Barbara Cleverly (26 page)

They turned the lights off and left. Joe shuddered, his imagination telling him that this was not a room in which he would have enjoyed finding himself alone after dark. But his tour was not yet over. Remorselessly, Edgar opened the door of the next room along the passageway. ‘Here you are, you see, in complete contrast - could you have anything more up to the minute than this?’

‘This’ was a lavishly decorated shrine to the game of snooker. In the centre of the room, standing like a huge altar, a snooker table (though the word was inadequate for such a structure) gleamed in gold-embossed mahogany. In an echo of the ranks of lances next door, snooker cues were lined up against the walls in racks and scoreboards were fastened to leather-lined panels.

‘Most impressive,’ said Joe. ‘We must have a game sometime. And I’ll wear Sir George’s jacket in deference to the sumptuous surroundings. Anything less sartorially sensational would smack of disrespect!’

‘Do you have to talk like a music hall MC?’ grumbled Edgar.

‘It must be all this mahogany and red plush,’ Joe muttered.

‘Well, thanks, Edgar, for the tour,’ said Joe as they arrived in front of his suite. ‘Now go and get an early night, old man. Remember we have a brisk start in the morning.’

With a sigh of relief he went into his room, loosening his tie, kicking off his shoes, hurling his jacket in the direction of the wardrobe and making for the bathroom. He was glad he’d had the forethought to tell his valet to stand down; he didn’t feel up to an appraisal by Govind’s bland but all-seeing eye. There were many things he was unable to come by in India and solitude was one of them. With pleasure he ran his own bath and wallowed in the water, then stood naked and dripping wet on the marble floor for several minutes until he could imagine himself cool again before drying off.

There was a light tap on the door. Joe sighed and tucked a towel round his waist. He waited, expecting Govind to come in to check he had all he needed. The tap was repeated. Cursing to himself he went to the door and opened it. There was a rush of scented air as Madeleine ducked under his arm and dashed into the centre of the room. She looked excited and determined and she was holding out a brown foolscap envelope for him to see. Joe groaned.

‘Got it! Didn’t I tell you I’d do it! But you weren’t really listening, were you, Joe?’

‘Good Lord, Madeleine! What have you got there? Your “ticket out of here”, I think you said

you see, I was listening! Is that it? I want you to tell me quickly and then buzz off, will you? You’ve already ruined my reputation irreparably!’

Madeleine rolled her eyes. ‘Your reputation! Joe, you squeal louder than a virgin in the Black Sox dressing room! No one saw me come. I was very careful. And I thought you’d be interested to see what I have here!’

With shining eyes she handed over the envelope. Resentful of his own curiosity, Joe opened it and slid out several printed legal documents. It was a few moments before he could work out what he held in his hand but when the import of the papers hit him he sat down abruptly on the edge of his bed, clutching them in a damp hand.

‘What the hell, Madeleine!’

‘Thought you’d be impressed!’

He leafed through the package silently adding up figures in his head.

‘A million? Have I got that right? A million dollars’ worth of bearer bonds, stock certificates, title deeds

All instantly negotiable, I notice. Now

the question is - do I want to know how you came by them?’

‘Well, since you ask so prettily, I’ll tell you! The ruler gave them to me this afternoon. I think he’s glad to pay me off and get rid of me.’

‘And what did you offer to do in return?’

‘It’s what I offered not to do that got his attention and triggered his generosity!’ she grinned.

She left Joe riffling in disbelief once more through the documents and poured out two glasses of tonic water from the tray laid ready. She handed one to Joe and sat down by his side. Her triumphant good humour was hard to resist.

‘Let me guess

you promised not to reveal what Prithvi had been getting up to in the States, I begin to think most probably with his father’s connivance?’

She looked at him in some surprise. ‘Why

yes

something very like that. Say - you really can put it together, can’t you?’

‘Let’s start a bit nearer the beginning, shall we? I did wonder exactly what Prithvi was doing in an obscure part of the southern states

Texas, was it?

when he met you. Now, looking at these, I think I can guess!’

She nodded. ‘He’d been in Florida. Know where that is, Joe?’

‘Vaguely. Carry on.’

‘He’d been sent over to the States as his father’s agent. His financial agent. Things had not been going too well, cash-wise, in Ranipur for years.’ She paused, wondering how far she should confide state secrets, he guessed.

‘I had worked that out,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Years of drought, the mines running out, crippling of the lucrative trade routes, depopulation, over-taxation, enforced contributions to the war in Europe

I could go on! The signs are all there to be read by anyone with eyes to see. In an earlier century they would have taken up arms against another state on some pretext or none and simply stolen their treasure but this is no longer an option allowed under the Raj. And the clues that indicate the coffers are bare are the unfinished projects and the calculatedly spectacular pieces of extravagance - hocus-pocus to hide the true state of the princedom.’

‘You’re a hard man to fool, aren’t you?’ she murmured. ‘Yes, you’ve got it figured right. They cashed in their reserves of jewels and Prithvi came over to the States - via Paris, Switzerland and Amsterdam - to invest in the future. They decided that instead of sitting by watching the last reserves be depleted year by year until the treasure house ran dry, they’d invest and get a return on their money. And, Joe, it’s working! These guys own Florida!’

‘Own Florida? Is that good?’

Madeleine sighed. ‘Prithvi was interested in golf and polo and that’s what originally attracted him to the place. He realized that what he thought attractive, others did too. Americans were taking vacations

foreign tourists were arriving. Suddenly real estate was hot! People were buying up mangrove swamps before breakfast and selling them as building plots before tea. For fifty times the price! Prithvi got in on the deals right at the beginning. He did well.’ Her face was animated with humour and affection. Joe didn’t interrupt.

‘His family wasn’t always royal, you know? Merchants, that’s what they were from somewhere on the trade route north of here.’

‘Surigargh,’ said Joe.

‘That’s right, and I guess it’s in the blood - dealing, I mean. Prithvi was good. Very good. He diversified. He invested his Pa’s money in lots of things. He was bright, he was lucky. He followed his nose. One day he was in the crowd that listened to the Dempsey-Charpentier fight. The whole thing, well, all four rounds of it, was described from the ringside and put out all over the country by wireless-telephony. Prithvi wanted a part of it so he bought Westinghouse stock and you know what’s happened to wireless-telephony?’

‘We call it radio broadcasting now,’ said Joe. ‘Clever old Prithvi!’

‘He just went with his own enthusiasms. He was mad about automobiles - he bought General Motors stock. Aeroplanes - he took shares in the Curtiss company. That’s how I came to meet him. He was thorough. He didn’t just get carried away. He heard we were flying Jennys so he came over to see the show and talk to Stuart about the aircraft before he invested.’

‘Well, I can really admire what Prithvi achieved,’ said Joe. ‘But tell me how you managed to turn the screws on poor old Udai Singh and make off with these?’ He tucked the sheets back into the envelope and handed it back to her.

‘He’s kept very quiet about this new way of financing the state. Zalim knows, of course, and possibly Claude, but no one else I think. It’s very, well, medieval still in its thinking and customs - you’ve noticed - and most people here don’t travel. They haven’t much idea of the world over the pond. For them, the wealth of Ranipur is in its state jewellery and reserves of precious stones, stashed away safely in the khajina. If they were to find out that it’s been almost emptied and the new wealth is a few dozen sheets of paper locked in the safe in the ruler’s bedroom, things might get a bit uncomfortable for the ruler and the Dewan. “Questions,” as you British might say, “would be asked.” ’

Joe looked at her, grim-faced. ‘So you threatened to broadcast the fact that the state coffers are bare, that they’ve been systematically looted by Udai Singh? That the man proud to be father to his people has sold his inheritance for a stack of papers printed in a foreign language? No wonder he’s eager to get rid of you! I’m amazed he hasn’t had you fed to the crocodiles!’

She turned large, frightened eyes to him. ‘And that’s still a possibility. Don’t think I don’t know that! I’ve got Stuart to keep the planes trimmed and fuelled up and ready to go. Come with us, Joe! We could be off tomorrow at first light. First stop Delhi - next stop, anywhere in the world! Why not?’

‘Can’t be done. I have an appointment to shoot a tiger in the morning.’

He heard his crisp, dismissive British officer’s voice replay in his head and was ashamed. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Madeleine, I’m sorry! What a pompous thing to say!’

She squeezed his arm. ‘You’ve been hanging around with Edgar Troop for too long! Never a good idea, Joe. But at least you do see why I’m creeping about looking over my shoulder the whole time?’

‘Yes, I do and I won’t wrap it up, Madeleine, you could have brought down a wasps’ nest on your head. You shouldn’t have meddled. You don’t know what’s been going on under the surface

’ he added distractedly.

‘And you do?’ she asked immediately, seizing on his uncertainty.

To tell her? To confide in her? To hear her down-to-earth reaction, telling him his fears were ridiculous? For some time Joe had felt himself in possession of the appalling truth behind the deaths of the two heirs but unable to seek rebuttal or support for his theory from anyone else. So unpalatable was his suggestion, he had hidden it away in a corner of his mind but, piece by piece, layer by layer, information, opinions, intuition had snowballed around the core of his idea until he was desperate to let the whole thing out, and hope that someone would shoot it to bits.

She took his face gently in her hands and turned it towards her. ‘You know, don’t you, Joe? You know who killed Bishan and Prithvi?’

Taking his silence and downcast eyes for an answer she persisted: ‘Tell me! Prithvi was my husband! I have a right to know! I must know!’

He held her hands in one of his and put his other arm around her shoulders.

‘It’s all right, Joe,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to scream and stamp about or chase after anyone with a carving knife!’

He swallowed and opened his mouth to speak, thought again and looked away. Then, remembering Lois with her admonition - ‘The walls have ears’, he turned and put his head close to hers. Through the lily-scented curls he whispered, ‘They were killed on the orders of Udai Singh. Their father.’

Ť ^ ť

Madeleine’s shoulders began to shake with horror and he held her tightly for a few moments until she grew steadier. Her mind was whirling, he guessed, tracking his own on its unwilling journey down the dark corridors of palace intrigue. She took her time.

‘Okay, Joe,’ she said finally in a calm voice, ‘I’m prepared to go along with this

to a point

but first, tell me - why?’

‘Well, so long as you remember that this is purely speculation. And I’ve only been in the palace—’

‘Get on with it, Joe!’

‘Udai’s people call him “Bappa”,’ Joe began simply. ‘And there you have it. He is father to the tribe and nothing in his life is more important than this role. He discovered he was dying about two months ago and what will a dying man do but put his house in order? The survival of Ranipur was his first consideration. Above everything, he knew that his first son would be a disastrous ruler and unable to pass on the state to his own children because he had none and there was no prospect of there ever being any. I believe he looked at his three sons and decided that the third, Bahadur, was almost perfect for the job - would have been perfect had he been legitimate - but acceptable all the same. Everyone likes him, he’s an able boy and the choice would please the British whom he values as an ally in these troubled times. They’re in favour of preserving the autonomy of the Indian princedoms after all and to that end the politics of Ranipur and the Empire march together.

‘Shortly after he realized death was imminent he made up a will - more in the nature of a statement of succession but I’ll call it a “will” for simplicity. The document was left undated until today. I’ve got a copy. That will named Bahadur as heir. So we know this was his plan before the deaths of Bishan and Prithvi. But he kept it quiet. From his own experience of being named Yuvaraj he knew that the potential for blood-letting was there. Had they guessed his intentions, the older sons would have taken action to divert the course of events.’

‘Wait a minute! Just wait a minute! “Divert the course of events” What the hell are you suggesting? One of the “older sons” was my husband, for Christ’s sake! Are you suggesting that Udai expected Prithvi to take his brothers for a ride like some Leftie Louie or Alphonse Capone?’ Madeleine pushed him away angrily.

‘I’m not conscious of those gentlemen but if I take your meaning - yes, that’s exactly what I’m suggesting. And don’t shoot the detective, Madeleine! I’m just trying to work out which way the snakes are wriggling in this nest of vipers. Udai knew his sons, after all, and for longer than you had known Prithvi. He was “all Rajput” according to your brother and might well have reverted to a Rajput way of dealing with an unsatisfactory succession. Udai had decided on Bahadur and he removed, I believe, the potential obstacles to the boy’s inheriting the throne.’

‘But Udai got on well with Prithvi. He sent him to the States last year as his representative