Maralinga (11 page)

Gideon followed Harold's example. He dumped his towel in one of the wicker laundry baskets and, as Harold submerged himself naked in one of the two cold plunge pools, he took a deep breath and threw himself into the other.

‘Bloody, bloody freezing,' he said breathlessly as he scrambled out and accepted the fresh towel Harold handed him. ‘Bloody, bloody freezing and bloody, bloody stupid – I don't know why you do that!'

Harold laughed, and led the way to the large heated spa pool at the far end of the complex. They lolled in the shallow warmth of the water, watching as a number of towel-clad men in various shapes and sizes emerged from the change rooms.

‘Good timing,' Gideon said.

‘Yes.' Harold glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘The first bunch usually arrives around four.' Then he noticed Gideon's eyes were focused upon the one man in the group with a well-built body. ‘No funny business, Gideon,' he muttered, ‘not around here. I won't have it.'

Gideon's gaze lingered a second or so longer, then, as the man disappeared into the steam rooms, he turned to Harold wide-eyed. ‘I meant good timing because we had the place to ourselves,' he said.

‘Of course you did.'

Harold scowled a warning, which Gideon met boldly, in a way no others would dare.

‘Where's your sense of humour, Harold?' he said, finally breaking the moment with a rakish grin. ‘A little joke, that's all. No harm intended.'

‘You may need to watch your particular brand of humour at Maralinga.'

‘Oh, really? And why's that?'

‘It might not be appreciated by hundreds of men captive in the middle of the desert,' Harold said dryly. ‘You might just find yourself in a spot of bother.'

Gideon laughed. ‘I would have thought, given the circumstances, I might just find myself somewhat in demand.'

‘You know exactly what I mean, damn you,' Harold growled. ‘You could draw unwanted attention to yourself and put us in jeopardy.'

‘I have never put us in jeopardy.' Gideon dropped the flippant manner. He too was annoyed now. ‘And I can assure you that, in the line of duty, my attentions have never once been
unwanted
.'

‘All right, all right.' Harold held up his hands in uncharacteristic surrender. ‘I take your point.' He did. There was no denying the fact that Gideon's powers of seduction were unparalleled. Men and women succumbed equally to his charms and Gideon himself was quite happy to serve both. A true hedonist, he found pleasure in all forms of sex, and gave pleasure in return. The information he'd garnered from his willing conquests had proved invaluable over the years.

‘You're good at your job,' Harold said with rare magnanimity, ‘I'll admit that. I'm just telling you to practise a little caution, that's all.'

‘Of course I will.' Gideon was placated in an instant. Praise from Harold was scarce and he valued it highly.
‘I'll be one of the boys, I promise.' He grinned suggestively. ‘But you just never know, do you, what some boys might get up to out there in the desert?'

Harold couldn't resist a snort of laughter. Gideon was incorrigible.

It had been that very incorrigibility that Harold had found so attractive upon first meeting. Along with Gideon's beauty, of course – Harold had always admired beauty. The brief affair they'd had in Washington had been the only time he'd succumbed to a sexual relationship with a man. Apart from an experimental episode at Cambridge, but then everyone succumbed to the odd university crush. Harold had no regrets at all about the affair. In fact, these days he considered his actions to have been very much in the line of duty. Through his personal influence and, indeed, his inspiration, Gideon now served a far greater purpose than that of a mere clerk in the diplomatic corps. Their mutual infatuation had, in Harold's firm opinion, been most advantageous.

‘I'm done,' he said, climbing out of the spa and grabbing his towel.

Gideon continued to loll. ‘Are we going back into the steam room?' he asked.

‘I'm not. You can. Feel free to stay as long as you like.'

‘Oh.' Gideon was clearly disappointed. ‘I was hoping we might have a quiet bite of dinner somewhere.'

‘Impossible, I'm afraid, I'm dining with colleagues.'

It was true, but even if it were not, Harold would have lied. Self-discipline was far easier to put into practice, he'd found, if one kept well away from temptation.

‘Treat the club as your own,' he said. ‘I've arranged for all expenses to go on my account and the masseurs here are excellent.'

Beauty was to be admired from a distance, Harold thought as he crossed to the shower bays. Some things were simply not possible for a man in his position.

Elizabeth returned to Aldershot at the end of 1955, in order to spend the festive season with her parents. On her arrival, three days before Christmas, she rang Daniel at the barracks, half-expecting he wouldn't be there. But he was.

‘I thought you might be having Christmas with your family,' she said. His parents lived in Cheshire, in the industrial township of Crewe, where, he'd told her, his father worked part-time at the Rolls-Royce factory.

‘Yes, I'll be heading home,' he said, ‘but not until Christmas Eve.'

‘I don't suppose you have any time off tomorrow then?'

‘I do indeed.' He tried his hardest to sound nonchalant. ‘The entire day, in fact – my night roster finishes at precisely 0600 hours.'

‘How about afternoon tea then? That is, if you're not too tired.'

The bluntness of the offer surprised Daniel. He
hadn't seen Elizabeth for well over a year – in fact not since that day in the park. They'd telephoned each other on a semi-regular basis since his return, but after the general recounting of his experiences in Frankfurt, their brief conversations had become stilted and self-conscious. She spoke little about her work, which he'd found most unlike her. ‘Just keeping in touch,' she'd say. Then, several weeks later when
he'd
ring
her
: ‘Just thought I'd check how you're going,' he'd say. The calls had continued in a similar vein over the months following his return. Always, they were ‘just checking', or ‘just keeping in touch'. London was only a brief train trip away, but neither had suggested they meet, both unsure whether the other would be interested.

‘I'd love to have afternoon tea,' Daniel said. ‘Four o'clock? Usual place?'

There was the briefest of pauses before Elizabeth answered. ‘Could we meet in the park first?'

‘It'll be freezing,' he warned.

‘I know. It'll also be deserted. We can walk to the teashop after we've had a chat. Would you mind awfully?'

‘Not at all. I'll wear a scarf.' Daniel hung up the receiver, intrigued, and impatient for tomorrow.

The day was as chilly as the weather reports had forecast, but not too uncomfortably so. There was no biting wind, just the still, hushed breathlessness signalling snow was on the way. Daniel arrived at Princes Gardens a good five minutes early, well rugged up in his three-quarter navy coat and the thick woollen scarf his mother had knitted him the previous Christmas. He walked briskly through the main entrance,
hands in his pockets, wishing he'd remembered his gloves, but enjoying the air's crisp bite.

The park was deserted, just as Elizabeth had predicted. The threat of an impending snowfall and the dullness of the afternoon, which was already descending into early dusk, was an uninviting combination. Daniel didn't seek out a park bench. Deciding it was warmer to keep moving, he proceeded to do several laps of the fountain while he kept an eye on the main entrance to the gardens.

He'd just completed his third lap, chasing his own busy puffs of steam, and was about to start on a fourth, when he noticed the young man. He hadn't seen him arrive, which was not particularly surprising, there were other entrances to the park, but now, having noticed him, he was intrigued. The young man was dressed in a khaki trench coat, belted at the waist and with the collar turned up. The trousers beneath the coat were pinstriped, and on his head was a grey fedora worn at a jaunty angle. The overall appearance was dapper, but it was the arrogance of his pose and his stillness that attracted Daniel's attention. One highly polished shoe planted on a park bench, the young man was leaning forward, elbow on knee, other hand on hip, his gaze fixed resolutely ahead.

What on earth was he staring at, Daniel wondered, looking around to see if someone else had appeared. No-one had. The park remained deserted, and, as he turned back, he realised that it was he upon whom the young man was so focused. He averted his eyes and started on another lap of the fountain. It was most disconcerting to be studied so intently. He wished Elizabeth would hurry up.

Having completed the lap, his eyes once again flickered to the young man, who he noticed was now lighting a cigar, an action that in no way detracted from the gaze, which remained as unwavering as a bird of prey's upon its quarry. Daniel felt more than disconcerted, he felt decidedly embarrassed. The signal was loud and clear. The young man was a homosexual.

He was about to embark upon another lap, but halted as, to his horror, he saw the young man remove his foot from the bench and start slowly sauntering towards him. Daniel was in a quandary. What on earth should he do? He could hardly take off on another lap, it would look like running away; obviously he had to confront the chap. How very unpleasant.

A step closer. Then another step. And then another, this time accompanied by a leisurely drag on the cigar. Bold, Daniel thought, unable to decipher the face behind the billowing mix of smoke and steam. Foolish too. The man appeared little more than a youth and was not heavily built – he wouldn't stand a chance in a fight. This sort of audacity would get his head kicked in at the barracks.

A step closer, then another step, and the youth suddenly looked familiar. Oh my God, Daniel thought. It couldn't be, surely.

‘Elizabeth?'

She stopped just one pace from him. ‘I promised I'd introduce you to E. J. Hoffmann in person,' she said. ‘Well, here he is.'

‘Good God, I don't believe it.'

‘Had you fooled, didn't I?' There was mischief in her eyes, and she smiled, cheekily, irresistibly.

‘You certainly did.'

Daniel was spellbound. This was the stuff of fantasy. Having dropped her act, Elizabeth's male attire only served to emphasise her femininity, and he had an insane desire to crush her to him and kiss her with all the passion he could muster, the way actors did in American films. He resisted the urge.

‘An excellent performance, my congratulations,' he said light-heartedly but with genuine admiration. ‘In fact you won't believe it …' He wondered whether he should tell her. ‘I actually thought …'

She laughed as he hesitated. She knew exactly what he'd been thinking. She'd seen the horror in his face.

‘I actually thought you were about to proposition me,' he said.

‘I was.' She stopped laughing and took that one step closer. ‘I am.'

Their bodies were almost touching, their mouths barely inches apart, the steam of their breath mingling momentarily before spiralling into the still, chill air. Daniel remained spellbound but confused, and more than a little tormented by a vestige of hope. She was joking, of course. Wasn't she? She couldn't be serious. Could she?

‘I've missed you, Danny.'

It was Elizabeth who initiated the kiss and, gentle though it was, there was no mistaking its intention. This was no sisterly kiss but the most tender of caresses.

For Daniel, fantasy had suddenly become reality. But far from fighting off an insane desire, he simply succumbed to the love he'd felt from the very first day of their meeting, and, as he embraced her, Elizabeth willingly surrendered.

Any onlooker, although shocked to the core by the sight, would have assumed the two men were lovers, and in one sense they would have been right. Daniel and Elizabeth
were
lovers – in thought if not in deed – for their kiss was a declaration, and, upon parting, they smiled their unspoken acknowledgement.

‘Just as well you're in mufti.' Elizabeth broke the moment, striking a pose and twirling her cigar, Groucho Marx style. ‘If you were in uniform you'd be court-martialled for this.'

‘I probably still could be. Let's get rid of the hat. Oh my God,' he pretended horror as he took off the fedora, ‘you've cut your hair.'

‘Trying to be one of the boys,' she said apologetically, ‘although it hasn't altogether worked with the chaps at
The Guardian
. They just make fun of me.'

‘I'm not surprised.' Of course it wouldn't work, he thought. The stylish bob was no doubt androgynous from a distance, but close to it formed a perfect frame for the womanliness of her face. ‘May I?' he asked, taking the cigar from her.

‘Be my guest.'

He inspected it closely. ‘Cuban,' he said, nodding his approval, ‘only the best,' and he took a deep drag.

‘I didn't know you liked cigars.'

‘I don't all that much. This is by way of self-protection.' His face disappeared briefly in a cloudy haze. ‘It'll be more fun if I don't feel like I'm kissing my colonel – all the top brass smoke cigars, trying to emulate Churchill.'

He drew her to him and they kissed again, sharing the warmth of their mouths and the muskiness of the tobacco. The cigar itself fell forgotten to the frosty
grass where it glowed in persistent defiance of the odds. But the kiss continued, Daniel and Elizabeth oblivious to everything about them, and when they finally parted, the cigar had lost its battle and lay a soggy twig at their feet.

‘My God,' Daniel said unnecessarily, ‘it's snowing.'

They looked about the park, where, in the stillness, gently spiralling snowflakes disappeared like magic upon contact with the ground. The silence was absolute. The moment seemed timeless and somehow specially theirs.

In wordless unison, Elizabeth jammed on her fedora, Daniel pulled his scarf up around his ears, and together they set off at a brisk pace out of the park and into High Street. By the time they arrived at the teashop, the snowfall had become steady. Stepping inside the front door to the small alcove entrance, they took off their coats – and their scarf and fedora – and gave them a brief shake before hanging them on the coat rack alongside the accoutrements of the other patrons.

Daniel noted that beneath the trench coat, Elizabeth was not wearing a man's suit. The pinstriped trousers were men's certainly, but she'd accompanied them with a white high-necked shirt and a grey cashmere sweater – all in all a sporty image, which had become highly fashionable of late.

‘I chose the Katie Hepburn look just for you,' she whispered with a rebellious glance in the direction of the half-dozen or so customers seated at the far end of the teashop near the small open fire. ‘I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks.'

‘I prefer the trench coat myself. Very Bogart.'

‘My father will be delighted to hear it.'

He raised an eyebrow at the non sequitur.

‘I borrowed the trench coat from Daddy,' she explained. ‘We're around the same size, surprisingly enough – he says it's because he's shrunk with age.'

‘He doesn't know
why
you borrowed it, surely.'

‘Oh yes, he does. He thought it was an excellent idea. He said if I
must
make a statement, you're the right man to make it to. We'd like to sit by the window, please.' The middle-aged waitress who'd arrived had been about to lead them to a table near the fire. ‘Oh.' Elizabeth turned apologetically to Daniel, aware that she may have sounded bossy. ‘Sorry, I didn't mean …'

‘We'd like to be by the window, thanks,' Daniel said. ‘We want to look at the snow.'

The woman nodded uninterestedly, showed them to one of the front tables, and hovered nearby as they settled themselves.

‘I've no idea why Daddy thought I was making a statement when it was simply a joke,' Elizabeth continued, ‘but you obviously have his seal of approval, which is nice.'

Daniel hid his smile behind a menu. Did she really think that declaring her feelings in the form of E. J. Hoffmann was
not
a statement? ‘Are we doing cake?' he asked.

‘Oh yes, the works, wouldn't you say?'

‘I would. A pot of Darjeeling for two and we'll select from the cake trolley, thanks,' he said to the woman, who scribbled down the order and left without a word.

‘She's new,' Elizabeth said disapprovingly, watching her go. ‘What on earth happened to young Sally?'

‘I don't know. I haven't been here for quite some time.'

He hadn't been to the teashop since that day in the park, he remembered. He hadn't consciously boycotted the place, there'd simply been no reason – afternoon tea had lost its attraction.

‘Gosh, it's coming down,' Elizabeth said. ‘Just look at that.'

They gazed out at the barely visible street, where vehicles had slowed to a crawl and where, here and there, a pedestrian scurried for cover. The snow was falling heavily now, gathering on the awnings of shops and on the roofs of parked cars. The town was slowly turning white.

They continued to gaze for several minutes, comfortable in the cosiness of the teashop and each other's company. Then, simultaneously, they turned to one another, as if sensing now was the time to talk. There was a moment's pause, Daniel giving Elizabeth first option, but for once she didn't take up the offer.

‘Why the change of heart?' he asked. He was curious, naturally, although, strangely enough, the reason itself didn't seem to matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing in the world was of any importance apart from the fact that Elizabeth loved him. Daniel was in a state of utter bliss.

‘I realised you were right on both counts.'

‘And which particular counts would those be?'

‘I
have
viewed men as the enemy, and I
do
love you.'

‘Ah. Well, I'm glad we cleared that up.' He grinned, and was about to say something else, but the waitress interrupted.

‘Darjeeling for two,' she said, placing the tray on the table.

While Daniel watched the woman set out the tea things, Elizabeth studied him thoughtfully. Did he realise how deeply he'd shocked her that day? She doubted it. He probably didn't even remember what he'd said.
Men are not the enemy! Why must you feel so threatened?
The accusation had been only one of a series of shocks that day, but it had affected her like a slap in the face. She'd reacted defensively at the time, but over the ensuing months she'd pondered his words. And the more she'd missed him, the more she'd realised that he was right. She'd pitted herself against men from the moment she'd entered university, and she'd been doing battle with them ever since. In her blinkered view, all men had become a threat – to the point where she'd even blinded herself to the man she loved, the man who just happened to be her dearest friend.