The Pavilion in the Clouds

by Alexander McCall Smith

  He slowed down again as they watched the horses move through a gate and then, in unison, start off at a canter across a stretch of ground reaching towards the horizon. He turned to her, “I never asked you: can you ride?”

  She shook her head. “No. I don’t mind horses, but I’m not sure that I see the point.”

  He smiled. He already had, she thought, that cheerfully brisk manner of the doctor he was on the cusp of becoming. She liked that, and understood why doctors had to be that way. It was either that or tears: a choice that the rest of us also faced, although not as pressingly or constantly. “Of being a horse, or of riding one?”

  “Oh, I can see what the point of being a horse is – the same as the point of our being us. But riding? Well, it’s quite a long way to fall. My father had a horse in Ceylon. Did yours?”

  Richard nodded. “He had very bad-tempered horse. I remember how he’d look at you from the corner of his eye, hoping that you’d get within kicking distance. He bit too. I never worked out what his problem was, other than that he hated people.”

  They were approaching the house, and both fell silent.

  “Georgian,” muttered Bella. “Look at the proportion of the windows – and the doors. The Golden Ratio.”

  Richard frowned. “What?”

  “The ratio between height and length. This house looks perfect because of that proportion.” She swallowed. “I’m a bit nervous, Richard.”

  “She seemed very friendly on the phone. She said she had been looking forward to our visit for weeks.”

  “She said that,” agreed Bella. “But do you think she meant it? She was always polite. Maybe she was just being polite.”

  Richard laughed. “Let’s see. If it’s a disaster we can just go.” He glanced at her, saw her nervousness and rapidly said, “But it won’t be a disaster, anyway. It’s going to be . . .” He searched for the right word. “Interesting.”

  She pursed her lips. The journey here had been a long one. Eight hours, as he had predicted, in one sense; in another it had been a journey of years.

  She barely recognised Miss White, who had fleshed out. The thin face on which the rouge had been caked, the high forehead, the fragile, schoolmistress demeanour – all those had gone, to be replaced by an almost sybaritic figure and the confident, no-nonsense bearing of the countrywoman. They used the word country to describe such people, Bella thought – her aunt used it, usually with disapproval.

  “My Bella!”

  Miss White rushed forward, arms wide open, to embrace her. Bella stood where she was, flustered. Her instinct was to dodge the charge, but she steeled herself and found Miss White all about her, her arms briefly on her shoulders, then moving down, caressing in ownership. Bella saw Richard grin, pleased, if slightly embarrassed, by this show of affection.

  And then the compliments. “So grown up! But of course you are. It would be strange – very strange – if you were still nine.” And then, following an appraising glance at Richard, “And such a handsome young man. But of course he would be, with you having become such a beauty. My goodness! You won’t remember me, Richard, but . . .”

  “I do remember you. From the club. And when I came to the house once or twice.”

  “You must have a good memory.”

  Bella said, “You’re looking so well yourself, Miss White.”

  “Me? Oh, goodness, I just get by the same as ever. I get lots of exercise, of course, with everything that goes on here.” She paused. “And please, it’s Lavender – not Miss White.”

  She took Bella’s hand and drew her towards the door that led from the hall into the drawing room. Pictures of horses, thought Bella, and expensive china in a display cabinet; a table with silver objects; a grand piano, lid up; a wood fire in the grate of a marble fireplace.

  “This is a lovely place,” said Bella.

  “You think so? Yes, it is. Brian lived here with his mother before we married. Well, we shared the house with her for a couple of years. Then she died.”

  Bella glanced at Richard, but he was looking out of the window.

  “Will you be able to stay for lunch?” asked Miss White. “I’m so sorry that you’re going to have to head back up the road and can’t stay a night or two.”

  “Richard has to get back.”

  “Of course he does. I’m sorry, too, that Brian can’t be here. He’s in Ireland at the moment. He comes back the day after tomorrow.”

  “Horses?”

  “Yes, of course. Everything is horses here. He trains some of the Irish horses as well as horses from . . . well, all over the place. We’re getting some from France now.”

  Miss White left to fetch a tea tray.

  “Amazing,” whispered Richard. “They’re obviously pretty well-off.”

  Bella raised a finger to her lips in a gesture of silence, but whispered back, “She’s changed.”

  Richard nodded. “See?” he said.

  She was not sure what he meant. He might have meant that everybody changed; he might have meant that we remembered things the wrong way round; he might have meant that memory faded, and with good reason.

  Over tea, Miss White said, “I was so sorry to hear about your parents. I should have written – I meant to, but well, the War, and I was in Calcutta. Then Delhi for a short time before coming back. So much happened.”

  Bella said, “Thank you. Don’t worry about not having written.” She paused. “I remember you had friends in Calcutta.”

  She remembered something else, and reached for the bag she had brought in with her.

  “Something to show me?” asked Miss White.

  Bella took out Li Po and Po Chü-i and held them out towards Miss White.

  Miss White’s eyes widened. “Well, well, your dolls. Those two. There they are.” She did not offer to take them.

  “I thought you might like to see them.”

  “Of course.” Miss White turned to Richard. “They went everywhere back in those days. Bella and those two were inseparable.”

  “Still are,” said Richard, smiling. “But I’m not the jealous type.”

  They all laughed. Except Li Po.

  Miss White became serious. “So much happened.”

  Bella nodded. “I remember my mother’s fall.”

  Miss White inclined her head. “Of course. That was terrible.” She paused. “You do know that it was an accident, don’t you? You know that?”

  “Yes, of course,” said Bella.

  “And then there was that awful moment with the snake,” said Miss White. “Do you remember that?”

  “I remember that,” muttered Bella. “You saved my life.”

  Miss White laughed. “Hardly.”

  “But you did,” protested Bella. And now she realised that she would have to say what she had come to say. She should not put it off, but should say it now. “And then I went and . . . well, I think I did something really bad. I think I wanted you to lose your job.”

  “Oh, nonsense,” said Miss White quickly. “You did nothing of the sort.”

  “I’ve wanted to say sorry for a long time,” said Bella. “I tried back then, but I was too young.”

  “Of course you were,” said Miss White. “And you had nothing to apologise for. I’m the one who should be saying sorry. For not saying goodbye properly. For not staying in touch with you.” She hesitated. “If I had stayed in touch, I might have been able to speak to you about what happened.”

  They looked at one another in silence. Then Miss White said, “It’s strange, isn’t it, how we carry some bits of the past with us for a long, long time – when we don’t really need to.”

  Bella bit her lip. She had not been prepared for this, although now, when she came to think about it, she was not sure what she had expected. She had simply not thought it through.

  She started to say something, but Miss White interrupted her. “Various things happened, you know . . .” She stopped and glanced at Richard, surreptitiously, thought Bella.

 
“I find it hard to speak about all this,” Miss White said suddenly, and then, turning to Richard, “Richard, I know this will sound rude, but I feel that I know Bella really rather well and . . . well, you and I don’t really know one another, and . . .”

  Richard looked taken aback, but only for a moment or two. Then he became tactful. “Of course,” he said, and then added, “Of course,” as he rose to his feet. “May I go outside and see the . . . the . . .” He pointed.

  Miss White was relieved. “The stables? Yes, certainly. There’ll be something going on – there usually is. Do you like horses?”

  “A bit,” said Richard, and they all laughed.

  He left, and the two of them were alone. Miss White shot a glance at Bella. She was still hesitant, and she looked at the door through which Richard had left as if half expecting him to reappear. Then she turned to Bella.

  “This is not easy for me,” she said.

  Bella nodded. “Nor for me. I was really anxious about coming, you know, and . . .”

  Miss White interrupted her. “I have to tell you something, and yet I’m very worried about it. I’d like you to make me a promise first, if you don’t mind.”

  Bella looked puzzled. “Do you want me to keep it secret? Of course I’ll do that.”

  “I don’t want you to mention any of this to Richard.”

  Bella frowned. But then she said, “Yes, all right. If that’s what you want.”

  “It is.” She paused. “I know that you two are engaged. And I know that some people say you should have no secrets from the person you marry. But, believe me, there are some things married people should keep from one another. We all have to have little private areas – otherwise . . .” She shrugged. “It becomes unhealthy otherwise. The soul is too . . . too exposed, I suppose.”

  Bella was not sure whether she agreed or not. What secrets did Miss White have in mind? Of course there were things you should not talk about, even to the person you were going to marry. What went on in a previous relationship, for instance, the intimacy: nobody would talk about that to anybody, surely, even if they were planning to get married. And quite rightly so. But was Miss White talking about something like that?

  Bella waited.

  “How well do you know Richard’s mother?” Miss White asked.

  Bella took a few moments to reply. “I know her well. She’s been very kind to me.”

  It seemed to Bella that this was not the answer that Miss White was hoping for. “Why do you ask?”

  Miss White looked away briefly. Now facing Bella, she shook her head, as if she regretted – in advance – what she was about to say. “This is so difficult for me.”

  Bella felt concern now. This was why she did not want Richard to be present. She decided to be bold. “It won’t make any difference, you know. Nothing you say will affect how I feel about Richard.” She paused. “And why should it? Even if you tell me something about his mother that . . .” She struggled. “. . . that I don’t like – even if you do that, it won’t make any difference to Richard and me.”

  Miss White winced. And then, suddenly, it came out – in a torrent. “I know that you thought that I was . . . I was involved with your father, and that you wanted your mother to think that. You wanted that so that I should have to leave. And all the time it wasn’t me at all, it was Heather, Richard’s mother. It was her. I knew that because I had found out about them. I wasn’t going to do anything – or say anything either – because I thought it wasn’t any of my business.”

  She looked at Bella, as if to check that her story, thus far, was being believed. And then she continued, “But the problem was that Heather knew that I knew. I came across them together, you see, on a walk, near the club. They thought they were alone, but I was further down the path, and I saw them. She saw me, but your father did not. She knew that I knew, but I don’t think she can have told him.”

  Bella held her breath. Her father had not been a major figure in her life – she had decided that after his death. She remembered him fondly, but he had been somewhat distant. He was always there, he was a reassuring presence, but he had never said all that much to her. That was such a curious conclusion to reach about a parent, she knew that, but it was what she felt. He had never really said very much. And there were many men like that, she felt, especially in those hills, in those days. They did not say very much.

  Miss White had more to add. “You may be wondering how I knew this? You may wonder how I knew what Heather did next.”

  Bella shook her head, but said nothing. She was not sure what to think.

  “Heather decided,” Miss White went on, “that she would deflect any suspicion from herself by convincing your mother that there was something between your father and me. Which there wasn’t, you know – there never was anything – anything – like that. Never.

  “So she encouraged your mother to suspect me. That would also have the result of getting rid of me as a threat.” She looked at Bella, and Bella knew that what she was being told was true. Miss White could not look at her as she looked at her now and be lying. It was impossible.

  “It worked, of course. If I had protested and gone to your mother to tell her about their affair, what do you think your mother would have thought? She would have thought that I was accusing Heather to discredit her. And it would have made sense for me to do that, wouldn’t it – if I had indeed been involved with your father. But I wasn’t, and I had no desire to interfere. So I decided to go meekly – as people like me were meant to do.

  “But . . . but, Bella, I did go to see Heather just before I left the country. I was staying with some friends of mine, and they took me. I went to see her, and a most unexpected thing happened. She broke down. She told me everything. She explained what had happened. She said that the affair was over now, and she felt that she had done me a terrible wrong. She offered to go to speak to your mother and confess everything.”

  Bella stared at Miss White. She struggled to make sense of what was being said. Why would Heather do this?

  Miss White had anticipated her question. “Guilt,” she said. “She felt guilty. And that, I feel, is why I can tell you about this. Because Heather was, I suppose, merely human. The same as everybody was. We were all human. And some of us did terrible things, and others did just foolish things. She felt sorry for what she had done. And you mustn’t think badly of your father, because he went back to your mother, and men in those circumstances . . . well, they were terribly lonely, and it was difficult in so many ways and . . .” She shrugged. “Who amongst us hasn’t done something?”

  Bella waited for Miss White to say more, but she seemed to have reached the end of her revelations.

  “Why did you tell me this?” she asked.

  Miss White hesitated, but then she spoke with firmness. “Because I didn’t want you to think that it was me all along. I didn’t want you to believe that the person entrusted with looking after you should have abused her position. Because, I suppose, I have my pride.”

  Bella looked thoughtful. “I can see that.”

  “Those other things,” Miss White said. “Those incidents. The snake was complete chance. Snakes can get anywhere. Things like that can confuse the picture.”

  It came back to Bella. “And when your gun went off?”

  Miss White stared at her.

  “When you were packing? At the end? Your gun went off.”

  There was a clock in the hall. It was ticking. Somewhere, elsewhere in the house, from the kitchen, perhaps, the clatter of plates.

  Miss White’s voice was distant. It was tiny. “I fired it,” she said. And then added, her voice becoming stronger with each sentence, “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe that I did. Your father barged into my house, and I suddenly felt a welling up of real anger. Here was a man. We were all women. We had to do their bidding. We were adjuncts. They had affairs. They ran the place. It was them, them, them. And we were nothing. So I took the gun from my suitcase, and I fired it in the air.
Into the ceiling. And a bit of plaster came down and landed on his head. And I laughed. And that was it.”

  Miss White began to smile, and Bella did too – smiling at the release of tension, at the truth.

  “That’s all, Bella. That’s the whole story.”

  “I see. Well, now . . .” She shrugged. She was not sure what she should say. But then she decided. “I think we can all forget about it now. Forget about everything. It’s our secret. It won’t make any difference to anything.”

  “In particular, don’t hold anything against Heather.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Just remember what it was like being a woman in those places,” said Miss White. “It wasn’t easy.”

  “And nor was being a man,” said Bella.

  “No, perhaps not.”

  When lunch was ready, they went outside to fetch Richard. He was talking to one of the stable hands, who was wearing a scruffy red jersey. The man smiled at Bella and revealed two missing front teeth.

  “Kenny knows everything there is to know about horses,” said Miss White.

  Kenny’s grin grew wider. A further gap appeared in his teeth.

  Miss White led them back into the house, and into the dining room, where lunch was served by a stout middle-aged woman, introduced as the housekeeper. Miss White and Richard got on well, Bella noticed. There was something almost flirtatious in Miss White’s manner, but Richard responded well, catching Bella’s eye and smiling. He’s used to women like this, Bella thought. And then she silently asked herself: why would I think that? Women like this?

  Miss White spoke about Calcutta. “I had a very exciting time there, you know – after I left you. I joined the air force.”

  “You flew?”

  Miss White laughed. “No. They didn’t allow that.”

  “Most unfair.”

  Miss White agreed. “Yes, but I wouldn’t have wanted to fly, anyway. I did administrative work. I had a lovely uniform and . . .” She smiled almost conspiratorially. “And the men were queuing up to take me out to dinner. I had a lovely time.”

  “And Delhi?”

  “Even better,” said Miss White. “I was given a job at Government House – right at the end. Just before the handover. I worked with Edwina Mountbatten. She did a lot out there, you know. They liked her a great deal. And when they left India there was a terrific crowd out to say goodbye.”