Pete was speechless. The President of the United States of America. His report would be presented to Roosevelt, after which it would remain in the White House for posterity. Perhaps one day when the war was over, it might even be published. Well, you couldn’t ask for much more than that, could you?

‘Thank you, Commander,’ he said with a smile that was heartfelt. ‘Thank you so much, I’m truly grateful.’

Lyndon glanced at his watch. ‘Four o’clock, the bar’s open,’ he said, ‘shall we adjourn?’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The following day was to be Johnson’s last in Townsville. He was due to fly out to Port Moresby with the 22nd Bomb Group that afternoon, the aerial raid upon Lae to which he’d been assigned as an observer, due to take place the next morning.

With a couple of hours to spare, he decided to call in at The Brown’s and say goodbye to Val Callahan. He’d walk up Wickham and Flinders streets into the city centre, allowing time also to walk back to the Officers’ Club, collect his gear, and meet up with his driver. He felt somehow drawn to see Val, he wasn’t quite sure why, presumably to thank her for her help, but he chose to wear his dress uniform nonetheless; he was keen to impress.

He did.

‘My, my, Lyndon,’ she muttered, eyeing him up and down in such a lascivious manner he wasn’t sure whether she was genuine or joking. ‘Very smart. And very, very sexy.’

He’d arrived presuming the bar would be closed. It was only ten in the morning, and the doors leading from the street were certainly closed, but as he’d stepped inside the hotel it was immediately obvious the bar was seeing some action. The door to the left that led directly from the reception area was wide open and the sound of men’s voices rang out loud and clear.

He stepped inside. At least a dozen men, all in uniform, all officers, were lounging around drinking beer, several of them gathered about a glass enclosure in the centre of the room.

Val and the devastatingly pretty young girl were behind the counter, Val at the till having just accepted some money from a soldier, the girl at the far end cleaning glasses.

He smiled at the girl, noting how attractive her breasts were in the silken Jean Harlow–style blouse she was wearing, wondering whether perhaps she was bra-less beneath, and crossed to Val.

Betty acknowledged the commander’s smile, proffering a bright one of her own in return. It’s the jerk again, she thought, and all dolled up this time.