The reception was scheduled for two hours from six-thirty until eight-thirty, and by eight-thirty the only remaining guests were the honoured few who had been invited to dine. Liz found herself sitting next to Tim Barnes, the consul, and on her right, the chairman of one of India’s largest companies. He was unfortunately rather pompous and full of self-importance and Liz was glad that Tim provided light relief on her left.
It was not long before she realised he was subtly getting her to talk about Ronnie – perhaps not quite subtly enough, for she quickly suspected he was interested to find out all he could in order to further the relationship. Without letting him suspect that she had twigged, she let him know that Ronnie’s friendship with her and with her sister was a warm caring one but no more. His relief was almost tangible and she saw him glancing down to where Ronnie sat entertaining the two ladies who sat either side of him, but returning Tim’s glances in his direction with a broad smile.
It was proving to be a lovely dinner and she mentally noted all the details so that she could tell Aarav. He was always enthusiastic for new and fresh ideas, and would also want to know about the presentation of the dishes too. Really, he was wasted cooking for her, Liz thought, although he didn’t seem to think so and always enjoyed presenting her with some new and original culinary ideas.
Imogen gave her a hug when they finally left at almost one a.m. Philip shook her gravely by the hand. Their eyes held as he wished her goodnight. “What a pity you live so far from Delhi.” He spoke quietly almost as if it was something very personal between them, whereas Liz knew that it was undoubtedly something he said to all his guests visiting from outside Delhi.
They were silent on the drive back to the Taj Hotel, both wrapped in thought. Ronnie hugged her as he deposited her outside her door. “A night-cap?” she suggested tentatively, hoping he would say no.
He smiled. “I’m tired and I am sure you are too – though you don’t look it,” he added hastily. “Quite the bell of the ball Cinderella. Mr Ambassador couldn’t keep his eyes off you.”
Liz felt the colour rush to her cheeks. “What nonsense,” she said, slightly more tartly than she meant to. “Anyway, what about you and Tim?” Before he could answer she had let herself into her room and now leaned against the door glad of its support.
Undressing, with only moonlight shining through the windows, she pushed open the balcony door. The warmth of the air hit her after the air-conditioned coolness of the room. Below her there was a light hum of traffic but, looking up at the dark sky, it was a myriad of stars. Suddenly, unexpectedly, she saw a shooting star. She knew it wasn’t a spacecraft making its lonely journey around the earth, but a meteor, a once-in-a-lifetime experience for this portion of the celestial sky. “Are you my lucky star?” she whispered to herself, watching it carefully, still now, in its new position in the heavens.
Once in bed she lay unable to sleep, feeling somewhat unsettled. She finally drifted into a dreamless sleep and woke when Ronnie rang at eight a.m. wanting to know if she was ready for breakfast. She laughed, nothing and nobody, late night or not, would allow Ronnie to miss his deadline of breakfast at eight!
Back at the villa, they seemed to have managed perfectly adequately without her. The babies cooed and gurgled and Liz found herself, to her surprise, feeling a shade jealous of their relationship with Bernadette, but she quickly recovered, realising how right it was for them to identify with the girl. Bernadette loved them as if they were her own and Liz prayed she would stay indefinitely in the household and as part of their lives.
She threw herself into the proofreading of her most recent book. Already having begun her next novel, she always found the edited version slightly irritating. A word changed here or there by her editor was usually acceptable, but for some reason today she found herself getting annoyed. She missed Ronnie’s company too as he had decided to stay on in Delhi for a few days.
Somehow, Ronnie had become part of her life and she missed his companionship at mealtimes and the evening drinks they shared before dinner. On impulse, she rang her friend Vihaan de Sousa and invited he and his wife over for dinner. Aarav was delighted. He had listened with interest to Liz’s description of the embassy menu and determined to make at least one of the courses to surprise Madame O’Mal.
Equally, on impulse, she wandered through the garden to visit Ashok and Nina. They both worked for her, yet she only saw flashes of them as they went about their work, always working so hard and diligently.
Their two children were sitting outside making mud pies and looked deliriously happy and totally filthy! Laughing out loud she called to their parents. They came to the door together. It was seldom Madame O’Mal called on them and their anxious faces made her realise she should do this more often so they didn’t assume it was bad news when she did turn up.
Nina put the kettle on and Liz found herself looking around in wonderment, from a mean dwelling, they had created a home. Nina had watched and learned. Simple rugs adorned the floor and walls. On the left, a small kitchen had been fashioned and a modest wood-burning stove with its chimney going up through a specially made aperture in the roof provided the heat for the kettle. “I still cook outside as well,” Nina said a shade defensively. “It keeps the house cooler.”
“Of course,” responded Liz, wondering if it would be at all possible to lay on air-conditioning for them. They had electric lights now the electricity had been laid on, so why not, and it might make a real difference to their comfort, particularly on the raised area that was their bedroom. She filed away the thought and determined to discuss it with Ashok later.
They wanted to hear about Delhi. She talked of the broad streets of New Delhi and the Ambassador’s garden which she could see interested Ashok. “But it is old Delhi I really like,” she continued. “The Red Fort and the amazing market Chandni Chowk. You can find everything you need or want with more spices than I knew existed and wonderful street food, jewellery and clothes, and of course everyone barters.” The couple listened, fascinated, but were taken aback that Madame O’Mal was surprised about the bartering. Of course, in India everyone barters, but foreigners don’t understand they thought, giving each other meaningful little looks.
“The British Ambassador,” Nina wanted to know. “He is a very powerful man.”
“He is just a very nice man, and so is his sister,” Liz responded.
“He is not married?” Nina asked curiously.
Liz laughed. “No Nina, he is not married, he is a widower.” Nina looked puzzled.
“That means his wife is no longer alive,” Ashok explained helpfully to his wife.
“Oh,” said Nina. Then a look passed over her face and she smiled happily. “He could marry you Madame O’Mal. You are a widower!”
Liz laughed again. “Dear Nina, I am divorced, not widowed, and life is not as simple as that I’m afraid.” Nina lapsed into silence until the sound of crying outside had her on her feet and out of the door. She returned carrying one crying, very muddy child with another following, equally muddy and looking rather solemn. He looked at his father, knowing he would be told off. “I think that is my cue to leave,” said Liz, not particularly wanting the mud transferred to her!
She walked away from the little household feeling perhaps, for the first time, that she didn’t know love like that of the little quartet she had just left. Being Liz, she wanted to do something about the air-conditioning straight away, and decided not to consult Ashok until she knew how feasible it would be. She rang Vihaan for the name of an installer, and before the day was out, arrangements had been made for an air-conditioning engineer to visit her to discuss the practicalities.
chapter 12
The telephone rang in her bedroom as she was showering for dinner. Throwing a towelling robe over her dripping body, she walked into the bedroom hoping whoever it was would wait for her to answer the phone. Drying her hands on the body of the robe as
she tied the belt, she picked up the phone. “Liz O’Malley,” she gave her name as always.
“Philip Broderick. Hello Elizabeth.” It gave her a jolt. True, Ronnie had introduced her as Elizabeth, but for as long as she could remember the only person who ever addressed her by her full name had been her father. For a moment she was taken aback. “Are you there Elizabeth?” asked a slightly anxious voice.
“Yes,” she responded quietly. “I’m here. Just surprised to hear your voice.”
“A pleasant surprise I hope?”
“Of course,” she replied, not quite sure what she felt.
“Look Elizabeth, I’ll come straight to the point. As you know Imogen acted as my hostess recently. I don’t actually like commandeering the wives of staff.”
“I’m sure they don’t mind,” she replied.
“Mind or not, I’m ringing to ask you an enormous favour. Would you be prepared to act as hostess next month? Imogen has returned to England. I wouldn’t ask you to come all this way, but it really is a big occasion. I am not at liberty to tell you who our international guest is – particularly over the telephone if you get my meaning – but it really would be marvellous if you could co-host the occasion with me. I hate to bring money into the conversation but, of course, we will send you the air ticket. The last thing I want is for you to be out of pocket.”
She supposed he didn’t really know her circumstances so she should not feel offended by his thoughtfulness. “When is it?” she said, reaching for her diary as she spoke. “I am flying to England next month.” He gave her the date. It was in three weeks. Her diary showed she had a dinner engagement that week which could be postponed and a speaking engagement with the mothers of the children at Father Joseph’s school which could not. “I have to be back here on Friday evening,” she said. She almost felt him breathe a sigh of relief.
“If you could arrive on Tuesday, we expect our guest on Wednesday. The major event is on Thursday and I guarantee you will be back in Goa by lunch-time on Friday. Is that alright?”
“That’s fine, what do I wear?” she enquired. She didn’t see his lovely smile but his tone when he spoke sounded as if he enjoyed the question. “I thought you looked gorgeous in that red dress, that or something similar would be perfect. And perhaps something long for the dinner – is that alright?”
“Of course,” she murmured, panicking as she spoke. She thought longingly of her wardrobe in England and of the long dresses she had hanging there, so little used during the past few years.
“I’ll write and confirm the details and enclose the plane ticket,” he said. She started to protest, then realised she would only sound churlish if she did.
“I look forward to hearing from you,” she said sincerely, before putting the phone down rather more hastily than usual.
She found she was trembling and sat down rather hurriedly on the edge of the chaise longue. There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” she said automatically. Anjali came in.
“Madame O’Malley are you alright? Aarav has dinner ready.” There had been great concern downstairs for Madame O’Mal was never late.
“I’m sorry, my apologies to Aarav. I had rather a long telephone conversation. Tell him five minutes please.”
“Yes, Madame O’Malley,” said Anjali, wondering at the flushed face before her.
Liz brushed her hair, put on a neat pair of bikini briefs and, without bothering to put on a bra, pulled on a cream caftan trimmed with gold over her head. Slipping her feet into soft gold mules and having put on a touch of lipstick, she made her way downstairs to the dining room.
The following morning her normal writing routine changed. She had woken in the early hours thinking, of all things, about clothes. The red dress would be fine for the reception on Wednesday, but during the night she had mentally gone through her wardrobe and decided she had nothing suitable for the “important” dinner on the Thursday evening. In other words, she hadn’t got a thing to wear!
It was definitely a job for the tailor. She rang him straight away and he agreed he would see her in the hour. He convinced her he would have exactly the fabric she sought for a very special dress made in record time.
A little while later she noticed the engineer’s van driving along the drive. She clapped her hand to her head, she had forgotten to alert either Ashok or Nina – she had really hoped to get them out of the way on some pretext or another. She ran down the stairs and was by the side of the van before the driver had even opened the door. “Please go to the kitchen,” she said, directing him to the side of the house. “Aarav my chef will give you a cup of tea. I need to talk to my staff in the bungalow.”
Some weeks ago Liz had started referring to Ashok and Nina’s home as the bungalow rather than the hut, which it had originally been called. Walking quickly she arrived outside Ashok’s home. With its running water and a brick-built bathroom and toilet directly behind it, it was gradually taking on all the things she wanted them to have. She had even had Nargis make curtains for the small windows and Nina had had the fun of choosing the fabric.
Now this was the next surprise for them and she felt excited at the prospect of their pleasure. But how to get them out of the way? Ashok saw her coming and was already in the doorway waiting to greet her. “Two visits in two days Madame O’Mal – what a nice surprise.”
“It’s not exactly a visit Ashok. I need you to take me to the tailors, and I would like Nina to come too. She has such a good eye for colour and I need her help. Bernadette will look after the children.” Nina had by now joined Ashok and she was beaming with delight. To be told by Madame herself that she had a good eye, what a compliment and to be invited to accompany Madame was so exciting.
“Please take the children to Bernadette now and she can take them to nursery school. Ashok I need to leave in ten minutes, please,” Liz said.
She left them scurrying around and walked quickly back to the house. Liz found the engineer sitting at the kitchen table enjoying his tea. She explained that she did not want him to go down to the bungalow until he saw her leaving in the car. “Of course Madame O’Mal, if that is what you want.”
She wanted to know how long the work would take to complete and was disappointed to learn that it would take at least two full days.
Running upstairs to the nursery Liz quickly explained what she needed of Bernadette, and as unfazed as always, she smiled and said, “How nice.”
chapter 13
Ashok was already in the car which was now parked outside the front door. Nina stood waiting not sure where Madame O’Mal would require her to sit. As if reading her thoughts, Liz suggested that Nina sit in the front beside her husband. She preferred the rear seat anyway as she found Ashok’s driving, along with most of his fellow countrymen’s, somewhat unnerving.
True to his word the tailor was waiting for her. As ever, Liz felt almost overwhelmed by roll after roll of fabulous silk and cotton. Nina seemed to have fallen for a red and gold fabric (very traditional). She fingered it, sighed over it and then tried to pretend, when Liz looked in her direction, that she didn’t like it at all!
Suddenly Liz saw what she was looking for – beautiful yellow silk. Not garishly overly bright but not too subdued either. She had brought her red Frank Usher dress with her and, carefully unwrapping it, she laid it on the table. “Can you copy this dress but make it full-length?” she asked. The tailor looked at the dress, examined the seams, exclaimed over the workmanship and he almost reverently fingered the fabric. Finally, he looked up and smiled happily at Liz.
“Madame O’Malley,” he said formally. “It will be an honour to copy such a garment.”
“With this?” she asked tentatively, touching the delicate silk carefully.
“Madame, the silk is so fine, but once it is lined it will hang like the red,” the tailor said. Liz explained that she needed it quickly for an important function at the Bri
tish Embassy. Normally she would not have mentioned the venue, but she knew, in this case, it would encourage the impetus needed!
“I will cut and tack today. I will do the first fitting in your home tomorrow and you will have it for the day after.” The tailor smiled confidently. Liz had such a sense of relief, if it looked like the red it would be perfect. “A suggestion Madame O’Mal. This,” he said, touching the red dress which had no sleeves. “It would be different, yet the same, if we put a sleeve just to here.” He touched just above his elbow.
Liz didn’t hesitate, it was after all a formal dinner. The dress was changing anyway from mid-calf to full length. She nodded. “I am sure you are right – with the longer length the sleeves will balance it.”
“Exactly so,” he replied with a smile. Nina had been exclaiming over the red dress and approved of the yellow, but Liz knew where her heart lay. “How much fabric do I need for a sari?” she asked, casually pointing to the red and gold fabric that Nina had sighed over. He told her the metres she would require. Whilst the tailor started cutting Liz asked Nina to find Ashok who had parked in a shady spot and ask him to bring the car around. As soon as she had left, Liz explained to the tailor that the red and gold fabric was for Nina. “She is fortunate,” he commented. “She will look very beautiful.”
“I know,” answered Liz, watching as the man deftly cut, folded and packed the fabric.
Once back in the car and driving home Liz knew this was the time to tell them that their home was, in their absence, being disrupted. Ashok almost ran down one of the many stray dogs that sit or lie in the shade of the trees that line the roadsides. Nina clapped her hands in nervous disbelief, as Liz explained she wanted to give them air-conditioning. They were almost speechless, falling over their words in excitement.
“Anyway,” Liz continued, delighted with their response. “Just to help you get over the disruption over the next few days, this is for you Nina.” She handed the carefully wrapped package to Nina who hugged it to her, not daring to believe it might possibly be the fabric she had so coveted.
The Portuguese House Page 6
