The Jasmine Wife

by Jane Coverdale

  “So innocent, so pure …” he laughed, his face like a satyr “… but not so pure.”

  She was almost a rag doll till he pulled her up to straddle him, her long petticoats falling around them both, her breasts half exposed by her open chemise and her long red hair in a tangled mass down her back. She tried to push his hands away as they explored her body further, ashamed to be so nakedly vulnerable, but he held both her hands in his. “Don’t take away my pleasure …” he was insistent, almost angry “… and yours.” Then almost at once his mood darkened and he gripped her hips, pressing her against him, intent and urgent. Her body too was overtaken by a powerful force, rhythmic and strong, till the climax burst from both of them, delirious and wild and joyous.

  “Mon Dieu!” he murmured, panting, then, laughing softly, he turned her gently on her back so he could look at her and kiss her once more.

  “Such pleasure, I feel like a young man again.”

  She was too dazed to reply at once, then almost humbly she asked, “This has never happened to me before. Is this how it’s meant to be?”

  “Only for the lucky ones.” He laughed.

  He kissed her again, murmuring as he nuzzled into her neck, “I was a beast, and careless. I’m sorry, but now I will take more care … I want our pleasure to last all night.”

  “I must go back. Malika will notice I’m not in my room and come looking for me.”

  “How can I let you go now? You must be mad.”

  She let him kiss her again, knowing she was lost.

  Sometimes throughout the too-short night they slept, curled up in each other’s arms till his urgent desire took over once more. She gave herself up utterly, shocking herself with the wildness of her abandonment, letting him do what he wanted to her, till the early morning light fell on their exhausted and bruised bodies.

  They awoke together, their faces touching as their eyes flickered open before falling into a warm lingering kiss.

  “Such happiness,” he whispered, “such pleasure.” Her fingers traced the outline of his firm lips, bruised and swollen with the savage love-making of the night before. Her heart was too full to do anything but smile.

  “So blooms the lotus at last,” he said. “I have never seen you so beautiful. Your eyes are full of peace.”

  “You make me so. You’ve transformed me.” She took his hand and kissed his fingers, her eyes filling with tears.

  He abandoned his plans to leave and they met secretly every night, she almost running through the candlelit garden to where he waited for her, and, after a day spent constrained in the company of others, unable to touch except for the brief electrifying brush of a hand, they fell into each other’s arms as though they had been apart for weeks instead of just a few hours.

  He was frightening in his eagerness to have her, his heavy shoulders and arms enveloping her, capturing her, so she fluttered like a butterfly against his body as he lifted her to carry her to the bed, his mouth pressed against her breast.

  At other times, after pacing the room like a wild thing, he met her with only an intense gaze and a few mumbled hot words, snatching at her wrist as she entered the room, she breathless from running, her eyes shining and eager, before he pulled her to him, lifting her gown to ravage her against the wall or where she stood, covering her mouth with his, stifling her moans of pleasure till he released her, her legs trembling and her body burning from his onslaught.

  Then, afterwards, his tenderness as he murmured his love for her, the finely carved lids of his eyes heavy with a gentle delight as he kissed her mouth and body over and over.

  He told her of the mysteries of the Kama Sutra and how together they could experience even greater joy. “But a little at a time, like a drop of rare and precious oil,” he said, so the pleasure could last the rest of their lives.

  At the mention of the future, though, she would feel a stab of pain in her heart that sometimes threatened to destroy her present happiness.

  They never spoke of it, both of them unwilling to break the spell of their perfect time together. It was as though they were enchanted. They went through the days like children, living only for the moment, and within the walls of their own little palace they could pretend, almost successfully, there was no other world outside.

  Others, though, were not blind to their passion for each other. The Maharani watched them together and she was filled with a sense of doom. She noticed how Ravi had removed Maya’s ring, and how his eyes followed the lovely Mrs Fitzroy everywhere.

  He was clearly in a kind of delirium, and the Maharani was reminded of a leopard basking in the sun, sated and contented, lazily licking its paws after a kill.

  They both knew it couldn’t last, but when their dream ended it still came as a shock. She had been applying kohl to her eyes, as she often did now; apart from the added allure it gave to her eyes, she felt the smoky magical potion marked the transformation she had undergone, both in her body and soul.

  He was watching her from the bed as she sat before the mirror, still in her chemise, her long red hair tumbling down her back while lit by the molten gold of the sun as it flared like a halo around her head. They had lingered too long together and the bright day was already shining through the white muslin curtains. They usually left their little palace at dawn, before the rest of the household awoke, but he had insisted on having breakfast with her alone and had risked their being discovered.

  As he watched her brushing her hair, the fine silk of her chemise slipped off her shoulder, exposing the creamy skin of her back, and filling him with a sudden desire to have her once more, before their day of pretence began.

  He came up behind her, his lithe step silent but swift. His fingers wound in her hair and around her breast and he kissed her neck while whispering in her ear, “Come back to bed …” She only smiled at him in the mirror, and let her head fall back against his shoulder. They were used to each other’s long tender silences.

  Taking the brush out of her hand, he pulled her towards the bed, murmuring, “I want to make you ask for more … and more …”

  Then a voice called out, jolting them both out of their dream, “Sarianna! Mistress!”

  He pulled back, his eyes blazing. “What is that woman doing here? She guards you like a terrier.”

  She pushed away his arms and slid off the bed, winding her hair back into some kind of order.

  “Sarianna!” Malika’s voice called out again, this time with more urgency. “A messenger has come, from Mr Charles! Mr Charles is coming here! He comes tonight …”

  “Charles!” Just speaking his name brought terror. “He’ll kill you if he finds you here.”

  “It is very unlikely.” Sabran’s voice was a cold sneer as he reached for a cigarette, and he blew the smoke into the air. “But we must talk. Send Malika away.”

  Sara’s voice shook as she spoke. “Go back to the house, Malika. I’ll be there soon.”

  They both waited till footsteps were heard leaving the terrace, then he encircled her in his arms before kissing her very gently where the base of her shoulder met her throat.

  He whispered into her neck, “We can go away together. We can leave at once.”

  “Oh, if only we could. If only it were that simple.” She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to have him with her always, to eat with him, to walk with him, and to sleep in the same bed every night. But there, at the edge of her dream, was Maya, weeping and distraught, pleading with outstretched arms, and Charles, who she knew would never agree to a divorce, especially if he discovered her love for Ravi Sabran. A torrent of pain and retribution would be unleashed over both their heads, and it would be relentless and pitiless, a struggle so violent and full of hate she was afraid it might even end in death.

  “It’s impossible.” Tears formed in her eyes as she realised the terrible truth of her words.

  He sat up, alert now. “We can be away from here in a moment! It’s obvious you don’t love your husband.”


  She sat up, trying to cast off the temptation to fall back into his arms.

  “You must help me dress.” She stood with her back to him, her stays held in place over her breasts.

  “I will, if you promise to come with me now.”

  “Please, Ravi …”

  He scowled, but then, with almost childish reluctance, he helped to pull the silk ribbons of her corset around her waist.

  “They must be tighter or I won’t be able to get into my dress.”

  He pulled the ribbons making the circle of her waist smaller. “How can I bear it?” He kissed her bare back in a lingering way while cupping her breasts in his hands. “You tease me till I go mad.”

  Then, in a burst of desperation, he pulled her around to face him, hypnotising her with his eyes. “You will stay with me. You will come to Pondicherry with me now, at once.”

  He kissed her again, pressing her back into the pillows, willing her to succumb to his desire, even though he knew she had hardened her resolve.

  It was only when she held his face in her hands and looked into his eyes, did the truth begin to dawn on him.

  “Charles will find us and kill you … or have you killed.” She spoke with great care, willing him to hear her. “He won’t rest till he does. I know him. I know what he’s capable of.”

  He took her hands away from his face and held them behind her back.

  “I’m not afraid of him, and I won’t let you go. Not till I want to.”

  Her voice was choked with tears when she spoke. “Why do you make it so hard for me? Especially when we both know we can never meet again …”

  “What do you mean? Why must we part?” He held her tighter still, but she could see a little doubt begin to show in his eyes.

  “We haven’t thought … We forgot everything and everyone …” She threw off his restraining arms and began to dress, snatching up pieces of discarded clothing from where they lay around the room.

  He watched her as he smoked, his expression becoming darker, even though his words were full of hope. “Yes, yes, at first things will be painful and difficult, and people will suffer because of it, but it will be worth it. As I said, it is fated. And I love you …” he added, his voice strong and unshakable, as though that mere fact was enough to overcome all obstacles.

  For a moment she felt a surge of hope, and almost believed it might be possible they could be happy together. Then the bliss faded, leaving cold reality.

  “Charles will never let me go, and he’ll never divorce me.”

  “What is he, compared to how we feel about each other?”

  Her feelings were so strong, words were almost useless, but she roused herself to reason with him. “Have you forgotten Maya? Will you cast her off? She can never go home to her family. You know she’ll be made to live the rest of her life in shame. Where will she go? Not back to her husband. He’ll kill her; you know he will. Or will she live in a house set up by you, the same as me? Is that fated too?”

  This time her words hit their mark and the expression in his eyes gave her the answer she was looking for.

  “I didn’t think of her. I didn’t want to. She would be helpless without my protection.” His dark eyes took on a look of acute pain. “How cruel I am.” This time he turned away from her as he pushed his long black hair back from his face. He was frowning now and tearing at his bottom lip with his teeth.

  “I must go, Ravi.”

  He tried again to persuade her; he accused her of caring too much what people thought, and then at last, when he saw she was unmoved, he became desperate. “I’ll find a beautiful house for you. You’ll have everything you want … anything, jewels, I’m a rich man, much richer than you could imagine … We’ll go to France, or come to Pondi with me. Promise me you’ll come to me there. I can’t leave you here with that man. I can’t bear to think of him touching you. He won’t have you!”

  She saw him involuntarily clench his hands, as though imagining them tightening around Charles’s throat.

  “I will confront him with the truth of our love, then he’ll have to give you a divorce. The shame will be too much for him.” He smiled, as though he had the answer at last.

  “You forget about Maya. She’ll stand between us like a ghost forever. Forever! You know that to be true! I can’t hurt her, knowing what her future would be, even though I want you!”

  He stood there for a long moment, filled with a mixture of rage and helplessness. “I’ll leave this place for your sake, but I won’t say goodbye to you. I can’t, even if I wanted to. You forget. The gods have willed we must be together.”

  “Oh Ravi,” she said as she wiped the tears from her eyes, “we can’t forsake Maya, even if the gods have.”

  Chapter 32

  The Maharani and her ladies watched her with curious eyes. Sara was sure they suspected something, and the feeling made her anxious and guilty.

  The Maharani was the first to speak. “Monsieur Sabran has gone. What will we ladies do for amusement now?”

  If there had been any colour left in Sara’s face it would have rushed up to her cheeks at that moment, but she turned to the Maharani and, after a faltering start, found the courage to ask her not to mention Sabran’s visit.

  “You see, my husband has an unreasonable dislike of Monsieur Sabran … and it could be uncomfortable for me … and for him.” Saying the words out loud only made her feel more miserable, and a slow tear escaped and ran down her cheek.

  “Of course, my dear Mrs Fitzroy, his name will not be mentioned. I understand completely.” The woman’s shrewd eyes, though, couldn’t conceal what she really thought. Even so, she patted Sara’s arm kindly.

  “You must rest. You must look pretty for when your husband arrives.”

  Charles had written that he would be taking her to the nearby hill town of Ootacamund, where they would meet up with Cynthia and Lady Palmer. There would be no question of her not accompanying him.

  “Snooty Ooty”, as the Maharani laughingly called it, where the British community of Madras went to escape the heat of the plains for the worst of the summer months.

  “I hope having my husband here will not inconvenience you too much.”

  “It is an honour, of course. He will be made most welcome.” She was gracious as always, but Sara could sense a slight tone of sarcasm in the woman’s voice.

  Sara left her to find refuge in her lovely rooms, made all the more dear to her now, as they would be hers alone for the last time. She spent a restless day reliving the nights of passion in the arms of Ravi Sabran, in between helpless bouts of tears and the dread of Charles’s reaction to her request for a separation. For a separation she must have now. It would be impossible for her to ever endure his touch again.

  She thought about Ravi’s suggestion of a house in Pondicherry. She could easily bear the infamy and gossip that would inevitably follow if she decided to take up his offer; the thought of a future without him seemed by far much worse. But again it was Maya who dominated her thoughts. There was no refuge for her apart from Ravi Sabran. Even if he established her safely in a different house, it was impossible he would never see her again, and it was equally impossible Sara could share him with another woman.

  From the moment Charles arrived, the mood in the palace changed from one of relaxed friendliness to a formal, almost ceremonial round of duties.

  The Maharaja didn’t like him but made a huge effort to hide the fact for Sara’s sake. She sat next to her husband, maintaining a polite and almost distant conversation, while Charles ate the dishes placed before him, made especially plain by the bemused kitchen staff.

  Charles seemed undeterred by the chilliness of the table but kept up a constant barrage of talk in between mouthfuls of food. Sara was reminded of spasmodic bouts of rifle fire, so strict he seemed after the amusing idle chatter of the past weeks.

  The talk was of the small rebellions springing up all over the country and the need to crush them at once if order was to be maint
ained.

  “I expect your help, sir …” he turned to the Maharaja, who sat with a tightly controlled dignity at the head of the table “… especially with the local people here. There’s talk of them being whipped up by Sabran and his men. Do you know anything of this?”

  The Maharaja laughed and spread his arms wide apart, as if to show he had nothing to hide. “How would I know anything, when I haven’t seen Monsieur Sabran for months? He is like a phantom; he appears and disappears at will.”

  Sara looked up from where she’d been staring down at her plate of uneaten food and caught a sly wink from the Maharaja. She looked around, alarmed. Surely Charles would be able to tell it was a lie, but he kept his eyes fixed on his own plate as he ate.

  “Well, if you hear of him could you let me know at once? I confess it is difficult to prove, and the devil is, as you say, very slippery. He’s a powerful man and has a lot of friends in high places. We will get him eventually though, make no mistake. And when we do … I’ll make him pay.”

  Sara looked around the table, pale and alarmed, unable to speak. There was silence till the whisky and cigars arrived, then a half-hearted attempt at conversation for a respectable number of minutes.

  But the Maharaja had the royal prerogative to please himself and made an attempt to rise. In a moment his retainers and the Maharani were at his side to haul him to his feet. He nodded towards Charles, who was clearly put out by the Maharaja leaving so soon. “Forgive me, but here I keep early hours.”

  Sara knew he was leaving because he couldn’t bear her husband’s company a moment longer. She almost didn’t care. Charles’s words had crushed any other thought.