Maralinga

by Judy Nunn

  ‘Come along now, Dan, don’t be coy.’ The smile had frozen on Harold Dartleigh’s lips. The boy should be flattered by his attention, but he seemed to have drifted off. How dare he. ‘Where did you meet your Elizabeth?’

  ‘Aldershot, sir.’ Daniel, upon registering the steely edge to the voice, was quick to make up for his inattentiveness. ‘It was the spring of 1954, the day of the centennial celebrations. Elizabeth was working for The Aldershot Courier-Mail and I was marching in the grand parade.’

  ‘Ah, how romantic.’ Harold calmed down. He’d been about to get quite tetchy. ‘Do go on.’

  Daniel painted a picture of Aldershot as it had been that day, seeing it all so vividly himself: the hundreds of soldiers marching down High Street; the thousands of spectators cheering them on; and the one lone woman amongst the gathering of press at the entrance to the park.

  ‘I’m sure every single soldier in that parade was looking at her,’ he said, and laughed. ‘I certainly know I was.’

  ‘Charming,’ Harold said as he settled back in the passenger seat. ‘Utterly charming,’ and he closed his eyes. ‘Wake me when we get to the highway.’ The boy was an absolute delight, but it was going to be a very long drive. He’d doze for an hour or so, he decided.

  Ceduna was an attractive town. Overlooking Murat Bay on the Great Australian Bight, it was set amidst grain farms, natural bush and a coast line of rugged rocky bays and white sandy beaches. It was also the last major settlement to the eastern side of the Nullarbor Plain and, as such, a hub for travellers, offering an essential point of embarkation for those about to undertake the desert crossing, and providing a welcome haven for those weary voyagers arriving from the west.

  Harold found the town enchanting. In fact, the moment he’d been granted his first sight of the sea he’d been filled with an indescribable happiness. How truly oppressive the desert was, he thought, and yet all the time this pretty coastal area had been here offering the perfect escape. He really should have made the trip earlier.

  Daniel drove into the township and down to the beachfront, where stately Norfolk Island pines lined a broad promenade, and an impressively long loading jetty forked its way across a white stony beach and out into the broad sweep of the bay. Overlooking the foreshore was the Ceduna Community Hotel, an elegant single-storey stone structure, which had undergone many renovations since its original construction in 1902. Architecturally, the hotel was the town’s most distinguished building, and the pride and joy of its citizens.

  ‘Goodness gracious, how very attractive,’ Harold said as they climbed out of the Land Rover and stretched their cramped limbs. Things were getting better by the minute, he thought. ‘Come along, Dan, I’ll buy you a beer.’

  ‘If you wouldn’t mind, sir, I’d like to freshen up a bit first.’ Daniel was exhausted.

  ‘Ah, yes, yes, of course, you’re bound to be a bit tired.’ Harold looked at his watch. It was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon – a bloody long drive, he thought, the lad had done well. ‘You’ll probably want a bit of a kip, what?’

  ‘I would rather, yes, sir.’

  ‘Goodo. We’ll meet for dinner then.’

  They checked in at reception.

  ‘Dartleigh and Gardiner,’ Harold said to the woman at the front desk, ‘two rooms have been reserved for us, I believe.’

  Daniel was surprised to hear Harold Dartleigh introduce himself so humbly, but he quickly recognised the reason for the omission of title. A peer of the realm would create quite a stir in Ceduna, and Harold Dartleigh would have no desire to call attention to his presence. Nor would he wish to invite any discussion about Maralinga. As deputy director of MI6, Dartleigh had clearly decided the two of them were to travel incognito with neither title nor military rank attached to their names. It also explained, Daniel realised, why he himself had been instructed to wear mufti.

  They were given the keys to their respective rooms – Harold had been booked into the one and only double, and Daniel was told he’d been allocated ‘second single from the end’. This turned out to be one of the many single and twin rooms that led off from the hotel’s long central passage. Despite the building’s architectural elegance, its accommodation was basic – not unlike the dongas at the barracks, Daniel thought.

  ‘See you in the dining room at seven,’ Harold said before he disappeared into his room. ‘Sleep well.’ He intended to take a walk along the beach himself. He’d slept for a full three hours during the trip and felt absolutely marvellous.

  Daniel freshened up in the bathroom down the hall and, after collecting some stationery from the receptionist, returned to his room with the intention of writing to Elizabeth. But he couldn’t keep his eyes open. He’d write his letter after dinner, he decided, when his mind was clearer. He lay down and was asleep within seconds.

  Harold was buoyant over dinner. The trip to Ceduna had rejuvenated him already. ‘The sea air works wonders,’ he said effusively as they sat in the dining room having a pre-dinner beer. ‘You really must make sure you take a good walk along the front, either after dinner or before we leave tomorrow,’ he instructed. ‘It’ll do you the world of good.’

  ‘I certainly will, sir, I shall look forward to it.’

  ‘My God, but I’m starving. Shall we have some wine with dinner?’

  ‘If you wish, sir.’

  ‘I wish.’

  Harold clicked his fingers, but the waitress was busy and didn’t notice. The dining room, as usual, was crowded – the Ceduna Community Hotel did good business. ‘Excuse me, my dear,’ he said loudly, tapping the salt cellar on the table to attract her attention. ‘We’d like to order.’

  As it turned out, the hotel served a three-course set meal. ‘Vegetable soup for starters, local snapper for mains, and there’s rice pudding for sweets.’ The waitress reeled off the menu.

  The wine, when it finally did arrive, was not up to scratch, but Harold did not complain, he’d expected as much. The food, to his surprise, was most palatable. The soup was perhaps a little thin in texture, more like a broth really, but tasty enough, and the fish was fresh and quite delicious. Not being a fan of rice pudding, he skipped the dessert and was a little piqued that there wasn’t the option of a cheese board, but again he did not complain. He was in far too good a mood.

  ‘A triumph, Dan. A positive triumph, I’d say, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir, it was an excellent meal.’ Daniel had enjoyed every single mouthful, although he could have done without the wine. He’d have preferred another beer himself.

  ‘The trip I mean, lad, the whole trip. A marvellous idea. Why didn’t I think of it sooner? We could have popped down here between each of the tests. The perfect getaway, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Popped down here? Daniel wondered at the phrase and, more particularly, at the ease with which it sprang from Harold Dartleigh’s lips. Had the arduous drive escaped the man’s attention?

  ‘Yes, sir, this is certainly a very pretty spot.’

  Daniel was rapidly coming to the not unsurprising conclusion that Lord Dartleigh lived in a world alien to most; a world where the privileged were granted their every wish and where servants sprang unquestioningly to a master’s bidding. Daniel, although accustomed to the British class system in general, and most particularly to the well-established pecking order of the military, had had no personal contact with the aristocracy and he found the phenomenon fascinating.

  Following dinner, Harold insisted upon another constitutional, and he further insisted Daniel join him. Together, they strode vigorously down the promenade of O’Loughlin Terrace and back; then they strode just as vigorously out to the end of the interminable jetty and back, by which time Daniel felt it was within his rights to retire. Harold, however, was keen to socialise a little longer.

  ‘Just one quick port in the lounge, what do you say?’

  Harold had made his enquiries. The hotel’s bars observed the six o’clock closing regulations, but the lounges remained lega
lly open to house guests and to those bona fide travellers willing to sign a permit to the effect they had travelled at least sixty miles. Needless to say, there were many ‘travellers’, bona fide and otherwise. The Ceduna Community Hotel did a roaring lounge trade.

  ‘Come along, lad, don’t dawdle.’

  Harold was already heading through the door to the general lounge, and it seemed Daniel had little option but to follow.

  There were no vacant tables, and they were forced to join two other hotel guests, a very respectable-looking couple in their forties who’d been in the dining room earlier. Harold ordered drinks from the waitress – a port for him and a beer for Daniel – and then he initiated introductions.

  ‘Harold Dartleigh, how do you do,’ he said with aplomb as he offered his hand. ‘And this is young Daniel Gardiner. We’re both English, as I’m sure you can tell. And you’re from …?’

  In one swift move he’d switched the focus to the couple, putting the onus upon them to explain themselves, which they did. Vic and Gloria Davison had arrived in Ceduna just that afternoon. They’d come from Perth and were on their way to Adelaide to visit their daughter who’d recently married. It had been an exhaustingly long five-day journey so far.

  ‘And the dust,’ Gloria said. ‘The dust is so appalling! It gets into everything, don’t you find?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Harold agreed, ‘yes, I do indeed.’

  The drinks arrived and, sensing his escape, Daniel started downing his beer as quickly as he could. He was grateful to the couple – Harold Dartleigh appeared to find them interesting.

  ‘We thought it’d be such an adventure doing the trip by car,’ Gloria said, ‘but I’ve learnt my lesson. It’ll be the train next time, won’t it, Vic?’

  Vic nodded.

  ‘And besides, I don’t drive, so it’s really not fair. It puts a lot of pressure on Vic. He’s completely worn out, poor darling.’

  Having sipped his port, Harold pushed the glass aside with a grimace. ‘I’d fire the cook that put that in a jelly trifle,’ he muttered darkly.

  Gloria laughed.

  ‘You’re making short work of that beer, Dan,’ he said as he signalled the waitress. ‘Can I get you another?’

  ‘No, thank you, sir, this’ll do me fine. I might turn in shortly, if that’s all right?’ The query inferred that he’d like to get a good night’s sleep in preparation for another six-to-seven-hour drive the following day, but Daniel didn’t want to say anything that might invite comment from their companions. Judging by the couple’s reaction, he’d already created an interest in referring to Harold Dartleigh as ‘sir’, but how else was he to refer to him? He’d been given no instruction.

  The slip of the tongue, if indeed it had been one, did not appear to have worried Harold in the least. ‘Of course, my boy, you take yourself off and have a good long sleep, you’ve earned it.’ The waitress arrived at the table, and he turned to the couple. ‘Vic, Gloria, may I buy you a drink?’

  ‘Not for me, thanks,’ Vic said. ‘I’ll be off to bed soon too – I’m tuckered out.’

  ‘Just a beer then, thank you.’ Before the waitress could leave, Harold made a point of handing her the glass of port. His lack of comment was a comment in itself, although the waitress appeared unfazed as she plonked the glass on her tray and disappeared.

  Weary though he was, Vic’s eyes had lit up with curiosity. ‘What exactly is it that you do, Harold?’

  Gloria nodded eagerly. She found Harold Dartleigh without doubt the most intriguing and charismatic man she’d ever met.

  ‘Aah,’ Harold’s smile was enigmatic, ‘that’s classified information, I’m afraid.’ He tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger in the classic gesture. ‘Can’t breathe a word,’ he said, and cast a meaningful glance at Daniel. ‘Top secret, isn’t it, Dan?’

  ‘Yes, it is, sir.’ He’s playing with them, Daniel thought.

  Vic and Gloria laughed uncertainly. They weren’t sure if this was a game or not, but by laughing they felt they could save face.

  ‘Oh, I’m quite serious,’ Harold assured them. ‘I’m quite, quite serious, believe me.’ They stopped laughing abruptly and there was a moment of awkward silence. Then, having successfully halted the line of questioning, Harold beamed jovially. ‘Now tell me about Perth,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been there. Such a pretty city, I believe.’

  Daniel sensed for the first time the dichotomy that was Harold Dartleigh. On the one hand, the effete aristocrat, and on the other, the ruthlessly smooth operator who could put the fear of God into people without them even knowing why or how.

  He downed the last of his beer and waited to take his leave, but it was difficult choosing the moment. Gloria, thankful that all had reverted to normal and anxious to make amends for having appeared over-inquisitive, was waxing lyrical about her home town of Perth.

  ‘Excuse me, Gloria, Dan wants to go to bed.’ Harold had no compunction at all about interrupting the flow. ‘Off you go, Dan, there’s a good lad.’

  Daniel stood.

  ‘We’ll make it ten o’clock in the morning, shall we,’ Harold said. ‘No, no,’ he corrected himself. ‘Let’s make it half past – I want to explore the town before we leave. No need to set off too early, what?’

  ‘Very well, sir.’ Excellent, Daniel thought – he’d be able to send his letter directly from the post office. He’d been a little dubious about the prospect of leaving it with the receptionist. ‘Goodnight, sir.’ He bade the couple farewell and went to his room.

  Dearest Elizabeth. As he started to write, Daniel did not ponder his words. They poured out of him. Please forgive me for any worry I might cause you in writing as I do, but I have some grave concerns and no-one with whom to share them. The fact that I’m able to share them with you now means that I am not sending this letter from Maralinga, as you will have gathered. I have for some time been Lord Dartleigh’s assigned driver, and, most fortuitously as it has turned out, Dartleigh decided upon a trip to Ceduna, a small coastal town several hundred miles from Maralinga. In doing so, he has inadvertently granted me the chance to write to you free of censorship, and I cannot resist the opportunity. You are the only person in whom I can confide, my darling, and, although you are powerless to provide any answers, I know that simply speaking to you on paper will ease the burden.

  This is what has happened – I will be as succinct as I can.

  The man with whom I have been sharing barracks accommodation was an ex-Australian army lieutenant by the name of Petraeus Mitchell. He was serving in a government capacity as Aboriginal liaison officer, responsible for relocating any local population discovered in the area.

  Pete was a tormented man in many ways, a heavy drinker, prone to black moods, but I liked and respected him a great deal. We had become friends. Anyway, a week or so ago, in a drunken state, he told me of unimaginable happenings at Maralinga, events that were quite shocking. He said that men had been threatened with court martial if they spoke of what they’d seen.

  Daniel paused. He could not risk telling Elizabeth about the Aboriginal deaths. If by chance Pete’s story was true, then in repeating it he would be violating the Official Secrets Act and risking his own court martial.

  I cannot tell you the specifics of Pete’s allegations – for obvious reasons, which you will understand – but shocking though they were, I couldn’t bring myself to believe there was any truth in what he said. He was rambling at the time, practically incoherent, behaving like a madman. He actually laughed and boasted that he could ‘cop a bullet through the brain’ for what he was telling me. Those were his exact words.

  Well, the awful part is, Elizabeth, this is exactly what has happened. Pete has been murdered, shot through the head, supposedly by the jealous husband of a woman with whom he was having an affair. I know that the affair with the woman is true, not something concocted, and, under normal circumstances, the event, ghastly though it is, would be understandable. Itinerant workers here in the outback –
like Harry Lampton, the fettler currently being sought for Pete’s murder – are tough, ruthless men. But the coincidence haunts me.

  I have decided to make my own enquiries, if only to achieve some peace of mind. I truly do not believe there is a conspiracy, Elizabeth, and, even as I write this, I am starting to feel self-consciously melodramatic. You see what a help you are to me, my darling? In the meantime, however, I cannot help agonising over the awful coincidence of Pete’s death. If I can only discover some irrefutable evidence that establishes Harry Lampton as the killer – perhaps a witness amongst the fettlers – then I will rest assured that my fears are as foolish and as groundless as I’m sure they are.

  Forgive me, my darling, for pouring all this out to you, but, as I have said, there is no-one in whom I can confide, and it is such a relief for me to be able to write openly of it. I shall sleep more soundly tonight having unburdened myself, I can assure you, although I realise it is probably the ultimate act of selfishness on my part. It is not my intention to worry you, I promise. I will not place myself in any danger and I will not behave rashly. My enquiries will be made with the utmost discretion.

  Oh, my dearest Elizabeth, how very much I do miss you, and how very much I do love you.

  I remain yours forever and forever and forever, Danny.

  The following morning, Daniel was at the post office the moment it opened its doors for business. He bought an overseas stamp, popped the letter in the bright red mailbox, and felt happier than he had in days.

  Harold Dartleigh’s mood remained ebullient as they set off on the long drive back to Maralinga.

  ‘I feel positively reborn,’ he said. ‘I shall return to Ceduna next year when I’m back for the Antler series. The sea air has done me the world of good.’

  Last night had also done him good, he thought. There was nothing more satisfying than knowing one could have a woman right under her husband’s nose.