Ryman, Rebecca

by Olivia

  And so she damn well deserved to be! For Olivia it was impossible to evoke even a fragment of sympathy.

  Dreaded as the prospect was, it was inevitable that at some point during the evening Olivia would find herself alone with her cousin. As soon as supper was over—a false, brittle affair dominated by Estelle's still pointless prattle—Olivia found herself finally cornered. "I know how angry you are with me, Olivia, but it is imperative that I talk to you."

  "Talk? You've been doing nothing but talk, my dear!"

  Pretences exhausted, Estelle ignored the taunt. "You cannot deny me the opportunity to make explanations."

  "If explanations are due, they are to your father. You owe me none."

  A sob caught in Estelle's throat. "I have tried to talk to Papa but he does not respond. He merely listens; he says nothing. I can't seem to reach him anymore." She looked bereft. "Please, Olivia, don't turn me away!"

  Heaving a resigned sigh, Olivia shrugged. None of it mattered now, after all. If Estelle could not reach her father, neither would she be able to ever reach her again! Grudgingly, she followed Estelle up the stairs. In spite of her aunt's offhand instructions, Olivia had chosen to leave Estelle's room as it was, thus depriving some deserving charity of no doubt much useful bounty. As a consequence, the sense of déjà vu was again overwhelming. All of her cousin's gewgaws were exactly as they had always been, but, grimly, Olivia hardened herself against the onslaught of nostalgia. No matter how manipulative or crafty her cousin's devices this time, she would not allow herself to be fooled again. To each his own mess; whatever Estelle's might have been, she was not about to make it her own.

  Estelle flung herself onto the bed, and her unhappiness erupted. "I cannot bear what has happened to Papa! Oh God, how he must have suffered!"

  Olivia avoided the enforced intimacy of the bed and positioned herself in a chair by the window. "And that surprises you?"

  Estelle lay back and stared at the ceiling. "No, it does not surprise me. Not now, not anymore," she said dully. "A year ago it would have. I knew he would be livid, mad with frustrated fury and bitterly disappointed in me. I thought he would cut me off with the proverbial farthing, command that I never darken his door again, rant and rave and do all the things outraged fathers do in those dreadful novels. And Mama," she threw her hands up in the air, "would swoon and rush for her smelling-salts and moan interminably about the scandal and what all her friends would say behind her back." She sat up and her eyes widened with horror. "I never dreamed that they would just. . . disintegrate. I swear I didn't, Olivia! How could I have, how could I have? I didn't know the truth, no one told me . . ." She broke off as if uncertain how much more to say, unsure of the extent of Olivia's knowledge. Staring out of the window, Olivia volunteered no comment. "Oh God, oh God ... no, it has not turned out perfectly, has it?" She flung herself down on her pillow and started to flail it with angry fists. "It's all gone so wrong, so wrong! I meant it only as an escapade to ... to teach them a lesson . . .!"

  Escapade! Olivia went numb with fury. Did this spoilt, stupid bitch have any idea how much she was repulsed—yes, repulsed!— by her? "Oh, I'd say you taught them a lesson all right! I do not doubt they have profited greatly from your tutelage."

  "Don't mock me, Olivia, I beg you! You are the only sane and true friend I can turn to now when it's all become such a confounded. . . pickle." She turned her face to the wall and began to sob quietly. "I lied to you and Papa in my letter, Olivia— Mama refused to see me in Norfolk. Through Aunt Maude she said that for her I was dead. She th-threatened to throw herself into the Broads if Aunt Maude gave me shelter." The memory made her shudder. "If it hadn't been for John, I would have gone out of my mind. His parents don't know ... everything, but John does. I kept nothing from him." She had the decency to at least lower her eyes. "We had a quiet wedding at his home in Liverpool. I forged a letter from Mama to his parents pleading an indisposition too severe to permit travel." Covering her face, she swayed back and forth moaning to herself. "Oh, Olivia, there is so much, so much, I did not know . . ."

  But you do now, don't you, precious! Watching expressionlessly, Olivia remained silent.

  "Only my John, my beloved John, has seen fit to forgive me. He . . . understands." Noting Olivia's arched eyebrow, she pushed her chin out in a familiar gesture of defiance. "Yes, he does, and I do love John! He does not find it unacceptable that I should also love Jai, no matter how misguided my running away with him."

  Olivia started to freeze; this was the line beyond which she could never permit Estelle to venture, never. How dare the brazen hussy flaunt her misbegotten love in front of her face! "No! That is your business, not mine," she said sharply. "Keep it to yourself."

  "But, Olivia, I've been waiting months to talk to you . . .!" Estelle was dismayed. "I tried to write but I couldn't—it was all so complex, so damnably confused. You must listen to me, Olivia, you must. . .!"

  "This might be a surprise to you, Estelle, but there is now absolutely nothing in my life I must do unless I wish to. I am no longer interested in your affairs." She walked to the door and opened it.

  "You have a right to be angry with me," Estelle cried, leaping off the bed and running to cling to Olivia, "my God, I do know that! Uncle Arthur told me of the burden you carried alone, of your resourcefulness, of your nobi—"

  "I only did what needed to be done," Olivia said, each syllable icy. "Now, please let me go."

  "But I want to know everything that happened here!" Estelle tightened her grip. "Can't you see how much needs to be aired and repaired? I cannot do it without your support, my eminently sensible cousin."

  "What happened is no longer relevant; it's what will happen—to your father, for instance—that matters. The responsibility of looking after him can no longer be that of Uncle Arthur, have you thought of that? And you do know that I leave soon for Hawaii?"

  "Yes." Her underlip started to quiver again. "Of course I will look after Papa, who else is there? I will make him come to Cawnpore with us. But before that something else must be remedied. Jai has been wronged, Olivia. You were so correct in your—"

  "I told you, I'm not interested in hearing about Jai Raventhorne!" Outraged, she wrenched her hand free. "I do not wish to hear either his name or his alleged persecutions or, indeed, how you propose to remedy whatever it is that you do wish to remedy. I no longer want to be involved!"

  Estelle stared in surprise, then, slowly, her expression changed. "How droll, how very droll, considering it was you who objected most to his name being forbidden in our house! It was you who insisted he shouldn't be treated like a pariah, it was you who—"

  "Stop it, Estelle!" Trying to leash her rage, Olivia crossed her arms against her chest but her eyes glittered. "Don't try to force any more issues. What you have already forced will do us for a lifetime."

  With equal belligerence Estelle spun around to confront her enraged cousin. "Isn't it time somebody did force some more issues? I'm sick of talking in hushed whispers behind locked doors about issues that are being swept under the carpet, issues that are never held up to light, issues that are neither explained nor understood. What is everyone so frightened of—what are you so frightened of, Olivia? Gossip? Poison tongues and scandal? Well, the pox on all that, I say, the pox!" Breathing hard, she put her hands on her hips, and the corners of her mouth drooped in a sneer. "You are the person I admired most in the world, Olivia, because I thought you were fair and just and liberal and independent. Was that all a sham, then?"

  "Yes, it was all a sham! I am not the person you thought I was, nor the person I thought I was. Satisfied? Now, please get out of my way and allow me to leave."

  Estelle did not move. Instead, her lip curled further. "Isn't it strange, Olivia, that now I should be the one with courage? Well, I do love Jai Raventhorne, and I don't care who knows it. At one time you too had some empathy for him, some curiosity about him. You made a thousand excuses for him, gave him the benefit of so many doubts. And now,
like the rest of them, you hang him without even a trial? Or could it be that," she turned skittishly sly, "what suddenly motivates you is jealousy, darling Coz! I seem to remember—"

  Before she could complete her sentence, Olivia's palm had flattened to slap Estelle hard, so hard that she stumbled back and almost fell. In the hushed silence that followed, Estelle cowered against the wall, nursing a face distorted with horror. For a while neither of them spoke, their sense of shock mutual. Olivia recovered first. Sick at herself, she stepped forward to place a frigid little kiss on her cousin's forehead. "I'm sorry. I should not have done that." Her voice was low but she showed no other sign of repentance.

  With a whimper, Estelle slunk past her to fold limply onto her bed. "You've changed, Olivia," she whispered. "You've changed so . . . dreadfully."

  "Changed? Who, I?" Olivia started to laugh. "It's only your imagination, dear cousin. I haven't changed at all. I'm exactly the same as when you left on your little—what was it you called it? Oh yes, escapade. Exactly the same."

  Still laughing, she turned and walked out of the room.

  Inevitably, many aspects of Olivia's daily life altered with her cousin's return. For instance, her onerous duties in the Templewood house were considerably reduced. It was impossible to avoid Estelle entirely, but she became adept at visiting Sir Joshua when her cousin was out, as she frequently was. When they did have an encounter, Olivia made certain that it was brief and passably amiable. That she had lost her control so completely as to strike out at her cousin, Olivia regretted deeply—although by no means out of sympathy for Estelle; for daring to make her impertinent suggestion she deserved to be punished. What Olivia, in all her innate honesty, was beginning to wonder about were her own motivations, and her self-doubts were starting to turn troublesome.

  Estelle did not mention Jai Raventhorne to her again.

  The aspect of Estelle's return that Olivia resented most was that she was forced to be without her beloved son. She missed Amos desperately, yearned to hold and cuddle him again, to listen to his marvellously eloquent babblings, to bask in the dazzle of his smiles. She missed watching his day-to-day development that she had made a habit of observing so meticulously. Kinjal wrote that Amos had started an upper tooth, and Olivia was inconsolable; oh, to be forcibly denied such a momentous event! Amos was now sitting up with confidence, Kinjal informed her, and was surely attempting his first intelligible word, Mama. Over that, Olivia cried, longing to fly like a bird to Kirtinagar, where her child was learning to call out to her. The information Kinjal dispatched every second day by her personal courier was received joyously by Olivia, but with each delivery her bitterness against her prodigal cousin turned more and more unforgiving.

  However, personal and private animosities apart, appearances still had to be maintained within the suffocating surrounds of the society that Lady Bridget and her peers held in such reverence, especially in Lady Bridget's absence. Not without considerable sourness Olivia recognised that it was only proper that she arrange some kind of social reception for Estelle and her husband. It was what Calcutta's society would expect, and not to fulfil the mandatory obligation would further encourage already busy tongues. However facile the explanations she had improvised for Estelle's abrupt departure from station, there had been plenty of whispered innuendo about it at the time. Arthur Ransome, Olivia was aware, had sternly warned Estelle against either elaborating on the alibis already propagated or inventing new ones. However, if whatever rumours that persisted were to be laid to rest once and for all, then Estelle and her husband had to be formally introduced into the station's society as a respectably and happily united man and wife.

  When Olivia mentioned her proposal to Arthur Ransome, he was instantly approving and endorsed the idea heartily. Her added suggestion that, in the absence of Freddie, he could perhaps assume the duties of host he also accepted with alacrity although with many protestations of inadequacy and many modest blushes. If not for herself, Olivia was pleased for Ransome. There was so little in his life these days apart from endless bills and creditors and headaches that even one evening of light revelry would be worth-while. And, after all, this was the last service she would ever need to perform for her cousin Estelle.

  "Would it not be proper to send the invitations out in the name of Uncle Josh?" Olivia asked in order to clarify a point of social rectitude.

  "No." Ransome was firm in his disagreement. "Indeed, it might even be wise to keep Josh right out of the picture. Although," he stopped and pondered a minute with half closed eyes, "I strongly suspect that Josh does comprehend more than he would have us believe."

  "Oh? What makes you think so?"

  "I will show you in a moment. Did you say you had matters to discuss with Estelle? She's upstairs in her room. I will wait for you in your uncle's study."

  Estelle was indeed up in her room writing letters. At Olivia's sudden appearance, her face lit up. It was the first time since their ugly confrontation that Olivia had been in the room. Pecking her cousin impersonally on the cheek, Olivia placed on the desk two cloth-wrapped packages. "When Aunt Bridget left she gave me this to keep for you," she said indicating one of the parcels. "I now ask you to take charge of it."

  At the formality of Olivia's approach, Estelle's smile dropped. "What is it?"

  "Your portion. And this," from the second package she withdrew a crimson velvet case, "is with our good wishes, Freddie's and mine, for a fulfilling married life. We hope John and you will share many joys."

  Estelle opened the box eagerly. Inside, on a bed of white satin, rested an exquisite diamond necklace with earrings to match. "Oh!" For a moment she was speechless. About to give vent to her rapture with customary effusiveness, she hesitated and turned sedate. "This is so ... so generous. I hardly know what to say. Thank you, thank you b-both." She swallowed hard and fell into an awkward silence.

  Impassively, Olivia informed her cousin about the reception she planned as soon as John and his parents arrived from Madras. Estelle's egg-shell thin sedateness cracked; she was openly thrilled. "Oh, that would be wonderful! How very kind of you to even consider such a lavish gesture, Olivia."

  "Good. I'm glad the idea appeals to you. I shall start to compose the invitations tomorrow morning."

  "Do let me help, do—I would so love to!" Estelle begged.

  "Oh, that won't be necessary." Olivia forced a pleasant smile. "I have plenty of experienced staff who can manage well." At the palpable disappointment in Estelle's face, Olivia relented. "What you could do," she amended quickly, "is to compile your own guest list. I will place no restrictions; you can invite whom you wish."

  It was a small joke, a reminder of the clashes between mother and daughter at her coming-of-age ball, and Estelle laughed. Encouraged by her cousin's apparent softening, Estelle might have said something more had Olivia allowed her a chance, but she didn't. Using Arthur Ransome's wait for her in the study as an excuse, Olivia quickly left the room.

  Sir Joshua had not yet returned from his daily evening walk along the embankment and Ransome was alone in the study. As Olivia went in, he hurried to the desk and, signalling her to shut the door behind her, he unlocked a bottom drawer. From it he extracted a large leather-bound diary. "Have a look at this quickly before Josh returns."

  Olivia hesitated. "Oh, but should we . . .?"

  "Yes, we should! It is the reason why Josh refuses to go to, England. And the reason why, more than any other, we must persuade him to go to Cawnpore with his daughter."

  Intrigued by his tone of urgency, Olivia opened the diary. The top of each page was neatly dated, the last entry being that of yesterday. Like a child's exercise book with the same line repeated as a punishment, the diary was filled from cover to cover with a recurring sentence: The time has come; the hand can no longer be stayed.

  Olivia looked puzzled. "What does it mean?"

  "It means that when Jai returns Josh intends to kill him." He pulled open two adjoining drawers of the desk. They were
packed tight with similar diaries. "All the entries are the same. You see?"

  "No, I'm sorry, I don't."

  Ransome shut the drawers and relocked them. "The initial entry in the first of these is dated a week after Estelle's elopement."

  Despite his intenseness, Olivia could not resist an acid little smile. "And that surprises you? Uncle Josh would have helped him hang long ago had Raventhorne not pulled the rug first!"

  Ransome gave her a strange look. "It is not as it seems, Olivia," he said quietly. "Josh needs to be protected."

  With Estelle's entry into the room, the subject was not pursued, but Olivia was not alarmed, neither for her uncle nor for herself. What a lot of fuss about nothing! She trusted Ranjan Moitra's information. If and when Raventhorne did return, it would certainly not be before Sir Joshua had been borne to safety by his daughter, and she herself—with Amos!—had sailed away on the Lulubelle. Staunch friend that he was, Arthur Ransome worried unduly.

  By the time Olivia had arrived home she had forgotten the matter—-and another letter awaited from Kinjal. Her son was now reaching for objects with discrimination, his favourite being his silver rattle. His grip was firm and his determination to guard his precious possessions even more so. Kinjal's children were teaching him to sing, convinced that his tuneless responses were proof of potential musical genius. Over that Olivia cried again, then proceeded to compose a pleading reply to the letter.

  The day following the ball that has been arranged for my cousin and her husband, they depart finally for Cawnpore. Please, please send my darling boy home to me that very day, my dearest Kinjal, that very day! Each moment without him now is torture.

  Light-hearted once more, Olivia coasted happily through her day at the Agency, humming as she worked. On the way home she called again at the Templewood home. Whether or not her uncle was fit enough, courtesy demanded that he be informed of the upcoming occasion. Estelle was out visiting and Ransome had not yet returned from his office. As always, she found her uncle in the study at his desk. As she entered, he gave a start and hastily concealed something beneath a square of blue velvet. "Don't you believe in knocking before you come in?" he grumbled as Olivia bent down to kiss him in greeting.