Meet Me in Bombay

by Jenny Ashcroft

  “I suppose they could be earrings,” he said, “or a brooch.”

  “A brooch?” she said. “I don’t want a brooch.”

  “Good,” he said, grinning, too, “because I was thinking, a ring.”

  She looked across at him, laughed, almost sobbed, then laughed again, taking his face that she loved in her hands, kissing him, not stopping.

  “Is that a yes?” he said.

  “It’s a no, obviously,” she said, then squealed as he swooped her up, dropping her back down on the bed.

  They planned so much that night: the wedding, which they wanted to have as soon as possible so that they might spend at least some of the summer in England; the honeymoon they’d take on the voyage, stopping off in Port Said, perhaps even visiting the pyramids (“I’ve always wanted to do that,” she said, excitement growing with each breath); then how they should get back to her parents’ villa, tell them, then wire his, first thing Monday since it was Sunday the next day.

  “Edie, too,” she said, “we can’t forget Edie. And Della will kill me if she’s not one of the first to find out.”

  “We’ll call at Peter’s tomorrow,” Luke said.

  “Guy will want to know, too,” she said, mood flattening temporarily at the thought of his reaction. She’d barely seen him in weeks. He’d stopped calling at the house. Whenever she ran into him—which she sometimes did, at church, up at the Hanging Gardens, then on the couple of occasions she’d gone with Della for lunch at the Gymkhana Club—he never lingered for more than a brief hello, a gentle, guilt-inducing smile. (“Oh, that smile,” Della said. “I feel riddled myself, and I haven’t even done anything. If only he’d let me.”)

  “Guy will be fine,” said Luke.

  “Will he?” Maddy said.

  “Probably not,” he said, and she reached across the bed, punching him. “I’d be beside myself,” he went on, laughing, rubbing his arm, “if you were marrying him instead of me.”

  “As if I could ever do that,” she said.

  “Will you tell him?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “I’ll let my mother do it. Call me a coward.”

  “I won’t. I’m strangely fine with you not having an emotional tête-à-tête with Guy Bowen. Although,” his brow creased, “your mother’s not going to be easy to talk to either.”

  She sighed, knowing it.

  She’d realized by now that her mother was scared of her leaving. She wasn’t sure why it had taken her so long to see how afraid she was (“No,” Luke had said. “Remind me again where you went to university?”), but ever since Luke had spoken to her about the way Alice watched her, she’d started to watch her, too, in a slowly changing light. Lately, she’d finally come to notice the softness concealed, but not hidden, by the sharp blue of her mother’s eyes; the tension in her stillness, then how her composure slipped, just for a second, whenever she, Maddy, caught her gaze. Much as her failure to visit in Oxford still upset Maddy, badly—she just couldn’t let that go—she’d begun to not leave rooms whenever Alice walked into them. She’d started making more of an effort to talk to her—about anything: Luke, Della, all her mishaps with Cook—and was sure she didn’t imagine that Alice had started smiling more. (“No,” said Richard, with a smile of his own, “I’ve noticed it as well.”) Unimpressed as Alice had obviously been when Maddy and Luke had returned from not seeing the turtles, their clothes damp and crumpled, Maddy’s hair tangled with salt (“You fell in,” she’d said, stare moving over them. “Both of you?” “Both of us,” Luke had said, “my fault. Don’t be angry with Maddy.” “I’m not,” she’d said), she hadn’t made a scene. Really, she’d seemed more resigned than anything. She’d been almost … sweet, ever since, waiting to take breakfast so that she and Maddy might eat together, remarking on what a relief it was that so many in Bombay were disappearing now, saying how much she loved the quiet.

  “You don’t miss Diana now she’s gone?” Maddy had said.

  “I’m bearing it as best I can,” her mother had replied, and there it had been: that smile.

  She’d even suggested, just that afternoon, that she take Maddy to visit the small local school the gardener’s trio attended. “They always need more help,” she’d said. “I realize you’re hoping … well, for Luke to…” She’d paused, taken a short breath, as though gathering her nerve. Maddy had felt her throat swell with sadness. “If there’s a chance he might stay,” she’d gone on, “I think the children would be very lucky to have you.”

  Oh God, Maddy had thought.

  “It will be fine,” she told Luke now.

  “Will it?” he said.

  “Probably not,” she said.

  And it wasn’t. Not at all.

  It was her father who exclaimed his congratulations when they showed them both the diamonds, nodding as they spoke of the wedding, the August honeymoon they’d like to have. He rose from his drawing room chair, shaking Luke’s hand, hugging Maddy for a very long time (making her throat swell all over again), saying how sad he’d be to see her go, heartbroken in fact, but he understood, of course he understood, and he’d be over to visit, just try and stop him. “You’ll be sick of the sight of me, you wait.”

  “And you, Alice?” Luke said. “Will you come?”

  “I…” Alice began. “I…” She couldn’t seem to go on. “Excuse me, will you?” she said, then stood, so quickly she knocked the side table bearing her and Richard’s drinks, and left.

  Maddy stared after her, at once desperate to run, catch her, and unable to move, to even think what she might say.

  It was her father who went. “You leave this with me,” he said, squeezing her shoulders, then making for the door. “Please, don’t either of you worry.”

  Maddy turned to Luke, feeling even worse for the compassion in his dark gaze. “How can I not worry?” she said.

  He didn’t reply. He just crossed the room, pulled her into his arms. She dropped her head against his chest, closing her eyes at the rise and fall of his deep, slow breath.

  “We don’t have to go to England,” he told her, even though she knew how desperate he was to return, what it must cost him to say it.

  She loved him even more, for that.

  But, “We do have to,” she said, her mind flooding with everything waiting for them there (riverbanks, willow trees, and violet dusks; all of that). “I can’t not go,” she said. “I want it too much.”

  “Then we’ll visit here,” he said. “If she really won’t come to us, we’ll come here.”

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling, picturing her mother crying upstairs. “I don’t understand why she won’t come,” she said.

  “You need to ask her,” he said.

  She nodded. She did.

  But it was her father, not her mother, whom she spoke to the next morning, since Alice, pleading a stomach ache this time, didn’t come down to breakfast.

  “Don’t even think of trying to put me off,” Maddy said to Richard, before he’d had a chance to reach for the coffee. “It’s too important.”

  He paused, hand hovering inches from the pot, frowning across at her. His lined face was weary. Maddy didn’t know what time he’d been up until. He’d still been awake, talking with her mother, when she herself had gone to bed.

  “I don’t want to put you off,” he said. “You have no idea how much I wish you could understand…”

  “Then tell me what the matter is,” she said.

  He sighed.

  “Please, Papa,” she said, sensing that he was wavering, feeling the truth within touching distance. “Why won’t she travel?”

  “Oh, darling,” he said heavily, “it’s not a question of won’t. She can’t.”

  She felt her brow crease. “Can’t?”

  He gave her another long look, as though weighing up whether to go on.

  She leaned forward in her chair, willing him to.

  But he shook his head, as though remembering himself, and said, “You need to talk to he
r. I’ve given her my word it won’t come from me.” He reached for the coffee again, pouring it this time, apparently needing it. “Leave her for now, though, please. She’s resting.”

  “But—” Maddy began.

  “Please, darling,” he said, widening his eyes, entreating.

  She hesitated a second more. He stared back at her. He really did look so tired.

  Slowly, she nodded, giving in.

  What else could she do?

  “I’ll talk to her when she’s better,” she said to Luke when he arrived, not long after, to take her to Peter and Della’s.

  He leaned on the steering wheel, looking sideways at her. “Promise?” he said.

  “I promise,” she said.

  “Are you sure you still want to go to the Wilsons’?”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “Otherwise I’ll just be sad all day.”

  He smiled a small smile. “Well, we can’t have that,” he said.

  “We absolutely can’t,” said Della, after they’d arrived at Peter’s and told them both their news. “I’m absolutely over the moon for you, cock-a-hoop. It really is about time.”

  “It certainly is,” said Peter, pushing his hair back from his beaming face, seizing Luke’s hand, kissing Maddy, ushering them all into the stuffy drawing room, where he cracked open the windows, then a bottle of champagne. “Does this mean you’ll go back too now, Della?” he said, turning to his sister. “Can I return you to Mama as an empty?”

  “Sorry, no,” Della said. “I’m digging my nails in for another season, and don’t pretend you wouldn’t miss me if I went.”

  He narrowed his eyes, neither confirming nor denying it, and topped up everyone’s glasses.

  “What about church?” said Della.

  “Let’s be late, then miss it,” said Luke, who always did anyway. “I’m sure God will understand.”

  Maybe he didn’t.

  Or perhaps he was annoyed at someone else (Franz Ferdinand, for example).

  But that very night, as they reconvened again, this time for engagement drinks at the Gymkhana Club (Richard insisted; Alice, still claiming to feel unwell, hadn’t come along, although had surprised Maddy by coming down to say goodbye before she’d left. “I want you to be happy,” she’d said quietly, standing in her dressing robe on the stairs. “I hope you know that.” “I do,” Maddy had replied. I just wish it made you happier), the news came from the viceroy’s house that Archduke Ferdinand had been shot by Serbian nationalists.

  Not everyone was worried. Della, for one, professed herself at a loss to understand what the fuss was about. “What does this archduke mean to us?”

  “Hopefully nothing,” said Peter, sounding less than convinced.

  Maddy wasn’t convinced either. She turned, looking at Luke, seeing the sudden sobriety in him. She knew what he was thinking. They’d spoken too often of everything going on in Europe for her to be in any doubt that he was as concerned as she that Austria-Hungary, long hungering for an excuse to attack Serbia and gain strength in the Balkans, had just been given that very thing. If they did attack, then Russia, who’d pledged to support Serbia, would be dragged in, too. France would follow, since they had a treaty with Russia, then Britain as well (thank you, Triple Entente), and Germany with them (they were allied with Austria-Hungary). She closed her eyes, feeling the full enormity of what might unfold dawn on her. It’s all set up like a game of dominoes, she’d said, just the other night. Only, not fun.

  “It might not happen,” she said now, speaking to reassure herself more than anything.

  “Let’s go with that,” Luke said. “I’ll drink to it.”

  They all did that.

  And the evening wasn’t ruined; far from it. Almost everyone still in Bombay for the summer had come (with the exception of Guy, who’d sent his apologies by way of a card. I’m afraid I must work this evening, but wish you only happiness. “Are you riddled?” Della had asked Maddy. “Utterly,” Maddy had replied); the candlelit clubhouse was packed, the sticky air vibrating with Harry Lauder, clinking glasses, and the buzz of happiness. Maddy danced with Luke, and he twirled her, dipping her to the floor, making her laugh until her sides hurt. They teased, and smiled, and spoke once more of all the summer held (the wedding, their honeymoon; that Richmond riverside), but not of his work, or how it probably wasn’t going to have all been pointless after all. Richard called a toast to the future, and everyone cheered and raised their glasses.

  No one wanted to dwell on assassinated Austrian royalty. Not that night.

  But it felt like the last time anyone didn’t. From that day on, to talk about whether Austria-Hungary would or would not retaliate on Serbia became as commonplace as discussing the weather. No one seemed to question anymore whether a war could happen.

  Overnight, it had become a question only of when, and Maddy couldn’t stand it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Everything happened so quickly after that.

  The very morning after the archduke was shot, Maddy’s father called on the bishop of St. Thomas’s Cathedral, persuading him that the reading of the banns absolutely could be managed in short order, and booked the ceremony for 3 August. That same afternoon, Luke dropped by at the central telegraph office to wire Edie and his parents of the news (Thrilled to my very heart, Edie wrote in reply. Utterly wonderful, said Luke’s parents, so looking forward to meeting our new daughter-in-law), and he and Maddy went to the port, the packed P&O ticketing bureau, booking their 7 August passage home.

  “Barely even a month,” said Maddy as she sat at the clerk’s polished desk, writing her details on the passenger form (biting her lip as she used Devereaux for the first time). “Not long.”

  “Not long at all,” said Luke, grinning.

  She looked up at him, pen hovering. “Nothing will happen with the Serbians before then, will it?” she said. “It couldn’t happen that fast.…”

  “No,” he said, “no.”

  But on 6 July, just as the wedding invitations came back from the printer’s—an embossed stack of cards that Maddy opened impatiently, smilingly, a thrill of excitement shooting through her—the laden Bombay sky tore and cracked, sending rain spilling over the city in rivers, and Richard returned home with the news that Germany had issued a blank check to Austria-Hungary, confirming its support in Serbia.

  “It still doesn’t mean there’ll be a war,” said Della, also there to admire the invitations.

  “That’s the spirit,” said Richard.

  Only no one else seemed to share Della’s optimism. In fact, rather a lot of people seemed to hope she was wrong.

  “Fraser Keaton’s absolutely champing at the bit to get into uniform,” said Peter that night as they all—with the exception of Alice, who was still, worryingly, claiming to be unwell—assembled in the humid, candlelit drawing room to finalize the small guest list. “Keeps saying how much he wants to do his bit.”

  “What does he think his bit will be, exactly?” said Luke, lighting a cigarette.

  “Wearing a smart jacket, of course,” said Peter.

  “Well, I can get him one of those from the Army and Navy store,” said Richard.

  “I’ll give him a jacket,” said Luke. “I’ll tell him to let that be an end to it.”

  He never did speak to Fraser, though. He didn’t get the chance. With everyone (except Della) now believing the need for an Indian army in Europe nigh on inevitable, he became busier than ever, back and forth to Poona, training with one of the first divisions earmarked for mobilization. While he and Maddy grabbed every opportunity they could to be together when he was in Bombay, he missed almost all of the wedding preparations (Maddy rather envied his avoidance of the endless discussion on table plans, the benefits of fruit versus sponge cake. “I don’t mind what cake we have,” he said, kissing her in bed one evening. “Does that help?” “No,” she said, “it doesn’t. Can we swap jobs?”); he was constantly in and out of meetings—with shipping officers, army quartermaster
s, company COs—preparing transport plans, munitions and supply requirements, temporary accommodation for the floods of troops who’d come to the city if the situation got much worse, ready to sail out.

  There was a shortage of officers, though. With more than a quarter of Indian Army COs on home leave in England, there weren’t enough left to lead the sepoys on the parade grounds, let alone off to war.

  “It’s absurd,” Luke said to Maddy as they sat on his window ledge in the middle of the month, the rain falling in sheets through the black night, hammering the invisible sea. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.…”

  “It won’t affect us, though, will it?” said Maddy, feeling a creeping foreboding that it might. He was in the reserves, after all. First in line for the call if we trip into a war, Peter had once said. The words came back to her coldly. “You won’t have to stay here to lead anyone?” She sat up, turning to face him. “We’ve booked our voyage…”

  “Don’t,” he said. “It hasn’t happened yet. Della’s right, it still might not.”

  “Oh, Luke…”

  “No, seriously. So long as France keeps out of things, we can, too.”

  But France, of course, didn’t keep out of anything.

  In the third week of July, the French president, Poincaré, visited Russia and pledged France’s allegiance in defending Serbia against Austria. Maddy, now starting to dread that war might break out before she and Luke could even be married, thought of little else but how rapidly everything seemed to be running out of control as she went for her final dress fitting at the tiled seamstress’s shop in the basement of the Taj Hotel. Her mother was with her; she’d insisted on coming to all Maddy’s appointments, even though she hadn’t stopped complaining of her stomach, and was looking paler every day. Maddy had, on one of the motor journeys over, finally spoken to her, as she’d promised Luke—and herself—that she would. Mouth dry with sudden apprehension, she’d asked her why she was so averse to visiting Richmond, what had stopped her from coming to Oxford all those years, and—the words rushing from her, voice catching on the relief of letting them free—why she hadn’t come on that first voyage, to take her, Maddy, to Edie and Fitz’s. I think it broke your heart, to send me.