‘Your prince will love you whatever you’re dressed in.’
That night, we both lay sleepless in our beds.
‘Have you any idea where you and Varun will go from here?’ I asked.
‘He said in his letter we must be married as soon as possible and then stay in Europe until the dust settles at home. Oh, Anni, do you think what I’m doing is wrong? It will break Ma and Pa’s hearts.’
‘They’ll get over it eventually. As I’ve said to you often, Indy, we must try to do what we can to be happy.’
‘Even if it involves hurting the people we love?’
‘Sometimes, yes. But hopefully, it won’t be for long. Your parents love you too much to let you go, although I doubt your mother will ever forgive me,’ I said into the darkness.
‘Of course she will, because she’ll say that I forced you into it. It’s me they’ll blame, Anni, I promise. I’ll make sure they do.’
‘And you’ll have a handsome prince who loves you for a husband, just as we both dreamed of that first night we met.’
‘And you’ll return to yours, and we’ll both live happily ever after.’
As I tossed and turned through the long hours until dawn broke, I knew that my own fairytale was fast becoming a nightmare.
The following day I sat with Indira as we waited for her prince to arrive. Eventually the door to the drawing room opened and in he came. Indira gave a cry of joy and ran into his arms. I withdrew as subtly as I could.
I returned a few hours later to find Indira sitting at the writing bureau, a pen in her hand, deep in thought.
‘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 licence 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 suite, 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 Saint-Raphaël for as long as we like,’ Varun explained. ‘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 fairytale, 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 round 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. 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 spoilt 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 pre-marriage 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 fairytale 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 newly-weds 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 Saint-Raphaël address when I get back to London.’
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 the sight of my closed suitcase. ‘Are you sure you don’t wish to accompany us down to Saint-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 goodbye.’
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. ‘Goodbye.’
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. I walked towards the nearest post box and slipped the letter I’d written to Donald – explaining that I’d be away for some time – into it. Then I picked up my suitcase and took my first step towards the unknown.
Astbury Hall, July 2011
27
‘Would 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 apologise if the story has upset you.’
‘I admit I had to stop reading after the revelation of Anahita’s pregnancy. 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,’ sighed Ari.
‘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 Indira, her friend?’
‘Yes, and so far I have no proof to suggest that he did survive,’ admitted 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,’ Anthony stated flatly. ‘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.’
‘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 particular cottage? There are any number of them on the estate,’ said Anthony.
‘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,’ Anthony replied 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. ‘So, when are you thinking of returning to India?’
‘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 goodbye before you go.’
‘I will, thank you.’ Recognising that the evening was over and he was being dismissed, Ari stood too.
Anthony walked towards the door, then turned round 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 drawing 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. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’ 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. Realising 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 round 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 Ashburton. 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 love-making 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 tell-tale 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.’
‘Come on, baby, I’ll be quick, promise,’ he said as he groped inside her T-shirt for her breasts.
‘Please, no!’ Rebecca wriggled out of his grasp and reached to turn off the light.
‘Spoilsport, I just wanted to make love to my girl. Just wanted to make love to my girl. I . . .’
Rebecca waited, knowing from experience that he’d be asleep within two minutes. And sure enough, she soon heard the familiar sound of snoring.
Tears pricking the back of her eyes, Rebecca did her best to doze off too.
Early the following morning, Ari drove to the Astbury stables. Debbie saddled up the chestnut stallion for him and he set off across the moors. It was a glorious morning and he rode hard. Arriving at the cottage by the brook twenty minutes later, he slid off his horse and walke
d towards a high wooden fence with a gate set to one side of the building. It seemed in relatively better repair than the rest of the exterior and behind it, he thought, perhaps there might be a door to the rear of the cottage. He tugged at the black ring in the centre, but it didn’t budge and he saw the lock beneath it. He made a couple of fruitless attempts to jump up and clamber over, but it was too high.
Leading his horse to stand against the fence, Ari mounted him and grabbed the top of the fence with his hands. He heaved himself up, swung his legs over and jumped down. Landing smoothly on the ground below him, he looked around and saw that he was standing in a courtyard containing a number of small outbuildings. He took a quick look in them and found them empty, apart from an old horse-drawn trap resting in the corner of one.
Turning his attention to the back of the cottage itself, he walked over to the one door and tried the handle. He was amazed when it turned easily and the door sprang open. Tentatively, he stepped inside and found himself in a kitchen.
From the impenetrable ivy-covered exterior of the cottage, and from what Anthony had said last night, Ari had presumed that he would enter a filthy, cobwebbed interior. But no. He ran his finger across the surface of the wooden table which stood in the centre of the kitchen; there was a layer of dust upon it, but certainly not the filth of ninety years of neglect. As he wandered around it, he saw that cups were hung neatly on hooks, the old black range had no rust, and the plates in the dresser were cracked but clean. Looking down, he saw his feet were not making footprints in the dirt that surely would have settled over time on the tiled floor.
Then he saw a modern electric kettle sitting atop a counter to one side of the range. Ari pulled out a chair from the table and sat down abruptly. Clearly this was not an abandoned cottage which was so unsafe it was about to be demolished, as Anthony had described.
Standing up, suddenly aware that there could actually be an occupant elsewhere in the cottage, Ari walked quietly towards the kitchen door and opened it. In the hallway, he listened for sounds, but heard nothing. Opening a door on the left, he saw the small sitting room. It was dark, due to the ivy that covered the window panes, and Ari struggled to adjust his eyes to the gloom. The fire grate showed only minimal black dust, which had recently dislodged itself from the chimney. The chair in front of it was threadbare, but clean.
The Midnight Rose Page 30
