Maralinga

by Judy Nunn

  As she made her observations, Elizabeth was unaware she herself was being observed. Daniel found the degree of fascination with which his fiancée was studying his parents amusing. Perhaps for the very first time, he thought, Elizabeth was witnessing life as lived by the masses. Perhaps in their own marriage they might find the perfect balance – somewhere between his parents’ conformity and the eccentricity of hers. Not that it mattered. Whatever the outcome, Daniel couldn’t wait to marry Elizabeth. His weekend leave visits to London had become an increasingly tantalising taste of the life he so longed to share with her.

  Each fortnight for the past two months, Daniel had booked into a bed-and-breakfast lodging in South Kensington, just several blocks from Sumner Place, where Elizabeth rented a cheaply converted basement flat in a once-grand terrace house. They spent their days together exploring London from the tops of double-decker buses or walking tirelessly through the parks and along the Thames embankment, Elizabeth taking great pleasure in showing him the London she knew so well.

  A visit to the theatre had become the regular outing on a Saturday, and one night, having returned to her flat from the West End and having shared their customary pot of tea in the kitchen, Elizabeth had protested when he’d risen to go.

  ‘It’s ridiculous, honestly,’ she’d said. ‘It’s late and you’re tired, why don’t you stay?’

  The look he’d given her had been one of mock outrage, and she’d laughed.

  ‘I’m not propositioning you,’ she’d said. ‘We can make up a perfectly comfortable bed on the sofa.’

  But he’d refused the offer. She was known to the other tenants in the building, he’d said, word would get around amongst her neighbours, she’d be compromised.

  Elizabeth’s response to such a remark would normally have been ‘Damn the neighbours, who cares what they think?’ But on this occasion she’d made no such retaliation. Instead, she’d kissed him, very lovingly, and with just a hint of her own sense of longing.

  ‘Goodnight, Danny.’

  ‘Goodnight, Elizabeth.’ Oh God, how he’d wanted to stay. But not on the sofa, and they’d both known that.

  They planned to marry in the late spring. Elizabeth was sure that by then The Guardian would accept her work on a freelance basis, enabling her to write her feature articles from wherever her husband was stationed.

  ‘Well, they may not accept my features the way I’d hoped,’ she’d wryly admitted, ‘but they’ll accept E. J. Hoffmann’s – he’s become very popular. And if they insist upon my staying in London and slogging it out as a staff reporter, I shall resign and sell E. J. Hoffmann’s work elsewhere.’

  Now, as Daniel watched her watching his parents, he realised how assiduously he was counting the days. Two months down, he thought, another two to go.

  ‘I believe you’re a journalist, dear.’ Prudence decided it was time the conversation was directed towards their guest. Elizabeth had politely refused the offer of a second helping, the men were both happily tended to, and Kenneth was no longer intent upon ranting from his soapbox. But then he’d just been showing off, Prudence thought, the way all men did in the presence of a pretty girl. And this one was more than pretty, she was downright handsome. ‘How very modern and adventurous of you to have a career,’ she said admiringly.

  Prudence approved of the new trend that allowed young women a degree of life experience prior to marriage. It couldn’t help but strengthen their character before household duties and motherhood claimed them.

  ‘And journalism seems such a very bold choice,’ she added. ‘I must say, I’m lost in admiration.’

  ‘What do you write about?’ Kenneth asked with a bluntness that could have sounded aggressive, although this was not his intention; he was merely bewildered. To Kenneth, a woman journalist was a contradiction in terms.

  Elizabeth refused to look at Daniel as she answered. ‘Fashion parades and flower shows for the most part.’

  ‘How thrilling.’ Prudence was hugely impressed. ‘Fancy being paid to go to fashion parades and flower shows – you must be the envy of every young woman you know.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I must be.’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘I’ve never really thought about it like that, but you’re probably right.’

  ‘Of course I am.’ Prudence laughed. ‘Dear me, if I were a young woman I’d be green with envy. What a wonderful career you’ve chosen, Elizabeth. You must be very proud of your achievements. Don’t you agree, Ken?’

  ‘Yes. Oh yes, yes, I do.’ Kenneth’s response was gruff and a little too pat, but he made the concession willingly enough, he and Prudence having talked about the situation. Kenneth Gardiner did not at all approve of young women having careers. ‘Not if they want to get married,’ he’d said. ‘They can’t have it both ways – it’s demeaning to men.’

  ‘It’s temporary, Ken, that’s what it is. She’ll give up her career when she gets married.’

  ‘Dan obviously doesn’t think so. It seems to me like he doesn’t even want her to.’

  ‘Oh, she will, dear, of course she will. Every woman does – especially when the babies come.’

  ‘Even so,’ Kenneth had pursued the broader argument, ‘a woman journalist isn’t right in the first place. That’s a man’s job. She’s taking a man’s bread and butter, depriving a man’s family of his wage. She wouldn’t like having it done to her now, would she?’

  Prudence had agreed in principle – indeed, she’d found herself unable to refute the argument – and they’d quickly called a truce, as they always did. She’d convinced her husband to draw a veil over their future daughter-in-law’s career, given its very temporary nature, and Kenneth had agreed that it was their duty to welcome their son’s fiancée into the household.

  Prudence was glad now that Elizabeth had proved so personable and so distractingly good-looking, but she decided not to push too hard. Her husband had graciously acknowledged the girl’s career, which was all that was necessary, so she changed the subject.

  ‘What a pity Billy couldn’t be here. You’d so like Billy, wouldn’t she, Dan?’

  ‘She certainly would,’ Daniel agreed. ‘Damn shame they’ve landed him with weekend manoeuvres, but that’s typically Sandhurst.’

  Billy, two years Daniel’s junior, was in his second year at military college. ‘We’re following in Dad’s footsteps, I suppose,’ Daniel had told Elizabeth, ‘but we made our own decisions. It’s what we both wanted.’

  ‘I feel I know Billy already,’ Elizabeth replied, ‘Daniel’s talked about him such a lot. You’re quite a military family, Mr Gardiner.’

  ‘We certainly are,’ Kenneth said proudly. ‘Just a pity I had to cop it so early. I would have continued to serve if they’d given me half a chance, but they don’t when you’ve got a shattered hip.’

  He made no attempt to disguise his resentment, but Elizabeth was not surprised. Daniel had warned her.

  ‘Dad was invalided out after Dunkirk,’ he’d said. ‘He wanted to stay on and make a career of the army, but he had to go back to being a clerk like his old man. He’s pretty bitter about that.’

  ‘No matter …’ Kenneth, not wishing to seem self-indulgent, dismissed his mood with a shake of the head. ‘There are many who copped a great deal worse. Besides, I did the right thing. I was prepared to lay down my life for my country; a man can do no more than that.’

  The brief six months’ active service Kenneth Gardiner had experienced, together with the intense military training preceding his duty in France, had been the highlight of his life. At least that was the way he remembered it. The learning of new skills, the comradeship, the knowledge that they’d all served a great purpose had now, fourteen years down the track, obliterated even the mind-numbing fear and carnage that had been Dunkirk. These days, the camaraderie of his fellow veterans on a Friday night elevated him from the rut of his existence and distracted him from the sense of uselessness that at times threatened to engulf him. The constant pain in his hip had worsened as arthritis
had set in, and his workload had been reduced to three days a week by a company that valued his long-term commitment. He was grateful, but it didn’t stop him feeling bitter. Much as he told himself his incapacity was noble proof of his service, it angered him to be a cripple at forty-four. Kenneth’s greatest delight now lay in the knowledge that his boys would lead the military life he’d always yearned for.

  ‘There’s no greater honour than to serve your country,’ he announced to the table in general, ‘no greater honour on this earth. And that’s what I’ve instilled in my sons, Elizabeth.’

  The grin he flashed her was one of sheer joy, and in its very boyishness Elizabeth suddenly saw Daniel. She hadn’t noticed the likeness between the two until that moment.

  ‘I’m proud,’ Kenneth said, ‘so very, very proud that they chose such a path.’

  But did they, Elizabeth asked herself as she stared back at him in a wonderment of incredulity. Were they given any choice? The man was a zealot; they’d been brainwashed, surely. As she glanced at Daniel, she realised her face must have been readable. Unable to contain himself, he let out a hoot of laughter.

  ‘No, we weren’t brainwashed,’ he said, and Elizabeth didn’t know where to look. ‘At least, if we were I wasn’t aware of it.’

  ‘Brainwashed?’ Kenneth was confused. ‘Who said you were brainwashed?’

  ‘No-one, Dad. You’re pontificating a bit, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh. Am I?’ He looked to his wife, and Prudence gave the gentlest of nods. ‘Well, well, fancy that.’ Kenneth smiled, caught out but unembarrassed. ‘I tend to get a bit carried away at times, don’t I?’ He eased himself carefully from his chair, trying to disguise the pain as his frozen muscles screamed. ‘A superb meal as always, Mother,’ he said.

  Then – once again to Elizabeth’s amazement – he started clearing the dishes from the table. The action itself was surprising enough, but so too was the fact that neither his wife nor his son intervened. The man seemed extremely unsteady on his feet.

  ‘Let me help, Mr Gardiner.’ She sprang up and was about to take the plates from him, but he protested.

  ‘No, no, leave me,’ he said sharply, and she backed off.

  In a matter of seconds he’d regained his balance and, as he turned to her, his tone softened. ‘You can lend a hand if you wish, my dear, but I like to do my bit. It keeps me on the move, you see. I can’t sit still for too long.’

  ‘I’ll get the dessert,’ Prudence said. ‘You bring the meat platter, Dan, it’s heavy.’

  Elizabeth didn’t notice the look between mother and son as they rose from the table. Kenneth Gardiner never admitted to his limitations in front of strangers – it seemed his future daughter-in-law had made a favourable impression.

  ‘What are we having?’ Daniel asked. ‘Apple crumble or jelly trifle?’ His mother always prepared one of his favourites when he came home for the weekend.

  ‘You have a choice,’ Prudence answered, ‘I made both.’ And, gathering up the gravy boat and the bowl with its few remaining Brussels sprouts, she disappeared to the kitchen.

  ‘She spoils those boys rotten,’ Kenneth said to Elizabeth. ‘Just as well the army’s taking them in hand. They’d be fat as butter if they stayed here.’

  Gideon Melbray gazed through the aircraft’s window at the cloudless blue sky, and then down at the even bluer ocean below where not a speck of land was in sight. The whole world seemed blue. They’d left Indonesia, having refuelled at Djakarta, and were now on the penultimate leg of their arduous journey to the other side of the world. Next stop Darwin, the northern gateway to Australia.

  Gideon had boarded the Hastings Mark IV at Lyneham RAF Base on February 20 and had now been travelling for almost a week. The four-engine aircraft, specifically designed for long-range transport, could carry up to fifty troops with full kit at a flying speed of 250 miles per hour, but on this trip there was little equipment and only twenty on board. Amongst the soldiers of various ranks, both officers and enlisted men, all from different regiments, the mood had been relaxed. They were not en route to a combat zone – the officers were on relief duty assignments and the enlisted men were additions to a general workforce – and from the outset a spirit of anticipation had prevailed. Gideon, the only man in mufti, had enjoyed the odd looks from the soldiers who’d wondered at the mystery of him.

  ‘Department of Supply.’ He’d been quick to engage in conversation and had readily offered the information. ‘I’m taking over the post of senior requisitions officer. You chaps will be seeing quite a bit of me, I should think.’

  ‘What a handy chap to know,’ a young captain had remarked with a wink to the others. It was a response generally acknowledged, and Gideon had rapidly become ‘one of the boys’.

  He’d very much enjoyed the company of the soldiers and the mode of military transport. As diplomatic staff, he was accustomed to travelling on civilian aircraft and he’d found the change of atmosphere and camaraderie exhilarating. Even the draughty discomfort of the unpressurised cabin and the tasteless packaged meals acquired at their various stops along the way had failed to daunt his enthusiasm. He’d liked being surrounded by rowdy masculinity and the smell of sweat. But then he’d always liked ‘roughing it’.

  The whole trip had been something of an experience, he now thought as he stared mindlessly out the window, particularly the enforced overnight stop in Istanbul. He glanced about the cabin. Some of the men were quietly chatting, others having a nap – they’d be landing in Darwin soon. The soldiers were a nice enough bunch, but he’d ascertained very early on that they were conservative to a man – he could sense no kindred spirit amongst them. It rather titillated him now to imagine their reaction if they knew what had taken place during the Istanbul stopover.

  After take-off, the Hasting’s intended destination had been the British RAF base on the island of Cyprus in the Mediterranean, the first of several planned refuelling stops, but bad weather had forced a diversion. The pilot had landed the aircraft in Istanbul instead, where it had been grounded for twenty-four hours while a replacement engine cowling had been located and fitted.

  Unlike the military personnel with whom he was travelling, Gideon had been free to choose accommodation to his personal liking and he’d immediately booked himself into the luxurious Hotel Istanbul. No stranger to the city, having at one time spent six weeks on temporary duty at the British embassy there, he’d whiled away the afternoon reacquainting himself with its breathtaking beauty.

  He’d forgotten just what a seductive city it was, he’d thought as he’d mingled with the tourists in Eminonu, the heart of the ancient town, where the Topkapi Sarayi and the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque stood in a row, as if competing for awards in sheer magnificence. From one of the six towering minarets of the Blue Mosque a muezzin was calling the faithful to prayer, and he remembered how very stirring he’d found the relentless chants of the muezzins throughout the day. Stirring, sensual, visceral even, they’d aroused him in a way that was certainly not their intention.

  Upon his return to the hotel, he’d showered and gone to the lounge for a pre-dinner Scotch, noticing immediately the attractive blonde seated near the main doors sipping a martini. He’d considered making an approach, but had decided against it. She was not only attractive, she was patently rich. Attractive, rich blondes did not travel alone. She was waiting for her husband, he’d decided, or perhaps her lover, but either way, a man many years her senior – he’d put his money on it. He’d seated himself at a table near the bar and paid her no further attention.

  ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

  Only minutes later, there she was, standing beside him, martini in hand.

  He rose. ‘I’d be honoured,’ he said. ‘Please,’ and he gestured to the large leather armchair opposite his own.

  ‘My husband is keeping me waiting, as usual,’ she said with a mixture of apology and embarrassment. ‘I do so hate being in hotel lounges on my own.’ She sat. ‘I’m Carolin
e Hardinge. How do you do.’

  They shook hands. ‘Gideon Melbray,’ he said, and sat.

  ‘I heard you ordering your Scotch. You’re English, of course.’

  ‘Yes. You too?’ It was a joke.

  ‘Dear me, yes, can’t you tell?’

  ‘I can rather.’ And they shared a laugh.

  ‘This is my first time in Istanbul. Marcus has been here before, many years ago, with his first wife, but this is my very first visit. Isn’t it the most divine place? Have you been here before yourself?’

  ‘Briefly, yes.’

  ‘We caught a taxi into the old part of town and then walked for hours all afternoon. I’m sure that’s why Marcus is taking so long now. He said he’d only be five minutes, but he’s probably soaking in a hot bath. It really is naughty of him.’

  She seemed happy to conduct her own monologue and, for politeness’s sake, Gideon more or less listened, although he knew it wasn’t necessary – eye contact was quite sufficient. She was out to seduce him, and he wondered why. An upper-class English callgirl in Istanbul? Hardly. Her elderly, impotent husband asleep in their suite upstairs was a far more likely scenario, he thought, and he bought her another martini. Then Marcus arrived.

  Gideon congratulated himself on his initial deduction. Marcus, in his fifties, was indeed a good twenty years older than his wife. He was not, however, elderly, nor did he appear the impotent type. In fact Gideon found him stylish and rather good-looking,

  ‘Oh, darling, at last,’ Caroline said with an attractive pout. ‘You’ve been frightfully rude. This is Gideon Melbray, my knight in shining armour. Gideon, this is my husband, Sir Marcus Hardinge.’

  ‘Sir Marcus.’ Not a flicker showed on Gideon’s face as he offered his hand, but old habits died hard – a title still impressed him.

  ‘Marcus, old man, please,’ Hardinge said as they shook. ‘Thanks so much for looking after Caroline, most appreciated. I’d be in such trouble if you hadn’t. Will you join us for dinner?’