by Olivia
Kashinath Das waited until Rehman had appeared, taken the order for two glasses of fresh lime sherbet and withdrawn before he spoke again. "You do not take me seriously, Sir Joshua, but I have considered all details very carefully." He raised his eyes without lifting his face, his expression smooth. "Two of the witnesses will be Englishmen." As Sir Joshua looked at him sharply, he added, "They will not be known in station. They will be brought from the mofussil. Neither Arvind Singh nor Slocum will question their credentials. Several birds can be successfully killed with the same stone."
"And one, of course, considerably fattened!" Sir Joshua said sarcastically as he plumped up another pillow, shifted position and winced at the effort.
"Ah, sir, you do this humble minion an injustice!" Das looked pained. "My modest commission will be a pittance compared to the benefits your consortium will derive from the coal." He paused, tilted his head and inquired slyly, "That is, of course, if you still wish to acquire the coal . . .?"
Rehman knocked, entered and set the tray bearing the sherbet glasses by the bedside. Adding sugar from a bowl on the tray, Sir Joshua handed a glass to Das, then sat stirring his own thoughtfully. After Rehman had left he hardened. "Oh yes, I do still wish to acquire the coal! The option I mentioned to you earlier is not to be forgotten, by no means. But I am still hopeful that Arvind Singh's greed will prevail."
"It will not prevail," Das said sadly. "It will not be allowed to. Funds for the irrigation project will come from elsewhere."
Anger suffused Sir Joshua's cheeks as he stared into his sherbet. "From an Indian consortium? Mooljee, for instance?"
"And others, I hear. Kala Kanta's own resources are also considerable, let us not forget that." Inching forward, Kashinath Das boldly helped himself to another spoonful of sugar, sipped and nodded appreciatively. "For what you gain, Sir Joshua, should you decide on your remaining option, the risks will be minimal. You will sever the relationship forever, and the consortium will have the opening it seeks. Your plan will be welcom—"
"No!" Sir Joshua reacted sharply. "The consortium will not be involved in the details, the gutless bunch of pen pushers and clerks!" He snorted with disgust and shifted position again. "There is still a fatal flaw in the plan, Kashinath, as I told you. How—"
"Not how, Sir Joshua, but when—that is the very centre. It will be a matter of timing that removes the flaw." Sir Joshua narrowed his eyes in inquiry and Das smiled. With an informality few Indians would have dared in Sir Joshua's presence, he stretched out his stumpy legs, laid his head back and stared at the ceiling. "On the first night of the Dassera immersions every year, he is on the river. Alone. He will have no alibi."
Sir Joshua's heat boils, Estelle's brattish temper, Ransome's grim pronouncements and her own malaise—the following morning Olivia forgot them all. On a distant stretch of the river, she was once again surprised by Jai Raventhorne.
"I did promise we would meet again soon," he grumbled churlishly, "so why the surprise? Don't you trust me?"
"No!" She was ecstatic. "Not here, out in the open."
"What, cold feet already? I thought you considered me worth any fuss your uncle chose to make! One can either have one's cake or eat it." He signalled a waiting boatman, handed him the reins to their mounts and then propelled her towards a small craft. "Not even indomitable American ladies who let their hearts rule their heads can be allowed both!"
She didn't answer, too content for retaliation in the immense serenity of the early morning. Sitting opposite her, Raventhorne rowed in silence, his features sliding in and out of curling mists that still layered the waters. When they were midstream and shrouded entirely by patchy vapours, he rested his oars and sat back.
"Would you agree that we are satisfactorily cloistered now?"
Olivia knew that he was still mocking her but she didn't mind. "I guess so."
He extended his legs so that they stretched under the plank she sat on and crossed his hands behind his head. "How are the heat boils? Painful I hope?"
"No. As a matter of fact, getting better." She eyed him irritably. "Why do you need to be so childish. That remark was beneath contempt."
"Didn't Ransome enlighten you as to why? I saw your carriage on Clive Street yesterday."
A silly little thrill made her erupt in goose bumps. To think that he should have been so close without her knowing it! "Is there anything you don't know?"
"If there were, how would I keep you in such awe of my espionage system?" He swung forward to pick up the oars again. "I'm a survivor, remember? Knowledge is my weapon of survival."
They were moving again, threading through clouds of haze that loomed above them like transparent walls of some giant, secret palace inhabited by no one else. The muted splash of the oars resounded hollowly through their private world, glimpses of a salmon pink sky the only hint that they were in another world, too. Raventhorne's knees were so close to Olivia's that if she shifted position a little they would touch hers. She felt an urge to reach out and rest her cheek against the pocket beneath which his heart lay; she wanted to be assured that it was indeed keeping pace with her own, clattering like castanets with excitement. But she remained unmoving, satisfied to have him captive in her vision, satisfied to know that at least for the moment he was her prisoner to do with as she liked. Even in unspeaking silence these snatched moments were precious; rather than disturb it—and those delicate balances of his mind—Olivia held her peace.
The boat again came to a halt. With a sigh—which she chose to believe was one of shared contentment—Raventhorne lay back again and closed his eyes. "Why are you staring at me?" he asked after a moment.
With a jerk, she sat up and looked away. "Apart from your other evil powers, can you also see with your eyes shut?"
They opened again. "I don't need eyes to see you, Olivia." Sitting up, he took her hand and kissed each finger-tip in turn. "You could never hide yourself from my vision."
The hand that he retained in his trembled as their fingers entwined; threads of heat coursed through her veins. In that moment she loved him so completely that she almost cried out with the pain of it. Who are you, what are you? Where did you come from and where will you go...? For an instant she was overwhelmed again with the yearning to know him truly, but she restrained herself. Instead, she asked casually, "Have you seen Kinjal recently? I dispatched a letter to her last week."
"Yes, she was pleased to receive it." He turned her hand over in his large, hardened palm and examined it closely, as if it were some rare object he could not translate into terms of understanding. "Kinjal is well. Busy with her children, who have returned to Kirtinagar."
Olivia chanced another question. "And . . . Arvind Singh?"
Carefully he returned her hand to her lap. "You have heard from Ransome that we are locked in battle—is that what you really want to know about?"
Olivia sighed. "I would hate to have you as an enemy, Jai. There is something about you that quite frightens me. Yes, that is what I really want to know about."
"Well, it is true." He seemed to take the question in his stride. "Arvind is tempted by Sir Joshua's dangling carrots; I am not. And Das, anxious to earn his commission, is making as much mischief as he can."
His unworried admission agitated her. "How can you allow a matter of mere business to disrupt a friendship of such affection and such long standing?" she cried. "Is it worth it?"
Raventhorne looked surprised. "It isn't. Business disagreements have nothing to do with our friendship. We have had plenty of differences before."
"But you said you were locked in battle . . .!"
He smiled with a sudden softening of the eyes. "I used a figure of speech not to be taken literally. When men have business disputes they can be fierce but they are seldom personal." His amusement deepened. "It is only women," he said witheringly, "who declare total war on each other when they fall out."
Olivia was amazed that he, of all people, should have the nerve to make such a remark, but s
he let it pass. "Then your friendship with Arvind Singh is not at stake?"
"No."
"But if his irrigation project suffers . . .?"
"It will not. Indian merchants can be every bit as canny as boxwallahs." A smug little smile came and went and then the softness returned as he searched her anxious face. For a moment it seemed as if every nerve in his body was straining against some inner impulse he was determined to resist. Then, with a shrug he satisfied himself by pressing a finger-tip into the crease dividing Olivia's forehead and smoothing it out. "Don't be concerned for my sake," he said huskily, "if that is what troubles you."
"Yes, it does trouble me. I can't bear to think—" Olivia cut herself off, unable to tell him just how unendurable she found the prospect of his solitariness. It wounded her immeasurably that he should be deprived of his only friendship, of the only family he could almost call his own.
She had successfully contained the words, but what she could not contain was her expression of compassion. Like a trap springing shut, the grey eyes, melting only an instant ago, turned into stone. "I find your concern touching," he said with biting sarcasm, "but I can assure you it is not needed. Through whatever you've heard from Kinjal you have chosen to romanticize an image of what you think I am." Grabbing the oars, he thrust them again into the water and jolted the boat into action.
"I didn't—"
"Don't lie to me, Olivia. I can read you like a damned book."
"Just because I'm concerned—"
"Don't be. I am not used to anyone's concern. It makes me uneasy and suspicious of their motives."
"Suspicious?" Frustrated beyond measure by his sheer orneriness, she banged her fist on her wooden seat. "I hate it when you suddenly become irrational like this! I can't bear it when you choose to wound me with such lack of cause!"
He sneered at her and gave an ugly little laugh. "Can't you? I thought you were willing to accept anything I chose to be! Do I take it your courage doesn't measure up to your rather rash commitment?"
"No! But you persist in reading into simple words what there is not. You admit to regarding me with suspicion, with distrust. You conceal yourself from me with half truths and evasions and prevarications . . ." Her voice started to break but, gritting her teeth, she refused to cry. "I . . . love you, Jai," she whispered, miserable. "It is natural that I should want to understand you, know you, know about you . . ." She could not go on. Blinking rapidly, she turned her face away from him.
Anger spent, he was suddenly beside her, drawing her into the circle of his arms. "I have no idea what is or is not natural in your love, Olivia." He buried his face in her neck, stricken with remorse. "I have never been loved by a woman such as you. There is so much you need to teach me, so much patience you need to cultivate."
She filled with sweetness, the taste of sourness gone from her tongue as if it had never been there, her mind wiped clear of his taunts, his wounding barbs, his whimsicalities; in a single breath she had forgiven him everything. Pressing into the tense muscles of his back, she stroked the hardness out of them; with soothing sounds she solaced his inner torments and kissed away his ravaging turmoil until the crackling rasps of his breath settled again into cadences of calmness. The immense love she felt for him spilled over; in her limbs she felt the now familiar aches that arose whenever he was close. For a while he lay still in her arms, his fingers giving her the caresses her body was beginning to yearn, but hesitantly, cautiously, his restraint almost visibly tight. Then he raised his head and kissed her once, full on the mouth. "Don't encourage me, Olivia," he muttered gruffly, his face drawn with strain. "I am not easily frightened but you make me fear myself. It is an odd sensation."
He did not move from her side, yet in some subtle way he had withdrawn from her, once more coiled within that private shell she detested so much. Her hands balled with the effort not to touch him; she wanted to grab him, trap that elusive will-o'-the-wisp of his being and imprison it inside herself forever, but she knew it was not within her power. Not yet, perhaps not ever. Disconsolate, she allowed him his retreat without protest. "God knows it is not I either who has willed this, Jai."
"No." He moved away and retrieved his oars. "You asked me if there was anything I didn't know. There is. I don't know why you should want to love me."
Want to love? Did a choice exist? It was not a question to which he expected an answer and she gave him none. Glumly, she honoured his silent privacy but there was bitterness in her thoughts. Theirs was an extraordinary relationship, if it could even be called that! It was neither that of friends nor of lovers— neither flesh nor fowl. What she was giving him was a promise of abundant love, her everything; what he was giving her was words, a touch, a fleeting glance almost of love. Yet, how precious to her were becoming these random words and looks and casual caresses! Jai Raventhorne might be a shell, a husk, a phantom, and woundingly wayward, but it was this very outline of a man that she had sworn to love and accept as it was. Even as an outline, she would take him against all the other men in the world put together!
The mist had lifted completely. On the approaching bank the crouched boatman waited patiently for their return. There was no one on the embankment save for a dhobi and his wife beating their day's wash against a protruding stone. They paid no attention to them as the boat beached and, wordlessly, the boatman led up their horses.
Olivia mounted without breaking the silence. Raventhorne held on to her hand for a moment or two. "You know what it is that I dislike most about meeting you, Olivia?" She felt a rising tear and shook her head. Briefly, he laid her hand against his cheek. "It is that the time also comes when I must leave you."
She kept his diminishing form in her vision as long as she could before Shaitan vanished in a flurry of dust and kicking hooves. Her eyes welled; those last few words she secreted within her heart like gems in a meagre treasury. This time she had not asked when she would see him again, nor had he volunteered the information. But this time it was easy to be patient. She knew she would see him again. And again and again.
No force on earth could make it otherwise.
"You'll never guess what I've been doing!" For a change Estelle was in good humour. When Olivia came out of her bath, she was sitting on her bed munching an apple. "Well, aren't you going to ask what it is?"
"No." Olivia buried her head in her towel and vigorously rubbed her damp hair. "Because you're going to tell me anyway."
Estelle poked out her tongue but her eyes continued to sparkle. "I've been auditioning, that's what!"
Olivia stilled. "For the pantomime?"
"Yes." Estelle flicked the core of the apple out of the window. "Mr. Hicks thinks I dance very well."
For days now a battle royal had been raging between Estelle and her mother about that pantomime. A visiting stage company touring the country was planning to entertain Calcutta society over the festive season with a musical version of Cinderella at a local theatre. The main roles were to be performed by members of the troupe, but Mr. Hicks, the manager, was trying to assemble a chorus line from among Calcutta's young ladies. It was all really quite innocuous, but Lady Bridget objected to Estelle being one of the chosen for basically three reasons: Professional actors were all morally loose, the chorus girls would have to wear heavy paints on their faces and rather too light embellishments elsewhere, and the manager, Mr. Hicks, was a known personal "friend" of Mrs. Drummond.
Olivia regarded her cousin thoughtfully. "Does your mother know you've been auditioning?"
"No, but she will if I get the part."
"And if you get the part she's already said she won't allow you to take it." She began to comb out her long hair. "I'm not sure that Uncle Josh will either. Your Mr. Hicks certainly looks a card whether or not he is."
"He's not. He's really very nice, even though he does pick his nose in public." Delicately, she turned up her own. "I don't care what Mama has to say this time, Olivia, if Mr. Hicks thinks I'm suitable I'm going to do it. And Papa won't ob
ject because he doesn't know I even exist any more." Her lower lip stuck out defiantly. "Anyway, this Clarissa Rose showed Polly and me her gowns. She's played Ophelia at Windsor Castle, you know, before the Queen. And she goes to Covent Garden ever so often where the Queen has her own box and everyone has to stand up when she enters. They play the anthem and all the ladies curtsy. Isn't she lucky?"
"Who, the Queen?"
"No, silly, Clarissa Rose, this actress who's going to play Cinderella. Fancy going to Covent Garden!"
"I'm sure a lot of people go to Covent Garden."
"Well, I don't. I have to make do with that blasted Strand Road evening after evening!" She brooded for a while, then reassumed her good humour. "And she showed us something called dag . . . dag . . .," she frowned, then shrugged, "anyway, it was a plate with an imprint on it of herself. She said it was the latest thing in England for portraits."
"Daguerreotype?"
"Yes, that was it, I think." Estelle struggled up excitedly. "She said the pictures were made with a box and you just sat in front of it with plenty of sunlight on your face. Miss Rose said it was a French invention. Have you ever heard of it?"
"Yes. I've never seen one but Papa has. They're using daguerrotyping to print pictures in the newspapers in America." She sat down on the bed next to Estelle. "You know the problem with you, Estelle? It's the same that Freddie has—you need more occupation. Why don't you ask Uncle Josh if you can help in his office? He'd really appreciate that, you know."
Estelle looked horrified. "Work in Papa's office? Ugh!" she shuddered. "I'd be bored to tears!"
"You're bored to tears now," Olivia pointed out. "At least you'd be doing something useful and pleasing your parents."
"I'm going to travel, Olivia. I'm going to do real things, meet real people." Estelle crushed her with a look and added loftily, "I'm going to be independent."
