Maralinga by Judy Nunn Page B

discussion, and she never posed a query without his encouragement, but she enjoyed the degree of trust he placed in her. It meant that she could share at least a proportion of the huge burden of responsibility his job entailed. And that, in Lavinia’s opinion, was a wife’s bounden duty.
    â€˜We need a fresh pot,’ Harold called to the maid from his position by the windows.
    â€˜Yes, m’lord.’ The girl bobbed a curtsy and, leaving the double doors open, crossed to the large circular coffee table and picked up the tray.
    â€˜And perhaps one or two of Freda’s scones?’ Lavinia directed the question at her husband rather than the maid.
    â€˜Oh, by jove, yes,’ Harold readily agreed.
    â€˜Jam and clotted cream, please, Bessie.’
    â€˜Very good, m’lady.’ Another bob, and Bessie left, placing the heavy silver tray briefly on the hall table outside as she pulled the drawing room doors closed behind her.
    Lavinia waited several seconds before continuing. ‘So it’s to our advantage that the Australians are so gullible.’
    â€˜Dear me, yes.’ Harold returned to his armchair beside the fire. ‘And we have their prime minister well and truly in our pocket,’ he said as he sat opposite her. ‘Several years back, when Menzies agreed to our nuclear weapon testing off the coast of Western Australia, he didn’t even inform his own cabinet.’
    â€˜Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Harold, that can’t be true.’
    â€˜But it is, my love – heard it directly from the Old Man himself.’ Harold had just returned to his countryestate in Sussex following his London meeting with Prime Minister Churchill. ‘Winston told me that in 1950 Attlee sent a top-secret personal request to Menzies regarding the use of the Monte Bello Islands,’ he explained, in response to his wife’s obvious disbelief. ‘Menzies agreed immediately in principle to the nuclear testing, and, according to Winston, there’s never been any record whatsoever of the man having consulted a single one of his cabinet colleagues on the matter.’
    â€˜Goodness gracious.’ The impeccable arch of Lavinia Dartleigh’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. ‘Isn’t that somewhat irregular?’
    Harold laughed. He adored his wife’s talent for understatement. Lavinia was the quintessential upper-class Englishwoman. Still beautiful in her early forties, she was the epitome of elegance, highly intelligent and at all times unruffled. Harold valued her greatly. She was the perfect wife for a man in his position.
    â€˜Yes, my love, it is somewhat irregular.’
    Harold Rodin Dartleigh, KCMG, KCVO, 6th Baron Somerston, was typical of many born to a life of privilege. He was arrogant and insensitive and took the services of others for granted. But, unlike a number of his contemporaries from equally advantaged backgrounds, he was not lazy and he was not a wastrel. Nor was he stupid. As a young man, Harold had distinguished himself in History and Philosophy at Cambridge University’s Trinity College, after which he had embraced a highly successful diplomatic career, serving in under-secretary positions in the British embassies of Beirut, Istanbul, Tokyo and Prague.
    Upon the outbreak of war in 1939, Harold’s father, William, 5th Baron Somerston, had been so horrified at the thought of losing his only son and heir that, through his many connections, he’d had the twenty-nine year old appointed special government envoy to Washington. The move had not dismayed Harold, who had had no deep desire to join the fray – not through any form of fear or cowardice on his part, but solely due to ambition. Death on a distant battlefield was not the destiny young Harold had in mind.
    Having seen out the war in relative comfort, Harold had returned to England to care for his ailing father and, upon William’s death in 1946, had taken his seat