Maralinga (36 page)

‘I appreciate the security factor, Colonel,' Elizabeth replied, her voice projecting clearly from the back of the room. She was aware she was being patronised. ‘These are perilous times and we need to tread warily. But I believe the public has a right to be informed about the basic purpose of these trials. They do, after all, involve the use of nuclear materials, isn't this so?'

‘Naturally they do, Miss Hoffmann, which is hardly surprising, as I'm sure all those present will appreciate.' This time his tone was distinctly condescending. ‘The Maralinga range was established for the sole purpose of nuclear experimentation.'

Nick was not in the least unnerved by the woman's questions, which were plainly based upon ignorance rather than fact, but he was very much distracted by her looks and her manner. She was incredibly striking and, even from a distance, her eyes met his with a challenge that was fearless. He couldn't help but find the mixture of womanliness and strength extraordinarily attractive, and the fact irritated him intensely. Elizabeth Hoffmann was clearly aware of the effect
she had on men and was using it to gain an advantage. He was annoyed with her for doing so, and annoyed with himself for responding.

‘As I've said on many an occasion,' once again he included the general assembly, ‘I am not at liberty to discuss the specifics of the trials, but the safety aspect is most certainly within my domain. In fact, as liaison officer, it is my principal duty to report on the precautionary measures set in place. So, Miss Hoffmann, in answer to your question …' There was no patronising edge to his voice now as he addressed her personally. He spoke patiently and evenly, aware that he must not allow his irritation to show. He would not permit her that advantage. ‘Although certain nuclear materials are used under strictly controlled conditions, I can assure you that the minor trials do not involve nuclear explosions.'

Having answered her question, to his mind quite satisfactorily, Nick expected her to sit down, but she didn't, so he turned his attention to the rest of the gathering. ‘Responsibility for safety on the range during these tests lies with the British trials superintendent …'

As he embarked upon a general description of the trials' safety protocol, he was disconcerted by the fact that Elizabeth Hoffmann remained standing. She was being deliberately provocative, he decided, and he determined to ignore her. But he found that he couldn't. Her attention was focused upon him with such intensity that his eyes were continuously drawn to her. It was as if she were demanding he address her, and her alone.

‘Following each test,' he continued, ‘in accordance with the agreement between the British and Austra
lian 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.