Rachel Lindsay - Man of Ice

by Rachel Lindsay

  At once she put in a call, and spent the time waiting for it by nervously pacing the room, one moment convinced she was doing the right thing, the next chiding herself for being unduly hysterical. Then the telephone buzzed and there was no time for any more fears, for Miss Bateman's nephew was on the line, his voice sounding sharper now that it was disembodied.

  'You don't know me,' she began swiftly, 'but I'm travelling on the tour with your aunt. You—er—I bumped into you at Heathrow and————- '

  'What's wrong with my aunt?' He interrupted her abruptly and, annoyed with herself for having gone into an unnecessary explanation—what did it matter to him who she was or whether or not they had met?— Abby quickly told him of his aunt's condition.

  'The doctor says there's nothing to worry about, but…'

  'But you're worried enough to ring me.'

  'Yes,' Abby said firmly. 'I wouldn't have done if we'd been in England, but…'

  'I'll get the first plane I can. I doubt if I'll be able to make it tonight, but I should be there some time in the morning.'

  She was surprised by the swiftness of his decision.

  'I wasn't expecting you to fly up here, Mr Farrow,' she said.

  'Why did you call me, then?'

  'To put you in the picture. But if '

  'Well, now you've done so, kindly leave the decision to me.'

  With a crisp goodbye he hung up, and Abby put down the receiver, relief mingling with irritation. What an annoying man he was! Yet she was glad she had called him, for she no longer felt she was carrying the entire burden of Miss Bateman's illness. If anything happened to the woman between tonight and tomorrow, when her nephew arrived, nobody would blame her for not having done her best.

  Picking up the telephone again, she asked to have dinner served in the room, then went over to the window and stared wistfully into the gloom. It had been a tedious and dispiriting day. Sitting for so many hours watching someone in a state of unconsciousness was no way to spend a holiday.

  She yawned and stretched, suddenly anxious to have Giles Farrow here to take command of the situation. What a relief it would be to give up all her responsibility!

  With a sigh she sat beside the window and cupped her face in her hands. The view was beautiful, with the Taj a pale glimmer in the distance. But somehow the scene was dominated by the memory of amber eyes, whose gleaming warmth was in such contrast to the crisp, cold voice.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Abby slept surprisingly well in the armchair beside Miss Bateman's bed, and did not awaken until the lightening of the sky heralded a new day.

  Instantly she sat up straight and looked at the bed. Miss Bateman was still asleep, but her face was not so flushed and her breathing was less rasping.

  Abby frowned. Had she waited until this morning before calling Giles Farrow, she would have had second thoughts. But it was too late to think of that now. If the man was to be taken at his word, he was already winging his way here from Bombay.

  A glance at her watch told her it was past seven and, careful not to make a noise, she went into the bathroom to shower. She felt much better after it, even though she had to put on the same clothes she had worn the day before. She thought longingly of the crisp cottons hanging up in her wardrobe but was reluctant to return to her room and leave Miss Bateman alone. When she returned to the bedroom, Miss Bateman was already awake and regarded Abby with astonishment.

  'Good gracious, child, what are you doing here?'

  'I stayed with you last night.'

  'With me? You mean you didn't go back to your own room?'

  'The doctor didn't want you to be left on your own. But I slept perfectly well here—the armchair was extremely comfortable. Now how about my ordering some breakfast? What would you like?'

  'Some tea but nothing to eat' The dark brown eyes narrowed. 'I can't remember much about yesterday. I know you came here in the morning, but after that it's all somewhat vague. Was I off my head?' she demanded with characteristic bluntness.

  'Teetering on the brink,' Abby smiled, and wondered whether now was the time to announce the impending arrival of Giles Farrow. Drawing a deep breath she did so, her misgiving fully justified as Miss Bateman gave an angry snort.

  'It was very naughty of you to call him. He's extremely busy and dislikes being bothered.'

  'He didn't sound to me as if he disliked it. He said he was very glad I called him.'

  'Of course he'd be glad—Giles and I are very fond of each other. But he's still too busy to come all the way here when it isn't necessary.'

  'When I telephoned him last night I thought it was very necessary. You seemed awfully ill and I was worried. Perhaps if we'd been in England with English doctors I might have felt differently.'

  'There's nothing the matter with Indian doctors. You must learn not to be so insular, child. You're too intelligent.'

  'And too untravelled,' Abby said ruefully, accepting the criticism. 'But all things being equal, I'm not sorry I contacted your nephew.'

  'Did he say what time he would arrive?'

  'This morning. But he didn't give an exact time.'

  Noon came and went without Giles Farrow's arrival and his aunt decided he had caught a mid-morning plane. As the day dragged on Abby's regret at having called him decreased, for Miss Bateman's earlier show of improvement vanished and her temperature rose again. She remained mentally alert, however, though unusually quiet and content to doze.

  It was only when they had both had lunch, Miss Bateman managing to swallow some soup and a small portion of plain cooked rice, that she seemed to realise how much sightseeing Abby had missed, and became so distraught by it that the flush on her cheeks intensified.

  'You won't get another chance to see Fathepur-Sikri. If you didn't want to leave me yesterday, you should at least have gone there today. It was stupid of me not to have hired a car and a guide to take you there.'

  'I saw the Taj Mahal,' Abby said stoutly. 'That made up for everything.'

  Miss Bateman looked unconvinced but did not argue. 'What time is the group leaving for Jaipur?'

  'We have to be at the airport by six. That means leaving here at five. But you won't be coming.'

  'I realise that. I may be an obstinate old woman, but I'm not gaga enough to think I can get out of bed and go on a long flight.' Miss Bateman struggled into a sitting position. 'You'd better go to your room and pack. You don't want to be late.'

  'It won't take me long to get ready. I didn't unpack properly in the first place. If I leave you when your nephew arrives, I'll still have loads of time.'

  But Abby's intention showed no sign of being carried out, for at four o'clock there was still no sign of Giles Farrow. Miss Bateman had fallen asleep again, after a heavy bout of coughing, and Abby was loath to waken her. She glanced at the telephone, then tiptoed from the room and made her way down to the reception desk, where she asked one of the clerks to call the airport and find out when the next plane was due in from Bombay.

  'There are only two direct flights today,' the man said. 'One arrived at eleven this morning and the other was due in at two but has been delayed by engine trouble. It may arrive later today or not until tomorrow.'

  Dismayed, she stared at him. 'I know Mr Farrow wants to get here as quickly as possible. I'm sure he'll try to get on another airline.'

  'No other airline operates internally in India—only our State-controlled one.'

  Biting her Hp, Abby went in search of the Gallway and King courier. As she had expected, he was outside the hotel talking to a few members of the group who, cases already packed for departure, were watching an Indian snake charmer. Abby looked at the huge snake writhing on the ground and hastily averted her eyes.

  'Mr Shiran!' she called, and the man turned and came towards her.

  'And how are you today, Miss West?' he said with polite punctiliousness. 'It was good of you to spend all your time with Miss Bateman. She is lucky to have such a valued friend.'

  Abby ig
nored the fulsome compliment. 'Is there any change in the time of our departure?'

  'No. We leave at five o'clock as arranged. If your case is ready, I will have it brought down.'

  'I haven't packed yet. You see Mr Farrow hasn't arrived.'

  Seeing the Indian's perplexity she hurriedly explained who Mr Farrow was, and that he was probably booked on the delayed flight from Bombay.

  'But I can't leave Miss Bateman until he gets here,' she added.

  'Why not? Doctor Bira is the best medical man in Agra, and if necessary he will send her to a hospital or private clinic.'

  'I still can't leave her until I'm positive Mr Farrow is on his way.'

  'Why don't you telephone his home and find out? Someone is certain to know what plane he caught.'

  Annoyed with herself for not thinking of this—her brains must have gone into cold storage for the holiday—Abby rushed back into the lobby and made the call from a downstairs telephone. It took her more than a quarter of an hour to get through, and she fumed with impatience. But this was India—where modern technology went hand in hand with inefficiency, and she controlled her temper and waited.

  Finally her call came through, and she returned to Mr Shiran with a frown marking her forehead.

  'Mr Farrow has definitely left Bombay,' she said. 'His housekeeper told me that he had to see some Minister in a town en route. But she doesn't know where. That means he must be catching another flight from a different place.' She flung out her hands. 'It's no use—I'll have to stay. Perhaps you can get me on a plane for Jaipur tomorrow?'

  'I doubt it. These flights are booked weeks ahead. But of course I will try,' he said soothingly, and motioned Abby to accompany him to the reception desk while he did so.

  'The news is not good,' he said, swinging round to her. 'You are wait-listed on tomorrow's flight, but you are number fifteen in the queue.'

  'What will happen if I don't get on?'

  'Your name will be transferred to the flight for the day after. But by then we will be on our way to Udaipur, so you will have to get yourself a different reservation. And there may be a delay there too.' He frowned. 'I think it best to book you directly to Udaipur.'

  Abby nodded and tried to look pleased when Mr Shiran finally informed her that he had managed it. It meant she would miss Jaipur, which she had been very keen to see, as well as having missed most of the itinerary for Agra.

  Swallowing her disappointment, she watched as the other members of the tour boarded the coach which was to take them to the airport. Watching it disappear in a cloud of red dust she felt unexpectedly homesick. Although she had not been on more than nodding terms with any of her fellow travellers it was disconcerting to know she was now left alone to fend for herself. No, that wasn't true. She still had Miss Bateman.

  Pushing her self-pity aside, she went to her room at the rear of the hotel and changed into another dress before making her way to Miss Bateman's far larger one overlooking the gardens and a distant view of the Taj. Her elderly friend was sleeping and she tiptoed over to the armchair and sat down.

  From somewhere in the distance came the monotonous twanging of a sitar. It was curiously restful and helped to soothe her jangled nerves. Her disappointment lessened and became a dull ache in the recesses of her mind. What did seeing a few ruins or a town or two matter when compared with giving comfort to another human being?

  Comforted by the question, she closed her eyes and relaxed.

  The sudden switching on of the light startled her into wakefulness, and she sat up straight.

  Giles Farrow was in the room: tall, rangy and looking ridiculously English with his proud carriage and haughty face. Before either of them could say a word, Miss Bateman raised herself in the bed and beamed at him with a mixture of delight and shame.

  'Giles my dear, I'm so sorry to have brought you all this way for nothing. I'm much better now. Abby should never have called you last night.'

  'Last night you were ill,' he replied, and strode over to the bed. With surprising gentleness he bent and pressed his cheek to the lined one. 'Don't apologise because you're better. I'm delighted by it.'

  'Even though you've had a wasted journey? Oh, Giles, I'm so sorry.'

  'The journey was worth it—if only to have you apologise twice in one minute! I can't remember you ever doing that.'

  Miss Bateman tossed her head, but before she could make a rejoinder she broke into a paroxysm of coughing which kept her nephew by her side, watchful and attentive as he handed her a tissue and then, as the coughing subsided, pouring her some fruit juice. Only when she had taken a few sips did the old lady look across at Abby with a tender smile.

  'And now, my dear, I'm delighted to say that I'm off your hands.' She glanced at her nephew. 'This poor child missed the whole tour yesterday and another one today.' She looked at Abby again. 'But at least you won't be missing any more, so run along with you and enjoy your stay in Jaipur. But leave me your address in London so that I can contact you there. I've something in mind which I would like to talk over with you.'

  Abby rose to her feet. A surreptitious glance at her watch showed her that by now the tour was already winging its way to Jaipur. She was aware of Giles

  Farrow looking at her in a coldly critical way, and wondered what she had done to merit it. Was he, despite what he had said to his aunt, annoyed with her for having brought him from Bombay on an unnecessary journey? Her own irritation with the man gave her the impetus to speak.

  'I'm afraid the group has already gone, Miss Bateman. They left at five o'clock, and it's now eight.'

  Astonishment and then contrition flashed across the classical features that not even age could destroy. 'My poor child, why on earth didn't you tell me? You knew Giles was coming. You should have left!'

  'Mr Farrow's plane was delayed,' Abby said, not looking at him. 'And… and no one knew quite what time he would be arriving.'

  'That was still no reason for you to have stayed behind.'

  'I wouldn't have been happy to have left you alone. Honestly, I didn't mind. It gives me an extra day here and I—and I can go to Fathepur-Sikri tomorrow. That way I won't have missed it.'

  'What a good idea. Then you will leave tomorrow evening for Jaipur?'

  Abby's hesitation only lasted for a split second, but it was still long enough for Miss Bateman to look at her with shrewd eyes.

  'You've missed the Jaipur trip too, haven't you?'

  'Yes. Mr Shiran couldn't get me on a flight out of here until the day after tomorrow.' Abby made her voice bright. 'But there wasn't all that much to see at Jaipur, and I'll use the time here to go to the Taj again.'

  'It's monstrous that you've missed so much of your tour,' Miss Bateman protested, and looked at her nephew. 'We must think of something, Giles.'

  'For the moment I'm too tired to think of anything,' lie said abruptly. 'I've had one hell of a journey here and right now I'd like to bathe, change and have dinner.'

  'Then go and have your bath and then take this poor child to dinner with you. I absolutely insist that she doesn't stay in my room any longer.'

  Abby felt the amber-gold eyes survey her.

  'I'll meet you in the Moghul Room in an hour,' came the clipped words.

  She nodded, though had it not been for Miss Bateman she would have refused such an ungracious invitation. Indeed in fairness one could not call it an invitation, for he had been bludgeoned into it by his aunt.

  'In an hour,' he repeated, and strode out.

  Alone with Miss Bateman, Abby debated whether to say she did not wish to dine with Giles Farrow, then decided to hold her tongue; but she was hardly looking forward to a meal with her tongue.

  'I don't know how to thank you for staying with me,' Miss Bateman murmured. 'You have a truly generous heart.'

  'Anyone else in my position would have done the same,' Abby protested.

  'No, they wouldn't. They might have stayed for an hour or possibly an evening, but then they'd have handed me over to a n
urse—which is what you should have done. No, my child, you do have a generous heart.'

  The words brought tears to Abby's eyes and she blinked them away, knowing they showed that self-pity was still too close for comfort.

  'I'll go to my room and change,' she said huskily, seeing it as an excuse to avoid any further thanks.

  'Good. My nephew hates to be kept waiting. It's the only time he's inclined to lose his temper.'

  Biting back a sarcastic comment, Abby smiled and went out.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Arriving at the top floor of the hotel a few moments before the hour was up, she found her host already waiting. He had changed into a beige linen suit with a matching silk shirt. In the dim pink light his hair looked darker, though nothing could disguise its mahogany tinge as he seated himself opposite her at a side table.

  'You have the choice of Indian or European food,' he said tersely.

  'I always have Indian,' she replied. 'I'm horrified when I read stories of people travelling round the world having bacon and eggs for breakfast and roast beef for dinner. One might just as well stay at home.'

  'It depends on the state of one's stomach. If one is used to a specific diet it's best to stick to it.'

  Faced with such logic she subsided into silence, wishing she had had the courage to refuse his invitation, regardless of what his aunt might have said. Resolutely she studied the menu. Many of the dishes had unfamiliar names, and though in normal circumstances she would have had no hesitation in asking the waiter to tell her what they were, under the aloof eye of Giles Farrow she played safe and said she would have Tandoori chicken.

  'What else with it?' her host asked.

  'Is it necessary to have anything else with it?'

  'If you're hungry, it is.'

  'I'm starving,' she confessed. 'I only had a snack at lunch.'

  'Too busy playing the ministering angel?'

  There was no mistaking the sneer in his voice and she longed to get up and leave the table. But with an effort she controlled herself.

  'I'm glad you're hungry now,' he went on. 'Is it because you've got what you wanted?'