’re a bit of an optimist, I must say.”

  “His name was Guy Trentham.”

  She sat up with a start and stared straight at him. “You’re his son, aren’t you?” Daniel went ice cold. “I’ll never forget that smooth-tongued phony’s face if I live to be a hundred.”

  The truth was no longer possible to deny, even to himself.

  “So have you come back after all these years to clear up his debts?”

  “I don’t understand—” said Daniel.

  “Scarpered with nearly a year’s rent owing, didn’t he? Always writing to his mother back in England for more money, but when it came I never saw any of it. I suppose he thought that bedding me was payment enough, so I’m not likely to forget the bastard, am I? Especially after what happened to him.”

  “Does that mean you know where he went after he left this house?”

  She hesitated for some time, looking as if she was trying to make up her mind. She turned to look out of the window while Daniel waited. “The last I heard,” she said after a long pause, “was that he got a job working as a bookie’s runner up in Melbourne, but that was before—”

  “Before—?” queried Daniel.

  She stared up at him again with quizzical eyes.

  “No,” she said, “you’d better find that out for yourself. I wouldn’t wish to be the one who tells you. If you want my advice, you’ll take the first boat back to England and not bother yourself with Melbourne.”

  “But you may turn out to be the only person who can help me.”

  “I was taken for a ride by your father once so I’m not going to wait around to be conned by his son, th