by Judy Nunn
This was a game, Gideon realised, a game which had suddenly become far more interesting than the simple bedding of Caroline Hardinge.
‘I’d be delighted.’
They had another drink and, as they rose from their chairs to adjourn to the dining room, Gideon offered his arm to Caroline.
‘Lady Hardinge?’
She smiled and, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, shared a look with her husband. A look not lost on Gideon; a look that said they were pleased with their find. Well, so was he. A ménage à trois? If so, what fun.
But as it eventuated, a ménage à trois was not the intention. Following dinner, when they adjourned to the Hardinges’ suite, it turned out Marcus wanted no more than to watch his wife copulate with another man. Gideon was happy to oblige. It seemed the poor fellow was impotent after all, and the superb dinner and wine they’d shared certainly deserved a return of favours. Besides, he enjoyed being watched – almost as much as he enjoyed observing the watcher – and he manoeuvred Caroline into the perfect position where he could see Marcus in the mirror.
As Caroline’s body started to heave, he focused on the mirror. Marcus’s arousal at the sight of his wife’s pleasure was obvious and Gideon willed their eyes to meet so they could share the eroticism of the moment, but Marcus’s gaze remained focused on the act itself.
Gideon slowed his thrusts to a minimum, then stopped altogether and remained motionless, waiting for Caroline to get the message. She was altogether too receptive – she’d orgasm any minute and they’d only just started. Not that it mattered, she was the sort who’d orgasm all night, but the woman had no natural rhythm, no self-control. She was sexually indulgent.
When he sensed she’d calmed down a little, he withdrew, turning her over onto her knees to take her from behind, and, glancing once again in the mirror, he recognised the truth. Marcus was not aroused by the sight of his wife in sexual congress. Marcus was aroused by the sight of a man rutting. Marcus Hardinge was not impotent at all. He was homosexual.
Gideon stood, a naked Adonis with a glistening erection, and smiled as he held out his hand. ‘Come and join us, Marcus,’ he said.
Marcus did. Never before, in all the years of his voyeurism, had he taken part in the action. But such an offer from such a man was irresistible.
The following morning, Gideon breakfasted in his suite – he would be departing the hotel before the dining room opened – and, as he sipped his tea, he wondered briefly about the Hardinges’ reaction to the events of the previous evening. Would Caroline thank him for revealing her husband’s homosexuality? He’d sensed, very strongly, that she’d been unaware of Marcus’s sexual preferences. And what of Marcus himself? Gideon suspected Marcus Hardinge kept his dark secret for those tormented nights when he was driven to a bar where male prostitutes plied their trade. Caroline was, after all, his second wife. He’d probably pretended to a voyeuristic fetish throughout both marriages in order to keep his wife satisfied while simultaneously fulfilling his masturbatory needs.
One would never know, Gideon had thought as he’d gone downstairs to his pre-ordered taxi. And ultimately, of course, one would never care. There were far bigger adventures in store. He would shortly be on a 2500-mile flight over the Zagros Mountains of Iran, to Karachi. How very exciting, he’d thought. Pakistan, then Indonesia, then Australia.
But he had to admit, the dalliance in Istanbul had been an unexpected and highly pleasurable experience.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Under Prudence’s regime, the Gardiner household appeared to revolve entirely around mealtimes, and, after a massive hot breakfast the following morning, Elizabeth was thankful when Daniel said they wouldn’t be home for lunch.
‘Dad’s lending me the Wolseley and we’re going for a drive,’ he told his mother.
‘Of course, dear. I’ll keep the cottage pie for dinner.’
They drove along the Nantwich Road then up the hill of Edleston Road and into the township, where Daniel parked his father’s cherished 1935 Wolseley. Any scratch on the vehicle and there would have been hell to pay, but Kenneth trusted his older son. Daniel had an affinity with cars. Billy was another matter altogether. Young Billy never scored a loan of the Wolseley.
Away from the surrounding industrial areas, the town centre of Crewe, dominated by its ornate stone market hall and clock tower, was attractive.
‘I’m very fond of this place,’ Daniel said, as they strolled down the main street hand in hand, rugged up against the cold. ‘I grew up around here and so did my parents. Dad’s father was from Chester. He was a clerk with the railways, and Dad would have been too, but when Rolls-Royce built its factory here in the thirties, he changed his mind and went to work for them instead. He’s always been passionate about cars. Bit of an irony really, because with the threat of war the factory went straight into aircraft engine construction – they didn’t produce a single car until 1946. By that time, of course, Dad had resigned from the company to join the army, gone to war and got shot up, and then come back to exactly where he’d left off. He’d done the full circle before the first Rolls or Bentley was ever wheeled out of the factory.’
Their stroll had brought them to the park and Daniel halted momentarily, feeling the need for clarification.
‘I do feel sorry for him, Elizabeth, and perhaps that’s influenced me in some way. But I don’t feel sorry enough to live his dream without wanting that dream myself. Billy’s the same. Honestly. We’ve talked about it. We both really want a career in the army.’
‘I’m glad, Danny.’ Whether or not his father’s fixation was the indirect cause for his choice was none of her business, Elizabeth thought, so long as he was happy. She squeezed his hand. ‘I’m really glad.’
‘Me too,’ he said. Then, with an all-encompassing gesture at their surrounds, he changed the subject. ‘So here we are, Queens Park, the town’s pride and joy.’
Elizabeth gazed about at the huge, sprawling park where supple willow trees kissed the greenest of grass and garden beds exploded with early spring blossom.
‘I didn’t know Crewe was so pretty,’ she said. ‘I don’t mean to be insulting, but I’ve always thought of the place as a giant railway junction.’
‘A lot of people do. I’m sure half the travellers who change trains at Crewe don’t even know there’s a thriving market town barely a mile away.’ He grabbed her hand again and she was forced to keep up with him as he strode purposefully back in the direction of the car. ‘Come on, let’s go for a drive.’
For the next several hours, they drove through the lush Cheshire countryside, taking detours down narrow tracks, exploring picturesque villages, stopping for a beer at a cosy wayside pub, and, by the time they arrived home, Elizabeth found she was more than ready for Prudence’s cottage pie, which, not surprisingly, turned out to be a masterpiece.
Then, suddenly, it was Monday afternoon and they were sitting side by side on the non-stop express to London. The long weekend seemed to have sped by as fast as the landscape that now hurtled past.
‘I like your parents, Danny,’ Elizabeth said as they both gazed out the window.
‘I hoped you might. Yours and mine, chalk and cheese, eh?’
‘Yes.’ She turned to him with a smile.
‘They like you too, I can tell.’
‘Yes, they do. For the moment.’
‘Oh?’
‘I don’t think they’ll like me all that much when they realise my career isn’t a hobby.’
‘I was expecting you to set them straight on that actually.’
‘Yes, you were, weren’t you? You kept egging me on. Why?’
‘You’re a genuine maverick, Elizabeth.’ Daniel’s tone remained light, but they both knew the conversation was taking a serious turn. ‘I thought you might want to make your own statement about a woman’s right to a career. I was all ready to back you up.’
‘But if you expected me to make a statement, don’t you think you should have given yo
ur parents some sort of warning?’
‘Nope. I mentioned your career when I was home for Christmas, but I could tell they didn’t really understand. I didn’t want to feed them any preconceived ideas before they met you.’
‘You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, I have. And I think we should tell them our plans before we get married – we should keep everything out in the open. But if we’re going to shock them, as we obviously are, it’s better to do it together, as a team, don’t you agree?’
‘I do.’ Elizabeth’s look was one of profound respect. Flaunting social convention had been part of her upbringing, but Daniel? From such a conservative background, Daniel’s stand showed great strength of character in Elizabeth’s eyes. ‘You’re a maverick yourself, Danny,’ she said.
‘Hardly,’ he scoffed.
‘You are. You’re a true rebel, in your own way.’
He beamed with pleasure. Whether or not he believed her was incidental. Such a remark from Elizabeth was a vast compliment. ‘Well, who knows? Perhaps you’re right.’
‘So I suppose the next step will be to tell your parents about E. J. Hoffmann,’ she said. ‘That’ll certainly shock them.’
‘Yes, it will, but they’ll get over it. We’ll just have to pick the right time.’
She stared at him, wide-eyed with disbelief. Was he joking? He had to be. He was, and simultaneously they laughed. There would never be a right time to tell Kenneth Gardiner about E. J. Hoffmann.
From his window seat aboard the Hastings, Gideon Melbray gazed down at the earth below: a vast expanse of ochre-red splashed with mysterious and dramatic swirls of white. He found the sight mesmerising. From 20,000 feet, the desert and its salt pans resembled a never-ending primitive artwork, bold, stark and highly effective in its simplicity.
Not exactly welcoming though. Hardly the place one would want to live, he thought, recalling Harold Dartleigh’s parting words: ‘You’ll find it rather a change from Mother England, old chap.’
They’d left Darwin hours ago and yet the desert of this vast land continued to unfold relentlessly and unchangingly beneath them. There had been thrilling moments in the flight nonetheless, when the pilot had dropped to 3000 feet to give them a closer look at the landscape. They’d flown low over the cracked, raw red of the MacDonnell Ranges, where, from the air, the dried bed of the Todd River appeared a raging torrent, and where, tucked into the primitive landscape, the township of Alice Springs stood as a tribute to human survival. A hundred and fifty miles further south, the pilot had dipped low again to give them a look at the giant monolith of Ayers Rock, which eerily marked the very centre of the island continent. Every man aboard had been in awe of the sight.
And now they were dropping altitude once more – this time in preparation for landing.
They flew lower, and lower, and still Gideon could see nothing but desert. And then, suddenly, they were circling a massive bitumen airstrip. It had appeared out of nowhere and sat in the middle of nowhere, like a huge grey scar. Running due north–south, it had to be at least a mile and a half long. Leading off to the east was an impressive parking apron, around a quarter of a mile in length, where a number of aircraft were assembled, and to the side of the apron was a small, prefabricated building, which obviously served as an airport. On the other side of the airport was a sea of tents, and a mile or so away Gideon could make out a town. An orderly town with streets and blocks of barracks set out in rows.
There was the clunking sound of landing apparatus being activated – the Hastings was a noisy aircraft – and not long afterwards, wheels hit bitumen and brake engines screamed.
Gideon Melbray had arrived at Maralinga.
The decision to confront Daniel’s parents paled into insignificance when, one month after the visit to Crewe, a far more important issue presented itself.
Daniel rang Elizabeth at The Guardian with the news.
‘I’ve been offered a posting.’
She accepted the announcement calmly. They’d been led to believe that another overseas posting wasn’t likely to come through for some time, but Daniel had warned her anything could happen, and she’d been prepared for the possibility.
‘When do they want you to leave?’ she asked.
‘In one month – the end of April! You wouldn’t believe it, would you!’
The wedding was planned for early May – no wonder he sounded tense. But he shouldn’t, she thought. The date could easily be moved forward. ‘And where are they sending you?’
‘Australia.’
‘Oh, my goodness.’
That part was a definite shock, she had to admit as images of gum trees and kangaroos flashed through her mind. Australia was so appallingly remote! Still, she told herself, ‘par avion’ made the world a small place. Even given delays, articles sent by air would surely reach The Guardian in a fortnight or so.
‘Oh well,’ she said flippantly, eager to put him at his ease, ‘I suppose I’ll just have to buy a summer wardrobe with an outback theme. That shouldn’t be too difficult.’
‘Things aren’t that simple, Elizabeth. I can’t say any more on the phone, it’s all pretty hush-hush. But there are big decisions to be made. We need to talk. I’ll see you next weekend.’
Elizabeth hung up, mystified. There was no established British army base in Australia. Australia had its own army. And if Daniel were being sent to the embassy as a military attaché why would such a posting be ‘hush-hush’? She decided to pay a visit to Reginald Dempster, the foreign correspondence editor. She and Reg had become good chums now that he’d accepted the fact she was engaged to be married and therefore unavailable.
‘Maralinga.’
She confronted Daniel with her knowledge as soon as they’d kissed at the front door. Her arms were still about him and her mouth still invitingly inches from his, but he was too astonished to home in for a second kiss as he would normally have done.
‘The army wants to send you to a place called Maralinga,’ she said. ‘The nuclear testing ground the government is establishing in South Australia – am I right?’
‘Good God, Elizabeth, how could you know that? Maralinga’s top secret.’
‘Not to the elite of the British press corps, my darling,’ she replied smugly. Then, taking him by the hand, she led the way through to the kitchen, where, as usual, the kettle on the stove was starting to whistle and the teacups and saucers were neatly set out on the table. ‘Oh, there’s an embargo all right,’ she said, ‘and in the interest of national security the top guns of the press have been sworn to secrecy.’ Relinquishing his hand, she rescued the kettle. ‘According to my source, the government’s terrified the Russians will find out, and no-one’s to print a word – well, not until they start exploding their bombs anyway. After that he says it’ll be open slather.’
Daniel sat at the table feeling overwhelmed.
‘In the meantime,’ Elizabeth continued as she prepared the tea, ‘the press is being kept very much in the dark. Particularly about the location, so my source tells me.’
‘I should certainly hope so,’ he replied, finally able to get a word in. ‘We weren’t even told of the location ourselves in the advance briefing – a desert region in South Australia is all they said. It’d be a year’s posting, taking over from chaps who’ve already done their twelve months – and I got the feeling that if we agree to go, we still won’t find out where we are until we actually get there.’
‘So what exactly were you told in the advance briefing?’ she asked, bringing the teapot with her and joining him at the table.
‘Not much. Warnings mostly, about the harsh conditions and the remoteness of the place – testing our mettle, I presume – then they told us to go home and discuss it with our families, bearing in mind the Official Secrets Act and the need for discretion, which,’ he added with a touch of irony, ‘in my fiancée’s case doesn’t seem to apply.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said, shamefa
ced as she realised how completely she’d taken over. ‘That was insensitive of me, wasn’t it? I didn’t intend to steal your thunder, my darling, I just couldn’t resist –’
‘That’s what it means, by the way.’
‘What?’ She halted, puzzled.
‘Maralinga. It means fields of thunder in some sort of native dialect. A piece of information your source apparently didn’t have to hand,’ he said with the triumphant ring of one-upmanship.
‘I really am sorry. I was showing off. I know I sounded arrogant –’
‘No, you didn’t, you just sounded like you. And there’s no need to grovel, I’m not remotely cross.’
‘Oh, that’s good, I am glad.’ She commenced her customary ritual of teapot turning – always three times, and always slowly. ‘I thought you seemed a bit snappy.’
‘I didn’t mean to be.’ He stared down at the revolving pot. ‘I’m just …’ He struggled to express himself. ‘I suppose I’m just … distracted, that’s all.’
‘Why?’
Dragging his eyes from the teapot, he stared at her as if she was mad for asking, but Elizabeth refused to be deterred. To her, everything appeared extremely straightforward.
‘You want this posting, don’t you, Danny?’
‘Yes.’
His response was somewhat lacking in conviction, she thought, and she waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.
‘You told me on the phone there were big decisions to be made and that we needed to talk,’ she prompted.
‘There’s a promotion involved,’ he said. Then it all tumbled out. ‘I’d come back a captain – that’s the carrot they’re dangling. That and very good money in the form of allowances. God, Elizabeth, do you know how long I’d have to serve under normal circumstances to achieve captain’s rank?’
‘So why the agony of indecision?’ she said briskly. ‘It’s all perfectly simple. You accept the posting, I resign from The Guardian, we put the wedding forward a fortnight, then we pack our bags and we’re off to Maralinga. I can post my articles from there by airmail, it’s simple –’