The Midnight Rose (25 page)

I tried to hold back my blushes, berating myself for the deceit of the past two weeks. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“So, it’s time to ask
you
what you want, Anni. You have your matriculation and the completion of your formal education coming up in the next few weeks. For Indira”—the Maharani sighed—“it hardly matters. She will be married to the Maharaja of Dharampur within the next eighteen months. Of course, there’ll always be a place for you in my home and I don’t doubt that Indira will wish for you to accompany her to her new palace when she marries. But I feel I should ask you,
Anni, if it is your wish to return to India with us. Or whether you want to stay in England and complete your education.”

“I don’t know, Your Highness.”

“I’ve also had a letter from Lady Selina at Astbury Hall. As I’m sure you know, she’s an old friend of Minty, my daughter. She says you assisted her when she gave birth to her child.”

“Yes, Your Highness, I did.”

“So,” the Maharani said, steepling her beautifully manicured fingers, “if you do decide to stay in England, Selina has offered you a position at Astbury Hall taking care of her baby daughter. It seems she is struggling to find a good nursemaid during this crisis.”

I admit that my heart leaped at the thought of living in the house Donald would one day be returning to, when the war was finally over. “It’s very kind of her, and I will certainly think about it.”

“It must, of course, be your choice,” she continued, “but I do feel that perhaps your horizons should be set beyond being a mere nursemaid.”

I knew I had only a few moments to assimilate what she was saying. This woman, who didn’t need to ask me what I wanted for my future but had the grace and integrity to do so, was offering me my freedom. “I miss India terribly,” I answered honestly, “and if I did stay here, I’d miss Indira too. She’s like my sister.”

“We all miss India and our friends when we are away,” the Maharani agreed, “but the life you would have there as a grown woman is perhaps not what you would wish. Even though it will pain my daughter to lose you, I wouldn’t want to see you shut up in a zenana for the rest of your life, unable to use that clever brain of yours. And”—the Maharani sighed—“forgive me if I speak the truth, but even though I will, of course, endeavor to help you, your marriage prospects will be . . . limited.”

“Yes, I know.”

“So, Anni, it is for you to decide. I’m happy if you wish to stay here in England and complete your education—I feel it would be unfair for you to have worked so hard without doing so—or if you want to return to India with Indira and me. Your passage home is already booked, but I can easily cancel it.”

“Your Highness, I need a little time to think,” I answered.

“Of course,” she said. “We will talk tomorrow morning. Let us hope Indira has recovered from her illness and can travel.”

“Yes.”

As I rose and walked to the door, the Maharani followed me and put her hand on my shoulder. “Remember, Anni, I know my daughter very well. She is far too much like me. Her heart rules her head.”

I knew the Maharani was telling me that she was aware of Indira’s crush on Prince Varun and would deal with it. I was sure that was part of the reason she was taking Indira home with her and I felt relieved that the burden had been lifted from me.

That night, I silently paced the bedroom floor while Indira slept. I was flushed with the new and rare feeling of making my own decisions—I held my destiny in my own hands. To stay on alone in England and complete my education would be a brave step, whereas if I returned to India with the Maharani and Indira I’d have the protective shield of the royal family around me. I thought of the moment at the Royal Academy of Arts and shuddered. But if Indira’s arranged marriage went ahead, my future would, as the Maharani had subtly pointed out, be limited to the confines of Indira’s new zenana. And I would almost certainly remain a spinster for the rest of my days.

And then in England lay freedom and also—I forced myself to be honest about why the position Selina had offered me was so tempting—Donald.

I knew we were merely friends and I understood that, given our positions in life, we could never be more. But if I returned to India, I would surely never see him again.

Eventually, I did what any young adult does when they have a difficult decision to make: I consulted my parents. I sat cross-legged on the floor, looked up to the heavens and asked them what their daughter should do. Then I waited for a response . . .

•  •  •

“I have decided I wish to stay in England and complete my education.”

The Maharani smiled at me. “I thought that might be your answer, Anni.”

“I think . . .” This was the first time I’d voiced the thoughts that had been coming into my head for a while now and had crystallized last night after I’d consulted my parents. “I think I might like to train as a nurse.”

“Yes, I can see that it might suit you, given your gifts.” She gave me a sweet, reassuring smile.

“But what about Princess Indira? We haven’t been apart for almost six years. I don’t want her to feel that I’m deserting her.”

“As we both know, Anni, my daughter’s heart is elsewhere for the present. She sees and feels nothing else.”

“Yes,” I said, and we shared a moment of understanding.

“Leave her to me, Anni, trust me to take care of the situation. I think it’s right that you forge your own life. I will send you a monthly allowance, which should be adequate for your needs, and, if you wish me to, I’ll write to Selina telling her you would like to accept her offer.”

“Yes, but, Your Highness, just for the summer,” I said. “After that, I feel I would like to join the Voluntary Aid Detachment as a nurse and help in the war effort.”

“That’s very admirable of you, Anni, and it will prepare you well for your future. So, we are decided?”

“Yes. I cannot begin to thank you enough for all you have done for me. You have been so generous, so kind.” Tears welled in my eyes and I bit my lip to stem them.

“Dearest Anni, please remember that I promised your mother I would take care of you when she handed you over to me. I wish you to remember that I’m here in her place. If there is anything that you need, you must promise to write to me, for I don’t know how long it will be before we see each other again. Come.”

The Maharani opened her arms to me and I went into them. “I love you like you are my own, dear Anni. Never be afraid of asking for my help if you need it in the future.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” I whispered, my eyes full of tears. I gave thanks to the heavens that they’d brought this wonderful woman—such a rare combination of power and goodness—into my life. At that moment, I felt truly blessed.

As the Maharani had predicted so accurately, Indira was not particularly bothered when I told her that I was staying in England and returning to school to take my matriculation.

“You will write?” she asked me. “Every day?”

“Maybe not every day, for I’ll be studying hard,” I said, smiling, “but certainly very often.”

As my trunk was shut and taken downstairs, she looked at me suddenly. “I thought you hated it here in England. Why on earth would you want to stay?”

“Because I know it’s the right thing to do,” I replied.

•  •  •

It was only after I’d kissed the Maharani good-bye and hugged Indira to me for one last time, before climbing into the back of the car that would take me away from them—perhaps forever—that I realized the enormity of the decision I had made.

A
ri sat in his car on the side of the narrow road that cut through Dartmoor and thumped the GPS with his fist in frustration. Not that it would help, he knew; the signal had gone haywire ten minutes ago—which was approximately the last time he’d seen any form of signpost. He was completely lost.

For want of something better to do, Ari climbed out of the car and took a deep breath of fresh, moorland air. It was a hot day for England and as he gazed across the undulating landscape, he appreciated the beauty his great-grandmother had described so vividly in her story. The stillness was what struck him most: barely a hint of a breeze, the silence only broken by the call of a buzzard flying over the rugged, empty moor—he doubted it had changed since Anahita was last here.

Due to his hectic work schedule in London, coupled with jet lag, Ari had yet to finish her story. But what he had read so far on the plane had intrigued him enough to hire a car, drive down to Devon and take a look at Astbury Hall for himself. Even before reaching his destination, he’d already begun to second-guess what had taken place here.

As he stood surveying the moors, Ari realized that these next few days would be the nearest thing to a holiday he had taken in the past fifteen years. Even if he discovered his great-grandmother’s story wasn’t worth pursuing, it would at least give him time to clear his own thoughts before he returned to face the mess he had made of his life in India.

“Because . . . it is also your future.”

Anahita’s last words had drifted back to him as he had driven toward Devon that morning.

Ari climbed back into his car and restarted the engine. He would simply have to drive until he came across a village where he could ask for directions. For once he had no deadline to meet, so he sat back, relaxed and began to enjoy the scenery.

An hour later, he stopped in front of a pair of wrought-iron gates and glanced along the drive that led beyond them. He couldn’t see a
building from the road, but he noticed the gates were firmly closed with a security guard standing by them. As he wondered what to do, a white van arrived on the other side of the gates. The guard nodded and opened them to let the van through.

“All right, mate?” the man in the van said as he drove past Ari.

“Yes, this is Astbury Hall, isn’t it?”

“Yes, a nightmare to find as well. I’ve just delivered some extra cable and it took me the best part of an hour to locate it. You here for the shoot?”

“Yes,” Ari lied.

“If you’re looking for Steve Campion, the production manager, head straight up the drive and turn right when you reach the house. You should find him in the courtyard.” The driver set off. As the gates began to close, Ari took the decision and drove swiftly through them.

“I was told to find Steve Campion in the courtyard,” he said to the security guard.

The guard nodded disinterestedly and waved him on. As he passed through the parkland surrounding the house, Ari guessed the estate must now be used for business purposes, probably a hotel or conference center. This was certainly what had happened to many of the grand old palaces in India.

When Astbury Hall finally came into view, it wasn’t the grandeur of it that made Ari catch his breath. Gathered on the front steps were a number of men attired in top hats and tails, and women in an array of period evening dresses. There was a vintage Rolls-Royce parked outside the house and a man stood next to it, wearing an old-fashioned chauffeur’s uniform.

Ari slowed the car and blinked hard, for the scene in front of him could have been plucked from another era. It was only when he noticed the camera equipment surrounding the people that he chuckled, realizing that the white-van man had meant shooting a
film
, not a brace of pheasants.

He saw someone waving at him urgently, indicating that he should drive around to the right of the house. They were obviously in the middle of shooting a scene. Doing so, Ari arrived in a courtyard humming with activity. Finding a space to park his car, he stepped out alongside a throng of crew and actors dressed in costume, queuing at a catering van. No one took any notice of him as he moved among them. He spied an open door at the side of the house and tentatively
moved through a lobby and found himself in a large, deserted kitchen.

Ari stared at the long, scrubbed pine table, the old-fashioned range and an upright piano against the wall. A threadbare chair sat near the fireplace. He wondered if this was the same kitchen that Anahita had sat in almost one hundred years before.

“Can I help you?”

A female voice stirred him out of his reverie.

The sturdily built, middle-aged woman looked at him questioningly. “There’s no food supplied in here, my love, all the film people eat outside from the catering van. And there are Portaloos around the back,” she added.

“Forgive me,” Ari said, “I’m not part of the film.”

“So why are you standing in my kitchen?”

“I’ve come to see Astbury Hall.”

“It’s not open to the public, so you can’t.” As she stared at him, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re not one of those journalists, are you? How did you get in here? There’s meant to be security on the gate.”

“No, no,” said Ari hastily, wondering how on earth he
was
supposed to explain his presence. “It’s a . . . family connection I’ve come about.”

“Really?”

“Yes. One of my relatives used to work at Astbury Hall many years ago.”

“Who?”

“Her name was Anahita Chavan.”