The Midnight Rose (38 page)

“Thank goodness you’re here, Anni. I need your help. Varun says I must write to my parents as soon as possible to tell them we’re to be married. By the time the letter reaches them in India, it will be too late to stop us. And”—Indira’s brow furrowed with anxiety—“I don’t know what to say.”

“Of course I’ll help you write it. But tell me first, did your prince live up to your expectations?”

“Oh yes, yes,” said Indira, her eyes dreamy. “He’s already obtained a special marriage license for us. He says there’s no time to waste, as my family has many spies in Paris and may hear of what we’re doing. So, the ceremony is set for the day after tomorrow. We’re going to the town hall, and I’ll need a witness. Will you do that for me, Anni?”

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” I replied, using a very British expression. “Of course I will. Now, let’s get on with this letter.”

Varun came to visit Indira the following day and the three of us took tea together in Indira’s rooms, discussing their plans. I was at least gratified to see that Indira’s love was so obviously reciprocated by her prince. They were both aglow with happiness at their reunion.

“Where will you be taking Indira when you’re married?” I asked him.

“I have a good friend who has said we can use his house down in St. Raphaël for as long as we like. Both our families will need some time to get used to what we’ve done. I don’t wish to upset them further by flaunting our marriage in European society, so we’ll lie low for the time being.”

“I’m sure most of Europe will think it’s terribly romantic,” I said, smiling. “A prince and a princess running away together has all the elements of a fairy tale, doesn’t it?”

“Varun says I must write a nice letter to my jilted Maharaja.” Indira pouted from the writing bureau. “What on earth do I say? ‘
Dear Old Man Prince, you are fat and ugly and I’ve never loved you. I’m afraid to tell you that I’ve married someone else. Yours, Princess Indira
’?”

We all chuckled at this, then Varun put an arm around Indira protectively. “I know you don’t want to write to him, my darling, but we’re hurting a lot of people. We must try, within that, to behave with as much integrity as we can.”

“Yes.” Indira sighed. “I know.”

Varun stood up and turned to me. “Thank you, Anahita, for everything you’ve done for my princess. We’re both deeply in your debt. I shall leave you now to write my own letter home. And I shall see you, Indira, tomorrow morning at the town hall.”

“
Bon nuit,
mon amour,
” she said, blowing him a kiss as he departed. Then she turned to me. “I can hardly believe that tomorrow will be my wedding day. I’d always imagined the great state occasion of my
marriage in Cooch Behar, with my prince arriving in the Durbar Hall on an elephant, dressed in his ceremonial robes. Instead, we’ll take a taxi to the town hall!”

“Does it matter to you?” I asked.

“Not one tiny bit, nor does it to him.”

“I think Varun is a good man, Indy. You’re lucky to have found him. And most importantly, I can see he loves you.”

“I know,” she said gravely. “I must do my best to stop acting like a spoiled child—which we both know I can be sometimes—when I’m his wife.”

“Agreed,” I said, smiling at her self-awareness. “Now, what does the bride-to-be feel like for her premarriage supper?”

•  •  •

The following day, despite the fact that Indira didn’t go through hours of being bathed, oiled and dressed in the complex layers of a traditional marriage sari and only had me to attend to her, I thought she looked as pretty as a picture in her white lace dress, with tiny cream rosebuds placed in her inky hair. As I sat in the dreary room at the town hall with Varun’s manservant and watched my dearest friend marry her prince, I felt the circle of our young lives had been completed. Our futures would not be the fairy tale we had dreamed of as little girls, when we had lain on the grass and gazed up at the stars together; love had touched both of us and changed us in ways we could never have imagined.

After the ceremony, the newlyweds had champagne sent to the honeymoon suite Varun had taken for them.

“Darling Anni, you must give me your address before we go our separate ways,” said Indira.

“Yes, of course. I’ll write to you with it at your St. Raphaël address when I get back to London and am settled somewhere.”

Twenty minutes later, I took my leave, as I could see that the two of them were desperate to be alone. I gave Indira an encouraging smile, knowing she was both apprehensive and excited by the intimacies she would experience for the first time with her prince that night. As I left, I felt both fearful and relieved that, tomorrow, I could finally concentrate on my own future.

The next morning, when the couple emerged from their suite at midday, I was already packed and ready to leave. Indira’s face fell at my
closed suitcase. “Are you sure you don’t wish to accompany us down to St. Raphaël for a while?”

“No, I think the two of you will have plenty to keep you occupied. You won’t want me hanging around. Besides,” I said with far more gaiety than I felt, “I must go back and see my own love.”

“Of course. I can never tell you how grateful I am to you for helping me find mine.”

“So now we must say good-bye.”

Both of us shed tears as we embraced.

“Be happy, my dearest friend,” I said as the porter arrived to take my suitcase downstairs.

“I will be. And you too, Anni. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. I’m not sure I can ever repay it, but if there’s ever a time that you need me, all you must do is ask.”

“Thank you.” I nodded, too choked to say much more. “Good-bye.”

Taking a deep breath, I turned away from her and walked through the door. I didn’t look back, knowing that if I did, I would break down completely.

Outside on the Place Vendôme, I stood for a few moments trying to compose myself. Then I picked up my suitcase and took my first step toward the unknown.

W
ould you like a brandy? I certainly would,” Anthony asked Ari as Mrs. Trevathan broke the silence between the two men, arriving to clear away the dessert plates in the dining room.

“Thank you,” replied Ari, watching Anthony as he took a decanter from a tray on a sideboard, poured the brandy into two glasses and handed one to him.

“Your health,” Anthony toasted.

“And yours. I sincerely apologize if the story has upset you.”

“I admit I had to stop reading after a point. I just don’t know whether I can believe that everything your great-grandmother has written is the absolute truth,” Anthony replied.

“I am sure it is the truth as she knew it. Love is a strange thing, I suppose,” Ari mused.

“The one thing that does ring true, however, is Anahita’s description of Maud, my great-grandmother. She was terrifying. Mother and I both lived in fear of her until the day she died.”

“I can tell you that Maud certainly played her part in the tragedy that subsequently followed,” said Ari with a sigh.

“Well, the fact remains that there isn’t a single shred of evidence to confirm either your great-grandmother’s relationship with my grandfather or her presence here at Astbury.”

“If Donald did father a child with Anahita, surely, given the scandal it would have caused, any trace of her and her son would have been well hidden?”

Ari saw Anthony physically shudder. “But the child died anyway—you’ve told me your great-grandmother received his death certificate from Selina Fontaine?”

“Yes, and so far I have no proof to suggest that he did survive,” said Ari. “In that sense, I’m almost certainly here on a wild goose chase. Still, I’m glad I came; it’s been wonderful to get to know a place that was so important to her.”

“I wish I could help you further with your investigations, but I
can’t. Surely, you must have considered the fact that much of your great-grandmother’s story might well be fantasy? It was written thirty years after the event and we all know how memories become confused with the passage of time,” said Anthony.

“I agree there may well be some exaggeration in the pages. However, there was just one more thing I wanted to investigate further. Later in her story, she mentions a cottage which was a very happy place for her for a year or two.”

“Which cottage? There are any number of cottages on the estate.”

“The one on the moors in the dip by the brook. Rebecca and I passed it when we were out riding. I’m sure that’s the one Anahita was talking about.”

“Good grief! That old place is completely derelict, nothing left inside it at all. I’m about to order its demolition.”

“You’ve seen inside it?” asked Ari.

“Yes,” replied Anthony firmly.

“Well in any case, if I may, I’d like to take up your offer of borrowing a horse again for a last hack across the moors, if that still stands?” he added.

“Of course,” agreed Anthony as he drained his glass. “When are you thinking of leaving?”

“It depends. I’m turfed out of my bed-and-breakfast the day after tomorrow. It’s high season and the landlady has a two-week family booking, so I must find somewhere else to stay.”

“Well then”—Anthony stood up abruptly—“do come up to the hall and say good-bye before you go.”

“I will, thank you.” Recognizing that the evening was over and he was being dismissed, Ari stood too.

Anthony walked toward the door, then turned around as if in afterthought. “If you do take a horse out tomorrow, I need you to promise that you won’t enter the cottage near the brook. It’s been condemned and I won’t be held responsible for any accident that might befall you if you did. Do you see?”

“I do.” Ari followed Anthony out of the dining room and into the main hall. “Thank you for dinner.”

“The front door is unlocked; do see yourself out,” Anthony nodded as he headed for the stairs. “I’m sorry your journey here to Astbury Hall has been fruitless. Good night.”

“Good night.” Ari walked across the hall and went out of the front
door into the still, starlit night. As he walked to his car in the courtyard, he mused on his conversation with Anthony. He didn’t know the man well enough to decide whether he was simply ignorant of the past and therefore so protective of his ancestors that he couldn’t bear to contemplate the truth, or if, in fact, he knew far more than he was letting on.

•  •  •

Arriving back in her room after having a bath, Rebecca saw that it was past ten o’clock and Jack was still not back from his evening out with James. Realizing that she could easily have joined Anthony and Ari downstairs for dinner if Jack had told her he’d be out so late, she stifled her irritation and tried to concentrate on her script.

At eleven thirty, there was a tentative knock on her door.

“Come in,” she called.

Mrs. Trevathan’s head appeared around it. “Sorry to disturb you, Miss Rebecca, but is your young man due back tonight or not?”

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Trevathan, Jack’s out with James Waugh in Ash-burton. Why don’t you go to bed and I’ll wait up for him?”

“That won’t be necessary, dear, but if he’s to stay here for a while, perhaps in future he could inform me of what time he’ll be arriving back?”

“Of course. I was expecting him much earlier.”

“Never mind. Sleep well, dear, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Mrs. Trevathan closed the door and Rebecca decided that if Jack was staying on longer, the best thing they could do would be to move to a hotel. Yes, there’d be a media frenzy at their presence together in England, and very likely the paparazzi would be camped outside the hotel, but she didn’t want to abuse Anthony’s and Mrs. Trevathan’s hospitality.

Today, she’d been feeling more sanguine about their relationship. It had been good to see him and their lovemaking had reminded her of the intensity of their bond. Maybe she
had
underestimated his true feelings for her. The very fact that he’d arrived here in England to find her was surely obvious testament to how much he cared about her.

At midnight, Rebecca gave up and turned out the light. She had another early call the following morning.

She was disturbed from sleep in the early hours by a clattering in
the room. She switched on the light and saw Jack sprawled on the floor, having tripped over the coffee table.

“Sorry,” he giggled. “I was trying to be quiet and not wake you.”

Rebecca peered at him from her vantage point on the bed, her heart sinking. It was evident that he was very drunk.

“You had a good night, then?”

“James is a guy who sure knows how to party. I left him with some woman who was going up to keep him company in his room. Right . . .” He tried to stand up and, failing the first time, managed it the second. He made it to the bed and lay on it fully clothed. His eyes opened as he gazed up at her from his prone position. “Do you know how gorgeous you are?” he slurred.

Rebecca saw his telltale enlarged pupils. “Jack, you’ve done some lines tonight, haven’t you?”

“Only a couple. Now come here.” He reached for her, but she pulled away abruptly.

“I need to sleep, please, Jack, I have a call in”—Rebecca glanced at the clock—“four hours’ time.”