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The attendant shrugged. ‘You’d hope so, but I don’t know.’
Another passenger raised an imperious finger for attention and Meg was left alone.
Back in her allocated seat, Meg tried to concentrate on her new novel, delivered in the most recent care package from her mother. But her thoughts rambled and even Agatha Christie’s Evil Under the Sun couldn’t hold her attention. It dropped into her lap and she turned to the window, watching the long day pass into a gradual fading into night.
***
Meg had almost reachedthe river end of Brunswick Street when she stopped to check the address on the slip of paper. The second to last house was a beautiful Queenslander set high on stumps with bull-nosed roofing shading wide, deep verandas around which Cupids frolicked in wrought iron railings. If this was her destination, Gerry’s aunt must be well to do.
The address matched the street number on the letterbox and Meg looked more closely at the home. How wonderfully cool it would be sitting out on the veranda in the summer heat.
If Gerry’s aunt has room for me.
Meg set a hand in the small of her back and stretched. After walking from the railway station her feet were sore and her back ached and she prayed Gerry’s aunt, who lived across from New Farm Park at the river end of Brunswick Street, was expecting her. Otherwise, she might curl up in a ball beneath one of the massive Moreton Bay fig trees and never get up.
Cream frangipani overhung the front fence and, on the river side of the garden, magenta bougainvillaea provided a bright splash of colour. Behind the house a huge mango tree shaded much of the back yard, but the front garden beds were filled with vegetables.
Meg opened the gate beneath an archway covered in purple wisteria, cringing when it squeaked both on opening and closing. Crossing her fingers that Gerry’s aunt was home, she followed a narrow brick path to the stairs.
Before she set a foot on the lowest tread, a woman’s voice called out, ‘I’m coming,’ and a moment later, a woman appeared around the corner of the building. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Good afternoon. Are you Mrs Burnett?’
‘Yes . . . Are you Geraldine’s friend?’
‘Margaret Dorset, yes.’ At least her arrival wasn’t a total surprise for Gerry’s aunt thank goodness. ‘Did Gerry—Geraldine mention—’
‘That you’ve come to Brisbane to have your baby, yes, my dear, she did. Come in and put your feet up. Would you like a cool drink or a cuppa?’ As they climbed the front stairs side by side, Mrs Burnett tugged off her gardening gloves and removed her broad-brimmed straw hat and patted her hair.
‘Either or both, thank you.’ Meg removed her hat and fanned her face. The weather was pleasant and less humid than in Townsville, but she was sure her cheeks were red and shiny after walking so far.
‘Let me just show you to your room and you can freshen up while I put the kettle on.’
Mrs Burnett showed her to a small but pleasant bedroom that opened via a pair of French doors off the end of the veranda. The single bed was dressed in a pastel patchwork quilt with a matching cushion on a cane chair. A small table could serve as both desk and dressing table if Meg was thoughtful about how she divided the space.
She set her case down at the foot of the bed and turned to her new landlady. ‘It’s lovely. Thank you so much for taking me in.’
‘You’re welcome, my dear. Geraldine told me you are her particular friend and she was sure we’d get along famously. She’s rarely wrong about people.’ Pausing at the door, she added, ‘Come along to the kitchen when you’ve unpacked. I baked last night in the hopes you’d arrive today.’ The door closed gently behind her.
Meg unbuttoned her jacket and draped it over the bed end then opened the window. She tipped her head back and lifted her hair off her neck. A breeze, soft but steady, cooled her damp skin. Bliss. Through slitted eyes, she took in the view. Between the trees of the neighbouring property, the wide brown water of the Brisbane River swirled past on its way to the port and the ocean. She drew in a deep breath and the smell of mud mixed with the scent of flowers surprised her. Shouldn’t the river smell clean and fresh, like the sea?
Making use of the jug and bowl she had a quick wash then changed into the only non-uniform dress she owned. Grateful for Gerry’s dressmaking skill and kindness, Meg tied the wrap-front dress to one side, smoothed the skirt and followed her nose to the kitchen.
‘There you are, my dear, and what a lovely dress.’ Mrs Burnett drew nearer and peered more closely at the ties. ‘Such a clever design to take you all the way through to the birth of your baby. Where on earth did you find it?’
‘Gerry made it for me before I left. Heaven knows how she found such pretty fabric in Townsville. That girl has talent.’
‘She gets it from my side of the family. My aunt Geraldine, after whom she was named, is a superlative dressmaker. I always thought if either had lived in Paris, they would have been designing for one of the couture houses.’ Gerry’s aunt sighed. ‘But Geraldine decided she had a calling and there she is now, nursing the sick and wounded. How was she?’
‘I’m delighted to tell you Gerry is now acting sister-in-charge of the theatre nurses at our hospital.’
‘Of course she is. That girl is destined for great things.’ Her aunt smiled. Picking up the teapot, she poured tea into two dainty cups painted with a variety of pastel flowers barely contained within heavy gold rims.
Meg picked up the fine china cup and saucer very carefully. ‘These are beautiful. So wonderful after army-issue tin mugs.’
‘They’re Royal Albert’s Spring Meadow. The set was a wedding gift from my husband’s family.’
‘And where is Mr Burnett now?’
