Then, abruptly, Martin had left Townsville, quitting his job with the Post and Telegraph Department. Already a lieutenant in the militia, he had transferred to the Australian Army and was sent to Victoria Barracks in Sydney to help form the 22nd Brigade, 8th Division. When his brigade had been posted to Malaya in early 1941, he hadn’t even returned to bid her farewell, although leave would certainly have been granted him. He’d telephoned her with the news instead, abruptly, self-consciously, as if aware he was running away. Running away from what? Obviously from her.

Amelia had convinced herself she was personally responsible for ruining her husband’s life. And if he died on the battlefield that too would be her fault.

She knew better now. Samuel would never know for she would never reveal Martin’s secret, which would remain safe, his memory intact and unsullied, but Samuel had released her from a life sentence of guilt. He had awakened her to the fact that her marriage had been simply one huge mistake, through no fault of her own and, Amelia believed, although she was aware few would agree with her, through no fault of her poor, tortured husband.

‘A pity …’

His voice broke into the kaleidoscope of images and memories that were tumbling through her mind. He was still propped on his elbow gazing at her.

‘A pity about what?’

‘A pity you weren’t seeking a marriage proposal.’ He was smiling, but they both recognised the remark wasn’t altogether flippant.

‘Well, who knows,’ she said, returning the smile. ‘Perhaps one day I might be.’

It was their first declaration of love.

The following morning, Samuel was deeply disappointed to discover his direct link with HQ was unlikely to serve any purpose in exposing the injustice perpetrated upon the troops of the 96th Battalion.

‘General MacArthur wishes it to be made abundantly clear,’ Lieutenant Colonel John Carter stated, ‘that we are under considerable pressure from the Australian Government to keep our Negro servicemen under control …’

Hank Henry’s face was a study in barely concealed loathing, his expression clearly stating, Do you think I don’t know that!

Carter, a rather colourless man with steel-rimmed spectacles, probably in his early forties and carrying a little more weight than a soldier should, was typical of many an army staff officer Hank had encountered over the years. Stuffy, self-important, pompous desk-men with no balls. At least that was Hank’s considered opinion. He didn’t exchange a look with Samuel, but kept his gaze resolutely trained on the prick from HQ, perhaps in the hope of intimidating him.

Hank’s intimidation tactic failed miserably, however, as Carter went on unperturbed. ‘The impression that we cannot successfully manage our coloureds plays into the hands of those insisting we remove all black soldiers from the continent,’ he said.

Samuel’s eyes kept flickering between the two, studying Hank’s reaction, aware that the major must surely be simmering close to boiling point. No-one spoke down in this manner to Hank Henry.