‘Word can get around in a place like Townsville,’ she said. Then, noting his brief look of concern, she added, ‘I keep my ear close to the ground, Commander, and I hear things many don’t.’ She gave him a smile that seemed somehow intimate. ‘Little gets past me, I have to admit, but let me assure you, I also know how to keep a secret.’

‘I’m glad to hear that.’ He found her smile most reassuring, as if they were complicit in some form of clandestine agreement. ‘I’m glad indeed, for there are some questions I’m keen to put to you, Mrs Callahan.’

‘This’ll be about the trouble out at Kelso, won’t it – the boys of the 96th Battalion. And do call me Val.’

He was momentarily stumped for an answer, which was unlike him.

‘I told you, there’s not much that gets past me.’ Their eyes were locked, and this time her smile was more than intimate, it was positively flirtatious. ‘If you don’t mind my asking, Commander, what’s your first name?’

‘Lyndon.’ For some unfathomable reason, his response was instantaneous. He didn’t give it a second thought. ‘Lyndon Baines Johnson.’

‘Lyndon.’ She seemed to savour the word, rolling it around on her tongue. ‘Lyndon. I like that name. I’ve known a lot of men, but never a Lyndon. Would you like a drink, Lyndon?’

‘Yes I would, thank you, ma’am, I’d like that very much.’

‘It’s Val, remember?’ She rose to her feet. ‘I’ll bet you’re a bourbon man, am I right?’

‘You most certainly are.’

‘Well, I’m going to give you something else, something that beats the pants off bourbon, in my opinion anyway. Ever tried Bundy?’

He watched her as she crossed to the cabinet in the corner. A fine figure of a woman despite her age, she’d have to be well into her forties, he thought. Tough and confident. He admired women like that. Full-breasted and fleshy what’s more – in fact, what most men would call ‘a sexy broad’. And she knew it, he could tell.

‘Bundy,’ he said, the word sounding quaint, ‘no, I can’t say I have ever tried Bundy.’

She returned with a bottle and two glasses. ‘Bundaberg Rum,’ she announced, placing them on the desk. ‘Made right here in Queensland,’ she said as she sat, ‘you won’t get better cane sugar anywhere else in the world.’ She poured them a healthy shot each. ‘I reckon this’ll tickle your fancy, Lyndon,’ she said. ‘Bottoms up, eh?’

They clinked glasses and drank.

Val was flirting shamelessly. She’d had Lyndon Johnson pegged from the moment he’d entered her office. This big boy liked to play. She’d seen how he’d looked at Betty as the girl left the room. She’d seen too, as he’d seated himself opposite her, how his gaze had taken in her breasts. Here was a man with a wandering eye.

‘Oh my Lord,’ Johnson said after knocking back a good slug of the Bundy, ‘this stuff’s got a kick like a mule.’