Fields of Gold

by Fiona McIntosh

  ‘To Iris and Ned!’ Harold Walker declared.

  ‘Iris and Ned!’ his family repeated loudly and raised their glasses.

  Jack paused, swaying on his feet. He watched them ceremoniously take a sip from their glasses, and then Iris and Ned followed suit, smiling doe-eyed at each other. The bile rose in his throat. Jack was in his shirtsleeves, the tuxedo long ago discarded. But he was still in his fashionably cut dress pants, one side of his shirt tail dangling outside of his trousers and his bow tie predictably flapping either side of his neck when he’d tried to take it off but only succeeded in loosening it all.

  He yelled at the window. ‘Ned Sinclair!’

  It was impossible not to hear it and the whole family paused after their toast. Ned looked down and then excused himself.

  Jack waited, feeling slightly more sober; sober enough to realise that he was very, very drunk.

  Ned appeared on the porch. ‘Hello, Jack.’

  ‘Ah, the victor arrives.’

  Iris walked out, too, and Jack couldn’t be sure but he thought Ned told her to stay where she was. He walked down the stairs towards Jack.

  ‘You’re drunk.’

  ‘Cheers!’ Jack called to him and then belched.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here, Jack.’

  ‘Hello, Iris, you betrayer! Be careful, Ned, she’s a temptress, that one. There’s treachery in her heart.’

  ‘Careful, Jack. You’re speaking about my fiancée and I’d ask you to show some respect.’

  ‘Respec’?’ Jack slurred. ‘What do either of you know about that when you both lie …’ He swallowed back another belch. ‘… to each other?’ He looked up. More of the family had gathered. ‘You should all hear this. Hey, Iris! Did Ned ever tell you about a man called Brent, who buggered his friend and in retri … retri …’ He couldn’t find the right word. ‘Anyway, Brent’s dead, Iris. Convenient, eh?’

  ‘Shut up, Jack,’ Ned said in a low growl.

  Jack looked at his old friend. He swayed on his feet, loathing himself for being so weakened by a woman.

  ‘You gave your word,’ Ned urged in an undertone. ‘We let her choose. She chose me, now go away. Go back to Cornwall and buy yourself a wife with all your father’s money.’

  No one saw it coming. Even Jack was surprised, staring at his fist, mystified as to why Ned was suddenly on the ground bleeding. Iris screamed and there was a lot of shouting before Jim, some servants and Iris, perhaps even a sister or two, were wrestling him back.

  Walker appeared, looking grave. ‘I think you’ve said your piece, Jack. Go home and sober up.’

  ‘Go, Jack,’ Jim muttered beneath his breath. ‘It’s over.’

  Jack stared at Ned clutching his jaw, his head cradled in Iris’s lap. She was weeping and Ned was bleeding all over her pretty dress. Iris looked at him, her eyes full of pleading.

  ‘Go away, Jack, and leave our family be.’

  ‘Iris,’ he began, regretting his anger, his drunkenness, the fact that he had not only lost Iris to Ned but lost his friendship also … the only one he’d ever had.

  But Iris looked away and it was her father who spoke again. ‘I must see to Ned’s jaw. Jim, show Jack to the gate, please. Help him with his bike. That shoulder of his is not fully healed and he won’t be riding that machine home. He can send someone to pick it up in the morning.’

  All the family began to move, helping Ned to his feet and ushering each other inside.

  All Jack could do was watch through a blurred gaze once again. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt —’

  ‘But you did. Come on, Jack. You really aren’t welcome here,’ Jim said kindly but firmly.

  Jack shook off Jim’s hands. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  Jim stood back, his hands in the air now. ‘All right, all right. But you need to leave.’

  Jack struggled to pick up his bike.

  ‘I don’t think you should be riding —’

  ‘And I don’t give a fuck what you think!’ Jack snarled. He managed to get his leg over the seat and his machine started with the first kick. He gave Jim a dazed glare for good measure, and then once again rode off into the black night, his headlamp casting only a soft glow.

  Almost all the houses were in darkness now so Jack had no means to guide his path, but instead of taking it carefully he continued to increase his speed. He almost made it home but then he reached the corner that would lead him up the hill.

  The bike began to skid as Jack’s judgement was seriously compromised. It continued to slide, on its side, Jack beneath it until it came to rest in a ditch.

  Gangai had seen him coming at speed; Jack had roared past him, oblivious. The sudden squeal of tyres and the sound of a crash filled the air. Long before Gangai reached Jack, the crickets that had fallen silent began their chirruping once again.

  When Jack regained consciousness, he could barely open his eyes and he had no idea where he was. He moved his head slightly, and whether it was the pain in his neck that prompted it or the hangover, everything that was in his belly came up.

  Someone was with him, he realised, and was quick enough to anticipate the eruption. Afterwards his face was wiped down with a wet flannel, which was then placed on his forehead to cool him. He ached. His head throbbed, his side was on fire and his shoulder felt as though he’d re-dislocated the socket.

  If he was ever a man close to tears, it was now, as last night’s events came back to him vividly. He tried to say something but it came out as more of a croak than any discernible words. He tried to sit up and the pain hit.

  He came back to his senses a while later, realising he had blacked out.

  ‘It is wise not to move,’ said a voice he recognised but in his confusion couldn’t place.

  ‘Where?’ he managed.

  ‘Home.’

  He swallowed and noted his throat was near parched. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘It is Kanakammal, sir. Gangai insisted I come. I can leave if you wish?’

  ‘No! Stay.’

  She said nothing.

  Hours, perhaps a whole day, went by as he passed in and out of sleep, hardly moving but all the time aware of her comforting presence. She remained silent; still as a painting until he needed her help with sipping some water or wiping his lips.

  She’d kept the room darkened so he had no idea of time but at some point – he thought it must be the following day – he felt more lucid.

  ‘How long have I …?’

  ‘It is Monday afternoon now.’

  Nearly two days. Work.

  She seemed to read his thoughts. ‘Dr Walker has spoken to your boss. They’ve said for you to take a couple of weeks – you’re owed them anyway.’

  ‘Walker?’

  ‘We had to call someone.’

  ‘How bad is it?’

  ‘It is the bang on your head. Concussion. You’ve scraped your side and it needs re-dressing regularly.’

  ‘My arm.’

  ‘Just the old wound.’

  Jack nodded, hating himself, hating the world and especially hating Kanakammal for finding it within herself to forgive him when he didn’t deserve such grace. He plunged into a dark mood as the days stretched long and the nights even longer.

  Kanakammal had taken to dozing in the chair across the room. She would disappear for periods and delicious cooking smells wafted into his room. Although Jack found it hard to admit, he was aware that if not for Kanakammal’s presence, he would not be healing so fast.

  Walker sent in a doctor to check on him daily and the young medico pronounced him on the mend. Lots of rest, plenty of water, some sun on his back and some light exercise was recommended. After a week Jack was back on his feet. He spoke little but did as he was asked in order to achieve a full recovery. He spent an hour at his desk each day and managed to get work underway at his shop and house. He’d decided it was to be a general store and he would call it ‘Funnell’s’ because of its position at the top of the hill.

  He had found a
way to blank his mind. He tried not to think about what his colleagues would make of his drunken behaviour and subsequent accident – and he shut out any private thoughts of Ned and Iris. If either threatened to enter his mind, he distracted himself, playing solitaire or doing odd jobs. He did anything and everything to give himself time to distance himself fully from that bleak Saturday night, but especially to erase the memory of him moving inside Iris, kissing Iris, wanting Iris.

  But of course he couldn’t fully shield himself from the community. Harold Walker paid a house visit when his young doctor was rushed to an accident. Walker was businesslike with Jack; the only words exchanged revolved around Jack’s injuries.

  ‘I think you’re well enough to head back to work full time, Jack. You can certainly fulfil your role at the engine house.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Jack replied.

  ‘Well, good day. I won’t need to see you again,’ Harold said and turned to leave.

  Jack followed him out onto the verandah, his arm back in a sling for safe measure. ‘Dr Walker?’

  The old man turned.

  ‘I’d like to apologise for my behaviour.’

  ‘I think it’s best for everyone if we don’t refer to that night again. Our family wishes to forget it.’

  ‘I’m sure, but you see, I can’t, and so I’d like you to know that I do regret my ugly behaviour.’ He gave a small bleak smile. ‘In fact, I can honestly say I regret ever meeting your daughter, sir. She has created a dark hole in my heart.’ He hadn’t meant to say that much but it was said now.

  Walker regarded him as a scientist might a specimen. ‘Jack. Not so long ago you saved my beloved son’s life and our family owed you a debt of thanks that I’m sure we’ve fallen hopelessly short of. But I don’t believe our family – least of all, my daughter – should feel obliged to keep showing our gratitude. What’s done is done. Your actions were heroic and you both lived to tell the tale.’

  Jack nodded.

  ‘Now my daughter is marrying Edward Sinclair shortly. Very shortly, in fact. They’ve decided on a brief engagement, which is a pity because it denies my wife lavishing her daughter with the build-up to a wedding that they should both enjoy. Still, the decision is made and they will marry in a couple of weeks. And I feel sure this bright young couple have been forced into it. The reason I’m telling you this, Jack, is because you only have to look at them to see their devotion to one another. I want you to stay away from our family wedding and create no more problems for Iris and Ned. Is that clear?’

  Jack couldn’t help himself. Hackles rising, he asked, ‘Or what?’

  ‘Or you will deal with me, sir! I don’t know what you were hoping to achieve by raking back over that old case involving Mr Brent from Rangoon. But it was clear to all that you feel Ned has something to answer for. I don’t want to know. Frankly, it’s in the past and nothing dredged up now will give the man his life back. But you can bet your last rupee that if you insist on drawing attention to that case, then I will have something to add to it.’

  ‘Oh, yes and what’s that?’

  ‘Perhaps you forget that Sabu has served me for a good many years, Jack. He was with us when the first of our children were born and I hope he’ll still be with us when we welcome our first grandchild. Whatever passed between you and Sabu is your business … but it is also mine, because it happened in my house and Sabu owes his loyalties to me. I know he lied for you. I know all about your visit to our house even though you told the police otherwise. I have chosen to stay silent all these years because I couldn’t see the point in muddying the waters of a case the police considered so cut and dried, and because Ned was cleared of all suspicion. But I will indeed muddy the waters and I shall use your name to do it if you intend making trouble for that fine young man.’ Walker’s voice dropped to a hoarse, angry whisper and his face had turned a deep scarlet. ‘Leave my Iris and her husband-to-be well alone, Jack Bryant.’

  He turned, got into his car and drove away without so much as a glance back at Jack, who stood frozen on the verandah, all his aches overshadowed by his deep fury.

  39

  Burying his emotional turmoil, Jack returned to work at Top Reef, and for the next week he went about his work with diligence and an expertise that the mine executive noted in reports to head office. Everyone had agreed that his appointment had been a risk. Jack needed them all to believe that the risk had paid off.

  But while his work by day settled into a routine, his nights were filled with bleakness, alternating between dark rage and mind-numbing despair.

  Through it all, Kanakammal was his constant companion. Mostly silent, she moved like a ghost around the house, staying awake to keep an eye on him. She cooked meals he picked at, made pots of tea or coffee that he left to go cold, and tidied behind him when he would finally cast off his clothes and clamber between the fresh sheets she’d laundered and returned to his bed. The flowers were back in his room, so was the sweet-smelling sandalwood oil, although he never did find its source.

  Jack had not glimpsed Ned or Iris, keeping his movements to Marikuppam, with the odd journey to check on progress of work at the store. He did all his drinking at home … alone.

  On the twelfth of December, Christmas decorations began appearing all over KGF. Each mine erected a huge tree with massive lights and while Jack ensured his team did their part in decorating Top Reef’s tree for all the families who belonged to that mine, it was Kanakammal who made sure the Bryant house, despite its pall of gloom inside, looked just as festive from outside as the next.

  Days crept by, carols were sung, the various mines started gearing up for their Christmas parties – the highlight of the KGF year. Jack dreaded the festivity and as each sunset threw its glow across the town, he counted another day closer to the wedding.

  On the day Walker had told him Iris and Ned were to be married, Jack’s resolve faltered. It didn’t help that he had the next two days off work and thus far too much time and opportunity to think about the happy couple. He could even watch them tie the knot, if he gave his self-destructive tendencies free rein.

  He hadn’t been drinking as hard and was certain Kanakammal had threatened Gangai with something worse than death because the man was not replenishing his alcohol stocks with any speed.

  ‘Gangai! Did you get me any more gin?’

  ‘I … I will tomorrow, sir.’

  ‘No, you’ll do it now. Go down to Robertsonpet and fetch me a bottle of gin and one of Scotch and don’t come back with any excuses.’ He pulled out a wad of notes. ‘Here. If there’s change, it’s yours for a bottle of arrack.’

  Gangai smiled and sped off on a bicycle. Kanakammal appeared not long afterwards with a plate of onion bhajis.

  ‘Shall I bring your dinner early tonight, Mr Bryant?’

  ‘I think I’ll go for a walk first.’

  ‘You should walk up the hill, sir, if you haven’t before. It is a marvellous view from the top.’

  Jack smiled inwardly. He had to admire her for trying. Like Gangai, she’d been watching him all day, waiting for any sign that he was going to change the steady course he’d been on. And she knew the moment had come and was probably hoping to divert him from going anywhere near St Michael’s Church this afternoon.

  ‘I shan’t be long,’ he said mildly, inhaling hard on his cigarette. She watched him as he blew out the smoke and he tried not to squirm beneath her scrutiny.

  ‘I see through you, Elizabeth. I know what you’re doing … and you can’t save me from myself, I’m afraid. No one can.’ Jack dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his boot.

  He looked up at her again. ‘Why aren’t you married yet?’ When she didn’t answer he shook his head. ‘The men of this region must be mad to let a woman like you go begging.’

  ‘I do not beg for any man, sir.’

  He gave a rueful laugh. ‘Yes, I think I know that. But I meant it as a compliment. You’re really quite extraordinary and Ned’s right. I’ve taken you for
granted. So let me say now, before I’m too drunk, that I’m glad you came back. I’m glad you’re here.’

  ‘I am glad too, sir. I don’t enjoy serving in my father’s shop.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘People talk down to me. The half-breeds especially. To them I’ll always be a servant.’

  Jack chuckled at her insulting term. ‘Don’t care for the Anglo-Indian women?’

  ‘I don’t care for anyone who thinks they are better than me. My blood is red, just like theirs. They began blood storage at the hospital nine months ago. My father was one of the first to queue and donate his blood. I was next in line. I’m sure no one cares when their precious son or daughter needs it and then they’ll happily take blood from an Indian.’ Her voice remained low and controlled, but he sensed her anger.

  ‘And so you don’t want to work in a shop again?’

  ‘Perhaps I’ll own my own shop, sir. Then no one can talk down to me.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘I will prepare your meal.’ She disappeared.

  Jack tried to put his hands behind his head but his shoulder gave a sharp protest and he was reminded of the time on the verandah in Bangalore, when Iris had found a way to take all the pain away.

  Iris.

  She would be married today. She would sleep in Ned’s bed tonight. He gritted his teeth at the thought. He imagined all the family hurtling around, organising the decorations for the church, the wedding reception – no doubt at Oorgaum Hall. Where would Ned take Iris for their honeymoon? What could he afford for her?

  Jack would have taken her up to Srinagar, the summer capital of Kashmir that Henry had told him about; onto one of those majestic houseboats, once the domain of maharajahs, and on the idyllic crystal calm of Dal Lake. With their curtains drawn about their boat, he would have made love to her, slowly, tenderly. The image in his mind felt so real he almost groaned when it was shaken loose by the sound of a bell ringing in the distance. Bells only rang on a Saturday to proclaim a wedding.