Fields of Gold

by Fiona McIntosh

  Iris nodded. ‘They’re very fond of you, Ned. But let’s not talk about it any more now. It’s all a bit much to take in …’ Her smile helped allay his sudden anxiety, but he couldn’t help feeling the smile took too long to arrive. He banished that notion and allowed himself to be diverted from all further discussion about marriage and the future.

  ‘So, what about the station?’ she asked brightly. ‘What time is Bella’s train in?’

  ‘Not for another two hours.’

  ‘Two hours! Why are we here so early?’

  Ned reminded himself that this was a happy day. ‘I’m taking you to Commercial Street,’ he said, planting an affectionate kiss on her cheek. ‘I want to buy you something. A gift. Whatever you want.’

  His heart soared again at the way she laughed. ‘You’re mad,’ she accused.

  ‘Madly in love. Yes, officer, definitely guilty.’ He grinned at her as they linked arms. ‘Come on. Let’s go shopping.’

  Ned always enjoyed strolling through the warren of tiny vendors who formed a bazaar that sprawled out behind Commercial Street. One day soon he’d have to make an appointment to see his tailor who had a permanent shop in this area. There was a whole street of tailors – but his, the one Jack had found and recommended – was second to none and could cut a man a suit just by looking at him. Nevertheless, Mr Rau insisted on detailed measurements and could have the first fitting within seven hours. He was a magician, Ned was sure of it! He pointed out Rau’s shop to Iris.

  ‘A suit for you today, Master Sinclair?’ the tailor inquired, emerging from the shadows of his shop to the open shop front where his four workers sat on tiny stools, sewing on small treadle machines.

  ‘Not today, thanks. I’m looking to buy Miss Walker here a gift.’

  ‘Ah, sir,’ he said, waggling his head and a fat finger in tandem. ‘Do try Mr Ramesh’s silk emporium around the corner. I hear he has some exquisite woven stoles in. Real pashmina, sir, from Kashmir. Very beautiful and genuine chyangara wool, sir. You can trust him, sir. He’s my second cousin.’ He smiled benignly.

  ‘We’ll take a look.’

  ‘Ask to see the two-colour shawls. They take your breath away.’

  They nodded, strolling on, Ned deliberately guiding Iris down the street of jewellers and assuming that what needed to be achieved would be easy because women and precious gems were like magnets, utterly irresistible to each other’s pull.

  He chatted amiably, pretending to be distracted and hoping something would happen soon. He was almost embarrassed that Iris was so predictable when he felt his arm dragged sharply in tandem with a small cry from her. The magnetic pull had occurred.

  ‘Oh, Ned, look at that gorgeous ring!’

  ‘Hmmm,’ he said, deliberately vague.

  ‘Look,’ she said, pointing. ‘I love sapphires.’

  ‘Really? I would have picked you for a diamond girl.’

  ‘Oh, I love diamonds too, of course. Which girl doesn’t? But that setting is so beautiful. It would be an amazing stone if it was twice the size.’ She sighed.

  ‘Come on, Iris,’ he urged, taking note of the store. ‘I’d like to see those pashmina stoles.’

  Reluctantly she allowed herself to be pulled from the window and even more reluctantly allowed him to buy her a superb dusky-pink pashmina stole that could be worn on its pink side or its smoky dove-grey side. But she was all but trembling with delight to own the delicate stole when he presented it to her. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him briefly, joyfully, on the lips. He was sure he could have flapped his hands and flown from the shop he was feeling so light-headed.

  ‘Ned, this is too much.’

  ‘Rubbish. I like spoiling you. Besides, you’re beautiful, Iris, and I want you to have beautiful things. I have no one else to lavish my earnings on.’

  ‘There’s Bella,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Bella has plenty and she’s my sister. You are the twin half of my soul, Iris.’

  At this ridiculous statement she kissed him again, laughing. ‘I do love you, Ned. Thank you.’

  He had heard men describe the feeling of being in love as though your heart were so full it could burst. Ned now understood the claim – his heart was swollen with so much happiness he was certain it was getting ready to explode. ‘Right. I’d better get us to the station before I start kissing you passionately right here in the street.’

  She gave a mock gasp. ‘My parents would kill us. Come on. Let’s not be late for Bella.’

  32

  A tall, golden-haired young woman alighted from the train and recognised Ned immediately. She waved furiously, her smile wide and open. If not for that smile, which reminded him achingly of his father, he would not have known Bella. The child was gone and in her place stood a lovely young woman.

  He rushed towards her and swung her up into the air. She was slim and feather light and her laugh was exactly like their mother’s. It brought tears to his eyes.

  ‘Bell!’ he exclaimed, his voice choked with emotion. He hugged her close. ‘I can’t believe it’s you.’

  Tears streamed down her face. ‘It’s me, Ned, but look at you! I always thought you were Mum all over again but you’ve definitely become Dad. Well, at least what I remember of him.’

  ‘And you look like both of them rolled into one. You’re a picture!’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, pirouetting for him on the platform so he could admire her all grown up.

  He grabbed her hand. ‘Come on. I want you to meet someone very special.’

  Iris had hung back, not wanting to intrude on the reunion of brother and sister.

  ‘Iris,’ Ned said breathlessly, looking fit to burst with pride. ‘This is my sister, Arabella Sinclair.’

  Iris didn’t wait for Bella; Ned had warned her that she might be shy so she gathered Bella into a big affectionate hug. ‘Welcome, beautiful Bella. Ned’s told me so much about you. I’m Iris Walker, a friend of Ned’s.’

  ‘Bell,’ Ned said, a mock tone of horror in his voice. ‘Iris is not just a friend. She’s the woman I hope will shortly agree to marry me.’

  Bella’s eyes widened with delight as she let out a squeal and hugged them both again. ‘Oh, wonderful,’ she gushed. ‘I’m so happy for you. Ned’s written so much about you, Iris. I feel as though I do know you. When’s the wedding?’

  Iris and Ned both laughed awkwardly.

  ‘Well, he only asked me today,’ Iris said, rescuing them from a difficult silence.

  ‘What are you waiting for? He’s such a catch,’ Bella said, squeezing Ned’s cheek. ‘I have to pinch you to be sure I’m here.’

  ‘Yes, he is a good catch,’ Iris admitted quietly, more to herself than to Bella and Ned, who were talking excitedly. ‘I don’t know why I’m hesitating.’ She gave a soft sigh.

  Ned organised for Bella’s two large trunks to be loaded onto a horse and cart and driven back separately to KGF. In the meantime he took a second carriage with the women back to the institute.

  ‘Let’s have a drink here before we head off down the dusty track to Kolar.’ He glanced at Iris and gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I’d be hard-pressed to find two more beautiful guests in all of India.’

  Later, sipping fresh lemonades, Iris watched brother and sister as their conversation predictably turned to their past.

  ‘I’ve often thought about visiting the orphanage again, seeing if there’s anything I can do.’

  Ned frowned at her in query.

  ‘And, you know, close off some doors in my mind,’ she said.

  ‘It’s probably best you don’t go back,’ Iris said gently. ‘That wsan’t a very happy time for a young girl.’

  Ned thanked her with his eyes. ‘Iris is right, Bell. We shouldn’t be recalling it.’

  ‘I disagree. It’s the reason we’re both here in India. I’ve come to terms with losing Mum and Dad – in fact, I’m often embarrassed that I forgot to miss them. The Grenfells have been so influential to me, a pa
rt of every day for the past six years. And they’ve given me a wonderful life – one I couldn’t have had back in England or Rangoon, even if Mum hadn’t died.’

  Ned looked hurt, Iris noted. ‘You make me feel so guilty.’

  ‘Oh, don’t, Ned, please,’ Bella soothed.

  ‘How’s Arthur?’

  ‘Would you forgive me if I said he’s been more of a father to me than our own ever was?’

  Ned felt a stab of pain on behalf of their father. ‘Of course I would.’

  Bella reached over and kissed Ned tenderly on the cheek. ‘I know you loved him. Oh, listen to us. We should be celebrating being together.’ She gave Iris a watery smile. ‘Forgive me, Iris. I promise from here on it’s all joy and laughter.’

  Iris smiled reassuringly in return. ‘So you’re enjoying yourself, Bella? I mean, Madras suits you?’

  ‘Oh, it’s wonderful. While I didn’t love school work, I did love school. I’ve made some great friends and there’s talk that I can visit some of their families in Britain.’ Iris could tell immediately that Bella’s experience would be a far cry from her own, and even though Arabella Sinclair was an orphan, she was still born on the right side of the world to be instantly accepted. ‘And I’ll probably become a governess or teach French or something – I’m fluent now.’

  ‘In French?’

  ‘I’ve been learning it from one of the French wives. They lost their daughter rather tragically and she took a shine to me.’

  ‘You’ve certainly landed on your feet,’ Iris said, trying not to sound envious.

  ‘I know! All my life needs now is a nice Englishman in it and it will be perfect.’

  All three of them laughed, but while it was said entirely light-heartedly for some reason Iris chose to hear only cynicism in the remark.

  Ned and Bella talked non-stop all the way back to KGF. If Ned noticed that Iris had become quiet, it didn’t seem to trouble him.

  ‘You see these trees that line our journey, Bell? They’re mulberries.’

  ‘Of course. We had one at home. Mum used to complain about our stained fingers inside the house.’

  ‘Good memory.’

  ‘I have so few, really, but the ones I do have are very vivid.’

  ‘The miles and miles and miles of mulberries are because this region is famous for its silkworms.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Southern Indian brides are married in silk. Not everyone can afford it, but most families try to make sure their daughters have a pure silk sari for their wedding day.’

  ‘Amazing.’

  ‘The poor old worm has to die to keep the silk cocoon intact. They pierce them with needles or drop them in boiling water.’

  Iris and Bella made sounds of disgust in unison.

  ‘So, when do I get to meet the great Jack Bryant, Ned?’

  ‘Well, he’s asked us over for dinner. I hope you’re up to it?’

  ‘Oh, yes! Are you coming too, Iris?’

  Iris looked around, slightly flushed. ‘No. I haven’t been invited, have I, Ned?’

  Ned stared at the road ahead. ‘Well, it’s not like that. I think Jack just thought he’d like to do the right thing and make Bella welcome. I’m away next week.’

  Iris felt a twinge of jealousy that Bella would enjoy Jack’s undivided attention, but she checked her treacherous thoughts before they spiralled out of control. Ned had only hours earlier asked her to marry him.

  ‘And before I forget, Bella, Jack’s offered to take you out next Monday. It’s a hike back to Bangalore, I’m afraid, but he’ll make sure you have a wonderful time.’

  ‘Lovely,’ Bella exclaimed, clearly used to lots of attention. ‘I do hope he’s handsome,’ she added, laughing, but neither her brother or Iris joined in.

  Jack was looking forward to playing the host. Gangai and Kanakammal had set a fine table with the new European damask linen Jack had sent for from Bangalore. Setting up house was not cheap but Jack had spared no expense, finding himself unexpectedly in funds.

  The house had been freshly painted inside and out and the gardens had been given a facelift. A tired, weatherbeaten property had been transformed into a grand gentleman’s bungalow. You couldn’t miss the house, set back from the dusty roadside with a circular drive. Jack felt like something of a country squire looking down on KGF from his wide verandah.

  He was surprised to have received a letter from the family’s Cornish lawyers while he was in hospital, informing him that a special fund had been allocated by his father to help him establish himself in the colonies. It was very curious after six years of polite but innocuous letters between himself and home. The first and unexpectedly generous allocation was wired to Jack’s English bank in Bangalore and he suspected it had to do with the fact that his father had been ailing. Nothing serious, his mother had said, but Jack wondered whether the old man was softening; perhaps he was even missing having his family around him.

  Anyway, he had already decided how to spend it. Lying in his hospital bed with too much thinking time, he’d decided he wanted to try his hand at business, just like the old man. He’d figured that the old shop at the top of Funnell’s Hill could mint money if an investor took it on. He had no intention of giving up his new promotion but he could employ a good manager and have the best of both worlds; remaining in mining but being in business too. The shop had been vacant for more than a year and was falling into disrepair. It was begging for someone to open up a general goods store. It would be a grander scale of the petty shop of Chinathambi’s. People would flock there if he ensured there was a constant supply of English goods, from jams to paper patterns for clothes. He’d have to find a manager to run it and a couple of staff, but there were so many large Anglo-Indian families and not everyone wanted to work for the mines. He’d wasted no time in quietly making an offer on the property, and by the time he left hospital he owned the deeds.

  And that wasn’t all. He intended to buy a house. He knew exactly where, too – just off St Mark’s Road in the heart of Bangalore city. Within this area was an enclave of elegant, understated English-style bungalows. He was convinced that as the city developed, these leafy, quiet streets would become extremely desirable for British and Eurasians – especially so close to the private college for ladies and its companion Bishop Cotton Boys School.

  As he had slowly dressed, hampered by his shoulder, he’d had

  Gangai prepare a gin and tonic to privately toast himself for his acumen and his father for his sudden generosity. The promotion, the new business, the properties, his motorbike … life was looking very good. All he needed to make it complete was a wife; but here his daydreams faltered, for there was only one woman for him now.

  He banged down the glass, his wonderful vision for the future shattered as he imagined Iris kissing Ned, sharing his bed as his wife. He knew he had no right to covet Iris as he did, but his feelings for her were so strong that he felt helpless to resist them.

  A shadow moved in the hallway.

  ‘Is that you, Gangai?’ he yelled.

  There was a pause before Kanakammal appeared hesitantly at the doorway. ‘It is me, Master Bryant.’

  ‘Well, you’ll do. I’m struggling with this tie and my guests are due shortly. Can you help me, please?’

  She stood almost eye to eye with him, which was disconcerting. He was used to bending to every woman he knew. He noticed she wiped her hands nervously on the front of her pale-blue sari.

  ‘I hope you approve of my choice,’ he said, realising it was one of the saris he had recently purchased for her. He’d given her sister a bright-green and a deep-red one. Gangai and the mali, as well as the chokra, had all new garments too.

  She continued fiddling with his silk tie. ‘Yes, sir. I would not wear this sari if I did not like it.’

  Jack sighed. He suspected that, as meekly as she presented herself, no one could push her in a direction she didn’t want to go.

  ‘Do you know I dreamed of you?’

>   Kanakammal stood back from him, her face unreadable.

  He didn’t know why he was telling her this. ‘When I was trapped in the tunnel, at my lowest. Exhaustion, pain, fear … it was all closing in on me.’ Jack turned to the mirror. The knot was perfect. ‘I think I was hallucinating, but you came to me in that dream.’

  ‘Did it help, sir?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Yes, it did. The vision urged me on. I found comfort in it.’

  He suddenly felt naked for the admission.

  ‘Then it matters not who appeared in the vision. It gave you courage.’

  He nodded, frowning. Kanakammal was not yet seventeen, but her grave countenance, combined with her fluent English, lent her a maturity way beyond her years. ‘Which missionaries converted your folk?’ he asked out of interest.

  ‘A Pentecostal mission, sir. We are Catholic.’

  ‘So you believe in spirits, speaking in tongues and all that mumbo-jumbo?’ It came out as an insult, although he hadn’t meant it that way. He tried to soften his approach. ‘Maybe that’s why you’re so good at language.’

  ‘And maybe I did visit you in the mine when you were ready to give up, sir.’ Her face was blank, the words bland and harmless, and yet the challenge couched within them was unmistakable. ‘May I be excused?’

  He nodded, confused. ‘Of course. Is everything ready for dinner?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She left, the tinkling of her ankle jewellery sounding her retreat down the hallway.

  Jack was waiting for them on the verandah. Once again Ned had been lent the Walker car and it reminded Jack just how thick with the family his friend was. Beside him sat a slim blonde girl with an effervescent smile, who didn’t wait for her door to be opened. Ned shrugged at Jack as Bella ran lightly up the steps and flung herself into his arms. ‘At last!’ she gushed. ‘I feel as though I already know you.’

  Jack set her back down. ‘Dolores, right?’ he said.

  ‘What?’ she said. ‘Oh, no, I’m —’ And then she saw his smile and laughed. ‘You beast!’