Maralinga

by Judy Nunn

  ‘Following each test,’ he continued, ‘in accordance with the agreement between the British and Australian governments, the superintendent gives a detailed report to the Australian range commander who is responsible for range security between each of the trials …’

  Elizabeth was most certainly studying Nick Stratton with the deepest intensity. She was deciding what sort of man he was and which tack she should take. His earlier condescension had aroused in her a desire to retaliate; she’d wanted to shock him out of his complacency by informing him that she actually knew quite a bit about the tests. ‘I believe the concentration is on trigger mechanisms and the compressibility of materials in a nuclear device, Colonel,’ she’d been tempted to say. She was glad now that she hadn’t taken such an openly hostile stance as it wouldn’t have served her purpose. Nick Stratton was a military man who did things by the book, and if he saw her as a troublemaker he would simply have her barred from any involvement with the project. Bob Swindon had told her as much.

  ‘He’s a tough cookie, Elizabeth,’ Bob had said. ‘Not a bad bloke, but you wouldn’t want to cross him. And be warned, he doesn’t like smart-arses. Believe me, I should know,’ he’d added with a grin. ‘I’ve been a bit over-smart myself from time to time, which is why I’m not invited to the firings.’

  Bob Swindon was right, Elizabeth decided: she would need to tread with care.

  As she studied Nick Stratton, she found him an impressive man – a man of integrity by all appearances. She wondered whether he was fully informed of all aspects of the tests, or whether, like most according to her source, he was being kept in the dark. Either way, she must get to know the colonel. He was, without doubt, her most valuable link to Maralinga.

  ‘So, as you can see, and as I mentioned earlier,’ Nick said in conclusion, ‘there is full cooperation and liaison between all parties, both British and Australian, which is in accordance with the requirements laid out by the safety committee.’

  He decided to wrap up the conference on a humorous note, particularly as Elizabeth Hoffman remained so conspicuously on her feet.

  ‘I think that’s just about it,’ he said with a smile. ‘Unless, of course, you have any further questions, Miss Hoffmann?’

  Everyone laughed and Elizabeth, recognising that the comment had been made in good humour and happy to be the butt of the joke, returned the smile. Then she boldly pushed the joke one step further.

  ‘I do have a final question, Colonel, yes.’

  There was more laughter, particularly from those seated alongside her. Bob Swindon and Macca Mackay were taking great delight in the proceedings.

  ‘I believe these minor trials are known as Rats and Kittens and Tims,’ Elizabeth said in all apparent innocence. ‘Is there any particular purpose in the choice of such quaint terms?’

  She asked the question as if she’d heard the codenames openly bandied about, but in playing such a game she prayed she wasn’t going too far. Was she intriguing the colonel as she hoped? Or was she being, as Bob Swindon had put it, a smart-arse?

  How could she know that, Nick thought. How could she possibly know that? No general announcement had been made; these were still early days.

  As their eyes met across the room, he tried to suss her out. This was no innocent query. What game was she playing?

  ‘There’s no particular purpose whatsoever in the choice, Miss Hoffmann.’ His reply was casual and amiable. There was nothing to be gained by either denial or cross-examination, both of which would overdramatise the situation; and there was no harm in the codenames being known anyway. Besides, he thought wryly, what alternative did he have now that she’d put the word out.

  ‘The army is famous for its colourful use of code language and we wouldn’t want to disappoint, would we? After all, we’ve had One Tree, Marcoo, Kite and Breakaway in the Buffalo series. A few Kittens and Tims and Rats seem rather tame in comparison, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I would, Colonel.’ Elizabeth smiled broadly, pleased that she’d intrigued rather than offended. What a clever answer, she thought. ‘I most certainly would. Thank you very much,’ she said. And she sat.

  There was something congratulatory in her smile, Nick thought. She’d been one up on him and now she was congratulating him on his rejoinder, as if she’d found him a worthy competitor. He didn’t know whether to be flattered or angered.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Hoffmann,’ he said as he picked up his folder. ‘And thank you, gentlemen. That concludes our meeting.’

  As he walked back to his hotel in North Terrace, Nick’s mind was on Elizabeth Hoffmann. He would have liked to ask her how she’d learnt of the codenames, but he hadn’t wished to do so in the company of her colleagues. He wondered whether he should ring her at The Advertiser and ask if she’d like to meet for a chat. He was still wondering an hour later as he packed his few overnight belongings and prepared to leave for the airport. He was returning to Maralinga that afternoon.

  He glanced at the phone. There was still an hour or so to go, he thought, still time for a coffee or a drink. But he knew he wouldn’t ring her. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t really interested in the source of her information; he was interested in the woman herself. Best to practise common sense and steer clear, he told himself, as he latched his Gladstone bag. Elizabeth Hoffmann was not the sort with whom one had a casual fling, and a casual fling was all he wanted from any woman.

  He’d have a drink in the lounge before he left, he decided. The hotel room was a little claustrophobic.

  The phone rang. He answered it.

  ‘There’s a lady here to see you, Colonel,’ the receptionist said. ‘A Miss Elizabeth Hoffmann.’

  ‘I’ll be right down.’

  He picked up his bag and headed straight for the foyer.

  ‘Hello, Colonel.’ Elizabeth offered her hand and, as they shook, he noted that her grip was as firm and confident as a man’s, which didn’t altogether surprise him. ‘I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion,’ she said.

  ‘It’s not an intrusion at all, Miss Hoffmann. I have an hour to fill in before I leave for the airport. Will you join me for a drink?’

  ‘Thank you. I’d love to.’

  When they’d settled themselves in the lounge, he ordered a Scotch for himself and she opted for a pot of tea. It was a bit early in the day for her, she said, she still had an afternoon’s work to get through.

  ‘This is something of a surprise, I must say.’ Nick leaned back in his armchair with a querying look.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ she agreed, then went on to explain. ‘My colleagues told me you always stay at the Grosvenor, so I thought I’d pop around on the chance that you might have a spare moment.’

  ‘And I do. But for what purpose, Miss Hoffmann?’

  ‘Perhaps to accept an apology?’ Elizabeth didn’t feel remotely apologetic, but she’d been unable to come up with a better pretext for a visit. ‘I sensed your annoyance at the conference and I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to be quite so confrontational.’

  Nick laughed at her blatant transparency. ‘Of course you did, that’s an out-and-out lie. You were as provocative as you could be right from the start.’

  Oh no, I wasn’t, Elizabeth thought, I could have been a lot more provocative, believe me. But she smiled, grateful for his good-natured response. ‘Surely that’s a journalist’s job, Colonel,’ she said.

  ‘Then why the apology? Aren’t you being a little contradictory, Miss Hoffmann?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ she admitted, ‘but I wanted to make sure that I hadn’t offended you. You see, I’ve only been at The Advertiser six weeks. I’m still new to the job and I wouldn’t want to –’

  ‘You wouldn’t want to cruel your pitch, is that it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s precisely it.’

  ‘I admire your honesty.’

  Nick did. In fact, he found her honesty remarkable. She appeared to have not a shred of the artifice he’d encountered in most women. Particularly in
most good-looking women. Perhaps he’d misjudged her.

  The tea and Scotch arrived, and when the waitress had gone, he offered his own admission, which seemed only fair.

  ‘I have to admit I was a bit annoyed,’ he said. ‘I took offence at the way you used your femininity to gain an advantage.’

  ‘In what way?’ Elizabeth wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

  ‘Well, the way you remained standing for a start. You were the centre of attention, all eyes were upon you. It was extremely provocative.’

  ‘I thought we agreed that’s a journalist’s job.’

  ‘Not when a journalist looks like you, Miss Hoffmann. In remaining the central focus you provoked nothing but distraction. A rather cheap trick to gain the upper hand, I thought.’

  Elizabeth tried to keep a rein on her anger, although the colonel’s attitude, so typical of that which she had encountered from men on a regular basis, infuriated her.

  ‘I can’t help my appearance, Colonel,’ she said stiffly. ‘I do my best to counter it, I can assure you.’ She gestured at her blazer. ‘I do not dress seductively, I wear virtually no make-up and if I cut my hair any shorter I’d be bald. Quite frankly, if men can’t handle my appearance then that is their problem, not mine.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Nick realised that perhaps he could have expressed himself a little more delicately. ‘My turn to apologise. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound so blunt.’

  Elizabeth gave in with relatively good grace, although she recognised the man was making no apology for what he’d said, only the way he’d said it. But then, of course, he knew no better.

  ‘That’s perfectly all right, Colonel,’ she said. ‘I did my training in Aldershot – I’m quite accustomed to the attitude of military men towards women in the workforce.’ Even as she made the dig, she smiled to let him know that he was off the hook. ‘I can assure you though, I am an excellent journalist.’

  ‘I don’t doubt that for one moment, Miss Hoffmann. So tell me, how did you know about the codenames?’

  ‘Ah, that would be giving away far too much,’ she said. ‘A good journalist never reveals her source of information.’

  She sipped her tea thoughtfully, wondering how much she should tell him in order to keep him intrigued without annoying him. The balance was delicate. Which way should she play things?

  Nick didn’t push the matter any further, construing her silence to mean that the subject was closed. He didn’t care about her source of information anyway; he was far more interested in the woman than the journalist. No doubt some soldier on leave had been showing off while he tried to get her into bed, he thought. And who could blame any man for trying to bed Elizabeth Hoffmann?

  ‘Aldershot, eh,’ he said with interest, keen to make up for his previous blunder, ‘the home of the British army. Well, you’d certainly earn your stripes as a cadet reporter there, I would think. So how and when did you become a feature journalist?’

  As she regaled him with the story of her interview for The Guardian, Nick found himself riveted. The thought of her storming an editor’s office dressed as a man and smoking a cigar was not only amusing, it was somehow erotic. And yet she seemed unaware of the fact. There was an extraordinary sexuality about Elizabeth Hoffmann, but she didn’t appear to know it.

  They chatted for a further half-hour, or rather Elizabeth did. Nick mainly asked the questions. Then he looked regretfully at his watch.

  ‘Time I was heading off, I’m afraid.’

  As they stood, he added casually, ‘I’m back next week, Wednesday, just overnight. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in dinner?’

  He wasn’t scheduled to be in Adelaide the following week at all, but he could make an overnight stopover on his way to Canberra, he decided. By now, all good intentions to practise common sense and steer clear of the woman had deserted him. Elizabeth Hoffmann was a positive magnet. What red-blooded male could resist such a challenge?

  ‘Thank you, yes. I’d enjoy that.’

  ‘Excellent. How about I ring you at The Advertiser when I get in, probably mid-afternoon, and we’ll make our plans then?’

  ‘That suits me perfectly, Colonel.’ Elizabeth offered her hand.

  ‘Do you mind if I call you Elizabeth?’ he asked as they shook. ‘Outside the office, of course,’ he added.

  ‘I don’t mind at all, Nick.’ She smiled. ‘Thanks for the tea. Have a safe trip. I’ll see you on Wednesday.’ And with a quick wave, she was gone.

  Elizabeth knew Nick Stratton found her attractive. She hadn’t at first. At first she’d thought that he found her a genuine cause for irritation. But when he’d displayed no interest in discovering her source of information, she’d suddenly realised why. She’d stopped wondering how to keep him intrigued, recognising that there was no need. He was already intrigued, but not by her mind. She had to admit that she was just a little disappointed in the colonel. He was an impressive man, and she would have preferred his interest to have been of a more cerebral kind. Under normal circumstances she would have offered him no encouragement, but these were not normal circumstances. If she was to discover what was going on at Maralinga, she would need Nick Stratton’s assistance, and if devious means were called for, then so be it.

  For the first time in her life, Elizabeth found herself practising feminine wiles she hadn’t even known she possessed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  In the four months since Daniel’s death, Elizabeth’s resolve had not faltered nor her conviction diminished. She remained steadfast in her determination to discover the truth, and more than ever she refused to believe Daniel had died either by his own hand or accidentally.

  As the rawness of her grief had settled, she’d studied his letter for further clues. She did not view it as the product of a disturbed mind as others might; others, after all, did not know Danny. Certainly, he’d been in a degree of turmoil at the time of his writing, she could see that, but the cause of his turmoil was abundantly clear to her. Danny was an idealist with a love of the army and a strong sense of justice. When he’d suspected his friend’s death might have been a possible military assassination, his faith in the army had been severely shaken, but a man like Danny did not suicide for such a reason. Nor did he suicide through grief suffered over the loss of a comrade. A man like Danny would be driven to discover the truth. Was this why he had met his death?

  She went over and over the contents of the letter, no longer needing to refer to it directly, every word now etched in her mind. Had the army threatened men with court martial if they spoke of what they’d seen? Pete Mitchell had evidently said so, but Danny himself hadn’t appeared too sure. And if men had been threatened with court martial, then what was it they had seen?

  There were many questions to be asked, but of one thing Elizabeth was certain. To find out what had happened to Daniel, she would need to find out what was going on at Maralinga. And she couldn’t do that from the other side of the world.

  After handing in her notice at The Guardian, she’d applied for a position with The Advertiser in Adelaide and had been instantly accepted, the editor only too keen to gain the services of E. J. Hoffmann, whose feature articles in the London Guardian were so impressive.

  Elizabeth’s adventure had begun the moment she’d set foot on board the SS Strathaird at Tilbury Docks one icy-cold morning in early December. As the ship had pulled out into the harbour, she’d leant over the railing waving to her parents who’d come to farewell her, and she’d kept on waving even when they’d been swallowed up by the crowd, just in case they could still see her. Alfred and Marjorie Hoffmann, too, had continued to wave from the dockside, even though they’d no longer been able to distinguish their daughter amongst the hundreds jostling for position on the Strathaird’s decks.

  Unlike the majority of her fellow passengers who were migrating under the post-war assisted-passage scheme offered by the Australian government, Elizabeth was paying her own way. She was therefore free to return to her hom
eland at will, without serving out the scheme’s obligatory two years, but this did not make her chosen course of action any the less momentous. The instant she had decided to leave England, Elizabeth had known that her life was about to undergo a radical change.

  She’d enjoyed the sea voyage. Even the Bay of Biscay’s rough crossing and the overwhelming heat of Port Said had not deterred her, and the Suez Canal she’d found quite remarkable. Unfortunately, disembarkation had been forbidden due to the Suez Crisis, but boat traders had provided an exciting distraction, swarming the ship and selling every conceivable trinket to its captive passengers.

  Most of all though, Elizabeth had loved the vast expanse of ocean and the sense of wonder she’d felt as she’d stood on the deserted deck watching the sunrise over the endless blue water, or when, late at night, she’d looked up at the stars in a sky she’d never seen, a sky clearer and more vivid than the one she’d known in the northern hemisphere with different constellations. At such times, she’d thought of her life and of Daniel’s and of the plans that they’d made, and her thoughts had not saddened her but rather strengthened her purpose. She’d felt he was with her in her search for the truth.

  The first Australian port of call had been Fremantle, and then it had been on to Adelaide, where the Strathaird had arrived just six weeks after departing Tilbury Docks. The next leg of Elizabeth’s adventure had begun.

  She’d bought a map of the city and booked into the Ambassadors Hotel in King William Street. It had proved comfortable enough, but of far greater importance was the fact it was just around the corner from the offices of The Advertiser in Pirie Street.

  As on previous occasions, while not actually lying, Elizabeth had failed to stipulate her gender in her application, and when she’d fronted up to The Advertiser to make herself known, she’d anticipated some hostility, if not from the editor then certainly from her fellow journalists.