The comment only added insult to injury as far as Penney was concerned. 'There's been not the slightest hint of any breach of security throughout the tests I've conducted.'

'Well ...' Harold looked just a little dubious. 'A whisper did reach our ears that Operation Hurricane came close to being compromised.'

'How?' William Penney was understandably appalled. Having received a knighthood from Queen Elizabeth II for heading the successful detonation of Britain's first nuclear device in the Monte Bello Islands, he was outraged that Dartleigh should cast a shadow over the momentous event. 'How and by whom, exactly, was Operation Hurricane compromised?'

'Oh, come, come, William, you of all people can't expect me to answer such a question.' Harold managed to flatter and patronise at the same time, a skill he'd perfected over the years. 'Need to know, old man.' He smiled and tapped his nose with his forefinger in true conspiratorial fashion. 'Need to know.'

The adage was one Sir William Penney himself regularly used, and the practice was one he intended to adopt at Maralinga, where everyone, scientists and armed forces alike, would work strictly on a need-to-know-only basis. It was clear that Harold Dartleigh intended to annoy him, Penney thought. He maintained a dignified silence.

Harold decided it was time to back off. 'Nothing to worry about, William, I can a.s.sure you. A minor leak safely discovered and contained.' There had been no breach of security at all at Monte Bello, but Harold had felt the need to establish himself in the pecking order. 'Just as I can a.s.sure you,' he continued, 'that MI6 will in no way influence the chain of command at Maralinga.' He smiled jovially. 'Good heavens above, I won't even be there half the time.'

'I trust you will communicate that in the briefing,' Penney said stiffly. 'Shall we go in? I believe they're ready for us.'

William Penney had reluctantly invited Harold Dartleigh to a heads of departments meeting at Aldermaston in Berkshire. Roughly twenty miles northwest of Aldershot, RAF Aldermaston, an abandoned World War II airfield, had for several years been the selected home for Britain's nuclear weapons program.

'After you, William.' Harold stepped courteously aside, giving a quick nod as he did so to Ned Hanson, his a.s.sisting officer, who had been waiting by the main doors discreetly out of earshot. 'After you.'

Ned joined them, and the three entered the briefing room, where around twenty men were seated waiting. Scientists and engineers from every area of expertise, they headed the various departments of Sir William Penney's research team.

Harold and Ned Hanson sat in the vacant chairs that had been reserved for them down the front, while William Penney marched directly to the table facing the a.s.sembly, behind which, on the wall, was a projection screen. He did not introduce Harold Dartleigh, nor did he make any formal address to the gathering, having greeted his team earlier and chatted with each man personally, well before the arrival of the MI6 representatives.

'Let's get straight down to business, shall we,' he said, signalling to his young a.s.sistant who was standing by the slide projector at the rear of the room.

Shades were drawn over the windows, the room dimmed, and a large map of Australia appeared on the screen. Picking up the slender wooden baton that served as an indicator, William Penney proceeded to give an account of the testing ground, its location and the reasons for its choice.

The Maralinga site, he explained, was approximately 250 miles north-west of the coastal township of Ceduna, and roughly 600 miles from Adelaide, the capital city of South Australia. A remote region where the Great Victoria Desert met the Nullarbor Plain, it was barren, uninhabited and the perfect choice for nuclear weapon testing. The desert terrain was flat with little scrub cover, but sandhills to the south formed a natural barrier, which was ideal for security purposes. His glance at Harold Dartleigh was a reminder that security was always uppermost in his mind.

Harold read the meaning in the glance and smiled pleasantly.

Penney called for the next slide, and a plan of the site appeared on the screen. He talked his team through its layout: the landing strip and airport, the experimental areas and laboratories, and the village designed to accommodate, during peak requirements, up to 3000 men.

Contrary to Harold's scathing opinion, William Penney excelled in command, and the team members present, most of whom had worked with him on previous projects and held him in high regard, listened respectfully as he continued.

Further slides were projected and, over images depicting a vast and desolate landscape, Penney explained the harsh conditions under which they would all live the searing heat of the days and the unexpected chill of the desert nights. He summed up with good humour, however. 'Most of the time it'll be as hot as Hades,' he said, 'but the army is building a swimming pool, so all is not lost.'

There were chuckles amongst the men, and, as Penney placed the baton on the table signalling the end of his talk, there was a smattering of applause, which he acknowledged but quickly stemmed, holding up his hands for silence.

'I have received notification from the Prime Minister's Office that MI6 is taking a particularly strong interest in the Maralinga project. As everyone here is aware, security has been a foremost issue in all our past work, and will continue to be so at Maralinga. I am sure, therefore, that you will all join me in welcoming aboard Harold Lord Dartleigh, who, as most of you will know, is the deputy director of MI6.'

The abrupt, and very pointed, introduction did not in the least bother Harold who rose from his chair offering his hand.

'Thank you, Sir William,' he said.

As they shook, Harold gained a smug satisfaction from the image they presented. No-one could fail to notice that the peer of the realm stood a good half a head taller than the bespectacled little scientist.

Gesturing that the floor was now Harold's, William Penney retired to a nearby chair, and Harold initiated a token round of applause, which to some might have seemed just a fraction patronising.

'One might well ask what possible advantage MI6 has to offer in the light of Sir William's impeccable leadership over the years,' he said with a smile, which, if intended to be self-deprecating, didn't work, but then he didn't really intend it to. 'And the answer is very little, because very little is necessary. Our presence at Maralinga will simply be an added precaution, given the precarious and uncertain times in which we live.'

He beckoned to his a.s.sisting officer, and Ned, a burly, pleasant-looking man in his early thirties, joined him.

'I'd like to introduce Ned Hanson of MI6's Defence Signals Branch who will be permanently stationed at Maralinga.' Dropping the charm, Harold got down briskly to the business of the day. 'I'd be most grateful if you'd extend Ned every courtesy and a.s.sist him with any enquiries he may have on my behalf. Your help will be of inestimable value, and most appreciated, believe me. I shall, of course, be down there myself from time to time, but for the most part,' he clapped Ned heartily on the shoulder, 'Ned's your man.'

Business over, the charm once again emerged. 'Our presence will be very low key,' he said, 'more secretarial than anything really. None of that cloak-and-dagger stuff, I can a.s.sure you in fact you'll hardly notice we're there.' He gave a personable grin and gazed around the room, establishing eye contact with as many as he could. 'I look forward to working with you all very much, and I thank you for your attention.'

Harold was pleased. The tone of his address had impressed the men, he could tell as well it should. The situation had called for diplomacy, and his balance between the authoritative and the informal had been perfect.

'Thank you, Sir William,' he said, relinquishing the floor with gracious aplomb. 'I appreciate this opportunity to chat to the team.' He returned to his seat, the implication being you may carry on.

As Sir William Penney rose to conclude the briefing, he thought how very little Harold Dartleigh had changed. The man was as arrogant, detestable and self-opinionated as he had been at Cambridge. They didn't need him at Maralinga. The whole team had been working like a well-oiled machine for years on every level, including that of security. And now, when all their hard work had paid off and they were to be awarded the supreme opportunity of a permanent nuclear testing site, MI6 was stepping in. They didn't need MI6, he thought. And certainly not in the form of Harold Dartleigh.

The King's Rooms, in the heart of London, not far from Soho Square, was a highly exclusive gentlemen's club. Rumoured to have been one of King George IV's favourite haunts, with bawdy bars and backrooms and accommodation upstairs for whatever resulted from the evening's activities, its architecture and its history were colourful. The former tavern had been converted to a club for gentlemen in the early Edwardian era, when adventurous entrepreneurs had simultaneously acquired the adjoining property and linked the two to create an opulent health spa, complete with black and white marble-tiled steam rooms and mineral baths. Now, nearly fifty years on, the King's Rooms, with its historic bathhouse, plush lounges, fine dining and service par excellence, was a renowned oasis for gentlemen of the upper cla.s.ses. Here the idle rich and the elite of the professional world could mingle freely, unbothered by the common herd.

For Harold Dartleigh, the King's Rooms was a home away from home.

'I shall be staying at the club tonight,' he said to his wife as he prepared to leave for London.

'Very well, dear. You haven't forgotten that Catherine's arriving tomorrow, have you?'

'Of course not.' He had. 'I shall be home in time for dinner, I promise.'

He picked up his briefcase, and his wife followed him into the main hall where Wilson, the butler, was waiting beside the front doors.

'Excellent.' Lavinia's smile was just a little forced. He'd forgotten all about his daughter's arrival, she thought. He wouldn't have forgotten if it had been Nigel. 'She's so looking forward to seeing you.'

Lavinia very much doubted whether Catherine was looking forward to seeing her father at all the friction between them was not one-sided but she considered it her duty to offer the pretence of their daughter's affection.

Harold donned the hat and scarf Wilson offered, but not the overcoat, choosing to carry it instead it would be warm in the car.

The butler swung open the doors, and Harold and Lavinia, arms linked about each other's waists like young lovers, walked outside into the main courtyard and the crisp cold of the morning.

'Take care, my darling,' she said, kissing him tenderly on the lips as she always did.

'I shall, my love.' He returned the kiss with equal tenderness, feeling the faintest sense of arousal as he recalled their lovemaking the previous night.

'I'll miss you,' she whispered, and they exchanged a smile, both aware of what the other was thinking.

'I'll miss you too.' He kissed her again before crossing the gravelled courtyard to where the Bentley was waiting, the chauffeur standing to attention beside the rear pa.s.senger door.

The engine turned over, Harold settled himself and, as the car slowly pulled away, gazed through the window at his wife. Captured in the clear frosty light, with the ivy-clad stone walls of the house a perfect background, she looked so beautifully English. Lavinia was still such an attractive woman, he thought. How very lucky he was.

Harold made love to his wife on a regular basis. With the exception of those times when he was called away from home, he made a point of having s.e.xual intercourse once a week, sometimes twice if business did not necessitate his staying in the city for a night or so. He considered s.e.x beneficial on all levels. Good s.e.xual relations lent vitality to his marriage, ensured his wife's contentment, and enhanced their public image as a couple. Besides, he very much enjoyed it.

The steam baths and pools of the King's Rooms were deserted, as was customary in the mid-afternoon. But this was Friday. In an hour or so they would be crowded with prominent businessmen, barristers, politicians and the odd judge, all winding down after a long week's work, some buying time before embarking upon a weekend of family duties they might have preferred to ignore.

Harold, towel around his waist, skin a glistening mix of sweat and water, sat alone on one of the marble benches in the main steam room, the mist all-enveloping and the silence absolute but for the steady drip-drip of condensation. The steam rooms of the Edwardian bathhouse had been beautifully preserved. A large arch led from the main room to several smaller rooms, all linked with arches, and the floors throughout were impressively tiled in black and white marble. The ceramic wall tiles also being black and white, the overall effect was surreal, a misty, maze-like, all-consuming chessboard.

Having checked out the steam rooms and finding them deserted, Harold now sat facing the main door, awaiting the arrival of his guest. He loved having the place to himself. He'd deliberately arrived a good twenty minutes early in the hope there'd be no-one here. He hoped no-one would arrive during his planned meeting too he enjoyed talking business in the steam rooms. No matter though if the place got crowded, they could easily adjourn to one of the private lounges.

To Harold, the King's Rooms was far more than a home away from home; it was a highly valued place of business where confidences could be exchanged free of potential eavesdroppers and gossipmongers. At the King's Rooms an English gentleman's privacy was respected, which, in Harold's line of business, was eminently desirable.

The door opened and a towel-clad figure stood silhouetted against the light. Even through the veil of steam, Harold couldn't fail to recognise the body. Few were as finely honed as Gideon Melbray.

'h.e.l.lo, Gideon,' he said.

'I take it that's you, Harold?' Gideon closed the door and made his way towards the voice.

'Of course it is, man. Good to see you.'

Harold shook the younger man's hand, and Gideon sat, peering about, his eyes adjusting to the gloom.

'Got the place to ourselves, have we?'

'We have.'

'That's lucky.'

'Not really. The baths are generally deserted around this time of day.'

'Ah.' Gideon nodded. 'Right.' He wouldn't know himself he wasn't a member of the King's Rooms, visiting the club only on the rare occasions Harold summoned him. Usually they met in one of the lounges.

'I left word at the front door,' Harold said. 'I presume you had no trouble getting in?'

'Good G.o.d, no, far from it. Mention your name and it's open sesame around here. The head doorman treated me like I was royalty.'

'Glad to hear it.' Harold smiled, pleased by the remark. But then he'd always found Gideon's admiration pleasing. Anyone would. It was flattering to be admired by an Adonis.

Gideon Melbray was indeed a handsome man. Gifted with a charm he knew how to use and with golden-haired looks that belied his thirty-five years, Gideon somehow managed to maintain the essence of youth. He and Harold had met at the British emba.s.sy in Washington just prior to the end of the war, when Gideon, a newly-arrived attache, had replaced Harold's previous a.s.sistant.

Gideon had been instantly in awe of the worldly Harold Dartleigh, heir to a peerage and the epitome of sophistication. Harold, in turn, had been flattered by the young man's unashamed admiration, and had happily become his mentor, inviting him into his home and therefore his life.

Lavinia, too, had taken Gideon under her wing. She'd introduced him to Washington's elite, who, impressed by his beauty, had welcomed him into their midst. Gideon's beauty, however, had not been his princ.i.p.al calling card. Any friend of the Dartleighs would have been acceptable. The acknowledged doyens of Washington society, along with the crustiest of old-money families, had embraced Harold and Lavinia from the outset. An English t.i.tle always had been, and always would be, the perfect entree to the capital city of the free world.

At the end of the war, when the Dartleighs had returned to England, they had relinquished all personal ties with Gideon, despite the fact that he too had returned to his mother country. Lavinia would have liked to have kept in touch, but Harold had deliberately allowed the relationship to peter out, deeming it wise for professional reasons, which he did not share with his wife.

In accepting his position with MI6, the first person Harold had recruited had been Gideon Melbray. Gideon, with his looks and charm, had a talent for insinuating himself into the lives of others, an a.s.set Harold had recognised as invaluable in a covert operative. His judgement had proved correct and Gideon, while ostensibly serving in the diplomatic corps, had become one of MI6's most valued undercover agents. It was no longer possible for the two of them to socialise openly as they had in Washington.

'How's Lavinia?' Gideon sprawled indolently on the bench, his back against the wall, his legs spread wide, surrendering himself to the sensuality of the heat. 'I haven't seen her since the French emba.s.sy ball, and that was months ago.'

Whenever he b.u.mped into Lavinia, as he did on occasions London could be a very small place for those who mingled in certain circles Gideon took great care to observe the rules. He always had an excuse at the ready when an invitation was extended, but he regretted the necessity. He missed Lavinia. He'd been immensely fond of her during their Washington days.

'I thought she was looking splendid,' he said. 'Quite the most beautiful woman there in fact '

'Lavinia's very well, thank you,' Harold interrupted, brusquely dispensing with the niceties they were not here to talk about his wife. 'Let's get on with things, shall we,' and he proceeded to give a succinct account of Sir William Penney's briefing at Aldermaston the previous week.

Accustomed to Harold's manner and unfazed by his rudeness, Gideon raked the damp hair from his face, sat forward, elbows on his knees, and listened attentively.

'The boffins will close ranks on us,' Harold said in conclusion. 'Penney's highly protective, and his team works on a strictly need-to-know basis they'll play safe and report only on their specific areas of expertise. Not one of them will dare offer an inside observation or opinion, which means we'll be left well and truly in the dark.' Annoyance flashed in his steely eyes. 'It's ludicrous allowing boffins to run the show, it's not their place. I intend to know everything and to be one step ahead the whole time, which is where you come in.'

'What about your man from Defence Signals Branch, Ned what's-his-name?'

'Hanson he's a plodder. Non-a.s.sertive, strictly clerk material, which is why I chose him. He'll do his job, mind his own business, and everyone will feel safe with him.' Wiping the sweat from his face with a hand towel, Harold allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction. 'Ned will be our perfect frontman. He'll plod along unwittingly, the face of MI6, while you will gain people's trust and gather what you can.'

'And my cover?'

'You'll be working with the Department of Supply. I'll have you transferred for training in the next couple of months, and when you've served time there, you'll be seconded to Maralinga as senior requisitions officer. As SRO you'll have freedom of access to most areas, but if you run into any difficulties, you'll contact me and I'll arrange the necessary clearance.'

'Sounds like the perfect set-up.'

'Yes, it does rather, doesn't it?'

They shared a smile, and Harold stood. 'Ready for a cold plunge?'

'I'm game if you are.'

Outside, the modernised pools, shower bays and benches, which retained the black and white tiled motif of the original steam baths, remained deserted, but business was clearly about to pick up. From the nearby change rooms came the sound of male voices and the slam of locker doors.

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.

'b.l.o.o.d.y, b.l.o.o.d.y freezing,' he said breathlessly as he scrambled out and accepted the fresh towel Harold handed him. 'b.l.o.o.d.y, b.l.o.o.d.y freezing and b.l.o.o.d.y, b.l.o.o.d.y 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 circ.u.mstances, I might just find myself somewhat in demand.'

'You know exactly what I mean, d.a.m.n 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 a.s.sure 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 succ.u.mbed equally to his charms and Gideon himself was quite happy to serve both. A true hedonist, he found pleasure in all forms of s.e.x, and gave pleasure in return. The information he'd garnered from his willing conquests had proved invaluable over the years.