The Jasmine Wife

by Jane Coverdale

  The painting cheered her for a moment, then she felt a deep pang of misery in the pit of her stomach. She stared vacantly around her but smiled when she saw a bowl of frangipanis on the table beside her bed; their fresh beauty comforted her, as flowers always could. Then she shifted her tired body, feeling weak and depressed. Something had happened: something she couldn’t remember.

  Hearing her sigh, Lucy came towards her. “You are awake?”

  “I feel so strange … What time is it? I feel as though I’ve been lying here for such a long time … What is that painting on the wall? I feel I’ve seen it before somewhere.”

  “Monsieur Ravi put it there so you will see it when you wake.”

  Sara remembered with a sudden jolt. “Of course, he brought me here.”

  “I’m glad he did. You were in quite a state.”

  “What’s wrong with me? Am I ill?”

  Lucy smiled and took her hand in her own. “You had some sort of breakdown … but the doctor asked if you may be with child also … because of the vomiting in the morning. Is there a chance he may be right?”

  Sara’s hands flew to her stomach. “A child! No, it’s not possible; it couldn’t be. No, there’s no child, I’m sure of it.”

  Then, gradually, the truth dawned on her. Her breasts had been sore and swollen lately. Because of the shock of the discovery about Lakshmi she hadn’t thought about it too much, but she had missed her monthly cycle. She must be pregnant! That was why she’d been so ill, and there was no doubt in her mind the child was the result of those passionate weeks with Ravi Sabran.

  Charles had not been in her bed for months, and he hadn’t insisted, which was unlike him. Then she realised with a wave of bitterness it was probably because of little Nagma.

  The irony of her situation was not lost on her, and she laughed out loud, a hollow, sour laugh. After all the times Charles had forced himself on her she hadn’t conceived a child, and now she was pregnant after only a couple of weeks in Ravi Sabran’s arms.

  There would be more secrets: secrets that would go on and on for generations, as her own family’s secret had.

  A horrible thought overwhelmed her. Could it be that Ravi had planned to make her pregnant so she would have to bear the humiliation of giving birth to a child that would so clearly not be her husband’s? Surely that would be an unthinkable revenge. But, even as she thought it, she dismissed the idea. He might have used her, but in her heart she knew he wasn’t capable of that depth of cruelty.

  Even so, a silent despair overtook her as doubt crept in, taunting her, till even her more passionate emotions shut down, leaving only a cold detachment.

  She was sure she would die in childbirth, as her grandmother had, and she told herself it might be best after all.

  Later that same evening Ravi Sabran came to the house.

  He watched her from the open door of the bedroom, his face dark with anxiety, though, despite her illness, in his eyes she had never appeared more beautiful. The dark red waves of her hair lay spread out on the pillow to relieve some of the heat from her aching head, and when she called out his name in her sleep her voice was so low and full of pain he could hardly hear her.

  He longed to go to her and take her in his arms one more time, to comfort her, to tell her how he loved her, how she was wrong about him, but he held back, knowing it was useless to prolong their inevitable parting. He could never leave Maya, knowing it would be certain death for her if she was ever left unprotected. He was afraid too of her killing herself if she ever knew of his love for another woman. He knew she loved him with an unusual passion, mixed as it was with gratitude and an almost childlike devotion.

  It was his own fault, and this was his punishment; he was a prisoner of his own making.

  While he watched, Sara cried out as faces from her past began to crowd in on her. An old man pleading with his eyes as he drowned; Cynthia’s eyes with an expression of vacant dislike; Charles, when she first saw him in the garden back home in England with the sun shining on his golden hair. A stray thought reached her subconscious. Where was home now? She had no home.

  Then the fragrance of sandalwood half revived her. What did it remind her of? Of course, it was Ravi.

  She dreamt of Ravi’s dark eyes when they came close to her own, and the deep impenetrable gaze she struggled to understand. Then she felt the touch of his hand on her cheek and the gentle pressure of his lips on her eyelids, her forehead, and on her lips.

  She moved in her sleep and reached out her arms to him.

  “Ravi …” She sighed his name.

  Then his voice flowed over her, far away now, coming out of the mist of her dream. “Au revoir … au revoir, my love, my only love, Sarianna …”

  Chapter 36

  When she woke the next day, the room was half shuttered against the sun and she had no idea of the time or how long she’d slept. She lay for some time, too tired to move. She could only just recall that something momentous had happened, something that unsettled her but thrilled her at the same time.

  Then she had a recollection of a dream she’d had, or was it a dream? Was the feel of his warm breath on her cheek real? Did he really whisper the words “My only love Sarianna”?

  Then she shook her head; it was a dream after all. Ravi had left for France. She would never see him again.

  In the background she heard a door slam, shaking her out of her dream, then an angry male voice was raised against the silence and she was plunged into a dark fear.

  “No, sir … Please, madam is very sick still … You come back another time, please, sir.”

  “Get out of the way! If I want to see my wife, I will …”

  “But the doctor say …”

  “I don’t give a damn what some doctor said! How dare you try to stop me? Get out of my way!”

  The door swung open and Charles stood before her, shaking with anger, his riding whip in his hand. “What are you doing here? In that man’s house! Get up at once!”

  At first she thought he might use the whip against her, but she roused herself to face him and he stepped back, giving time for her fear to dissolve and leaving only a kind of revulsion.

  “How did you find me?”

  “I had that McKenzie woman followed; she was cunning, but not cunning enough. You must have known you can never hide from me.”

  It was true; she could never escape him. He would make her life miserable to the end if she let him.

  She pulled on her dressing gown and stood to face him. “I want you to leave. This is my house now. Monsieur Sabran has let this house to me.”

  “I told you! We can never rent from an Indian! You must know how it would appear, you being here! Have you lost your senses?”

  She stared straight ahead, not even bothering to turn to look at him.

  “I’m not married to you any more, Charles. I can do as I like. So, if you don’t mind, kindly leave.”

  “Don’t be a fool! You’re coming home with me!”

  He tried to drag her out of the room, but Malika threw herself between them. “Sir, sir, the doctor is here! Dr Shankar is here! He will explain it to you.” She made little frantic movements at the air near his legs, afraid to touch him.

  He stood back to stare at her, as though the feel of her hands would defile him. “Dr Shankar?” It was as though he’d been hit in the face.

  “You had an Indian doctor attend you? You didn’t have the decency to call an Englishman?”

  She turned to look at him now, unleashing all her resentment at his bigotry and injustice with an icy calm. “Why shouldn’t I have an Indian doctor attend me? After all, my own grandmother was Indian!” She faced him, proud and fearless, and hugely empowered.

  There, she’d said it; there was no going back, and she was glad of it.

  He laughed at first, then he opened his mouth, said nothing, and closed it.

  There was a long silence while he stared at her, unable to collect his thoughts.

  “Wha
t are you talking about? Don’t be ridiculous! You don’t even look Indian. You’re making it up!”

  “I told you. My grandmother was Indian. And I’m related to the Maharani; we are second cousins, but closely related nonetheless.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

  “You mean before I married you? I didn’t know myself till recently.”

  His expression conveyed his full horror on hearing her words. He almost lost his balance and for a moment she thought he might faint.

  “It’s true then?”

  “Yes, it’s true.”

  “That explains everything.”

  He paced the room, unable to stand still, as though looking for an answer, then, wanting to unleash his anger on someone, he turned to where Malika stood, crouched against the wall.

  “Who told you to bring her here?”

  Sara roused herself. “Leave her alone! She’s afraid of you!”

  “She has good reason to be afraid of me, now more than ever.”

  His voice terrified her, but somehow Malika found the courage to speak up. “I tell Monsieur Sabran! He said to bring Madam Sarianna here!”

  “Sarianna! You dare to call her by that name?”

  He stared at the woman, who by now had fallen to her knees and pulled her sari shawl over her face. For a moment Sara thought he would kill her on the spot, but with a great effort of will he turned away and made his way to the door. He stopped for a moment and turned to Sara, though the faraway expression in his eyes made it seem as though he was really talking to himself. “I’ll make him wish he’d never been born.”

  When she heard his footsteps fade away at last, taking her past life with him, she consoled herself with the thought that at least Ravi was safe from Charles at last. He would be far away now, on his way to France with Maya.

  Chapter 37

  Sara sat in the summer house, turning over the pages of a book; she had given up trying to concentrate and instead sat mesmerised, watching a bronze lizard basking on a rock in the last rays of the late afternoon sun. Peace held sway for the moment, though it was an uneasy calm. She was well again, at least physically, well enough to wander in the garden and even to take up her pen and write. Now, hidden away from disapproving eyes, she had taken to wearing a sari to both hide the swelling of her stomach and to glory in the freedom of the light fabric.

  She was a fragile shell still, but had now begun to try to plan her future, despite being almost overwhelmed with a feeling of impending doom. It was as though she was waiting for something to happen, something to change the course of her destiny. Her eyes closed and her head fell back in her chair, allowing the evening sounds to wash over her. The mynah birds were shrieking as usual, fighting over some scrap or other, but she liked their noise; it was friendly somehow.

  Then her ears became attuned to another sound. Lucy had come to visit and had left her for a moment to meet someone who had come with a message.

  Lucy’s soft tones were mingling with the excited, strident sounds of someone she didn’t know.

  After a moment she heard Lucy cry out, then silence.

  Sara was instantly alert and, despite the warmth of the afternoon, she felt a shiver pass over her.

  A few moments later Lucy stood before her, clutching a damp handkerchief. She stared down at the ground as though unwilling to look Sara in the face.

  “Lucy! What is it?”

  “Something has happened.”

  A cold knot of fear clutched at Sara’s stomach. The nameless dread she had been expecting was upon her and her mouth was dry when she spoke.

  “Tell me …” The cup of tea she was holding began to shake wildly.

  “It’s Maya … I’m afraid she has killed herself …”

  Sara froze. “Killed herself?”

  The image of Maya appeared before her, the fairy-like beauty, the innocence of her glance, her sweetness. She felt a sob rise in her throat.

  “But why? How? Are you sure?”

  “She must have found some poison … poor child … Ravi is beside himself with grief.”

  “But he was supposed to be in France. I don’t understand.”

  “He changed his mind. At the last minute he left the ship for no reason whatsoever. Then somehow your husband found out he hadn’t sailed and ordered Maya be returned to her husband using whatever means they could. Ravi was in Madras when they attacked his Pondicherry house …”

  “Charles ordered this?” A wave of fresh hatred swept over her. So this was his revenge. She remembered his words when she’d last seen him.

  “I’ll make him wish he’d never been born.”

  “Some of Ravi’s men were killed trying to protect Maya, and she was dragged away screaming. He swears to get his revenge on your husband, but he must not. Forgive me, but I’ve heard that your husband has laid a trap for Ravi …”

  With great difficulty Sara found the strength to speak. Her words came out choked with emotion. “If he had sailed like he was supposed to, then she would be alive now … alive now …” The words swam around and around in her head and the panic that had been held at bay swept over her in a sickening rush.

  Later, in an agony of despair, she struggled to find the courage to write to him but, unwilling to remind him of her existence or of the evil of her own husband, she tore up page after page and didn’t send a letter at all, though after a week of torment she received a letter from him that made her heart grow cold.

  “Madam”, the letter began, and his icy tone wounded her far deeper than she was prepared for.

  “There is much I must say to you. I intend to go away from India forever. I don’t care to be here any longer. Everything reminds me of Maya and my own treachery.”

  It was right he should address her in such remote terms, but to know he was going away forever somehow seemed unbearable. It was also impossible now to tell him about the baby she was carrying.

  “She didn’t deserve to die like that. She was only a girl still. It took a long time, you know, she was still alive when they brought her home to her mother … the acid had burned her poor mouth … she couldn’t even say goodbye to me. Despite what you think, I’m not a savage. I could never kill anyone, but I have made it known to your husband that I intend to have him cut into a thousand pieces when he least expects it … It could happen any time … when he is in court or on the street or even when he is in his own home … He will never be safe, and for not one second of the rest of his dog’s life will he have an easy moment. He’ll live in fear of my revenge till he dies of fear, then perhaps you will be released from the marriage you say is so hateful to you.

  My Guru says I must not go down the path of revenge, as it will end with more pain, but I’m full of hate now and I must go away before I lose control and kill him myself. I must be a free man, not a murderer in a cage. If I had loved her better, taken better care of her … She gave up everything for me, and I failed her.

  Do you remember? I said to you that people would suffer because of the love I had for you, but in the end it would be worth it … I didn’t know what I was saying … I couldn’t imagine pain like this …

  Take care of the house for me, I owe this to you, but if by chance you ever return to your husband, promise me he will never live there.

  There is one more thing. I want you to believe I did not feel about you as I did those other women. I admit at first I wanted to hurt your husband by making love to you, but it was I who was hurt in the end. I truly loved you then. Now I am nothing. I am unable to feel.

  I will have the child Prema restored to you. I believe she was always meant to be yours.

  Ravi Sabran.”

  There were no words of endearment she could take comfort in, only that he had once truly loved her, and somehow that hurt her even more.

  There was a final reminder of his mysterious presence in her life when, a few days later, Pansy was returned to her by the little boy who fed her and attached to the saddle was a large par
cel wrapped in silk.

  Inside was the mother-of-pearl jewel box containing her necklace and the emerald earrings. There was no note accompanying the box, or any explanation of how the jewels were reclaimed; the boy who was paid to deliver the horse spoke only of a servant, dressed in clean white muslin and wearing a red turban, who’d given him the parcel to bring to her.

  The red turbans were worn by Ravi’s household, and then she knew for certain it was because of Ravi she had her jewels back.

  The jewels were precious to her, but more precious still was the thought that he had cared enough for her, in the midst of his pain, to think of her.

  A week later, in the Madras newspaper was an account of how property of the Honourable Charles Fitzroy had been stolen from his office in the Department of Justice; the authorities were baffled as to how the intruder had managed to enter and leave the building unseen.

  Chapter 38

  For a month Sara had no news from her husband, till one day a letter arrived from him. Her first thought was to burn it; nothing he had to say could interest her at all. In her mind now it was as though he’d never existed, except when she was suddenly struck with the thought that she was, after all, still a married woman and would one day have to be confronted with the fact. Till then she lived from day to day, if not happily, her life was at least without acute misery. Living once more in her parents’ home was her great consolation, and there it was easy to hide away from the unwelcome society of her former life.

  She opened the letter with shaking fingers, disinterested at first, then with growing amazement. There was no sign of his former empty endearments, only her name at the top of the page.

  “Sara,

  As you know, I don’t believe in divorce, and until now nothing would have driven me to commit such an act. However, Lady Palmer has convinced me the matter can be arranged without too much of a scandal.