A Division Of The Spoils (Raj Quartet 4) (15 page)

‘Then it could only have been Clark-Without. Clarke-With wasn’t what I’d call Command Headquarters material.’

He wondered about Miss Layton’s brief acquaintance with Clark-Without. Clark-Without had not been officially expelled but, in Chillingborough’s peculiar language, withdrawn by mutual consent. A Rolls had turned up and Clark-Without had driven away in style, not up-front with the chauffeur but at the back, smoking a cigarette. A mature boy for his age. Perhaps he had been excessively self-publicized in regard to his affairs with girls. Miss Layton did not look in the least embarrassed. In any case she had raised the subject herself. But why? To test for further proof that he himself had been at Chillingborough or to hear him speak the name of a man she had fancied?

‘I think your father is tired, Sarah,’ Merrick said.

‘Ronald thinks you’re tired, Father. Are you?’

‘Not in the least. Tell you what I’d like, though. A peg of that whisky of Ronald’s. Why don’t we all do that?’

‘It wasn’t Ronald’s whisky, Father. It was Sergeant Perron’s. Before that it was the Maharanee’s and before that Captain Purvis’s. Nazimuddin!’

Colonel Layton looked from one to the other as if bemused by such a complicated history, and finally concentrated on Perron. ‘Extraordinary thing,’ he said, ‘in the last conversation I had with a very civilized Oberleutnant at the camp I was at, the name of this particular brand came up. We were saying goodbye and he told me he’d be thinking of me in a week or two’s time sitting in a comfortable chair in a cosy room, reading
Pride and Prejudice
, sipping a glass of special malt whisky and fondling the ears of my faithful black
Labrador, Panther. Apparently one day months before he’d said, “What would you most like to be doing at this very moment?” and it seems that’s what I told him. I hadn’t the faintest recollection of it. Memory’s a bit haywire. But it was pretty well in line with the sort of thing I’d often thought, so obviously I had done. Well, he got the names right. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I never knew the dog except as a puppy and that I’d since heard the poor beast was dead anyway, that there wasn’t a hope of getting a bottle of that particular whisky in India, so that the only accurate part of his picture could be the comfortable chair and Jane Austen. He’d remembered the detail so accurately. I must say I found that rather touching. Urn? Something one says quite casually capturing another chap’s imagination and staying in his mind. A nice fellow. Very formal. Very correct. But fair. Yes. Fair. Very fair.’

Nazimuddin who had come in while Colonel Layton was talking and had collected glasses and the bottle at Sarah’s low-voiced instructions now brought them to her. She told him to put the tray on the coffee-table nearest her father.

‘Will you join us for supper, Father?’

‘What?’

‘Supper.’

‘No, no. Had my supper. Any case, got the unexpired portion of the day’s rations if I get peckish.’

She told Nazimuddin they would eat in ten minutes. The man went. Her father leant forward and picked the bottle up. He stared at the label.

‘Extraordinary,’ he said. ‘I’ve not held a bottle of this for years.’

He put his free hand above his eyes like a shield, as though there was too much light, then folded it until it was across his eyes; and seemed to become fixed in that position, still gripping the bottle.

Miss Layton got up and went to him, bent down, took the bottle, put it on the table and then took his hand in hers. ‘Come on, daddy, you’ve had a long day.’

Perron got up and moved away, making for the folding glass doors that gave on to the balcony but which were closed to keep out the rain. Through the windows he could see little
except the reflection of the lighted room, the dark bulk of the back of the wing chair in which Merrick was obviously still sitting, Sarah Layton’s bent head, strongly lit by the lamp at the side of the sofa. He could still hear her voice but she was speaking too quietly for any words to reach him. He was glad; he did not want to hear; he did not want to see, either, but wherever he looked the room and its occupants were there in the window. He saw her help Colonel Layton to his feet and lead him out. The colonel still had one hand over his face. The other rested on his daughter’s shoulder.

After they had gone Perron did not move. He stared at the reflection of Merrick’s chair. He could see the top of Merrick’s head and the elbow of the shattered arm. There was the click of a cigarette lighter. In a moment he saw the smoke spiralling gently through the diffused ray cast by the lamp and, after it had vanished, a thinner wisp, rising from about the level of the shattered elbow, which meant that Merrick must have stuck the cigarette between two fingers of the black-gloved artifact.

Perron re-entered the sitting area and did not look at Merrick until he had taken a cigarette from the box Miss Layton had invited him to use, lighted it and sat down. Merrick was supporting his chin in his good hand and holding the cigarette in the artificial one. The unblemished side of his face was comparatively in shade.

‘How did you come by that arm, sir?’ Perron asked.

‘Pulling a certain Captain Bingham out of a burning jeep, under fire, near Imphal, in 1944.’

Such precision. ‘Is that what you got the decoration for? Rescuing Captain Bingham?’

‘There was an Indian driver to get out as well. He survived. Captain Bingham didn’t. He was Miss Layton’s brother-in-law.’

‘Since when you’ve been a sort of friend of the family, sir?’

Merrick released his chin, reached across and retrieved the cigarette.

‘I knew them before. I was Captain Bingham’s best man when he married Susan Layton in nineteen-forty-three.’

‘Susan. Yes, that was it. Susan-mem and Sarah-mem. And the wild dogs in the hills.’

‘You have a memory for detail. Good.’

‘Difficult to forget the wild dog bit, sir.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, you nearly had him there, sir, didn’t you?’

‘Had him?’

‘ “Your wife will not hold her head up and even the wild dogs in the hills will be silent.” The chap nearly cried.’

Merrick drew on his cigarette, then rested his chin again on the free fingers of the good hand; arm supported at the elbow by the chair-arm; the smoke floating up.

‘He cried later.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘When we examined him a week or so ago in Delhi.’ Merrick stroked the outer corner of his right eye with his little finger, as if to remove something that irritated it. ‘The evidence of his possible complicity in the death of the sepoy in Königsberg is quite strong.’ Merrick flicked ash and then put the cigarette back between the black-gloved fingers.

‘Is that why the subject’s taboo down here? Because it upsets Colonel Layton?’

‘It’s taboo because it would particularly upset him to know about Königsberg. Actually neither he nor Miss Layton yet know I’ve seen the man and questioned him. I’ve tried to give them the impression the man’s case isn’t a priority. You realize that these men’s old officers aren’t allowed to go anywhere near them, don’t you?’

‘No, I didn’t, sir. Why aren’t they?’

‘Because we’d be inundated with requests for interviews. Colonel Layton is a good example. He’s convinced he could straighten Havildar Muzzafir Khan out in ten minutes. The attitude is quite admirable, of course, but given half a chance a lot of these men’s old officers would try to deal with their own cases at regimental level, and the only sensible course is to keep them firmly out of the picture, otherwise it will get hopelessly confused. And of course it increases the prisoners’ sense of isolation, and readiness to talk.’

From behind, in the dining-room area, came the sounds of plates being set out on the table.

‘So not a word about the Havildar. I shall break the news to Colonel Layton in my own good time.’

They heard her voice, calling Nazimuddin.

She came into the dining-room. ‘Come on, Mr Perron. You must be starved now. Are you ready too, Ronald?’

She waited for them to join her. The table was laid with places at either end and a third in the middle, facing the living-room. She asked Perron to sit in the middle and took the place on his left. Merrick sat at the other end. While they waited for the soup she asked him how long he’d been in India, how much of the country he’d seen and whether it was all as he’d pictured it. After Nazimuddin had brought in the soup and served it he expected her to give Merrick some of her attention, but she did not. For a few moments they drank soup and did not talk at all. He broke the silence by asking her how long she’d been in India herself.

‘I was born here. Up in Pankot. So was my sister. We came back out in the summer of ’thirty-nine.’

Perron asked how long the journey to Pankot would take. She said the train left Bombay at two o’clock the following afternoon and that they would be home early on Wednesday morning – unless they decided to break the journey at Delhi. She looked across at Merrick. ‘He mentioned it again just now. I’ve done all I can. It’s up to you, Ronald, I’m afraid.’

‘It’s quite pointless,’ Merrick said. ‘A complete waste of time.’

‘I know. But it’s for you to explain why.’

‘I thought I had.’

‘I mean again.’

‘When?’

‘Tonight, preferably. Tomorrow morning at the very latest. I want it cut and dried before we get on the train because if we’re going to stop off at Delhi I must try to get through to mother and tell her. It’s only fair.’

‘Personally, I think it would be better to let things lie. Once he’s on the train the idea of getting off it will have less appeal.’

‘But we get off at Delhi anyway, to change. There’s a wait of at least two hours for the Ranpur connection. I don’t want to stand around there not knowing whether we’re going on or staying. And I certainly don’t want to find myself trying to get through to mother from there and telling her we won’t be home next day after all.’

‘Very well. I’ll have a word with him tonight. Incidentally, sergeant, where and what is this transport of yours?’

Perron told him.

‘Well that’s just round the corner if we take a short cut. We can walk easily, then you could drop me off.’

‘That’s kind of you, sir, but I’m sure I can find it on my own if you give me directions.’

‘Major Merrick isn’t staying here, Mr Perron. He’s at the Taj.’

‘Oh, I see.’

Nazimuddin had cleared away the first course and now brought in the second. Miss Layton made her selection from the tray. Merrick was provided with a plate of pre-prepared chicken and salad that he could deal with single-handed. The servant now reached Perron’s side.

‘I’m sorry,’ Miss Layton said. ‘We were talking just now about something you probably don’t know about. The point of getting off at Delhi is for father to try to see one of his
NCOS
who’s in trouble. The only man in the regiment who joined the Frei Hind force in Germany. But Major Merrick says it’s a waste of time because of an order prohibiting contact between
INA
prisoners and their old officers.’

‘Yes. It seems rather hard.’

‘Understandable in one way, but father’s rather upset because he’s known the man in question since he was a boy of six or seven. Father was present when the boy and his mother were given the posthumous
VC
the boy’s father won in the last war and he says he showed up awfully well in the fighting in North Africa, so he simply can’t understand what got into his head.’

‘Presumably Subhas Chandra Bose got into it,’ Merrick said.

‘But why?’

‘It’s the sort of thing we’ll have to find out.’

‘Father thinks he could find out better and quicker than anyone.’ For Perron’s benefit she added, ‘According to the other men in the regiment, Bose and some Indian officers from another regiment who’d already turned coat came to the camp they were in and told them it was their duty to fight with the Germans for India’s freedom. Then over the next few
days the
VCOS
and senior
NCOS
were taken off separately for interviews. Some didn’t come back for quite a while but the only one who never came back was this man my father’s concerned about. The others thought he’d been tortured and killed because some of the
NCOS
who were interviewed had a rough time if they told Bose’s officers what they thought of them, and Havildar Muzzafir Khan had a reputation for being pretty outspoken. When another lot of Indian officers visited them a few months later and said Muzzafir Khan had joined the Frei Hind army and that they should all follow his example, one of them stood up and asked why Havildar Muzzafir Khan wasn’t there to tell them himself. The poor man was carted off, didn’t come back for a month and had a ghastly time. Now it seems that the officers were right, but most of the men in the regiment think as daddy does, that something awful must have been done to him to make him join Bose and that even then he’d only have joined to muck things up or escape to the allies at the first opportunity.’

‘But he didn’t escape,’ Merrick said. ‘He was among a group of Indians captured by the Free French when the Germans were on the run. The French were all for shooting them out of hand but an American army sergeant whistled up a helicopter and took them back to his unit as prisoners. The sergeant was a Negro, if that’s relevant.’

‘You’ve never mentioned that.’

‘No. It’s what drew my attention to his case, the discovery that one of the men listed in the report of the helicopter incident was a havildar from your father’s regiment.’

‘That will count against him, won’t it? That he was actually fighting?’

‘It’s not clear whether he was fighting. The report didn’t say. And he’s just one man out of several hundred in the European and several thousand in the Eastern theatre.’

‘Ought I to mention the helicopter incident to Father?’

‘It’s up to you. I’d prefer not. There’s absolutely nothing he can do and the less he knows just now the easier it’ll be for him to accept that.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose so.’

‘It’s not as though your father’s opinion of Havildar Karim Muzzafir Khan won’t be asked for. When we reach the stage of
dealing with the case someone will come up to Pankot to take statements from people who want to make them.’