The Girl from Cobb Street (19 page)

When she woke next morning from a disturbed sleep, he’d already gone and she was left to spend the day wondering how they could bear to look each other in the face again. But she need not have worried. When Gerald returned home well into the afternoon, he appeared to have no recollection that anything untoward had happened.

She had been dozing over a book in the sitting room, but came fully awake when she saw her husband coming towards her chair, cup in hand. She wondered if she were dreaming.

‘Rajiv has made
chai.
I thought you might like some. There are cakes, too.’

‘No cakes, thank you, but this is very kind.’ If he was making an effort, so must she. She sat up and took the cup from him. ‘I thought you’d be at the camp for the rest of the afternoon. I didn’t expect you back until dinner.’

He looked a trifle shamefaced. ‘Thursdays are half days.’ That was news to her. He had never seemed to have an afternoon free before. ‘Normally we use it for sport but there’s not much you can do in these temperatures.’

He crouched down in front of her. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday, Daisy. I shouldn’t have ruined your lunch in that way, going off at the deep end. You’d had a tremendous shock. When I got back to camp, Anish told me about the scare. What on earth were you doing at that temple on your own?’

‘I had a fancy to see it, that’s all,’ she said mildly.

‘Next time you have a fancy, tell me. You shouldn’t do that kind of thing, you know. It’s not right for an Englishwoman to be roaming around the countryside unescorted. And you were lucky to get away without injury. The temple is nothing more than a ruin and I’ve heard that bits of it regularly crumble. It’s definitely not safe to visit.’

If that were the case, she wondered why Grayson hadn’t thought to mention it, but aloud she promised, ‘I won’t do it again.’

He got up and sat a little way off. There had been no mention of the drunken abuse. Was it possible he didn’t remember, or was it that he didn’t want to? If so, he might be right; it might be wiser to go along with the fiction that last night had been like any other.

‘It’s cooling off a little now. If I order up a tonga, would you like to take a drive?’

She wondered if she’d heard aright. Gerald was willing to spend time with her, and not just time, but was going out of his way to plan an excursion. ‘Unless, of course, you’d rather stay here,’ he finished lamely.

‘No, not at all.’ She was swift to set his mind at rest. ‘I’d like that very much. Thank you for thinking of it.’

He seemed relieved. ‘Rest a while more then, and we’ll leave around five.’

When he’d gone to shower, she lay back in the chair, feeling lightheaded and very slightly confused. She was finding it difficult to keep pace with her husband’s rapid shifts of mood. Not that she wasn’t grateful for his goodwill, but she couldn’t help wondering if his change of heart was part of a plan to wear her down, an attempt to get her to change tack and agree to move to the hills. Threats hadn’t worked and now he was trying to persuade her with gentle indulgence. Was that it? Even if that were true, she mustn’t allow it to cloud her mind. She must think only good thoughts and, if he were trying to make amends, she must meet him halfway.

By five o’clock she was dressed in the prettiest of the frocks the
durzi
had made, a flimsy cotton in the palest pink, clinched at the waist with a belt made from the same material, and with a lace collar and cuffs to the puff sleeves. She looked in the mirror and was pleased. Her dark hair and eyes were a perfect foil for the dress; her eyes in particular had recovered their old sparkle. Gerald was waiting for her in the living room and when she saw his look of approval, her spirits rose even higher.

‘Is that new?’

For a moment her mood faltered. She had spent only a small sum of money on the clothes but now that she knew their true situation, she reproached herself for it. Automatically her eyes swivelled towards the desk but even from where she was standing, she could see that the sheaf of bills was no longer there. They had vanished, in the same way she imagined as the letter from Joseph Minns had vanished. It seemed that anything disagreeable, anything that Gerald wanted to forget or keep from open discussion, was swallowed by his desk. She wondered if he’d done anything about the bills or whether she was likely to receive another visit from the two Indian gentlemen. She wondered, in fact, if he’d done anything about the letter from the man she now thought of as his father or if Mr Minns was still struggling to survive in the poorest of circumstances. But Gerald wouldn’t speak of either problems and she couldn’t ask. At least not yet. If this afternoon were to mark the beginning of a happier relationship between them, she might one day be able to talk to him about the things that really mattered.

The tonga was at the door, the driver snoozing contentedly in his seat. Gerald gave an instruction in Hindi. ‘I’ve told him to drive to the river. I saw how your eyes lit up when Anish mentioned a ride there.’

She could hear the old Gerald in his voice, the Gerald who had won her heart all those months ago, walking together through the streets and parks of London. ‘I’d love to drive there,’ she responded warmly. ‘I caught a glimpse of the river when I was in Jasirapur, but only a glimpse.’

‘The spot I’ve chosen is nothing like that. Where the river flows through the town, it’s heavily polluted. Just about everything goes into it. But we’ll be driving into open countryside and there are few animals and even fewer people to despoil it. We should find a small amount of shade there, too. Several trees, nothing much, but enough shelter from the worst of the glare.’

‘It’s already much cooler.’

‘Maybe, but it stays hot for an hour or two, and you don’t look well.’

She must have looked upset for he said quickly, ‘You look very nice in that dress but your face is strained, that’s what I mean. I’m not surprised. You’re finding the climate difficult and you’ve had a few shocks. The snake, and now this incident at the temple.’

He didn’t mention the locked door, she noticed, but then the snake and the rock were incontestable facts and the door had only been her illusion. As he’d said, it had probably never been locked.

‘I’m not ill, just a little weary. It’s difficult to sleep. You warned me how horrid it would be but—’

‘—but you can’t ever imagine the discomfort. Perhaps tonight you’ll sleep better. I forgot to mention that Grayson Harte called at the house yesterday. Rajiv has just told me. He left some goji berries for you.’

‘Goji berries?’ She was surprised, and not just by the strange name. Disturbed, too. Grayson had been close to the temple when she’d made her ill-fated visit but had he first called at the bungalow with the excuse of a gift of fruit, then finding her gone, had guessed her destination and followed?

‘You can squash them down into a juice and then make a drink from them. They’re supposed to be good for your health and for sleeping. I’ve told Rajiv to prepare a glass for you at bedtime.’

‘That’s very kind.’ She seemed to be saying that a great deal today.

He shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘I haven’t been very kind, and I’m sorry for that. Sorry for my outburst yesterday. I was convinced a break was the right thing for us and when you decided otherwise, I lost my temper. That was wrong. Whatever you decide about Simla will be fine. I know things are difficult for both of us but we’ve just got to get on with our lives as best we can.’

It was hardly a ringing endorsement of marriage, but it was reality and one she’d begun to accept. Last night’s hateful advances were only a mask for the real problem—the fact that he didn’t love her. Even the days they’d spent together in London had a shadow over them now. He’d taken her dancing, taken her to the cinema, once even to a fancy restaurant. She still had the keepsakes he’d bought during their wanderings. They’d cost little but she had treasured them. He’d made her feel special and she’d fallen in love. But his verdict on those times had left her flayed. She had been nothing but ‘fun’, a pick-up if you were to speak the vulgar truth. And she’d behaved like one, hadn’t she? That last night in her room when he’d plied her with drink, she had become silly and flirtatious and willing. She’d listened to his promises and believed them. She’d surrendered her body and with it, her heart and soul too. It was still difficult to accept that it hadn’t been that way for Gerald, that her feelings had been so very different from his.

‘There’s the river, straight ahead.’

She craned her head forward and saw a wide expanse of water curving a path through the flat landscape. The sun was low, and its rays were catching at the river’s edge as it meandered right, then left, glittering and golden in the dying light. A boat drifted a little way off shore dragging a length of mesh behind it. A fisherman called out to his mate and she saw the glint of a body, scales gleaming in the sunset, then a loud thump as a large fish was ejected from the net and joined the wriggling heap on the boat’s deck.

‘Here, sahib?’ the driver asked.

‘Yes, here.’ They drew up beneath the shelter of a small cluster of trees and she breathed in the sweet smell of the fuzz buzz flowers, warm from the day. ‘We could watch the river from here, if you like—the shade is sufficient. Unless you’d prefer to walk a little.’

‘Yes, let’s walk. It’s cool enough, I think.’

She was eager to go. The landscape was different here, its smells and colours newly thrilling. They sauntered along the riverbank, walking in harmony, bodies close but not touching, as the huge disc of sun slipped slowly downwards behind the horizon. When the last streaks of gold had disappeared from the sky, they turned back towards the tonga, for in no time twilight would be over and the inky blackness of an Indian night would be upon them.

‘We should have done this before,’ he said, as the tonga whisked them back to the bungalow.

‘You’ve been busy.’ She wanted to excuse him, to save this happy afternoon from recrimination.

‘Not so busy that I couldn’t take you out and about a little.’

She reached out for his hand and he let her take it. ‘Don’t let’s think of the past,’ she pleaded. ‘This afternoon has been good, and we can do it again. Whenever you have another Thursday free.’

‘That will be soon, I promise.’ He allowed his hand to stay in hers, helping her down from the tonga and only releasing her when he turned to pay the driver. The smell of chicken curry greeted them as they walked into the house and for the first time in a long while, she felt hungry for it.

Dinner was a great deal more companionable than yesterday’s lunch. And when Rajiv came in with the drink he’d made from Grayson’s goji berries, she was relaxed enough to drink it down without a thought.

‘You should get to bed,’ her husband urged. ‘Those berries should send you off to sleep in no time.’

It was only then that she felt worry strike. Should she have taken more care and not drunk them? What if these berries were like the snake and the rock, a possible means for Grayson to ‘rescue’ her? But she dismissed the thought almost as soon as it arose. Gerald had voiced no qualms and she was sure that Grayson Harte wished her nothing but well. It was simple coincidence that had found him close by when things had gone awry. It was what he’d said himself, ‘fate’.

When she rose to go to the bedroom, Gerald made no attempt to go with her, but contented himself with a chaste kiss on her cheek. She wasn’t surprised. In minutes she had undressed and hung her frock in the battered cupboard, safe from any marauding ants. She was glad that Gerald had liked the dress. One day things might change between them, but their estrangement no longer had the power to hurt and for that she was grateful. The sheets were cool to her touch, at least for the moment, and she stretched out between them, her head slightly fuzzy but her limbs completely relaxed. Grayson’s drink seemed to be working. In a few minutes she was asleep.

Over the next few days a wind began to blow, a searing blast which felt as though every oven in India had been opened simultaneously. Although Rajiv ensured that windows and doors were shut by seven in the morning, he spent much of the day wetting the plaited screens while the bungalow broiled. At night it was once more difficult to sleep, despite Daisy dutifully swallowing a glass of goji juice before going to bed. Noise as well as heat was intensified: frogs croaked louder, cicadas sawed relentlessly and jackals shrieked rather than howled, setting in motion the frantic barking of stray dogs from villages for miles around. For three days the wind raged and Daisy did not dare venture outside, but life within doors was almost as miserable. The air was a solid mass, and as its temperature rose, so did the number of insects. The floor came alive with black beetles, green flies heaped in every corner, and flying ants and bluebottles nightly incarcerated themselves on the kerosene lamps.

Gerald was largely absent. He was heavily involved in preparations for the parade and Friday’s was the last of the season, and destined to be by far the most splendid. How the event was to take place in such weather, Daisy found difficult to imagine, but he insisted that it was certain to go ahead. His whole attention was focused on getting his troop in tip-top condition—men, horses, uniforms, weapons—for what was to be a huge occasion. The regiment had been told that a very important person, a ‘bigwig’ as Gerald put it, was travelling from Delhi to hold the inspection and they could not afford for anything to go wrong. He seemed to worry that it might.