Love in the Clouds

by Barbara Cartland

  He bent down a little lower so that they could look for a long moment at the manuscript. Then he closed the box and set it back in the Buddha’s hands from which he had taken it.

  When he had done so the Lama stood still with his back to them, looking up at the face of the Holy One whose head almost touched the ceiling.

  As Chandra and Lord Frome rose to their feet, she knew that the Lama had no wish to speak to them again.

  She did not know how she knew, she just had a strong conviction within her that he had said all he had to say. He had given them the inestimable gift of seeing the sacred manuscript with their own eyes and now it was time for them to go.

  She drew Lord Frome by the hand and, as if he understood, he made no protest and in silence they walked back down the passages.

  Chandra felt they might have mistaken the way back, but suddenly the library door was in front of them and they went in.

  Only then did she take her hand from Lord Frome’s and feel as if they had been linked together in some special ceremony from which they had emerged different in themselves, although it would be hard to explain in what way.

  Without speaking, because she felt the sound of a voice would jar on the feelings within her heart and mind, Chandra picked up the manuscript they had left on the table and looked at Lord Frome questioningly.

  He spoke for the first time.

  “I will see the Abbot. Wait for me at the gate.”

  He left the library and went down the passage that Chandra knew led to the part of the Monastery to which she could not be admitted.

  Instead she walked to the courtyard and the main gate where their ponies were waiting.

  There was also a number of monks who smiled happily at the sight of her, their black eyes full of curiosity and interest.

  She talked to them and they asked her questions about the land where she lived and many other subjects besides.

  Whatever she replied, her answers made them laugh and she thought that many of them were just young boys who found life a huge adventure even when it was confined to a Monastery where they did little but pray and perform the ordinary chores that were required in the great building.

  She had not been with them long before Lord Frome appeared accompanied not by the Abbot but by the senior Lama who had greeted them on their arrival.

  He said goodbye to Chandra with an old world charm that she thought was worthy of a diplomat and then to the roar of trumpets they started down the steep mountain path that led to the valley.

  Once again they had to ride in single file on the raised road and even when they reached Kathmandu the streets were so crowded that it was impossible to have any conversation.

  ‘We will talk about it when we get back to the Residency,’ Chandra told herself, and yet she wondered what she should say to Lord Frome.

  It was difficult for her to sort out her own thoughts and feelings about what had occurred.

  In a way it was very wonderful and she knew that, even though they could never handle or possess the Lotus Manuscript, to have seen it and to know it really did exist was a wonder almost beyond words.

  They reached the Residency and learned the moment they entered the front door that a huge goodbye party was being given for them that evening and there would be only just time for them to bath and change before they had to be downstairs in the reception room.

  Chandra hurried to her bedroom, wondering which of the lovely saris Lord Frome had given her, she should wear this evening.

  She had worn them all once, the pink, the green and the blue and it was difficult to know which was the most becoming as they were all so attractive.

  Then, as her maid greeted her, she saw laid out for her on the bed another sari and this, she thought, was more beautiful than any she had ever seen.

  “Is this for me?” she cried, knowing the answer.

  The Nepalese maid giggled which meant she was happy.

  “Present from Lord Sahib,” she said. “Very special sari come today.”

  It was indeed very special, Chandra thought, for the sari was a golden yellow which reminded her of the sunshine and it was embroidered all over with pearls and tiny topazes while the borders were deep with gold thread and larger topazes.

  It was so lovely, at the same time she thought it must have been so expensive that she could not possibly accept anything so valuable.

  Then she knew that whatever anyone might say, however reprehensible it might be, she could not refuse anything so glorious.

  She had her bath and put on the sari and knew that with her strange-coloured hair nothing could have been more attractive, nothing more becoming.

  Her maid had brought her some small yellow lilies which grew in profusion in the garden and which were exactly the same colour as the sari.

  She arranged them as she had before at the back of Chandra’s head and, as she stood up to look at herself in the long mirror. there was a knock on the communicating door.

  Never since the night she had gone to Lord Frome to apologise to him had the door been opened.

  Now, as she called out, “come in!”, she wondered, as she had wondered before, whether he was as conscious that she was so near as she was conscious of him.

  He came into the room looking, she thought, even more magnificent than usual for he was wearing a number of decorations she had not seen before.

  He stood looking at her and she said a little shyly,

  “I-I don’t know how to – thank you – I did not believe it was possible to find a sari more beautiful than those you have given me already – but this one is – unbelievable!”

  “The man I bought it from,” Lord Frome said, “told me he brought it especially from India to offer it to the Queen. It once belonged to a Rajput Princess and is, in fact, over a hundred years old! I thought that was why you would like it.”

  “I love it!” Chandra exclaimed, “and although I know I ought not to accept such a wonderful gift, it is something I – cannot refuse.”

  “I should be very hurt if you did,” Lord Frome replied, “and I have bought you something to wear with it to commemorate the interesting time we have spent together and in particular what we experienced this afternoon.”

  She knew, as he spoke quietly and seriously, that she had been frightened, although she thought it unlikely, that he might laugh – perhaps mock the solemnity with which the Lama had handled the Lotus Manuscript.

  She also thought he might be embarrassed by the strange feeling that they had both felt when they had knelt before the statue of the Buddha.

  But she knew now without being told that Lord Frome had been as moved as she had been.

  Somehow she did not wish to discuss it at this moment and, as if he felt the same way, he opened the box he carried in his hand and she saw that it contained a necklace of large graded topazes.

  “It matches your dress,” he said, as if that was an excuse for giving it to her.

  “B-but – I cannot – I must not – ” Chandra began.

  Then with her eyes shining she sighed,

  “It is so lovely. I never thought – I never dreamt that I would own a necklace like this – oh – thank you – thank you!”

  “It is part-payment for what I owe you,” Lord Frome said, “because as you realise by now only too well I would not have found the manuscripts I have bought without you to guide me.”

  A sudden idea struck Chandra and, as she looked up at him, he added as if he read her thoughts,

  “I have not forgotten your father and I have every intention of doing something for him. We will talk about it on our way home, but now we must not be late for dinner.”

  Chandra looked at him and her eyes expressed everything she could not say.

  Then, with a little cry of sheer delight, she sat down on the stool in front of the dressing table and put the necklace up to her neck.

  “I will fasten it for you,” Lord Frome offered.

  As she bent her head, he took the ends o
f the necklace from her hands and fastened it at the back of her neck.

  As he did so, his fingers touched her skin and she felt a little quiver run through her.

  It was something she had never felt before and she could not explain it and, when it had gone, she felt that she must have dreamt it.

  “We must hurry,” he said.

  She rose to her feet knowing that she had been looking at her own reflection in the mirror in a bemused fashion.

  They walked across the room side by side, then, as they went downstairs, Chandra told herself this might be the last time that she would ever be at such a party.

  But if it was, she would always remember that she was confident she would not be eclipsed by any woman in the room, not even the Nepalese ladies adorned with their sparkling emeralds and rubies.

  She was, in fact, complimented hundreds of times on her sari, before the evening was out.

  The gentlemen told her that she looked like a Goddess of the sun and laughed when she replied that, as her name was Chandra, she was actually the Goddess of the moon.

  But the ladies when they were alone fingered the richly embroidered silk with their tiny fingers, exclaiming over the workmanship and the beauty of the topazes.

  They stared with admiration at the stones in Chandra’s necklace.

  “Topazes are very lucky for those who can wear them,” one lady told her, “and therefore, Lady Frome, you will always be lucky in love.”

  Chandra wanted to say she had never known love and had always been afraid that she would never find it.

  But it was hardly something she could say when they thought that Lord Frome was her husband, and several of them had already said how handsome he was and how charming to talk to.

  When the time came to say goodbye, Chandra was very touched that all the Nepalese ladies had brought her presents.

  There were little embroidered handbags, there were a great number of Nepalese special ornaments that were usually small birds with their wings set with coral and turquoises that were found in the mountains.

  And there was a strange stone too which was also characteristic of Kathmandu, a smoky topaz, almost the colour, Chandra found, of her hair.

  This they gave to her in small boxes, in brooches, in rings. There was a pair of earrings and one to match which she suspected was intended for her nose!

  She would have been extremely embarrassed at having nothing to give in return when they were leaving, if Lord Frome had not produced a number of small flat envelopes.

  Chandra could not think what they contained, until the ladies opened them and inside there were small silk handkerchiefs, each one embroidered at the corners with little bunches of flowers.

  They were all delighted and only when the last guest had left did Chandra say,

  “How clever of you to have presents for them, my Lord!”

  “One should never travel in the East empty-handed,” Lord Frome replied, “and I bought those handkerchiefs in India thinking that I might require them.”

  “I was so thankful you had them, but I had no idea that they would bring me such beautiful presents.”

  “You are one of the first English ladies to visit Nepal,” Colonel Wylie said, “and certainly the most popular! I assure you that you will be talked about until you become almost a legend in Kathmandu.”

  “I would have liked to – stay a little – longer.”

  She saw the expression in the Resident’s eyes and was quite certain that he had not used the weight of his authority to persuade the Prime Minister to extend their permit.

  “There are a few matters I would like to talk to you about, my Lord, before you retire,” he said to Lord Frome.

  Chandra, knowing that he did not wish her to be present, said goodnight.

  She felt sad that she must go and yet knew she had so much to remember, so much to be thankful for.

  She thought as she fell asleep she had three days left with Lord Frome, before everything would be finished.

  There was a definite ache in her heart that was almost a physical pain before finally she drifted away into unconsciousness.

  *

  In the morning, having been called earlier than usual, Chandra had the greatest difficulty in dressing while she watched the sunshine striking the peaks of the Himalayas as they emerged above the encircling white clouds.

  ‘Perhaps I shall never see them again,’ she told herself and kept trying to put on her clothes without moving from the window.

  Finally she was ready and, when she went downstairs, she found that the Resident was having breakfast with them.

  “I hope you will be able to return another year,” he said to Lord Frome.

  But Chandra was certain that he was merely being polite and he hoped nothing of the sort.

  She noticed he made no mention of the manuscripts that Lord Frome was carrying away with him, but she was certain that the Resident would not think they were leaving empty-handed and was resentful that his advice on the matter had not been taken.

  It was only as she said goodbye not only to the Resident, but also to his secretaries, his aides-de-camp and senior servants, shaking hands with them all, that Chandra suddenly remembered that she had never received the emerald that had been stolen by Nana Sahib.

  She had actually forgotten about it in the last few days in the excitement of searching among the manuscripts at the Monastery.

  Now she wondered, if whoever was supposed to hand over the gem, realised that she was leaving sooner than might have been expected.

  There was, however, nothing she could do about it.

  She thanked those who had contributed so much to their pleasure, while she knew that Lord Frome was leaving a large amount of money to be distributed amongst the servants.

  The ponies they had brought with them were all waiting outside the front door, the boxes strapped on their backs, their syces standing at their heads.

  Chandra waited for someone to help her into the saddle, but before her own syce could do so, one of the Residency servants in his red and gold moved forward.

  He helped her up, then, as she put out her hand to take the reins, she felt something pressed into her left hand.

  Almost automatically her fingers closed over a hard object, then as she looked for the face of the man who had given her what she had expected, he seemed to have disappeared into the crowd of other people standing on the steps waiting to see them depart.

  Lord Frome mounted and rode ahead and she followed behind him as they had done on their ride into Kathmandu.

  As they rode down the short drive which led to the gate, there was a cheer from the Residency steps and everybody’s arm was raised in farewell.

  Only when they were outside the Residency territory did Chandra look down to see what she held in her left hand.

  It was a small chamois bag and she could feel it contained something hard inside. She only cast a quick glance at it in case any of the syces following should notice what she was doing.

  Then she undid two buttons on the front of her blouse and slipped the bag through to let it lie against the bare skin between her breasts.

  She thought it unlikely that anyone had seen her swift action.

  Now they were amongst the crowds in the streets of Kathmandu and, as Lord Frome moved swiftly ahead, Chandra forced herself not to think of what had come into her possession.

  She concentrated on her last glimpse of the exquisitely painted pagoda Temples, the wooden houses with their elaborate carvings round the balconies and the windows and one last goodbye to Kala Bhairab, looking fiercer and more frightening, she thought, than when she had last seen him on her arrival.

  Then they were climbing away from the town and up towards the Churia mountains in the distance.

  They were covered with clouds and Chandra thought that it was somehow significant that, while the mountains behind them were dazzling in the sunshine, those ahead were shrouded as if in sadness.

  ‘Why must we go? W
hy must we go?’ her pony’s hoofs seemed to be saying as if in echo to the words that were being expressed over and over in her heart.

  Once again they found the rice fields planted on the gigantic steps that had been cut up the side of the mountain.

  They passed the tiny brown earth huts with their straw roofs and all the way along the stony rising road they met the Nepalese men and women with their heavy loads on their backs held by a forehead strap, hurrying either up or down the mountain.

  They seemed to Chandra to move at the same pace whichever way they were going.

  They all smiled and seemed very happy and Chandra noticed how many of them said a prayer at the small stone chaityas which had been built every half-a-mile or so along the path over the mountain.

  They stopped for a midday meal and Chandra, looking back over the valley that was now a long way beneath them, said in a low voice to Lord Frome,

  “As you anticipated, we have been thrown out of your Eden, not by an angel with a flaming sword, but by the Prime Minister who seemed such a very pleasant little man.”

  “We might have known from the very beginning that it was too good to last!” Lord Frome replied.

  He spoke lightly, but she knew he minded, as she did, that they could not have stayed any longer.

  “Perhaps we should be grateful that we found so much,” Chandra said, “and don’t forget the Lama with the Lotus Manuscript said that The Song of the Celestial Soul which you discovered will do a great deal of good in the world.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Lord Frome asked. “The manuscripts that have been published so far have certainly not aroused the slightest interest except amongst scholars.”

  “There must always be a first time,” Chandra replied, “and if he said it will happen – it will!”

  “I can see you were impressed by him.”

  “No one could fail to be,” she answered. “I would love to know who he was.”

  “I have no idea,” Lord Frome said, “but he was a keeper of the manuscripts and therefore I should imagine a man of great intelligence and perhaps one of those who we are told are sent back to this world to help those who must be left behind.”