Maralinga (33 page)

‘You really do think Danny killed himself, don't you?'

‘I'm afraid I do, Elizabeth, yes. I'm sorry.'

‘I see.' She stood. ‘I won't accept it, you know.'

Reginald also stood. ‘That is your prerogative, of course.'

‘I'll fight it. I'll demand the army conducts an investigation.'

‘You won't get anywhere, my dear. The report is confirmed. The army will take no action. They won't even listen to you.'

‘Then I'll elicit the help of Daniel's parents. The army will have to listen to them.'

‘They will probably pretend to, yes, but it still won't lead anywhere. Even if the parents support your
enquiries, the report will remain the same, and you'll cause the family untold grief. You must say nothing.'

‘So what do you suggest I do?'

‘I suggest you acknowledge the truth. Daniel took his own life.'

‘No. No, he didn't.' She carefully folded the letter and replaced it in her blazer pocket. ‘But I can promise you, I'll find out who did.'

Elizabeth sailed from his office, and Reginald watched through the glass doors as, head held high, she weaved her way amongst the desks of the crowded newsroom, ignoring the sympathetic looks coming from every direction. A woman with a mission, he thought; a mission that might well undermine his career. She would not divulge his name as her informant, he knew, but word would undoubtedly get back that it was him. He'd never be trusted again.

He watched as, with a nod to the reporter who had opened the door for her, she disappeared from the newsroom. Despite the personal threat she posed, Reginald had to admire her. Elizabeth Hoffmann was on a crusade, and that too was her prerogative.

 

As it eventuated, Elizabeth did not undermine Reginald Dempster's career, but not through any conscious decision on her part to avoid doing so. Grateful though she was for his help and his friendship, Reginald's career did not once enter her mind as she sat through the interminable memorial service pondering her course of action. Reginald's words of advice, however, did. And it was his advice that ultimately swung the balance.

‘My son served his country honourably.' Kenneth Gardiner was addressing the congregation from the pulpit. ‘And he died in that service. Be it in peacetime or be it in war, no man can do more than lay down his life for his fellow countrymen …'

Elizabeth found the man offensive. His pomposity angered her. How could he honestly believe that the waste of his son's life was heroic? She wondered how he'd react if he knew the army had written Daniel's death off as a suicide. She wanted to stand up and scream it out at him.
The army doesn't think your son's a hero, you stupid man! The army thinks your son killed himself!
She resisted the urge.

Beside her in the pew sat young Billy. He was in uniform, twenty years old and fresh out of Sandhurst, a lieutenant just as his brother had been. He was looking up at the pulpit and trying to stem his tears, but Elizabeth knew that, although he lacked his father's pomposity, he was no less deluded. In Billy's eyes, his brother had died a noble death.

And seated beside Billy, there was Prudence. Straight-backed, dry-eyed Prudence, who didn't believe her son's death was heroic at all and who bitterly resented his meaningless loss. Elizabeth had seen it in her eyes just the previous night when, over the family dinner table, Prudence had allowed the veil to lift – only slightly, and only for one brief moment, but it had been enough.

Elizabeth had arrived in Crewe the day before the service, bent on eliciting the family's support in approaching the army with a request that Daniel's death be investigated. She had no intention of bringing up the matter until after the memorial service, and had
thought long and hard about how she might make her approach. She would show them the letter first, she'd decided. Hopefully the letter would convince them, as it had her, that Daniel's death had not been accidental and that he'd met with foul play. There was only one problem, however. She could no longer be sure of the letter's impact.

In the week since her meeting with Reg, Elizabeth had tried to be objective about Daniel's letter. She had originally considered it hard evidence – indeed, the principal weapon in her fight to be heard – but Reg Dempster had interpreted its meaning quite differently, and she was now aware that others would too. Although her personal opinion remained unchanged, in studying the letter with the investigative eye of a journalist, she recognised its ambiguity. Pete Mitchell's murder having proved the simple crime of passion it had been purported to be, Daniel's obsession with the case could be seen as unbalanced, even paranoid.

Elizabeth could only hope that upon reading their son's letter, the Gardiners' initial reaction would be the same as her own. In any event, she had decided it was the preferable approach, rather than telling them outright the army was covering up their son's death as a suicide, which was her own very firm belief. Imparting that particular piece of information would be the next step, and one she did not at all relish.

They'd been four at the dinner table the night of her arrival, Billy having been granted a week's leave on compassionate grounds. Elizabeth had not met young Billy before, but, like Daniel, he'd been posted to Aldershot fresh out of Sandhurst and that had made for easy conversation. While Prudence served
up the steak and kidney pudding and Kenneth fetched a bottle of beer, Elizabeth and Billy talked about the Hippodrome and the military parades in Princes Gardens, and even the teashop near the post office in Victoria Road.

‘The best cheesecake in town,' Billy said, his boyishness reminding Elizabeth achingly of Daniel. ‘And about ten different sorts,' he added. ‘It's impossible to choose.'

‘Yes, that's the only trouble,' she agreed. ‘Danny and I could never make up our minds.'

There was the slightest pause and Elizabeth wondered if she'd said the wrong thing. Prudence seemed to hesitate over the final serve of pudding, and Kenneth remained poised by his chair with the bottle of beer.

‘We used to go there a lot,' Elizabeth said with an apologetic query to Billy. Were they not supposed to mention Daniel?

‘Yes, I know you did.' Billy gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Dan told me. He said it's where you finally agreed to marry him.'

‘That's right,' she said, ‘over cheesecake.'

The awkward moment had passed and the two of them embarked upon reminiscences about Daniel. Prudence doled out the plates of pudding and passed around the bowl of Brussels sprouts; she appeared to have relaxed and was enjoying hearing her son spoken of with such love. Kenneth, however, did not seem to share his wife's enjoyment.

‘Beer, Billy?' The tone held a slight reprimand.

‘Thanks, Dad.'

‘Elizabeth?'

‘No, thank you, Mr Gardiner, I'm happy with the water.'

‘Right.'

Kenneth poured the beers, and Billy, his father's reprimand having fallen on deaf ears, embarked upon another childhood story.

‘I remember the time when Dan got caught raiding old Mr McClusky's apple orchard. He was twelve and I was ten, and I was scared to death of the McClusky place because the old boy had three Rottweilers. Anyway, the dogs bailed Dan up in a tree and he had to stay there for over an hour until old Mr McClusky arrived with the local copper.'

‘Why did he risk the Rottweilers in the first place?' Elizabeth asked.

‘It was a dare.'

‘Who dared him?'

‘I did. I was always getting Dan into trouble. He'd accept every dare I came up with. I remember one time he rode his bike –'

‘There's something I'd like to show you, Elizabeth,' Kenneth interrupted, and this time Billy registered a reprimand, although he couldn't think what it was he'd done wrong.

Kenneth Gardiner left the dining room briefly and silence reigned until he reappeared twenty seconds later with a piece of paper.

‘Have a read of that,' he said proudly, and he handed her the letter from the prime minister.

Elizabeth did as she was told, and when she looked up from the letter, she wondered what on earth she was expected to say. There was no need to say anything, she discovered.

‘Impressive, isn't it?' Kenneth pointed to the signature. ‘Personally signed too.'

‘Yes. Yes, I can see that.'

Taking the letter from her, Kenneth carefully placed it on the sideboard, away from the food and out of harm's way. It was his intention to have it framed. Then he returned to the table, but he did not sit.

‘I propose a toast,' he said, picking up his glass, ‘to Captain Daniel Gardiner, who made the ultimate sacrifice for his Queen and country.'

Billy leapt to his feet. He realised now why he'd incurred his father's displeasure, and he felt guilty. On the eve of Dan's memorial service he should have shown more respect.

Prudence and Elizabeth stood also, and all four raised their glasses.

‘To Dan,' Kenneth said.

‘To Dan,' they repeated.

The bittersweet pleasure Prudence had been enjoying had suddenly been snatched from her, and there was resentment in her eyes as she looked at her husband over the rim of her water tumbler. The young ones had been celebrating her son's life with their reminiscences, and now Ken had ushered the empty nothingness of sacrificial death back into the room. She understood his reasons, but she nonetheless cursed him.

That was when Elizabeth had seen the veil lifted.

Kenneth took over the conversation. ‘It's a tremendous blow to us all that Dan's body can't be brought home to England,' he said to Elizabeth. ‘Prudence finds it most upsetting, as I'm sure you must too.'

‘Yes, I do.' Elizabeth glanced at Prudence, but the veil was once more in place, she was giving away
nothing. ‘In fact,' Elizabeth added, emboldened by her feeling for the woman, ‘I wondered whether there might be some grounds of action you could take to have that decision rescinded.'

Kenneth felt a flicker of annoyance, but it quickly disappeared – women, after all, did not understand such things. ‘I don't think so, my dear.' His answer was patronising. ‘Dan died as a result of a nuclear detonation, after all.'

He and Billy exchanged a knowing look. If there
had
been any remains they would have been highly irradiated, but one didn't say such things in the presence of women.

‘I'm aware of the effects of a nuclear detonation, Mr Gardiner, but I still think an appeal to the authorities –'

Kenneth stopped it right there. ‘The army knows best, Elizabeth.' He didn't even need to look at his son to know that Billy was nodding agreement. ‘The army knows best.'

Again Elizabeth glanced at Prudence, but Prudence's eyes did not meet hers. ‘The apple crumble needs to come out of the oven so that it can cool,' she said to no-one in particular, and she left for the kitchen.

Now, Elizabeth sat in the church, fighting back the urge to scream at Kenneth Gardiner as he concluded a eulogy that must surely, she thought, be as sickening to his wife as it was to her.

‘My son knew the ultimate price he risked in the choice of his career,' Kenneth said, ‘and he was prepared to pay that price. Dan loved the army with a passion, and he loved serving his country.' Kenneth Gardiner fought manfully to control the sudden
tremor in his voice. ‘I'm proud, very proud, to have had such a son.'

He returned to sit beside his wife, his eyes staring fixedly ahead, and Elizabeth was surprised to see Prudence quietly take her husband's hand in both of hers. The simple gesture said everything. Without his belief in the purpose of his son's death, Kenneth Gardiner would be a broken man. And, furthermore, his wife knew it.

The service continued. There were other eulogies, and, although none matched Kenneth's in pomposity, they were delivered by military men for the most part and therefore along similar lines. Elizabeth no longer heard the words. Her mind was elsewhere. Only minutes earlier she'd wanted to burst Kenneth's bubble of complacency. She wasn't so sure now. She wasn't sure she could do it to any of them – Prudence or Kenneth or Billy. All was neatly in place. Daniel had died accidentally in the service of his country. The family needed no further complications. In showing them the letter and trying to elicit their help, she would be exposing them to the Maralinga military's suicide report, and to what purpose? Reg had told her categorically that the army would take no investigative action, and there was not a man in the country who knew the workings of the British army better than Reg Dempster. What was it he'd said?
Even if the parents support your enquiries, the report will remain the same, and you'll cause the family untold grief. You must say nothing.

Then and there, with Reg's words echoing in her mind, Elizabeth made her decision. She would follow his advice and say nothing to the family. She would
not, however, heed his further advice and acknowledge Daniel's death as a suicide. She remained totally committed. She would find out the truth, but she would do so alone. And she would need to be alone, she realised. If the army would not listen to the family, then they were hardly likely to listen to her. She would need to infiltrate the system.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the glorious tenor voice of Mario Lanza. It flooded the church with its richness, reverberating amongst the old stone walls and arches.

One of Danny's favourites: ‘You'll Never Walk Alone'. How very appropriate, she thought as the tears sprang involuntarily to her eyes. For the first time throughout the service, Elizabeth felt herself moved, and, beside her, moist-eyed himself, Billy smiled, pleased that his personal selection had hit the mark.

‘I picked that one,' he whispered. ‘Dan loved Mario Lanza.'

‘I know.' She fumbled for her handkerchief.