The French Promise Page 9

  A young man in a porter’s uniform suddenly appeared and dragged Luc from his thoughts.

  ‘Mr Ravens?’ he called, pronouncing it ‘Roy-vins’.

  ‘Yes,’ Luc said, smiling with relief.

  ‘Ah, g’day, sir. I’m Johnno … er, John from The Cornwall Hotel to collect you.’ He held out his hand. ‘Sorry I’m late – the conductor stopped the tram I was behind because a young lass had dropped her purse.’

  Luc blinked. He knew he was hearing English being spoken but the accent was odd enough that he was several moments behind trying to work out the words. When he had got them straight in his mind, he realised he didn’t understand what John had just explained.

  He knew he was staring, bewildered, so he opted to simply be polite. ‘Thank you,’ Luc said, clearly relieved that someone had come for them. ‘Er, this is my family.’ Lisette had seen Johnno arrive through the station window and had come out to join them.

  John nodded with a bright grin. ‘G’day, Mrs Ravens. Welcome to Launny.’ Luc blinked. ‘Roy-vins’ again. ‘Your little bloke looks pretty done in, eh?’

  ‘I think we all are,’ Lisette said, finding a soft smile, and Luc was miffed that she had no trouble whatsoever understanding the local brogue. He would have to concentrate harder.

  ‘Well, let’s get you to the hotel and settle you in. It’s fearsome hot out there, Mrs Ravens. Did you bring a sunhat?’

  ‘Er … no, I don’t believe I did,’ she said, handing over their son to Luc’s strong arms.

  ‘Well, I guess that’s the first purchase. You’ve got such perfect skin, Mrs Ravens …’ he stammered, suddenly self-conscious, and didn’t continue.

  ‘Oh, Johnno,’ she sighed, ‘you’re very kind, this has been such a long journey,’ she said. ‘I’ve never felt so ragged.’

  He shrugged sympathetically. ‘Can’t move around Launny in summer without a hat, Mrs Ravens. You too, Mr Ravens, and the young tacker. Got to be careful with this heat. Newcomers die from it!’ He cut them a wide grin. ‘Off we go then,’ he said, picking up several of their bags.

  ‘John,’ Luc called as the young man began leading them out. ‘What about these people?’ he asked, gesturing towards the Italian family.

  ‘They’ll be migrants coming to work on the hydro electric project. The company will send someone—’ He grinned and nodded to reassure Luc, who was still translating what he’d just heard from John. The word ‘moygrans’ had him fooled for a few moments. ‘Ah,’ John continued. ‘Here he comes now. G’day, Laurie. These your folk?’

  A man with a tanned, heavily lined face took off his wide hat and smoothed his hair. ‘I reckon that’s them.’ He nodded at Luc, walked past. ‘Are you the Vizzaris?’ he said, a little louder and slower than necessary, Luc thought. They were Italian, not deaf.

  The men in the party nodded, smiling. They looked as relieved but also as lost as Luc was sure he appeared.

  ‘Come on, then. I’m Laurie.’ He nodded. ‘Laurie,’ he repeated loudly, pointing to himself, and led his party of new arrivals out into the street towards a waiting bus.

  ‘It’s a short ride to Cameron Street,’ Johnno said, returning Luc’s attention. ‘Just a minute or two. Ready, Mr Ravens?’

  ‘Lead on,’ Luc said, getting more used to the brogue.

  Dark burgundy and cream trolley buses rumbled past as they emerged from the station, and the air hung heavy with the smell of oil in the stifling heat.

  Lisette smiled. ‘Were you born here, Johnno?’ she said, taking over the conversation as the luggage was loaded.

  ‘Yes, born and bred, though I envy you folk sailing all the way from Europe.’

  ‘Are you an adventurer?’ she teased lightly.

  He grinned. ‘Maybe. My grandfather died at Gallipoli; my father survived El Alamein. I listened to stories from Dad’s letters about the desert where they trained. And as a boy I used to collect stamps from countries all over the world and I’d dream of going to see them.’

  She nodded. ‘I hope you do now the war is over. Will our trunks be sent to the hotel?’

  ‘The ship will organise that, don’t you worry. They’ll deliver to the hotel … unless you’ve given another address?’

  She shook her head. ‘We are yet to work out where to live.’

  Luc privately marvelled at how simple she made that sound. He didn’t know many other women who would confront such a dilemma with the same ease, especially with a youngster in her arms. Luc sniffed fresh timber on the air and mentioned it to Johnno.

  ‘Launceston is putting up so many houses all over the neighbourhoods. Lots of furniture factories, too – see there,’ he said, pointing. ‘That’s a straddle truck.’

  Luc’s mouth opened in awe to see an enormous truck clattering slowly in the distance with its driver perched above a gigantic rack of timber.

  It took only a minute or two before they were pulling up outside The Hotel Cornwall, an attractive, pale, double storey building that resembled the Australian Victorian-style architecture they’d glimpsed in Melbourne, with lace fretwork on the upstairs balcony that formed a shady verandah below. Rendered walls and a tin roof completed the structure.

  Luc glanced at Lisette with soft apology, feeling responsible for the long journey. He knew she was desperate to get Harry into a bed.

  ‘Home,’ she said, smiling softly.

  ‘Not quite,’ he whispered, ‘but soon, I promise you.’

  After making sure that Lisette and Harry were settled, both of them yawning impolitely in his face and falling asleep as he whispered ‘Sweet dreams’ to her and ‘Don’t let the bed flea bite’ to his son – never quite sure why that made Lisette laugh – he left her a note to say he would not be long and wandered down to the lobby of the hotel, far too unsettled to join them.

  Johnno walked through the reception. ‘Oh, hello again, Mr Ravens. Can’t sleep?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not in the middle of the day.’

  ‘Is your wife resting?’

  ‘Out like a light,’ he remarked, hoping he’d got that one right.

  ‘You have a lovely family, sir. Mrs Ravens is very beautiful, if you don’t mind me saying it,’ the young man said, his tone earnest.

  ‘I don’t mind at all,’ Luc said, flattered.

  ‘It’s the middle of the night back where you come from,’ Johnno pointed out.

  Luc shrugged. ‘I think I’d prefer to get used to this time zone. I’ll sleep when it gets dark.’

  Johnno nodded. ‘You going to explore, then?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Luc replied. ‘Which direction should I take?’

  Johnno hesitated. Luc lifted an eyebrow.

  ‘If you want, you’re welcome to come with me,’ the younger man offered. ‘I have to run some errands but I don’t mind showing you around a bit … you know … if you’d like.’ Johnno lifted a shoulder, looking uncertain. ‘Half an hour, tops. You may be sleepy enough by then.’ He shrugged.

  ‘I would like that. Thank you, John.’

  ‘You’ll get a feel for the place. Won’t take you long, Mr Ravens.’

  ‘Call me Luc.’

  The young man nodded. He was tall, broad and muscled, with curly blonde hair and a tanned complexion that made him appear healthy and vaguely wild. His white teeth smiled back at Luc; he was like a poster boy for Australia’s good life. ‘Only if you’ll call me Johnno. Only my mother calls me John … and only when she’s cross with me.’ He winked.

  Driving together in the hotel’s delivery van, Johnno said, ‘How about I give you a quick run around the town, Mr Ra … er, Luc? I guess it won’t feel so strange then if you know the landmarks.’

  ‘That would be a real help,’ Luc agreed, wiping a handkerchief over his damp face.

  Johnno drove confidently and Luc was happy to settle back to listen and absorb all the new sights and sounds.

  Johnno pointed. ‘Can you see that tall white building? The silo.’ Luc peered into the distance. ‘That’s Kin
g’s Wharf over there. It’s full of traders bringing sheep, cattle and produce from all the tiny islands nearby and taking back all the fresh goods they need.’

  They passed houses made of timber boards with green, corrugated iron roofs and picket fences that flanked roads wide enough to make Luc whistle. ‘Your streets make the ones in Provence seem like alleyways.’

  He noted that the buildings were all on one level, so the city certainly looked neat, though in Luc’s opinion it appeared a bit wearied. ‘What’s that?’ he asked, pointing his chin in the direction of a tall red-brick building.

  ‘That’s Boag’s Brewery, where we’re stopping. I have to drop off a package from The Cornwall.’

  Johnno parked, but left the car running. ‘Won’t be a tick,’ he said.

  Luc could smell the hops and the yeasty aroma of brewing but he could also smell gas, and if he wasn’t wrong, animals. How could that be? He mentioned it to Johnno as his young companion leapt back into the driver’s seat and crunched the van into gear.

  ‘Cor, you’re good, mate,’ Johnno said and gave a soft whistle. ‘Or maybe I don’t smell it any more. The gasometers of the town’s gas company are right next door to City Park, where we have monkeys.’

  Luc wasn’t sure he’d heard right. He blinked expectantly at his friend. ‘As in apes?’

  Johnno laughed. ‘Yeah, we all love ‘em. There’s ducks and swans on the ponds, too – the kiddies love feeding them. I’ll swing by the park.’

  They passed a green oasis in the middle of the city with manicured lawns and magnificent deciduous trees. Luc could see people stretched out on the grass, dozing, and mothers and children playing beneath the shade. He looked at Johnno incredulously.

  ‘Yes, I can hear the monkeys,’ he said, full of wonder.

  ‘Righto, off to The Quadrant and we’ll be done,’ Johnno said.

  Luc discovered that The Quadrant was a street of small shops.

  ‘I’ve got to call in to Becks,’ Johnno said, and Luc could see it was a providore with sawdust on the floors, just like in England. He nodded. ‘That’s Gourlay’s Sweet Shop there,’ Johnno pointed. ‘You might find some lollies in there for the little bloke when he wakes up.’

  ‘Good idea,’ Luc replied and gave his friend a half-salute.

  Luc wandered into the confectioner’s and let his gaze roam over the jars of sweets he recognised from England … acid drops, toffees, butterballs, even coconut brittle. But definitely some lollipops for Harry or Lisette would fuss that he’d choke on boiled sweets. He picked out three bright discs on sticks, asked for a small bag of jelly babies too and ordered a quarter of the brittle for Lisette – she loved coconut.

  ‘Back to the hotel, then,’ Johnno said, and began to point out shops that Luc should know, including Duncan’s Shoes, impressing upon Luc that it possessed an X-ray machine for checking the right fitting.

  ‘You’re a good tour guide, Johnno – thanks.’ The young man flashed a grin. ‘Come on, I reckon your wife might be wondering where you are.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  They’d been in Launceston for several days, getting themselves acclimatised. Once Luc had the grid of the city clear in his mind, he realised just how small it was. Not much bigger than his local town of Apt, Provence, in the 1930s that he would visit two or three times a week to pick up provisions for his family.

  Lisette had quickly charmed her way into the hearts of the owner and staff of The Cornwall, and already a babysitter had been found for Harry.

  ‘Why would you leave him with a stranger?’

  ‘We’re not going to have this conversation again, Luc,’ she warned. ‘And she’s not a stranger; we’ve met a few times and become friendly. Everyone at the hotel knows her, too. I need just a couple of hours off, and besides, we have to find this plot of land. We haven’t even begun looking and—’

  He kissed her to stop her talking. This was not a time for arguing but for staying close and strong.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said when they pulled apart.

  ‘Let’s go the cinema tonight,’ Lisette suggested. ‘I’ve discovered there are four theatres. Come on, it’s Saturday. What do you feel like seeing? A Western? Oh no, wait – there’s The African Queen on at one, I’m sure. Say yes!’

  ‘Yes,’ he said and hugged her. ‘But right now I’m headed out to find some casual work – there’s probably a job going at one of the building sites.’

  She frowned. ‘Luc, we’ve got enough money. The exchange rate is brilliant. In fact, it’s—’

  He kissed her again, this time lingering on her lips. ‘I know,’ he whispered. ‘But a man needs to work … especially in this country or I’ll be thought of as a ninny boy.’

  ‘Nancy boy,’ she corrected, amused. ‘Rest assured, there’s nothing nancy boy about you …’

  ‘Even so, I must work. They’ll hire me by the day. I can keep it flexible. We’ll start looking for farmland next week. By then, Harry will be more settled and hopefully we’ll have both stopped yawning by three in the afternoon.’

  ‘Fine, but don’t dawdle. I’ll meet you outside the cinema at six-thirty. Here’s the address,’ she said, scribbling it down. ‘The show starts at seven.’

  He pecked her cheek. ‘Stay in the shade,’ he said.

  It turned out to be easy for Luc to find work. Being the weekend, the foreman was checking over the progress at the expansive building site where houses were going up rapidly and their framework of fresh timber scented the air. One look at Luc’s youth and size and the foreman offered him a casual job as a builder’s mate from Monday morning. No tools required either, which made it straightforward.

  ‘You’ll work with the same team and wherever on this site I send you. We start at just after dawn in summer,’ the foreman warned. ‘Be here for six a.m. sharp. I’ll need you all week.’

  ‘I’ll be here, Mr Cole. Thank you.’

  With a job tucked under his belt, flowers bought for Lisette in celebration and a new little toy car for Harry, he decided to mark his good day with a drink in the saloon of The Cornwall.

  He was leaning against the bar, feeling conspicuous for not being part of the roar of other conversations, as thirsty men trooped in after a big sporting day. They’d been watching cricket, going by their intense discussions; it was a game Luc had never understood or liked, even after years of living in Britain. For him cricket lacked action and went on for days without anything much happening.

  But as the cricket season readied itself to slip into the hottest summer month of February, it heralded autumn not being far away, so these men also had football on their minds. The Cornwall Hotel was the favoured watering hole for one of Launceston’s newest clubs. Lisette had always said Luc should adopt a football team in Britain to help him integrate but he never had.

  However, even in the short time he’d spent in Launceston, he’d become intrigued by tales of Australia’s version of football. He’d watched a quarter of a preseason schoolboy exhibition match of this code called Australian Rules and had decided there were no rules. He liked the free-flowing, athletic, rough-and-tumble nature of the game, and believed that ‘footy’, as the locals called it, might be one of his pathways into quickly embracing the Australian way of life.

  The air conditioner thundered high above his head and tassels of paper flew in its icy breeze, presumably so people could be sure the machine was on. The varnished wood of the bar was worn in places and rings from beer glasses stained it white but he didn’t mind it; he rather liked knowing that working men had stood in this spot from decades previously and sipped their beers – some melancholy, some happy. What was he? He was shedding his skin, he was sure; sloughing off the bleak facade that had been his countenance for too long, and emerging was a fresh man, full of anticipation and hope for the future.

  Right now, however, he was learning how to like Australian beer. In Britain he’d never attuned his palate to ale or bitter. He’d prefer wine but could imagine just how well order
ing that would go down in this bar. He stared at the beer glass and considered the near freezing amber liquid fizzing before him.

  ‘You hoping it’s going to talk back to you, mate?’ an older man said, sidling up wearing a wry expression. He chuckled at his own jest and paid for a beer twice the size of Luc’s, which arrived with a rivulet of froth running down its side. The long bar towel soaked it up. ‘Thanks, Normie,’ he said to the barman. He had a prominent, wide nose, cluttered with red veins. His cheeks were equally ruddy and Luc could see the imprint on the man’s white hair from where his hat had sat. ‘Maurice Field,’ the man said, his voice rasped. ‘Maurie, they call me.’

  ‘Luc Ravens,’ he replied, making sure he pronounced his name as ‘Luke’.

  ‘Cheers, mate,’ Maurie said and took a hungry draught from the glass and sank at least a third of its contents into his gullet.

  Luc tipped his glass to Maurie, but could only manage a single large mouthful.

  His companion came up for air with a satisfied sigh. ‘So, you’re the frog,’ Maurie said, wiping his slightly bluish lips with the back of his hand.

  Luc spluttered, coughing once as the beer caught in his throat.

  ‘Frog?’

  Maurie laughed. ‘The strapping Frenchman we’ve heard about with the beautiful young English lass.’

  Luc smiled. ‘I guess that’s me. Frog, you say? Why?’

  ‘Well, don’t you lot eat them all the time?’

  Ah. He laughed, genuinely amused. ‘Grenouilles,’ he murmured. ‘Santé, Maurie.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’ Maurie grinned as he saw Luc’s glass raised. ‘Down the hatch, mate.’ They sipped and another third of the man’s beer disappeared. He licked his lips. ‘So, you look pretty lost here all alone. Are you here for the hydro project?’