Kenneth and Prudence Gardiner were delivered the news in person on 23 October by a Major Neville Chadwick, who introduced himself as aide-de-camp to Lieutenant General Barraclough, British army.

‘You are the father of Lieutenant Daniel Gardiner, sir?’ the major asked when Prudence, upon request, summoned her husband to the front door. Kenneth nodded, and the major, grateful that he didn’t have to confront the mother alone, continued. ‘I’m afraid I have bad news for you both.’ His pause was infinitesimal – one could not break such news any way but brutally, and the sooner it was over the better for all concerned. ‘It is my duty to inform you that Daniel was killed on 21 of October at approximately 2.30 pm Greenwich Mean Time in Maralinga, South Australia.’

There were no histrionics from either parent. The numbness of their disbelief robbed them of emotion. As the major continued, they even found themselves making intelligent queries, although they barely heard their own questions, let alone the responses. During later discussions, however, they would find that every word that had been uttered was clearly etched in their minds.

Ten minutes later, the major departed, leaving his details. The army would be in touch shortly regarding the memorial service, he said, and they were to telephone him any time of the night or day should they have any further queries.

Over the next twenty-four hours, as the afternoon stretched into a sleepless night, Kenneth and Prudence discussed everything the major had told them. They sifted through the information, trying to make sense of what had happened in a logical fashion, anything that would aid them in avoiding the awful reality. It would be some time before they would be capable of accepting the inevitable truth that their son was dead.

As a result, Elizabeth did not learn of Daniel’s death until two days later. Fiancées did not rank as next of kin, so she was not informed by the army. The odious task fell upon Prudence.

‘I apologise for ringing so early, Elizabeth.’ Prudence, guilty at the thought of letting it go one day longer, had telephoned the flat at eight in the morning. ‘But I wasn’t sure what time you left for work. I’m afraid we have received some dreadful news.’ Like the major, Prudence got straight to the point. ‘Dan has been killed.’ When there was no response from the other end of the line, she continued briskly, ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of such terrible tidings. I’m aware it must come as a shock. It did to us too, of course.’

Prudence Gardiner was not unsympathetic in her feelings for Elizabeth, but she could not allow any show of sentiment for fear she herself might start to crumble. She and Kenneth were keeping their grief private – even from each other, it seemed, which Prudence found a little hard. She would like to have shared the burden of her anguish, at least with her husband.

‘We were informed two days ago,’ she continued. ‘I must apologise for not calling you sooner, but we’re only just now coming to terms with the news ourselves.’

‘When …? How …?’ Elizabeth’s voice was barely audible as her shock manifested itself in utter confusion. She could not comprehend what she was hearing. England was not at war. How could Danny be dead? There had been no battle.

‘Four days ago. It was an accident, so Major Chadwick told us …’ Prudence took a deep breath and repeated the major’s words verbatim. ‘An accident that occurred as a result of the detonation of a nuclear device. The army has offered to arrange a memorial service with full military honours. I’ll let you know the details as soon as we’ve decided on the day.’ Prudence’s tone was brusque now, she needed to get off the phone. ‘It will probably be the Saturday after next, here in Crewe, of course. Naturally, you’re quite welcome to stay with us.’

‘A memorial service?’ Elizabeth was more confused than ever.

‘Yes, that’s right. Major Chadwick says the circumstances of Dan’s death make it impossible for the army to ship his body home to England. He’ll be buried at Maralinga. It’s another terrible blow to us, of course.’

‘But –’

‘And now I really must go, Elizabeth.’

Prudence could talk no longer. She and her husband had discussed the subject, and there were no words left to say. Ken seemed to understand the necessity of their son being buried in a foreign land. Personally, she didn’t, and she was sick to death of hearing the army knows best.

‘I’ll be in touch in the next day or so when the arrangements are made,’ she said, and she softened a little. ‘I’m sorry, my dear. I’m so very, very sorry for us all. Goodbye.’

Elizabeth’s reaction as she hung up the receiver was much the same as Kenneth’s and Prudence’s had been. She was numb with disbelief. One quick phone call and she was expected to accept the irrefutable fact that Danny was dead? She couldn’t. She couldn’t possibly.

For some time she sat quite still, staring at the phone, unable to cry or to feel anything, unable to move or even to think. Then, as her mind started to clear, she told herself that she must take action. She must find out what had happened, the cold, hard facts. She would not believe Daniel was dead until she knew the truth.

It was an accident, so Major Chadwick told us. Major Chadwick, she thought. She needed to talk to a Major Chadwick. She was on the verge of ringing Prudence back to get the man’s details, but had a better idea and telephoned The Guardian instead – the direct line of Reginald Dempster, foreign correspondence editor.

‘Reg, it’s Elizabeth. I’d like you to do me a favour.’

‘Of course. Are you all right? You sound a bit odd.’

‘I need to get in touch with a British army officer, a Major Chadwick …’

‘Ah, yes, I know the chap.’ The fact was not remarkable – there were very few in the upper echelons of power that Reginald Dempster did not know. ‘He’s aide-de-camp to Lieutenant General Barraclough –’

‘Can you ring me back with his phone number? I’m at the flat.’

‘Yes, of course. Are you sure you’re all –’

‘Thank you. And would you mind telling Lionel that I won’t be in today.’

‘Right you are. Don’t move. I’ll get back to you in a minute.’ Reginald didn’t bother asking again if she was all right. She clearly wasn’t.

Reginald Dempster was as good as his word, and within sixty seconds Elizabeth had Chadwick’s number. She rang the offices of Lieutenant General Barraclough and was informed by the female receptionist that the major was not available.

‘Do you wish to leave a message?’

‘Yes, please. I’d like him to ring me as soon as possible. My name is Elizabeth Hoffmann and I’m Lieutenant Daniel Gardiner’s fiancée.’ She gave the receptionist her phone number, then added, ‘Tell him I’ve just received a call from Lieutenant Gardiner’s mother.’

Major Chadwick proved as prompt as Reginald Dempster. Within sixty seconds, the phone rang. It was exactly 9.30 am.

By now, Elizabeth’s numb state of shock had worn off and her nerves were threatening to get the better of her as the truth slowly seeped home. A mother did not announce her son’s death without certain knowledge. Why, she wondered, was she putting herself through this fresh agony? But she had to hear it for herself, even though she knew what the major would say.

‘Lieutenant General Barraclough extends his deepest sympathy, Miss Hoffmann, as indeed do I. Had we known of your official capacity as Lieutenant Gardiner’s fiancée, we would have personally informed –’

‘Just tell me what happened, please, Major.’

‘Yes, of course.’ A tough young woman, Neville Chadwick thought, judging by the tone anyway. ‘Daniel was killed on 21 October at approximately 2.30 pm Greenwich Mean Time.’ He listed the official facts, as she obviously wished him to. ‘He was stationed at Maralinga, South Australia at the time, and his death was an unfortunate accident that occurred as a result of the detonation of a nuclear device.’

The major waited for some reaction, but there was none, so he continued. ‘Regrettably, the circumstances of Daniel’s death make it impossible for his body to be shipped home to England. He will be buried at Maralinga. But, as I’m sure Mrs Gardiner informed you, the army is arranging a memorial service with full military honours.’

Again, the major waited for a response. Again, there was none.

‘Your fiancé died in the service of his country, Miss Hoffmann.’ Neville Chadwick’s voice took on a gentler tone. Perhaps the young woman wasn’t as tough as she’d sounded – he wished she’d say something. ‘The army deeply respects his supreme sacrifice, and in recognition –’

But Elizabeth had stopped listening. ‘Thank you, Major,’ she said, and she hung up.

From the moment she’d heard the major’s voice on the phone, she had known the very words he would say – she’d heard them quoted verbatim by Prudence. Daniel was killed on 21 October … His death was an unfortunate accident … He will be buried at Maralinga … But this time the awful finality of the words had hit with a brutal force, tearing into her like bullets, driving home the inescapable truth.

She sank into a chair, clutching the armrests as if she were drowning, her chest heaving. She seemed unable to breathe properly. Danny’s dead, her mind was saying over and over, Danny’s dead, Danny’s dead. And then it was no longer her mind that was saying it. She could hear herself keening the words as she rocked back and forth, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. ‘Danny’s dead, Danny’s dead, Danny’s dead.’

 

Had Prudence Gardiner been witness to Elizabeth’s robust display of grief, she might have felt envious. There were times when she longed to give voice to her pain, but pride and stoicism prevailed in the Gardiner household. Prudence was even careful to disguise the evidence of those privately shed tears she gave way to during the night. She did so for Kenneth’s sake, convinced that beneath her husband’s show of strength lay a fragile man.

This morning was no exception.

‘It’s from the prime minister,’ Kenneth said as she joined him at the table. Having collected the mail, he’d called out to her as soon as he’d seen the envelope. ‘Listen to this.’

She sat.

‘Dear Sir,’ Kenneth read, ‘Please allow me to extend my personal condolences. Your son, Captain Daniel Gardiner …’

He looked up from the letter. ‘Captain Daniel Gardiner,’ he said. They had been informed that in recognition of his ultimate sacrifice, Daniel was to be posthumously promoted. ‘Did you get that, Prudence? Captain Daniel Gardiner.’

She nodded; yes, she’d got that. He continued.

‘Your son, Captain Daniel Gardiner, an officer and a gentleman who has made the ultimate sacrifice for his Queen and country, is owed the respect and gratitude of the nation. My thoughts are with you and your family in your hour of loss. Sir Anthony Eden. Prime Minister.

‘And look at that, just look at that.’ Kenneth pointed to the bottom of the page. ‘Signed by the man himself. That’s not a stamp, that’s a personal signature that is.’

‘Very impressive,’ Prudence agreed.

‘It certainly is, very impressive indeed.’

She left him sitting at the table with the prime minister’s letter, knowing that he’d study it until he could quote every word.

At the door to the kitchen, she paused to look back. He hadn’t noticed she’d gone. She’d wondered whether she should tell him she’d rung Elizabeth that morning, but she hadn’t bothered. It would mean nothing to him. Ken lived in a world of his own. A world where his son’s death had a meaning, she thought with a touch of bitterness. His son was a hero who had died for his country, and now Ken had a letter from the prime minister to prove it.

Prudence disappeared into the kitchen to brew a pot of tea. She vehemently disagreed with both Ken and the prime minister. She considered her son’s death a meaningless waste of a fine young life, but she kept such thoughts to herself. She dared not shatter her husband’s illusions.

 

The following morning, Elizabeth, too, received a letter, but it was not from the prime minister. Exhausted after a sleepless night of weeping, she’d thought she was drained of tears, but as she sat at the kitchen table staring down at the envelope with its all too familiar handwriting, she felt the threat of a fresh onslaught. Fingers trembling, she opened the letter.

 

Dearest Elizabeth,

Please forgive me for any worry I might cause you in writing as I do, but I have some grave concerns and no-one with whom to share them …

 

The postal services had proved most efficient. Daniel’s letter had arrived exactly eight days after he’d popped it in the bright red mailbox at the Ceduna post office.

 

Reginald Dempster was just settling down to tackle the salad lunch his secretary had delivered to his office. A rather stout man in his early forties, with a genial face and reading glasses perched in perpetual readiness on the top of his head, Reginald very much enjoyed fine food and wine. As a rule, he lunched at his club in Fleet Street, several blocks from The Guardian, but for the past month, having decided to lose weight, he’d instructed his secretary to bring him a salad two days a week. He gazed down at the plate with distaste, thinking of the roast pork and crackling the club served from its carvery. He detested salad, and the diet wasn’t working anyway, he hadn’t lost a pound.

There was a tap on the glass door of his office and he looked up, astounded to see Elizabeth Hoffmann. He jumped to his feet.

‘Good God, girl, what are you doing in here?’ he said as he opened the door and ushered her to one of the two guest chairs opposite his desk.

She’d rung him earlier that morning with the news. ‘Danny’s been killed,’ she’d said bluntly. ‘Will you tell Lionel I won’t be in today? In fact, you’d better tell them all. I won’t be in for some time.’

Reginald was most concerned to see her now. ‘Go home, Elizabeth, you need to rest.’ She looked terrible, he thought, she obviously hadn’t slept. ‘You shouldn’t have come into work.’

‘I haven’t,’ she said. ‘I’m not here to work. I want you to do me a favour.’

‘Of course.’ Behind the fatigue in her eyes, Reginald recognised the light of battle. The look was familiar to him – they’d worked together a great deal – but this time there was something manic in her intensity. ‘Anything you say. What are you after?’ He circled his desk and sat, swooping his reading glasses onto his nose and grabbing a pencil.

‘A man called Harry Lampton, a fettler by trade, is the chief suspect in a murder case in South Australia. He shot his wife’s lover.’

Reginald started scribbling the details in his notebook.

‘The victim was a man by the name of Petraeus Mitchell, known as Pete, and he was serving in a government-appointed position as Aboriginal liaison officer at Maralinga.’

Reginald’s eyes darted up from his notepad. Elizabeth’s fiancé, Daniel, had been stationed at Maralinga. He peered at her over the rims of his reading glasses.

‘Yes,’ she said, recognising the query, and Reg did indeed have a right to make one, she thought. ‘Danny and Pete Mitchell shared barracks accommodation. They were friends. I want to find out what happened.’

‘To Danny or to Pete Mitchell?’ Reginald was just a little confused.

‘Both. But let’s start with Harry Lampton. Can you make enquiries?’

‘Of course I can, and of course I shall. But you’re being very enigmatic, Elizabeth. Do you want to tell me what this is about?’

‘I’m not altogether sure myself,’ she said, which was the truth, but Reg was owed an explanation and she was quite prepared to give one. ‘I received a letter from Danny this morning …’

‘Oh, dear.’ Reginald pushed the reading glasses back to their customary position, his face a picture of concern. ‘Oh, dear,’ he said, ‘how very upsetting for you.’

‘Danny wasn’t convinced that Harry Lampton was the guilty party,’ Elizabeth continued briskly; sympathy was the last thing she needed. ‘He thought there might have been some form of conspiracy. Pete Mitchell had told him of highly confidential happenings at Maralinga, and Danny was suspicious when Pete was killed shortly afterwards. He wrote in his letter to me that he was going to make enquiries. Then, three days after he posted that letter, Danny himself was killed. Accidentally, and in a nuclear detonation I might add, which means his body can’t be returned to England.’

A lengthy pause followed, during which Reginald looked at her as if she were mad. Finally, he found his voice.

‘Do you know what you’re saying, Elizabeth?’ Perhaps she was demented in her grief, he was thinking. ‘Do you know the magnitude of your implications? Do you have any idea?’

‘Yes, of course I do, Reg, don’t treat me like an idiot. I’m saying the army may have murdered Danny.’

‘Oh my God, girl.’ He glanced about his office, startled, as if the very walls themselves might betray what they’d heard. ‘That’s sheer madness.’

‘Yes, it may well be,’ she agreed, ‘but I won’t give up until I find out.’ She stood. ‘Of course, if you don’t wish to help me I’ll quite understand.’

‘Of course I want to help you.’ Reginald rose to his feet. ‘But what do you expect of me?’ He lowered his voice and once again glanced guiltily at the walls. ‘I can hardly ring my military contacts at Maralinga and ask them if they’re killing off their own chaps, can I?’ Then, realising what he’d said and to whom, he hastily apologised. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he stammered, ‘I didn’t mean to offend …’

Elizabeth actually managed the faintest of smiles. Reg told the worst jokes in the world, but he was unwittingly funny at times, and always when he least intended to be. ‘Let’s just start with Harry Lampton,’ she said.

‘Harry Lampton it is.’ He walked her to the door. ‘Now go home, Elizabeth. I’ll ring you, I promise. Given the time difference, I probably won’t have anything for you until tomorrow, so go home and get some sleep.’

‘Thanks, Reg. I appreciate your help.’

He opened the door for her, but she hesitated in leaving. ‘I didn’t mean to put you on the spot just now. I shouldn’t have said what I did; I should have kept my thoughts to myself.’ Elizabeth realised she’d been most unfair. Indeed, what did she expect of him? His career could well be ruined if he alienated his valuable contacts. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘it was really thoughtless of me. I don’t expect you to become embroiled in this business. I won’t compromise you in any way, I promise.’

She kissed him on the cheek, and Reginald melted, as he always did. His had been a hopeless case of unrequited love from the outset, a situation which he totally accepted, knowing that Elizabeth saw him as a father figure.

‘But just between you and me,’ she added, ‘I meant what I said. I don’t intend to give up until I find out the truth.’

‘Yes, I know.’ That was the worry, Reginald thought. ‘Now go home, you need sleep. Go home and go to bed, there’s a good girl.’

Elizabeth went home, but she didn’t go to bed. She read the letter again. She read it over and over, despite the fact that she already knew it by heart.

 

Reginald, as always, was true to his word. He rang her exactly twenty-four hours later. Once again, the innocuous salad lunch sat on his desk, but this time he was not distracted by the thought of roast pork and crackling. Far more disturbing matters were on his mind.

‘I have some news for you.’

‘Yes?’ Elizabeth felt herself tense.

‘Harry Lampton was apprehended in Kalgoorlie four days ago. He’s been flown to Adelaide where he’ll stand trial for the murder of Pete Mitchell, and, according to my source, it’s a cut-and-dried case. Lampton’s wife has turned evidence against him – she witnessed the shooting – and I believe other witnesses amongst the fettlers have also come forward.’

So Pete Mitchell’s death had been the coincidence Danny had hoped for, Elizabeth thought. She was relieved to hear it.

‘Thank you, Reg,’ she said. ‘Danny would have liked to have known that. I’m very grateful to you.’

‘Yes, well, there you are then.’ Reginald’s voice was just a little over-hearty. ‘Nothing suspicious at all, the fettler did it, a crime of passion. Explains everything I’d say, wouldn’t you?’

‘It explains Pete Mitchell’s death, yes,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘It doesn’t explain Danny’s.’

‘Yes, it does, Elizabeth.’ Reginald dropped the heartiness. Her reaction was just as he’d feared it might be. ‘It explains the fact that there was no conspiracy afoot at Maralinga. Pete Mitchell was killed by a jealous husband, and Danny’s death was an accident – a terrible, shocking accident certainly, but an accident nonetheless.’

‘I don’t believe that, Reg.’

‘You must, my dear, it’s the truth.’

‘But you haven’t read the letter –’

‘I don’t need to.’ Reginald’s voice was firm and authoritative. ‘I have had direct confirmation from an impeccable source high in the military chain of command at Maralinga. Daniel’s death was accidental, I can promise you.’

‘No, it wasn’t. No, I don’t believe that at all. And you won’t either when you read the letter. I’ll bring it in and show you. Honestly, Reg –’

‘Don’t pursue this.’

‘What?’ Elizabeth was taken aback.

‘Don’t follow this path. Leave the matter alone.’

‘You know something,’ she said. ‘What is it? What have you found out?’

‘I have found out no more than the truth, Elizabeth. And the truth is, Daniel’s death was an accident! You must stop torturing yourself and accept that! I insist that you do so!’

There was silence on the end of the line. Reginald regretted having had to speak with such force, particularly under the circumstances, but he was thankful that he appeared to have finally convinced her. ‘This is a very difficult time for you, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘You have my deepest sympathy, you know that.’

‘Yes, I do. Thank you.’

‘Now you will try and rest, won’t you?’

‘Yes. I’ll try.’

‘Good. That’s good. Ring me if you need anything, and I’ll see you when you’re ready to return to work.’

He hung up, took one look at his plate of salad and headed off to his club for lunch, deeply relieved that the episode was over. When he returned an hour and a half later, however, he found her waiting in his office.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she said, ‘but I couldn’t wait outside in the newsroom. Too many people wanting to offer their condolences and I’m not up to that yet.’ She took the letter from the top pocket of her blazer.

‘Elizabeth –’

‘Read that.’ She unfolded it and placed it on his desk. ‘Read that and then tell me you still believe Danny’s death was an accident.’

Reginald heaved a sigh and sat, taking his reading glasses from his top pocket where they’d lived throughout lunch. He hated this. He dreaded the prospect of having to tell her the truth.

After reading the letter with great care, he positioned his glasses on his head and leaned back, surveying her thoughtfully.

‘You see?’ Elizabeth’s challenge was triumphant. ‘It changes everything, doesn’t it?’

He was silent. To his mind the letter changed nothing at all. If anything, it confirmed the truth. But how was he to tell her?

Sensing he was troubled, Elizabeth was quick to reassure him. ‘Oh, don’t worry, Reg, I don’t expect you to do anything with the letter. That part’s up to me. I just wanted you to read it so that –’

‘What do you intend to do?’

‘I don’t know really.’ She hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘Take it to some top military authority here in London, I suppose. I was hoping you might tell me who I should –’

‘It wouldn’t accomplish anything, Elizabeth.’ There was no alternative, he realised. She had to be told.

‘You did find out something, didn’t you?’ She searched his face for a clue; there was something he wasn’t telling her. ‘Come on, Reg. What is it the army’s keeping a secret?’

‘You won’t give up until you find out, will you?’

‘Nope. You know I won’t.’

‘Indeed I do. In which case, you’d best hear it from me.’ Reginald wished with all his heart that he didn’t have to say the words. ‘Daniel took his own life, Elizabeth.’

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to have to tell you. The army is keeping the truth quiet, for the family’s sake, and naturally that means for your sake too.’ The army was probably keeping the truth quiet in order to avoid any focus upon Maralinga, Reginald thought with a touch of cynicism, and also because such incidents were not good publicity for the armed forces in general. This would certainly not be the first suicide the military had covered up ‘for the sake of the family’, but Elizabeth did not need to know that.

‘It’s most regrettable you had to find out, my dear.’

‘Why on earth should the army think he’d killed himself?’ Elizabeth was more amazed than upset.

‘Apparently he was very much affected by the death of his friend.’ Reginald tentatively offered the answer to a question he wished he hadn’t been asked. He’d heard from his military contact at Maralinga that Daniel Gardiner had been so distressed by Pete Mitchell’s gruesome murder he’d become quite unbalanced. ‘According to the report, Gardiner was a deeply disturbed young man,’ his contact had said. ‘Went to pieces after his best friend was murdered and half-eaten by dogs, very grisly affair. Anyway, he was determined to do a good job on himself. Poor chap drove out to the forward area in the dead of night and parked right where he knew both he and the vehicle would be incinerated. Shocking business all round. We’re keeping mum about it, Reg – for the sake of the family, you understand – so not a word, there’s a good chap.’

‘I was told that, following Pete Mitchell’s murder, he became deeply disturbed,’ Reginald said, praying that Elizabeth would not ask for more detail.

Far from seeking more detail, however, Elizabeth was outraged. She picked up the letter and waved it in his face. ‘But you’ve read this, for God’s sake,’ she said. ‘This isn’t the letter of a man on the verge of suicide.’

Reginald begged to differ. ‘It is the letter of a troubled man, Elizabeth,’ he said with care.

‘Troubled, yes, but hardly about to kill himself.’

Elizabeth riffled through the letter and, pointing out a line, she thrust the pages at him. ‘Look at that, just look at that: … even as I write this, I am starting to feel self-consciously melodramatic … That’s what he says.’ She was becoming agitated. ‘How sane is that, I ask you? It’s certainly not the comment of a man bordering on suicide.’

‘No. It’s more the comment of a man covering his turmoil in order not to worry his fiancée.’

Reginald found the fact that Daniel had written such a letter at all highly suspect. To him, it displayed the classic signs of a troubled young soldier, lonely, far from home and with no-one to turn to. Having served as a foreign war correspondent in many regions of conflict, Reginald Dempster had often seen such young soldiers fall into a state of despair. The only difference on this occasion was the fact that there had been no actual battle.

Elizabeth came to a sudden halt. She’d been about to rant and rage. How could Reg possibly give credence to such a ridiculous notion, she’d thought. Now she realised that Reg gave far more than credence to the notion; he implicitly believed it to be the truth.

‘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.

‘So does Mum,’ he said with a meaningful nod.

Elizabeth looked at Prudence standing beside him. She had finally allowed herself to let go and the tears cascaded unchecked down her face.

‘A good choice, Billy,’ Elizabeth said.

A good decision too, she thought. She would leave the family to grieve in their own way, but she would discover the truth, if only for herself. And discover it she would, no matter how long it took.