'Would if I could, sir, but it's beyond my control.' Norman gave a regretful shrug as though he cared, although he didn't really. 'Lord Dartleigh has requested you drive him to Ceduna.'

'Ceduna?' The a.s.signment was something of a surprise. It was half a day's drive six hours at least and much of it over rough roads that were little more than dirt tracks.

'That's right, sir.' Norman consulted his roster chart. 'The request came in yesterday evening. You're to collect him from his quarters at 0800 hours, you're to be in mufti, and the trip will require an overnight stay. You've been booked into the Ceduna Community Hotel.'

'Oh, I see.'

Norman could tell that the young lieutenant wasn't at all happy with his a.s.signment, and he felt a genuine twinge of sympathy. He wouldn't fancy being stuck in the middle of nowhere with a toff like Dartleigh either he had no time for the gentry himself, stuck-up b.a.s.t.a.r.ds the whole blooming lot of them. 'It seems his lordship is bored, sir too long between bombs needs a bit of R and R.' Norman gave a derisive snort. 'Well, don't we all. Half his luck, I say.'

'Thank you, Sergeant.' There were times when Norman stepped right out of line.

'Sorry I can't be of more help, Lieutenant.' Although he sensed a slight reprimand, Norman didn't care in the least. He didn't care about anything except serving the remaining three months of his posting, collecting his substantial pay and getting away from this G.o.dforsaken place. 'I just sign out the vehicles, sir, you know how it is.'

Norman was right about Harold Dartleigh: he was bored; it was too long between bombs and he needed some R and R. He too couldn't wait to get away from Maralinga, but, unlike Norman, he wouldn't have to wait three months.

Just one more test to go, Harold thought as he stared out of the Land Rover's pa.s.senger seat window at the endless desert rolling by. Just four more days until the final firing in the Buffalo series and then he'd be on a plane home. He'd been counting the days for some time now. He would need to return to Maralinga every several months or so one must maintain a presence but Gideon would keep him regularly posted, and his trips would be brief, no more than a week or so. Of course, there would be Operation Antler, the second of the major test series next year, but that was thankfully a whole ten months away.

The plains of spinifex were giving way to salt pan territory now, none of which in the least impressed Harold. G.o.d, it was a h.e.l.lhole, he thought. He'd been stuck in this primitive wasteland for over four wretched weeks and it had been altogether too long. He frankly didn't know how the men bore it.

'How much longer do you have to go, Dan?' he asked.

'Quite a distance, sir.' The question took Daniel by surprise, he'd been deep in thought. 'We're only halfway to Yalata at least another three hours. We'll pick up speed when we get to the Eyre Highway.'

'No, no, lad,' Harold said with a touch of impatience, 'I mean how much longer do you have to serve at Maralinga?' The boy seemed rather distracted, he thought.

'Oh, I see. Sorry, sir, I misunderstood. Another six months my posting's up the end of April.'

'Six months!' Harold gazed out the window. The stark, parched red earth with its salt-encrusted surface looked to him like some hideous lunar landscape. 'Goodness gracious,' he murmured, more to himself than to Daniel, 'how on earth will you bear it?'

'I rather like the geography of the desert, sir.'

'You do?' Harold turned to stare at his driver. The boy was insane. 'Why?'

'It's so extraordinarily primitive.'

'Yes, it's certainly that.'

'And it's so varied.'

'Really?' Harold once again looked out the window. He couldn't quite see the variation himself. But then Dan was a sensitive lad. Such an attractive quality in a young man, he thought. 'Perhaps I suffer a touch of agoraphobia,' he said, 'but there's just a little too much s.p.a.ce for my liking.'

He settled happily back in his seat, prepared for a chat. The boy's company would alleviate the boredom of the scenery it was why he'd chosen Dan, after all. Imagine being locked in a car for six hours with Ned Hanson! And then another six hours all the way back!

'A whole six months, eh? You'll be chafing at the bit by the time you get off the plane, I warrant.'

'I daresay you're right, sir,' Daniel replied. 'It'll be good to be home.'

'No, no, no, my boy, I mean you'll be chafing at the bit to get married, what? Elizabeth, that's her name, am I not correct? She doesn't care at all for tradition, she doesn't want a white wedding with all the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, and you're going to marry her the moment you step off the plane.' Harold beamed triumphantly.

'That's right, sir. Fancy you remembering that.' Daniel flashed a smile at Harold Dartleigh; he couldn't help but feel flattered.

'I always remember things about people who interest me, Dan.' It was true, Harold did. Just as he remembered absolutely nothing about those he found dull. He had no idea whether or not Ned Hanson was married, and Ned had been working with the department for years. 'So tell me about Elizabeth. She sounds absolutely enchanting.'

'She's a journalist, sir.'

'Ah. A liberated woman.'

'Indeed, sir, a most liberated woman. In fact, Elizabeth's the most liberated woman I've ever met.'

'How admirable. And for whom does she write?' The subject of Elizabeth was of no interest at all to Harold, but he was seeking entertainment and young Dan, in speaking of his fiancee, was bound to delight.

Daniel could see that Lord Dartleigh was in the mood for a chat. He had preferred the silence of the drive when they'd both been lost in their own thoughts, but it was flattering that the man should show such an interest, and with great pride he told Harold of Elizabeth's job at The Guardian.

'The Guardian? Really?' Harold was somewhat surprised, but the announcement did not elevate Elizabeth to any particular level of fascination. He was, however, pleased to observe that he'd been correct about Daniel. The boy was positively glowing. 'And a feature writer no less,' he continued, 'most impressive. Your Elizabeth is obviously a very clever girl.'

Daniel could well imagine Elizabeth's response to being referred to as 'a very clever girl'. How extraordinarily patronising, he could hear her say.

'She is, sir, she's very clever indeed.'

The conversation had aroused a longing in Daniel. Elizabeth was always in his thoughts, but it had been some time since he'd spoken her name out loud, or heard it spoken by another. Now, talking of her brought her painfully close and he yearned for her company. Their correspondence had become unsatisfying in its enforced superficiality. He had communicated to her in full the powerful effect the desert had had upon him, and these days he wrote of only trivial matters. There was no point in composing poetic love letters, even if he'd had the talent Elizabeth was not one for sentiment. And apart from his love, what else of any importance could he communicate? Certainly nothing about Maralinga. Daniel had never felt so isolated. There was no-one in whom he could confide, and now, more than ever, he needed a confidant.

'So where did you two meet, Dan?' The boy had gone quiet, which rather irritated Harold. 'Do tell me, I'm absolutely fascinated.'

But Daniel didn't hear the question. A sudden thought had occurred to him. He could confide in Elizabeth. Of course he could. This trip was a G.o.d-given opportunity. He could post a letter from Ceduna. With the realisation came a great sense of relief, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

'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 pa.s.senger 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 foresh.o.r.e 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 t.i.tle. 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 t.i.tle 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 pa.s.sage. 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 G.o.d, 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 cla.s.s 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 const.i.tutional, 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 legally 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 gla.s.s 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 gla.s.s of port. His lack of comment was a comment in itself, although the waitress appeared unfazed as she plonked the gla.s.s 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 cla.s.sified information, I'm afraid.' He tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger in the cla.s.sic 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 a.s.sured 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 G.o.d into people without them even knowing why or how.