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‘Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. You did your bit during the war, and Vera loved caring for Jennifer. She often said caring for Jennifer was the best gift anyone could have given her. You gave her another chance to bring up a child she loved while you were saving lives, so don’t blame yourself.’
‘But I do, Gerry. If I hadn’t been so determined to push boundaries, to show I could do it all—have it all—’ Meg tipped her head back and blinked furiously. ‘Why should I be any different from the thousands of other women who have children and stay home to raise them? If I hadn’t gone back to nursing after Jennifer was born, someone else would have filled my place.’
‘Sure, there would have been another body doling out pills and handing over surgical instruments, but Meg, you gave so much more than that.’
‘No more than you or every other nurse did.’
‘Aside from Eva who did less than anyone. Come on, Meg. You’re a born leader. Look at the innovations you made as Sister-in-charge. Consider how smoothly Currajong ran under your guidance. Think about how you stepped up when the call went out for nurses to fly on air-evac flights.’
‘Others did that too.’
‘You were first in line – Flying Angel number one. Remember? And that is no small deal. You underrate what you achieved.’
Geoffrey appeared in the doorway and leaned against the jamb, his hands folded across his chest. ‘That’s true, Margaret.’
‘Did you talk to your friend?’ She couldn’t waste time talking down their crazy view of her, not when Jennifer was out there somewhere, with a family who wasn’t hers.
‘I did. He’ll call in here after he leaves the office tonight, as a favour to me. Will that be okay, Geraldine?’
‘Of course. Do you think he’ll stay for dinner?’
‘I have no idea, sorry.’
Meg sucked in a deep breath. It felt like the first one that had filled her lungs since she’d collapsed in the convent. ‘Thank you. Did he say anything more?’
He glanced at Gerry. ‘Can we talk somewhere quiet? Sorry, Geraldine.’
Gerry shook her head. ‘Go ahead. Take a cuppa out with you. I’m going to bake some biscuits; one of Vera’s recipes.’ She poured two cups and put them on a tray beside a small milk jug.
Meg took the tray and led the way out to the swing seat. The most important events in her life had centred around Vera’s swing, and Geoffrey’s tone had sounded serious. Setting the tray down, she handed a cup of black tea to Geoffrey, added milk to the other and sat beside him.
‘I gave Roger, my solicitor friend, a brief outline of your situation. He believes he can help—’ Geoffrey set his cup on the tray. Turning sideways, he caught Meg’s gaze.
‘I sense a ‘but’ coming. Tell me, Geoffrey. What’s the catch?’
‘He feels a judge will probably be more amenable to finding in your favour—if you’re married.’
There was weight and waiting in his gaze, and sadness. She hadn’t expected that. ‘Are you suggesting—’
‘This isn’t the way I planned to ask you, Margaret. I’ve been waiting a long time— For your grief to ease. For the war to end. Perhaps I shouldn’t have waited so long, because now, you might feel you have no choice. I never wanted that for you, but—’ He went down on one knee and took her hand in his.
Never in her wildest dreams could Meg have imagined these circumstances for Geoffrey’s proposal. She’d considered other settings; the Strand after a dinner at the Queen’s Hotel in Townsville had been top of her list, or even a drive up to the heights of Castle Hill once the army allowed public access again. Every imagined setting always had Townsville as the backdrop since it was the only place she had known Geoffrey.
She looked at him kneeling before her, holding her hand, and panic fluttered through her. He was good and kind, caring, and he’d make a wonderful father. He knew about Jennifer and was happy to offer his name and his help.
But I don’t know if I love him.
Time had run out. There was no more time. No more choice.
The only answer she could give was the one that would bring her daughter home. Sitting perfectly still, she met his gaze.
‘Margaret, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
‘I will marry you, thank you, Geoffrey.’
##
Roger Altmann limpedinto the room, his walking stick tapping on the hardwood floor. He took a seat across the dining table from her, opened his briefcase and set a legal notepad in front of him. He was the same age as Geoffrey but looked older, and his fair hair had begun to recede into a widow’s peak. A three-piece suit and gold fob chain added to the impression of an older man, she realised. Perhaps that was useful when you worked for a firm with an old established name, where appearance and reputation counted for much.
