‘I don’t like being called a liar, Iris,’ Bella sniffed, as Flora wrung her hands but remained uncharacteristically silent.
‘There’s been a misunderstanding, that’s all. But I’m sorry again that you’re upset enough to leave.’
‘Don’t apologise to me. It’s my brother who needs the apology.’
She left without looking back. Iris didn’t have enough scathing words in her repertoire to hurl silently at the spoilt youngster’s back. Bella hadn’t said a word to Flora; not even a humble thank you for the hospitality.
Ned paused, throwing a glance of apology at Flora before addressing Iris. ‘I’m taking Bell back to my house. I think it’s best. And she does want to go home. So I’ll travel into Bangalore with her and hunt down someone who is going to Madras. I don’t like the idea of her travelling so far alone.’
Iris nodded, not trusting herself to say anything.
And then he too was gone, leaving behind his ultimatum for her to wrestle with. It was identical to Jack’s and she felt hollow. The decision was already made. It had been made on the verandah in the deserted house in Bangalore but she had not been strong enough to resist Jack. It wasn’t that she was now satisfied – not even close. But she couldn’t bear for her family to think any less of her and she refused to let Ned go.
She must let Jack go instead. She wouldn’t have to say anything. He’d know her decision by the way she would now avoid him. It was the only way – to avoid all contact, banish any treacherous thoughts the moment they bubbled up in her mind. Rub her skin clean of his caresses and never, ever wear that pale-blue dress again for fear of being reminded of him undoing its buttons one by one and pulling it over her head.
Jack brooded. He had swapped to the night shift in a deliberate move to avoid facing anyone by day; Gangai could tell callers the master was sleeping. Sleep! That was a joke. He tried but it eluded him. He would close the shutters, draw the curtains and stare into the darkness at the ceiling. The house had become silent by day for him and if not for the ticking of the big mantelpiece clock, he would hardly know anyone else was alive around him.
It was Namathevi’s job to wind the clock each day at the same time and he listened out for her jingling arrival. Like her sister, she wore gold anklets with little charms. She had a sunny smile and a sweet singing voice but none of the dramatic presence of her sister.
Elizabeth was unhappy with him; he could tell, but he didn’t care. She didn’t like his unshaven, slovenly look, she clearly didn’t appreciate his new shifts or the fact that he hardly touched her food. But she said nothing. Her soulful grey eyes did all the talking for her.
His bedroom used to be the domain of only Gangai but there was a woman’s touch about it now. Fresh flowers found their way in and were changed every few days. Darning and repairs were mysteriously taken away and returned, and he noticed the dhobi was now calling each couple of days for laundry, rather than once a week. She perfumed his room with sandalwood oil and while it could well be to make his room smell less of sweat, alcohol and his hair tonic, he was convinced Elizabeth used the very precious fragrance to bring him relief. The local Hindus ground up sandalwood bark with paste to smear on a devotee’s forehead at their temples as a means of controlling anxiety.
It was vaguely touching that in among her disapproval she was also worried for his health. He wondered whether she knew the reason for his sour mood. Somehow he thought Elizabeth saw and understood everything.
All the good feeling surrounding the purchase of the house, even the news that his motorbike would be delivered this week, had been devoured by his despair over Iris. He hadn’t been near her house in a fortnight, vaguely glad that his and Ned’s shifts were not on the same cycle again, although it meant he was completely in the dark. He clung to the hope that she would somehow communicate with him, even by letter. But the silence was damning.
He had not seduced Iris, or forced himself upon her. She had given herself up to him freely. If not for Ned, he knew Iris would be his. But as each day passed with no sign from her, he felt bleaker.
He couldn’t lie here any longer, his mind filled with the same black thoughts. He got up. It was far too early, given that he’d only returned from work a few hours before, but perhaps he could snatch a nap a little later. Right now he was wide awake and too angry to even doze. He threw open the shutters, squinting at the sharp morning light, and noticed a bowl of fresh potpourri. He couldn’t decide whether he was irritated by Elizabeth’s invasion or touched by it.
He went down the hallway in search of Gangai and some tea. In the kitchen he found Elizabeth, cross-legged on the floor with a granite slab before her. On it were little piles of ingredients; he could smell garlic, onion, ginger. She was making a green paste; probably coriander. She was rolling a second chunk of much smoother granite across the first, the rhythmic movement very quickly turning the herb into a fragrant pulp.
She looked up, startled. Jack rarely came into the kitchen. He’d stolen up on her and stood at the doorway, half undressed, unshaven and bleary-eyed.
‘I’m looking for Gangai.’
‘He took Namathevi to the market, sir. We did not expect you to be awake so early.’
‘No, neither did I.’
She unfurled herself gracefully; Jack compared it to a sinewy snake. Her fingers glistened from the gloss of coriander juices but her gold sari was immaculate.
‘Can I fetch you some tea, sir? Perhaps some breakfast?’
‘Yes, oats, thank you. I’ll go and wash up.’
She regarded him sombrely, unblinking, until he turned and walked back down the hall, feeling somehow like a scolded child for appearing so dishevelled and grumpy.
He felt better for the shower and shave – the first in three days. It was nearing midday but was still cool enough on the west-facing front verandah. He welcomed this time of year. November brought cooler days and much drier weeks after the monsoon months that led up to September, when it would rain most days.
Elizabeth appeared with his porridge and pot of tea. She’d chopped up finger bananas onto the oats and drizzled it with golden syrup.
‘I made you a fresh dosa as well. You aren’t eating enough.’
He gave her a wry smile. ‘Are you my mother, now?’
‘If you collapse and die from starvation, I shall have no employer.’
The smell of the dosa was seductive. He cut into it, enjoying the crispy crack of the pancake as he plunged deeper into a velvety potato filling. The explosion of taste as the spicy tang of the coconut chutney hit his tongue felt like he was returning from the dead.
He’d had several days of living on gin and snatching snacks, leaving most meals untouched since his return from Bangalore.
‘I’m surprised you keep returning for more rejection, Elizabeth.’
‘My food will win over your will, sir.’
He laughed. ‘It certainly makes porridge seem very dull.’
She flashed a brief, hesitant smile.
‘I’ve bought a house in Bangalore. Do you think you would come and cook for me there?’
‘Are you leaving KGF, sir?’ She sounded disappointed.
He sighed. ‘I don’t know. I think … well, circumstances will dictate …’ He knew he wasn’t making sense. ‘I’m not sure. I may even leave India.’
‘Back to England?’
‘To Cornwall,’ he said, and the words rolled tenderly from his tongue. ‘I miss her.’
‘Do you mean this place you speak of, or a woman, sir?’
He glanced at her, his laden fork halfway to his mouth. ‘You don’t miss much, do you?’
‘I pay attention.’
‘Do you have any suitors, Elizabeth?’ She frowned at him. ‘Are you promised to a man? That’s how you do it here, don’t you?’
‘Not our family, sir. Families may approach my parents but the decision remains mine.’
Jack raised his freshly poured cup of tea. ‘I’m glad for you. I admire that.
Always troubles me that you people marry for reasons other than love.’
‘Plenty of Westerners marry simply for convenience and money. At least Hindu families put a lot of thought into how the two families being brought together will work. Money is part but not all. I watch white women here every day, sir, who would marry happily for status alone.’
‘You’re right. Me, I could only marry for love.’
‘And what if she is not yours to love?’
Jack threw his cup down on the tray. It broke, tea spilled into his dosa and his fork hit the verandah. ‘Who are you to question me like that?’
She flinched but she stood her ground, away from him – as far as possible from him, in fact – but still towering above him as he sat in his cane chair suffused with fury.
‘I am no one, sir.’
‘That’s right. No one!’ He stood. ‘What gives you the right?’
‘I suppose the same right that allows you to make observations about my life, sir.’
‘You are my servant!’
‘But not your slave,’ she corrected, her eyes the colour of a rain cloud. ‘I work for you. I am happy to do this. But you British think you are so much better than us, so much cleverer, yet I speak your language with ease, while you cannot pronounce my name.’
‘What do you want from me?’ he roared suddenly. ‘I always feel you’re expecting something.’
She shook her head, eyes lowered, silent.
‘Say it! As your employer, I demand you say it, whatever it is. Whatever is it that’s burning in those accusing eyes of yours?’
She looked up now and the rain clouds had turned into a storm but her voice was still calm.
‘She will not make you happy. And you will not make her happy. You are too similar, too greedy, too used to getting your own way. You need someone who will always give and so does she, but you are both takers.’
Jack was silent, mostly out of astonishment. Her words overrode his anger, cutting through his pain and his determination to have Iris for himself, to where there was still rational thought, and there they resonated, echoing their truth. He wanted to dismiss it. Wanted to pick up his tray and fling it at her. Instead he clenched and unclenched his fists, hating her for seeing through him and knowing him so well.
‘And you think Ned Sinclair can offer her all that she needs?’
‘It is not my place to comment.’
‘Really? Why stop now? Answer me. Is Ned Sinclair the answer to her dreams?’
‘He is your best friend, sir. Search your own heart.’
‘Get out of my sight. In fact, get out of my house!’
Her anklets told him she had gone.
Perhaps she had found her sister and told her what had occurred because later Gangai returned alone with the groceries. Someone was riding up the hill but Jack was still too angry to be bothered about it.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you, sir.’
Jack nodded absently. ‘Did you hear I’ve got rid of our cook?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Don’t look at me like that, Gangai. You can find me someone else.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Before more could be said, their visitor arrived; it was Ned on the bicycle and Jack sighed inwardly. ‘Can I talk to you a moment, Jack? Privately.’
Jack didn’t want to presume as to what this was about. It had been days since he’d last seen Ned; in fact, the last time was over a Pimms on this very verandah with his brattish sister in tow. But by the set of Ned’s mouth, it didn’t take much to guess what was on his mind. He would let Ned lead this conversation. ‘All right, come up and we’ll get some coffee organised. I’m on night shift, so —’
‘I won’t stay. Don’t worry about the coffee, Gangai,’ Ned said, awkwardly. ‘Just wanted a quick word.’
‘All right.’ He gestured to Ned to join him on the verandah. ‘What’s this all about?’
‘Oh, I’m sure you can guess,’ Ned began, balancing his bike against the stairs but not actually climbing beyond the second. He leaned against the banister. ‘Bella’s gone.’
‘Gone?’
‘I put her on the evening train almost a week ago, back to Madras.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘She and Iris have fallen out.’
Jack cleared his throat. ‘That’s a pity but women – especially pretty young women – will always bitch, Ned.’
Ned ignored the comment. ‘Do you know why?’
‘I can’t imagine.’
His friend eyed him dubiously. ‘It was over you.’
‘Me?’ He tried to sound incredulous.
‘Don’t. Please don’t. Everyone seems to think I’m clueless, or blind, or dim.’
‘Ned, listen —’
‘No, Jack, it’s time for you to listen. I loved you, Jack, and looked up to you. You’ve been my one true friend and once I would have trusted you with my life. But I don’t trust you with my future wife. I want you to stay away from Iris.’
Jack’s mood boiled over. ‘Whatever poison your bubble-brained sister has been telling you is —’
‘Likely the truth,’ Ned interrupted, coolly. ‘I have no proof and I won’t call Iris a liar, but if life’s taught me anything, it’s that there’s rarely smoke without fire, Jack, and I can see the flames of passion burning brightly in you. They have since you met my fiancée.’
It was no use pretending to anyone any longer, least of all himself.
‘I didn’t see a ring on her finger, Ned. Are you sure you’re not jumping the gun here?’
‘And I see you don’t deny it.’
‘I’m not accountable to you or anyone. Why does everyone think they can tell me how to lead my life?’
‘Everyone? I’m not giving you advice on how to run your life; I’m simply asking you to stay away from Iris.’
‘Why? Nervous the best man can’t win?’ Jack hated himself for hurting Ned.
‘The contrary actually.’ Ned looked back at Jack sadly. ‘Terrified that the best man will win. You don’t need her, Jack. You just think you do. If you really love her, leave her be.’
He swung a leg over the bike.
‘A word of warning,’ Jack said coldly, stung by the barb of truth in Ned’s words. ‘Why don’t you and Iris start being honest with each other?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I know things about Iris you don’t,’ he said cryptically and watched Ned’s mouth narrow. ‘And you and I share a secret that would give Iris a whole new opinion —’
‘Don’t you dare.’
‘Don’t ever dare me, Ned.’
‘I’m warning you. That stays buried.’
‘Or what? You’ll kill me in a rage?’
‘Shut your mouth, Jack!’
‘I’m not scared of you, Sinclair. I don’t know where you get off thinking you have a claim. She won’t even put your cheap ring on. Why don’t you ask her why, Ned? You can go on pretending that it’s too big, or you can face the truth that Iris isn’t sure whether she wants to be with you – or with someone who’d lavish the world on her. You don’t have a world to lavish. You have nothing.’
Ned swallowed, seemed to take a moment to compose himself. ‘I’m not a man of means. But my love for her —’
‘Oh, get off your single tune, Ned! Love isn’t enough!’ Jack roared. ‘Look at Iris. Do you really think living in a company bungalow is going to be enough for her? Wearing homemade dresses and giving you a brood of kids and playing the Jaldi Five on a Monday afternoon to win twenty rupees to pay the dhobi?’
Ned looked murderous but Jack didn’t care. Everything was being laid bare now. He also didn’t care if Iris suffered for this – why shouldn’t she suffer the same pain he was going through? She should have contacted him.
Ned’s voice was winter itself. ‘It was enough for her until you turned on the charm.’
‘She sought me out, Ned. From the moment we danced at Oorgaum Hall, she was
always going to seek me out. She visited me in the hospital alone – did you know that?’
‘She told me.’
‘Did she tell you how she touched me? How she laid her hand on my chest as though she was trying to feel my heart beating? It was like electricity running through me. Iris and I are connected in a way you and she could never be. Never! Accept that you have a rival for her affections and act like a man! Win her, Ned. Win her fair and square. No more threats, no more ultimatums or pathetically hoping I’ll walk away just because you’ve asked me to. Don’t just assume your right to marry her, you weak bastard. Earn it.’
Ned shook his head in disbelief. Their friendship lay in ruins. He unleashed his own despair. ‘I didn’t carry her brother up from the bowels of the earth and save his life; I don’t have money to splash around and impress her with; I don’t have your presence, Jack, or your arrogance with the ladies to make her even step away from your fabulous glow. But I do know this, I’ll be there many years from now, still faithful, still loving her, still giving her everything I can. You? Who knows. Riding your motorbike across India, having affairs left, right and centre when you get bored of her and her family, breaking her heart, dying of alcohol poisoning. Take your pick. It’s all on the cards.’
‘Well, at least you’re fighting back.’
‘How did it come to this?’ Ned asked, breathing hard, looking wounded. ‘We were best friends. Why did it have to change? You can have anyone you want – your own servant would lay down her life for you, let alone every single girl panting for you, including my own sister.’
‘But it’s Iris I want.’
‘That’s right. You want her like you want a motorbike, or a piece of property. I’ve earned her, Jack. Years of loving her from a distance.’
‘It’s not enough. Until she chooses you, you have as much right to woo her as any man does, but no more.’
‘Then I’ll make her choose me,’ Ned said with finality.
‘That’s the spirit, Ned.’
‘And if she does choose me?’
‘I’ll accept it.’
‘And go nowhere near her again?’
Fields of Gold Page 37
