‘My, my, Lyndon,’ the surreptitious mutter from Val as he joined her, ‘very smart. And very, very sexy.’ He gave a careless shrug as if he knew she was joking, but he felt smart, and yes, sexy too in his navy jacket, white shirt and tie. He certainly stood out among the drab khaki that surrounded him.

‘What’s going on here,’ he asked, ‘how come the bar’s open?’

‘A private party,’ she said, ‘just for a few officers, maybe a bloke’s birthday, I don’t know. Not strictly legal,’ she admitted with a smile, ‘but what the hell, when boys are fighting a war you can’t really say no, can you?’

‘I guess not.’ You can’t really say no to the extra bucks you’re making either, can you, Lyndon thought, wondering how many private parties Val hosted here at The Brown’s.

‘Can I get you a beer, Commander?’ she asked. ‘On the house of course,’ she added, ‘or something stronger if you prefer.’

He wondered if the offer was intended as a form of bribery, although he noted she didn’t appear in the least concerned by his presence.

‘No, no,’ he said, ‘good God, too early in the day for me.’

He looked about at the drinkers, his expression readably critical, but was relieved to note there were no Americans present. Well, of course, he thought, American officers would never behave so blatantly; they had more respect for their uniform. The officers present were all Aussies and Aussies were known to flout the rules.

‘What’s happening over there, is that a goddamned snake?’ he asked, indicating the glass enclosure on a plinth in the centre of the bar where three men were focused upon the action about to take place.

‘Yep,’ she said, ‘one of the blokes has just laid a house bet. Snake versus man,’ she explained, ‘three to one in the punter’s favour if he can keep his hand on the glass.’

Lyndon watched fascinated as the snake, agitated by the drumming of the stick on the plinth and the tapping on the glass, lifted the front part of its body from the ground and started swaying from side to side, black tongue flickering. He watched the punter raise his hand and place it flat upon the glass at chest height.

‘Rule number one,’ Val said, ‘the bloke has to maintain eye contact with the snake at all times. If he closes his eyes or looks away he’s lost the bet. That’s what the other bloke’s doing on the opposite side of the pen, he’s the referee.’