Maralinga Part 3

'Ah well,' Alfred laughed, 'I've no doubt that'll be rectified soon enough.' He hadn't been trying to catch the boy out at all, but he liked the honest simplicity of his reply. 'Join the army and see the world, eh?' He raised his gla.s.s.

'Yes, sir, I certainly hope so.' Daniel responded to the toast.

Alfred took a hefty mouthful of wine, and there was a moment's silence while he savoured the aftertaste. He swirled the contents of his gla.s.s, studying the colour and 'legs' of the Bordeaux. 'Wonderful thing, travel,' he said finally, and once again he contemplated his oleanders. 'My wife thinks I keep them because they're evocative of my travels and she's quite right, but that's not the princ.i.p.al reason for my attachment.'

After a moment's confusion, Daniel realised they were back to the oleanders.

'They're an ancient plant species, Daniel, from the Old World. True survivors, and great travellers ...'

Marjorie and Elizabeth arrived with the teapot and a small dish of shortbread. They sat in silence, and Marjorie began to pour. Daniel's gaze flickered longingly to the pot. He was unaccustomed to red wine and would vastly have preferred a cup of tea.

'Hardy, tenacious, a remarkable plant with a pa.s.sion for life ...' Alfred, having ignored the women's arrival, had barely drawn breath.

Daniel tore his eyes from the teapot, hoping his momentary lapse had gone unnoticed.

'The oleander is a wanderer, Daniel. A wanderer that settles wherever it can find a home ...'

As his eyes met Alfred Hoffmann's, Daniel found that he could not look away 'It adapts to its environment even under the harshest of conditions. Little wonder I find it such an interesting species, wouldn't you agree?'

Goodness, Elizabeth thought, Danny was certainly copping the full brunt of her father's obsession. She tried to signal a look to him, but couldn't seem to catch his attention.

What was Elizabeth's father trying to say, Daniel wondered. He seemed to be seeking something an answer, perhaps. But an answer to what? What was the question?

'Would you like to know the true reason for my interest in oleanders, Daniel?'

Daniel nodded wordlessly, sensing he was about to receive either the question or the answer, or possibly both.

'I identify with them. The oleanders are a reminder of who I am.'

Marjorie stared at her husband over the rim of her teacup, suddenly realising his intention. How very clever of you, Alfred, she thought.

Elizabeth stared at her father in a state of complete mystification. What on earth was he talking about?

'The oleanders remind me, Daniel, that I am a Jew.'

Alfred Hoffmann, searched the young man's eyes for a sign. Would he see the involuntary flicker of alarm? Was the boy anti-Semitic? If he were, it wouldn't have bothered Alfred one bit. But if Elizabeth was about to relinquish her hard-earned career and follow the conventional path of marriage and family, then Alfred needed to know she had chosen the right man. And if by chance she'd chosen the wrong man, then it was his intention to scare the boy off before it was too late. Alfred's declaration was both a challenge and a test.

'Really, sir?' Daniel held his gaze. 'I didn't know that.'

The boy's reaction was one of surprise, certainly, but there was no flicker of alarm. Far from it. The flicker Alfred saw in the boy's eyes was strangely akin to elation.

'Elizabeth never told me.' Daniel flashed a smile at Elizabeth, trying to sound normal, but barely able to disguise his joy. He was being put to the test! Alfred Hoffmann clearly believed that he, Daniel Gardiner, held a place in his daughter's affections! A quick glance at Elizabeth's mother told Daniel that she felt the same way, and knew exactly what was going on. The only one who appeared unaware was Elizabeth herself. She was studying her father, not with suspicion but utter bewilderment.

Child-like in his excitement, Daniel pushed her for a response. 'Why didn't you tell me, Elizabeth?' he asked, willing her to look at him. But she didn't.

'Why would I?' Elizabeth continued to stare at her father. 'Daddy never tells anyone himself. He doesn't even consider himself Jewish.'

'Exactly, my dear, that's why I need the oleanders to remind me.' Alfred turned once again to Daniel. He was pleased that the boy had pa.s.sed the test he liked him. 'I am descended from a long line of Anglicised Sephardic Jews, Daniel,' he explained, 'but I'm afraid I'm a very poor example of my tribe. I could, perhaps, lay the blame at the feet of my father and grandfather, but I prefer not to. The decision was one of my own making.'

Good heavens, Marjorie thought. Alfred was serious. Surely he didn't have regrets.

'My father and grandfather turned their backs on Judaism,' Alfred continued, 'both of them marrying Gentiles and bringing their children up outside the faith. One would have a.s.sumed that by the third generation, the pa.s.sion for a Jewish ident.i.ty might have burnt itself out, but as a young man there was a time when I was interested in rekindling the flame. I decided, however, to take the easier path and follow the example of my father and grandfather.'

Alfred looked at his wife and smiled rea.s.suringly, knowing just what she was thinking, and remembering how strongly she'd urged him to allow her to convert. Dear, fearless Marjorie who would willingly have severed all ties with her staunchly Protestant parents in order to please him.

'I have had no regrets,' he said, 'no regrets at all.' He continued to address himself to Daniel, but his words were intended for his wife, as she well knew. 'In fact, I would feel a fraud if I attempted to embrace the Jewish faith now. But at this later stage in my life, I like to remind myself of where I once came from. And who I believe, deep down, I really am.'

Marjorie Hoffmann leaned across the table and took her husband's hand, squeezing it briefly. The look of tenderness shared between the two did not go unnoticed by Elizabeth and Daniel.

It was Marjorie herself who broke the moment. 'Well, well, I do believe,' she remarked to her daughter, 'that the mystery of the oleanders has finally been solved.'

'Yes,' Elizabeth replied with a smile, 'I do believe it has.'

'May I top you up, my darling?' Marjorie reached for the wine bottle.

'Please.' Alfred felt quite euphoric. His aim had been simply to put his daughter's potential suitor to the test, but he'd unburdened himself in the process. He'd never intended to share the intensely personal secret of his oleanders, but now that he had, he was glad. He'd found the exercise strangely cathartic.

As she poured the wine, Marjorie noticed Daniel's barely touched gla.s.s. 'I think Daniel might prefer a cup of tea,' she said.

Daniel left barely half an hour later. Thanks and farewells were exchanged at the front door, and Elizabeth walked with him down the front path to where the army Land Rover was parked by the dirt track that led to the main road. Daniel and his several fellow lieutenants who were in charge of the battalion's motor pool had a simple arrangement whoever was on duty signed out a vehicle to whoever wasn't. The regulation warning they issued had become a running joke. 'Naturally, no non-military person will be transported in this vehicle ...' 'Naturally,' came the response, and winks were exchanged.

'I've had a grand evening,' he said as they arrived beside the Land Rover. He'd driven Elizabeth out from Aldershot, but she was staying the night with her parents, as she always did. Her father would drop her at Reigate railway station the following day.

'So have I,' she replied. 'Birthdays don't mean much to me as a rule, but tonight's been special.'

'That's good.'

For Daniel the evening had been far more than special. Elizabeth's parents had raised his hopes in the most spectacular fashion. They'd not only confirmed his secret belief that she cared for him more than she would admit, but he was convinced that in so doing they had signalled their blessing. Daniel felt part of a glorious conspiracy.

'I wonder why he chose tonight,' Elizabeth continued thoughtfully.

'Who? What?'

'Daddy. I've been nagging him for ages about the oleanders, and he's never mentioned their symbolism. Why would he decide to talk about the Jewish connection tonight of all nights? And to you, of all people?'

Daniel smiled to himself. For such a highly intelligent woman, Elizabeth could be quite obtuse at times. 'Perhaps he needed to tell a stranger.'

'Yes.' She nodded. 'Yes, I think you're right.' Of course, she thought, that would make sense. 'In fact, I'm sure you're right.' She laughed lightly. 'And my goodness, he certainly enjoyed telling you, didn't he? It was rather like a confession, I thought.'

Daniel nodded, but he wasn't concentrating. His eyes had strayed to her lips and he was wondering whether he dared kiss her.

'I'm glad you were here, Danny,' she said. 'I'm really glad. Thank you for coming.'

As she pecked him affectionately on the cheek, he realised she was about to go.

'I like your parents,' he said, stopping her in her tracks.

'They liked you too, I could tell.'

'They're extraordinary people,' he said, 'truly extraordinary.' Now? he asked himself. Was now the right moment?

Elizabeth gave a sudden hoot of laughter. He was studying her as if she were some sort of alien species he'd obviously found her parents far more than extraordinary. 'Well, I did tell you they were odd.'

'Yes, they're odd,' he agreed. 'But they're admirably odd.' Her laughter warned him to be careful. She was so unsuspecting that perhaps it would be wiser to signal his feelings rather than shock her. 'They're just the sort of admirably odd people who would produce a daughter like you,' he said. And he kissed her.

He didn't take her in his arms the way he would have liked, but at least he kissed her. He didn't kiss her in the way he would have liked either, but at least it was on the lips. It was the sort of safe kiss that affectionate family members might share. But they were not affectionate family members, were they? The message was loud and clear, he thought. The next move would be up to her.

'Goodnight, Elizabeth.'

Elizabeth watched the Land Rover take off down the track. How strange, she thought, Danny had never kissed her on the lips before. He was young and impetuous and no doubt inspired by the warm reception he'd received from her parents, but it wasn't the sort of thing to be encouraged. She wondered whether she should say something.

But as she walked back to the house, she chastised herself. His gesture had been one of brotherly affection, nothing more. It would be very silly of her to overdramatise the episode and threaten the perfect balance of their friendship.

The following weekend, Daniel was rostered on as duty officer at the barracks, and, unable to bear the thought of waiting nearly a whole fortnight to see Elizabeth, he telephoned her mid-week at The Courier-Mail.

'Want to come to the Hippodrome on Friday?' he asked. The invitation was offered casually enough, but this time he didn't lie about having been given tickets by a friend. He didn't think it necessary. She would surely have recognised the subtle shift in their relationship after Sat.u.r.day night's kiss. He listened intently for any giveaway nuance.

'I can't,' came the brisk reply down the line. 'Sorry.'

His heart sank. This was not at all the outcome he'd antic.i.p.ated. He'd obviously offended her.

'I won't be back from London in time,' she said. 'I'm going up on Thursday and staying overnight. I have an appointment Friday afternoon.'

He breathed a sigh of relief. She sounded more businesslike than angry. Thank G.o.d for that, he thought. 'What sort of appointment?'

'Oh, Danny, the most wonderful thing's happened. Well, it hasn't happened yet, but it could. I won't know until Friday.' No longer businesslike, the words were tumbling out in her excitement. 'Wish me luck,' she said breathlessly. 'I'm going to need it.'

'For what? What on earth's going on?'

'I'm not saying. It's a secret and I'm not saying another word. But think of me at three o'clock on Friday, and keep your fingers firmly crossed.'

'Three o'clock, right you are.' A thought occurred. 'Why are you going up Thursday? Why not take the Friday morning train?'

'I have a fitting with a tailor in Mayfair on Thursday, and I need to learn, very quickly, how to smoke a cigar. I'll telephone you when I get back. Bye.'

The line went dead and Daniel hung up the receiver. He didn't ponder the mystery of Elizabeth's trip to London. All he could think about was Sat.u.r.day night's kiss and the fact that it had made no impact whatsoever.

CHAPTER THREE.

There was a tap on the door of Lionel Brock's office.

'Enter,' he called in full baritone. He was a heavily built man with a voice to match.

The door opened, but only slightly, as pretty little Mabel Tomley popped her head through.

'Your three o'clock appointment is here, Mr Brock ...'

'Show him in then, dear.'

Lionel glanced down at the open file on his desk, pushed back his chair and levered himself to his feet. He would have preferred her to have informed him of his three o'clock appointment via the telephone's intercommunication system as he'd instructed, but young Mabel was new to the job and still learning the ropes, so he decided to let it go for now.

Mabel cast a hesitant glance over her shoulder.

'Show him in, show him in,' Lionel said with a slightly impatient wave of his hand.

'Well, that's just it, sir ... Um ...'

'Um, what?' The girl was becoming annoying.

'Him ...' Mabel's big baby-blue eyes were saucer-like. 'I thought I'd better warn you, Mr Brock. You see he's not actually '

'That's quite enough of that, Mabel,' Lionel said sharply. 'I'll be the judge of character around here. Now do as you're told and show the man in, there's a good girl.'

Mabel's barely perceptible shrug could have been one of subservience, but as the door swung open and she stood to one side, the baby-blue eyes said, Right you are, see if I care. Mabel was much feistier than most people realised.

A young man stepped into the open doorway. A very self-a.s.sured young man, Lionel thought. Legs astride, one hand on hip, the stance could even be construed as arrogant. Lionel looked him up and down. First appearances were of the utmost importance in Lionel Brock's book. Elegant chap, he thought, very dapper, well-cut pinstriped suit, dove-grey fedora of top quality, but very, very young, little more than a youth. Lionel was rather surprised this was not the middle-aged rustic journalist he'd been expecting.

Then, to his amazement, the young man saluted him with a lighted cigar, raised it to his lips and took a leisurely drag. The cheeky devil, Lionel thought. But he couldn't help admiring the impudence of the performance, recognising, as he did, that he was being played at his own game. His advice to budding journalists about the importance of first impressions had been widely broadcast, and it was a well-known fact that he himself was a cigar smoker. The lad had done his homework and was making a statement in putting on such a show. Well, good for you, boy, Lionel thought.

'Mr Hoffmann,' he said as he circled his desk, hand outstretched.

The young man exhaled a perfect plume of cigar smoke and strode boldly forward to receive the handshake.

'Yes, sir. E. J. Hoffmann at your service.'

The voice and the hand made their impact simultaneously. The voice Lionel heard was not that of a man, and, although the clasp of the hand in his was firm and manly enough, the slenderness of the fingers and the texture of the skin were most certainly not.

Lionel pulled his hand away as though he feared contagion, and his eyes darted to the doorway where his young secretary stood watching.

Mabel gave another tiny shrug which could have been apologetic, but which really said, See? I tried to warn you. Then she raised an obediently secretarial eyebrow seeking instructions.

'Thank you, Mabel,' he said. 'That will be all.'

'Yes, Mr Brock.'

Mabel glanced at E. J. Hoffmann as she closed the door. G.o.d, she wished she had guts like that.

Lionel returned to his desk, seeking a safe distance and a barrier between them. He was confronted and angered by the deception, but, above all, he felt foolish, humiliated even. He needed to buy time.

'So you're a woman, my dear,' he said with an over-hearty chuckle, wishing he could turn the whole thing into a joke and pretend he'd known all along. 'Very clever, I must say, very clever indeed. Had me fooled for a minute, I must say.'

'Pity I couldn't have fooled you a bit longer we might have been able to have an intelligent conversation.' Elizabeth followed him to the desk, aware of his embarra.s.sment, knowing she might well be pushing too hard, but having taken the extreme steps she had, what did she have to lose? 'Because that's all I ask, Mr Brock the same conversation you would have had with the writer of that article,' she waved her cigar at the open file on his desk, 'had that writer been a man.'