Grace felt immensely sorry for the younger woman. The fact that both she and Amelia had husbands missing had certainly formed a bond between them, but thanks to the messages relayed by Lieutenant Commander Eric Feldt, Grace at least knew her George was alive. She didn’t know exactly where, but George Francis still served as a Coastwatcher, and given the heightened presence of the Japanese in the Pacific, his duties were now more valuable and more dangerous than ever. Grace prayed constantly for his safety and blessed Eric Feldt for the assurances that her husband lived. Twenty-eight-year-old Amelia Sanderson had received no such verification of her husband’s existence. She had been informed that, following the fall of Singapore, Lieutenant Martin Sanderson was not registered among the thousands of Allied soldiers captured and imprisoned by the Japanese. Amelia’s husband had been reported ‘missing in action’.

‘It’s the not knowing,’ she’d sobbed when she’d first heard the news barely a month previously. ‘Oh, Grace, it’s the not knowing. I think that’s even harder than …’ But she hadn’t been able to go on.

These days, Amelia chose to adopt the ‘stiff-upper-lip’ approach when in the company of others, but it was obvious the poor young woman was torturing herself. No wonder she’s nervy all alone in that big house, Grace thought.

‘I tell you what you must do,’ she said brightly, aware that Amelia didn’t want any show of heartfelt concern. In fact, too much sympathy might well shatter the façade she took such care to present. A practical solution was of far more value.

She poured them both a fresh cup of tea from the large pot that sat on the table. The brew would by now be less than lukewarm, but Grace felt such an act of normalcy was important.

‘You must offer part of your home as an officer’s billet,’ she said as she poured. ‘I did, and it’s working remarkably well. We’re billeting a very pleasant American officer at the moment, he’s an absolute gentleman.’

As she said it, Grace wondered why the idea hadn’t occurred earlier, either to herself or to Amelia, or even to the military, who had been requisitioning properties all over Townsville. ‘Hayden House’, an attractively designed Queenslander that had belonged to Amelia’s parents, was a sizeable property in Mitchell Street, parallel to The Strand and just one block back, very conveniently positioned.

‘I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier,’ she went on, passing Amelia her tea, ‘it’s a marvellous idea. You’ll feel a lot safer with an officer about the house, and to quote Tom, you’ll be doing your bit. He was so proud of me when I did mine,’ she added with a smile.