Rachel Lindsay - Man of Ice

by Rachel Lindsay

  Miss Bateman was an indefatigable sightseer, and marched resolutely up and down the steps as she went from one temple to another. Abby was tired after she had only seen a quarter of what was available, and contentedly sat on some steps and lifted her face to the sun.

  'Aren't you impressed by all this?'

  Giles' voice made her open her eyes, and she saw him looking down at her with amusement. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his trousers and his sports shirt was opened at the neck. In the sunshine his hair was more noticeably mahogany, and the redness of it gave him an unusually devilish appearance.

  'One temple is much like another to me,' she said. 'I could look at paintings for hours on end, but this sort of rock carving and sculpture doesn't move me. I suppose that makes me a philistine in your eyes?'

  'I'd consider you more of a philistine if you'd pretended to like something you didn't. The one thing I've come to expect from you, Abby, in the short time I've known you, is honesty.'

  'Even to the point of rudeness?'

  He gave a wide, disarming smile. 'On this lovely warm afternoon I wouldn't even object to your rudeness.'

  They were words she was to remember not long afterwards, but since she was not clairvoyant, she accepted them now with gratification. She stood up, knowing he was waiting for her to follow him to yet another cave temple. Though she had professed herself to be unmoved by the sculpture depicted here, this particular shrine was so beautifully carved with gods and animals that she was overwhelmed by them, more so when she realised the enormous human effort it had taken to fashion them out of the black, organic rock hillside.

  'How did the stone workers know what they were doing?' she asked. 'I mean, it's hard enough to carve a rock when you're looking at it face on. But if you're working from the top and digging down…'

  'I think they dug a deep trench all the way round a given piece of rock. Then they clambered down to the bottom of it and started to hack away.'

  'It must have been some trench,' she muttered. 'A hundred feet deep at least'

  'That's what makes it so incredible. And we think we've got craftsmen today.' He waved his hand. 'The majesty of this just leaves us standing.'

  She knew exactly what he meant, and sharing his opinion made her feel closer to him. It also made her realise how little she knew of his feeling and opinions, and she wondered what he had been like as a younger man and a child. Had he always possessed the same quality of elusiveness which he had today?

  'What have you decided?' he asked abruptly.

  'About what?'

  'About me. For the last few minutes you've looked as if you've been measuring me up.'

  The expression made her smile. 'I was wondering what you were like as a child and if you were always so self-possessed.'

  'Is that how you see me?' He did not wait for her answer. 'As a kid I was a difficult combination—clever, shy and exceptionally determined. I was devoted to my father—he was a fantastic man, an engineer and a poet and I wanted to be like him.'

  'Did you write poetry too?'

  'I still do.' His eyes narrowed, making Abby feel he was assessing her yet again. 'One day I'll show some to you.'

  'One day?'

  'You're not ready for it yet.'

  Annoyed by the implication that he still regarded her as emotionally immature, she walked away from him. As far as he was concerned, she was his aunt's companion and secretary, a naive young woman whom he had misjudged at their first meeting and whom he was now trying to put at ease—though his way of doing so made her feel like a not particularly bright teenager. It had been foolish of her to imagine he had come to Aurangabad because he enjoyed her company. He had come because he wanted to escape from Bombay; to put some distance between himself and Vicky Laugh- ton. This thought 'brightened her mood, for it meant he was trying his best not to succumb to his feelings for another man's wife.

  'How about a cool drink?' Giles asked, and without waiting for her reply, put a firm hand under her elbow and guided her over the uneven stones into the full force of the afternoon's sun. Their car was parked some twenty yards away, in the shade of a group of straggly trees, and he led her towards it.

  'Don't tell me there's a cafe around here?' she asked.

  'I won't,' he smiled, and opening the boot, took out a canvas holdall from which he extracted a thermos flask and a couple of glasses. Deftly he poured iced fruit juice into them and handed her one.

  'Do you always come prepared for everything?' she asked admiringly.

  'I'm a seasoned traveller.'

  'I don't think you're at a loss, whatever you do.'

  'You sound as if you find that rather worrying,' he commented.

  'It could be,' she said solemnly. 'It's hard to live up to perfection.'

  'I'm glad you see me as perfect!'

  How awful if he were to guess she had fallen in love with him.

  'Where's Miss Bateman?' she asked jerkily.

  'Taking pictures of one of the shrines. The driver is with her, so she'll be perfectly all right'

  'You worry about her, don't you?'

  'Yes. She's a game old lady, but she is old. I'm glad you were with her when she was ill.'

  Abby was warmed by the compliment. 'Then you've no longer got any worries about my taking advantage of her?'

  He frowned. 'Don't remind me of the things I once said to you. I could kick myself.'

  She smiled and sipped her drink. Giles did the same, his expression so enigmatic that she longed to know what was in his mind.

  'It's time I gave you a penny for your thoughts,' she said.

  'I was trying to see myself from your point of view,' he confessed. 'I'm not sure I like what I saw.'

  'You don't know how I feel,' she protested.

  'Don't I? I could make a good guess.' He began to enumerate. 'You've already said I'm aloof and unfriendly. You've said I'm perfect and would expect others to be perfect too, which implies that I'm smug and lack understanding.'

  'Oh no! You're being far too harsh on yourself. I don't see you that way at all.'

  'Then how do you see me?'

  'One day I might tell you,' she prevaricated, then added: 'Two can play at the same game, Giles.'

  For an instant he looked surprised, then he chuckled.

  'You may be five foot nothing, Abby West, but you're all tongue!'

  Unexpectedly he caught her hand and squeezed it, and he was still holding it when his aunt descended upon them, dabbing at her face with a large, man-sized handkerchief. Gratefully she accepted the cold drink her nephew proffered.

  'A bath and bed for me,' she announced as they climbed into the car and headed for the hotel. 'You two young things will have to entertain each other tonight.'

  Abby half opened her mouth to say she would also remain in her room, and then decided against it. If she continued to avoid being alone with Giles he would certainly suspect her motives.

  'I'm afraid I can't offer to hit the high spots with you, Abby,' he said. 'The night life of Aurangabad is as dull as its daylight!'

  She giggled. 'After traipsing around those shrines I'll be more than happy to sit and sit!'

  'Good. I'll be in the bar at eight o'clock. Meet me there when you're ready.'

  Looking through her meagre wardrobe after she had showered, Abby wished she had packed something more glamorous than the simple cottons Giles had suggested. Yet even if she had brought something eye catching with her, she would have hesitated to wear it, so determined was she not to let him know she wanted to attract him. If only Miss Bateman had not told her of her matchmaking plans—and if only Giles had not guessed them either!

  Reaching for the prettiest of her cotton dresses, she slipped it on. It had a softly flared skirt and a simple bodice whose narrow straps left her shoulders bare. She brushed her hair, burnished by the Indian sun and more gold than honey, so that it swung round her head like a silken swathe. It was, she decided critically, one of the most attractive things about her. Wit
h buoyant steps she left her bedroom and went downstairs.

  Entering the bar she saw Giles before he saw her, and her heart turned over at the sight of him. Even a woman seeing him for the first time could not fail to be impressed by everything about him; his tall upright carriage, his perfectly delineated features and his amazing gold eyes which were now roving the room. They came to rest on her, and at once he rose and came forward to lead her back to the table. Without asking what she wanted to drink, he presented her with a fruit concoction, then suggested she take it to the table in the dining-room.

  'A big party of Japanese tourists will be descending in about five minutes and I'd like to get our order in before they arrive,' he explained.

  It was a valid point and she followed him into the dining-room, which had the muted coloured carpeting, piped music and tubular-shaped furniture of a cafeteria. But the food was Indian and excellent, and Giles ordered for them both, and then insisted she devote herself to eating and not making conversation. Abby was surprisingly glad to obey him. She was tired after her afternoon's exertions and was happy to be near him; to savour his looks and to store up every detail about him, so that in the winter of her life she could, like a squirrel, subsist.

  They had reached the coffee stage and Giles was pouring himself a second cup when she saw his whole body stiffen. Turning slightly, she followed his startled gaze and saw Vicky Laughton and her husband walking into the dining-room. The couple saw them immediately and at once came over to the table.

  'I'd no idea you were down here,' said Anthony Laughton. 'Vicky and I only decided to come on the spur of the moment—at least it was Vicky's idea, and being an obedient husband, I obeyed her!'

  'And so you should,' Vicky smiled. 'After you left me alone in Bombay while you went off looking for birds.'

  'At birds,' her husband chuckled. 'And they were feathered ones.'

  'It might make you more exciting if it were the other kind,' came the drawling reply, and Abby knew she did not imagine the look of hurt that was momentarily visible in Anthony Laughton's pale eyes.

  'Isn't Aunt Mattie here?' Vicky spoke directly to Giles. 'Or have we interrupted something special?'

  Abby's cheeks burned, but Giles appeared indifferent. 'My aunt's having dinner in her room. If I wanted to take Abby away for a private jaunt I'd make sure it was too private for anyone to know.'

  Vicky gave a shrill of laughter. 'How stuffy you've become! Living in India hasn't improved you.'

  'We can't all have the same morals,' her husband interposed.

  'Giles and I always agreed on that point.' Vicky's eyes were still glittering brightly, and the look she flashed Abby held no friendliness. 'You're certainly seeing a lot of India, Miss West.'

  'No more than most tourists,' Abby replied. 'There's a circuit we all seem to follow.'

  'Not my wife,' said Anthony Laughton. 'She makes her own itinerary. Coming here wasn't part of it.'

  'You'll be glad you came once you've seen the caves,' said his wife, and looked at Giles again. 'How about joining forces with us tomorrow?'

  'We've already been to Ellora,' Giles said. 'Tomorrow we're going to Ajanta.'

  'Then we'll try to revise our plans and join you. Shall we meet in the bar after dinner?'

  'Why not?' Giles replied, and half rose as Vicky followed her husband to a table some distance away.

  Abby looked at Giles, waiting for him to make some comment on Vicky's arrival here, but he continued with his meal in silence, so that Abby was forced to speak first.

  'Did you know they were coming here?' she asked.

  'Is that a question or an accusation?' Giles put down his fork sharply on the plate. 'I told you once before that I dislike being judged.'

  'I wasn't passing judgment!'

  'Weren't you?'

  She flushed. 'It… I merely thought….’

  'I know exactly what you were thinking. And may I remind you that my ex-fiancée is with her husband. Or have you overlooked that little fact?'

  Abby's lips trembled. She was unprepared for his eruption of temper, though she knew she had only herself to blame for it. His mouth was thin with anger and his eyes smouldered like yellow coals as he pushed back his chair and stood up. Hurriedly she followed suit.

  'I'll go to my room if you don't mind,' she said as they reached the entrance of the cocktail lounge. 'You can wait here alone for your friends.'

  'Oh no, you don't.' Firmly he pulled her into the bar beside him.

  Knowing he expected her to try to pull away, she relaxed and sedately seated herself beside him on a settee, hiding her triumph as she saw him give her a puzzled look.

  'I can't make you out,' he said, half to himself. 'I know we got off on the wrong foot—for which I blame myself—and I can understand if you still see me as a curmudgeon. But I've given you no reason to see me as the world's worst rake!'

  'I don't see you that way at all. We just have different standards and I'm not saying that mine are more acceptable than yours.'

  'But you think they are, don't you ?'

  'One always thinks one's own morality is the best.'

  'Have you never been in love with the wrong man?' he countered. 'Or are you one of those lucky people who only fall in love to order?'

  'I've never been in love,' she said firmly. 'And from what I've seen of people who are, I hope it never happens to me.'

  'Keep behaving the way you do, and it won't.'

  Her mouth quivered, but she refused to let him see how hurt she was.

  'You're not only innocent and naive,' he went on, 'but also rigid and narrow-minded. I don't think you're a fruit that will ripen after all. I've an idea you've already withered on the bough.'

  With a gasp she jumped up. This was more than she could take, and no amount of will-power could hide the tears that shimmered in her eyes. 'I'm going to bed,' she choked, 'and please don't try and stop me!'

  Once in her room Abby flung herself on the bed in a storm of weeping, and she was physically exhausted before it finally subsided and she sat up at last and wiped her eyes.

  'You're nothing but a Little Miss Nobody,' she said to herself in the dressing-table mirror. 'Why should it surprise you that Giles sees you that way? And what right do you have to make any comments about his behaviour? It's not your business if he wants to go to bed with a hundred Vicky Laughtons!' After which ridiculous comment she undressed and went to sit by the window, hoping the tranquillity of the night would soothe her.

  But Vicky's face seemed visible in the glass: sly, provocative, beautiful. There had been a look on it that had convinced Abby she had come to Aurangabad deliberately to be with Giles. And Anthony Laughton knew it too. Yet if he suspected his wife's feelings for the man she had once been going to marry, why had he left her alone in Bombay, knowing Giles was there? Had he done it deliberately in order to give her a chance to make up her mind what she wanted to do with her future? Yet it was not Vicky alone who could decide that future, Giles too had to make his decision.

  Dispiritedly Abby climbed into bed and switched off the light. Darkness flooded over her, but it was no darker than her mood, and she lay for a long time before she slowly sank into sleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Only the knowledge that Miss Bateman would be distressed if she did not go on the trip to Ajanta next day prevented Abby from pleading illness and staying behind. She did genuinely have a headache, but knew that to use it as an excuse was insufficient and, fortifying herself with aspirins and strong tea, left her room.

  The face she presented to the world was her usual calm one, though it elicited a disagreeable scowl from Giles, who was already at breakfast with his aunt. He looked tired and depressed, though whether this was because the presence of his lady love had made him sleep badly, or because he had a guilty conscience, she did not know.

  Nor do I care, she told herself firmly. Giles Farrow can do what he likes with his life. If he hasn't the sense to realise he'll mess it up all over again if he l
ets Vicky Laughton come back into it, then he deserves to have her!

  Miss Bateman was the only member of their trio who looked her usual confident, unflappable self as they left the hotel. In flat-heeled shoes and disreputable sun- hat, she was the epitome of the intrepid British sightseer. Abby felt tiny walking beside her, and positively minuscule alongside Giles, who topped her by a head and shoulders. He made no attempt at conversation and silently waited for them to get into the back of the car before taking his usual position next to the driver.

  'We have a long journey ahead of us, Abby,' Miss

  Bateman said. 'Sixty uncomfortable miles.'

  The statement proved to be no exaggeration. Apart from the poor condition of the road, they were constantly hampered by pedestrians, who jaywalked in front of them and deliberately slowed them down in order to peer into the car and grin at them in the most friendly fashion. They drove through many villages, some no more than a huddle of mud huts, others larger, with the ubiquitous single-storey shops and burning braziers from which one could obtain—if undeterred by the question of hygiene—all sorts of titbits.

  Abby wondered what would happen to these villages when die dry, dusty earth became a sea of churning mud during the rainy season, and with a shudder she turned away from the open sewage. Almost immediately she felt guilty for closing her eyes to the degradation around her, knowing it was important for her not to forget or ignore the fact that so many of the people in this vast continent subsisted below the starvation level.

  Two hours' hard driving through scrubland and cotton fields finally brought them to Ajanta. It was a crescent-shaped ravine, in which some twenty-nine caves had been carved. They had first been discovered in 1819, when a group of British officers on a tiger-hunt had tried to catch an escaping wounded animal who had suddenly seemed to disappear into the very heart of the mountainside. One of the officers, Captain John Smith, had gone in pursuit and, climbing halfway up the mountain, had discovered rough steps carved into its rocky side. Carefully hacking away the foliage to give himself a better footing, he had seen that the steps led to the entrance of a cave, its entrance so heavily blocked by undergrowth that had he not been within a few inches of it he would never have discovered its existence.