Dishonored (19 page)

“Yes, memsahib, certainly.”

“Oh and some yogurt, please, DhaniRam.”

Jane smiled again. “Thank you.” She waited for the bearer to move out of earshot then said, “And how are you, Jane? Fine thank
you, Phillip. Did you sleep well? Yes, very well, despite the heat. It shows, my dear, you look most refreshed this morning.
Why, thank you.”

Phillip lowered the paper. “Have you finished?”

“Yes, I think so.” Jane drummed her fingertips on the table and stared out at the gardens in brilliant sunshine.

“So, what are you up to today, Janey?” Phillip folded away
The Times
and poured himself a second coffee. He didn’t want another day to get off to a bad start.

Jane turned. “I thought I might cycle up to the Kali Temple, on the road out to Chittawar; Dr. Yadav recommended it. He said
it’s terribly cool there, all leafy and shady. I thought I’d do some sketching.”

“Are you going alone?” This was a thinly veiled reference to Ramesh Rai. He had called in several times over the past ten
days but Jane seemed to keep missing him. His persistence annoyed Phillip; he didn’t want his wife friendly with Indians.

“Yes. I’ve asked DhaniRam to pack me some lunch, I thought I’d make a day of it, get some good work done.”

Phillip nodded but said nothing. He didn’t understand Jane’s need to be busy, he thought she should be at the club, playing
bridge, having lunch, getting to know the other wives. That’s what upper-class English women did, for God’s sake.

The bearer arrived with Jane’s breakfast and Phillip clicked his fingers and motioned for his place to be cleared. Jane bent
her head and concentrated on her fruit, embarrassed by the way he handled the servants. Phillip lit a cigarette.

“I’ll be in late tonight,” he said, blowing smoke away from the table.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’ve got a meeting that’ll probably go on late. Go ahead and eat without me if you like.”

Jane tucked her hair behind her ear. She hated eating alone but was getting pretty used to it. “How late’s late?”

Phillip shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette. “I’ll ring you,” he said, standing, “from the office, let you know.” He drank
the last of his coffee and reached for his jacket on the back of the chair. He wore one of his several linen suits, as always
immaculately kept, perfectly wrinkled in the right places, tortoiseshell buttons and a knife-edge crease along the trousers.
He arranged his panama exactly on his head, tipping it forward slightly and tightened the knot on his tie. Jane saw this every
morning but she still couldn’t get used to it, the constant attention to his every personal detail. He came around the table
and kissed her.

“Bye, darling. Have a good day.”

“Yes, bye, Phillip.”

He picked up his briefcase. “You know you ought to pop down to the gymkhana club one of these days, have a swim, get to know
one or two of the other girls out here.”

Jane nodded.

“Right, good. I’ll get one of the chaps’ wives to ring you then, Marjorie maybe or Phyllis.” He turned and, waving without
looking at her, he walked into the house, whistling as he went.

Jane rolled her eyes and plopped an ice-cold piece of melon into her mouth. The club, she thought, how awful. She listened
to the noises of her husband’s departure and breathed a sigh of relief when he finally left the house and the peaceful silence
was resumed. Recently, she realized, looking out at the garden, she had begun to tire of Phillip and his typically English
mannerisms. Only slightly of course, she told herself firmly as she sipped her tea, and everyone tired of their spouse on
occasions, didn’t they? It couldn’t be a honeymoon forever after all, could it? And she turned away from the dazzling sunshine,
went on with her breakfast, enjoying every mouthful, and thinking about the day ahead—hardly aware of the fact that Phillip
had completely gone from her mind.

It took Jane quite some time to cycle out to the Kali Temple, far longer than she had expected It turned out to be a fair
distance from the city, something she hadn’t realized from the map, and in the heat and sun it had taken a great deal of effort.
She followed the directions that Dr. Yadav had given her, coming off the main road at the crossroads after the small village
of Dwalior and heading for the forest area in the distance. The landscape was flat and bordered by patches of scrub that every
now and then led into clumps of forest. The dark air looked so cool and inviting there that Jane was tempted to abandon her
goal and lie down for a while in the tent of the cool green. But she cycled on.

Jane had been drawing most days since she arrived in Baijur. She was unused to doing nothing and the first few days had seemed
to stretch forever in front of her, leaving her feeling rather hopeless, at a loss with herself. On the third day in the bungalow
on her own, she fetched her bag, took out her water-colors and set off into the city. She spent hours drawing, totally absorbed
in the color and movement of Baijur, fascinated by a city that seemed perpetually in motion. And from that day on there was
no going back—Jane had found herself something to do.

Finally approaching the huge area of forest, Jane jumped off her bicycle and wheeled it to a lump of stone, propping it up
and leaving it there. She took her things from the basket, slung her bags over her shoulder and dug in the pocket of her skirt
for Bodi’s map. The temple was half a mile into the undergrowth, it was marked by boulders of pale yellow carved sandstone
and he had told her that she would find it perfectly easily if she followed these. That was exactly what she intended to do.
Taking off her sunglasses, she walked forward, pushed back the branches of a jacaranda tree and started for the temple.

Fifteen minutes later, Jane found the last boulder. She had walked slowly, unnerved by the dark airlessness of the forest,
frightened by its silence, punctuated every now and then by a scuttling or rustle, the sharp cry of a bird. She jumped at
every sound, her heart thumping in her chest, and found herself sweating far more than she did in the heat of the sun. The
trail she had followed was thin, roughly cut through the undergrowth and she had stumbled several times. Finally, when it
opened out into a definite path, wide enough to walk easily, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God for that,” she murmured
under her breath and, brushing back a thick, heavy palm, she stepped into a clearing. Suddenly, behind her a branch cracked
underfoot. “My God!” She gripped the branch she was holding and stood frozen to the spot. She heard footsteps.

“Jane? Jane Mills?’

She swung around. “Oh my God! Rami! Thank goodness!” Jane put her hand up to her chest, her heart was pounding so hard that
she could feel it through the thin cotton of her shirt. “Jesus! You scared me half to death!” She laughed nervously.

“Come,” Rami held his hand out and Jane took it. He led her into the clearing and the brilliant white sunlight. Jane covered
her eyes for a moment, blinded by the light.

“Are you all right, Jane?”

“Yes! Yes of course.” She removed her hand and felt in her bag for her sunglasses, slipping them on. “Sorry, it’s just that
I got a bit spooked, walking up here.”

“Spooked?”

“Yes! Nervous. It was so dark and creepy.”

“You shouldn’t really be here on your own, you know.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not dangerous or anything but it’s…” Rami shrugged.

“It’s what?”

“It’s very isolated, too far away.”

Jane smiled; he looked so concerned. “I didn’t realize when I cycled here. I thought it was much nearer.” She dropped her
bags down on the ground. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Rami turned away and walked across to where he had spread a rug and some of his things. He knelt and began packing them into
a bag.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

He glanced up at her and smiled. “No, really. I, erm…” He held up a cloth-covered book. “I come here sometimes, for the
solitude. I write my verse here.”

“Verse? You write poetry?”

Rami laughed. “Don’t look so shocked, Jane Mills!” He came across to her. “It’s nothing special, just a bit of relaxation.”

“I see.”

“What about you? Are you sightseeing? This is one of Bodi’s favorite places, I expect he told you to come here.”

“Yes! Yes, he did! Do you know Dr. Yadav?”

“I know Dr. Yadav very well, all my life in fact He has been…” Rami stopped. Jane looked up at him. “He has been the
half of my grandfather that Shiva is not,” he finished and Jane frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

“No.” Rami tucked his book into the pocket of his
churidar
. “Nor do I.” He sighed. “My grandfather finds it very hard to treat me as a grandson, Jane. Bodi has loved me unconditionally
since the day I was born.” He didn’t feel any need to explain, but he wanted to. “He’s my mother’s uncle and he’s been like
a father to me.”

The small frown across Jane’s forehead disappeared and she smiled. “You’re very lucky.”

“Yes, I think I am.” Rami could not resist her smile. It was a clear, honest smile, not coy or calculating; it showed her
happiness, as simple as that. He smiled back. He had never said anything so intimate about his family before but he didn’t
regret it. “So why are you here? You didn’t answer me.

“I came to sketch.”

He glanced down at the bags. “Hence the luggage.”

“Yes, hence the luggage.”

“Well…” Rami shrugged and walked back to his spot. “I shall leave you alone, then.” He began rolling the rug.

“Rami, please.” Jane took off her sunglasses. “Please don’t let me drive you away.” She walked over to him. “Can you work
with me here?”

He stared up at her. She was so tall, almost his height, and the shape of her long slim thighs was visible through the cotton
of her skirt with the sun behind her. Rami looked away, suddenly surprised at his response to her. “I don’t think… ”

“Oh please!” she interrupted. “I shall feel awful if you leave because of me.”

He let go of the rug and it unraveled itself. “All right. I will stay.”

Jane grinned. “And I will sit miles away from you and not say a word.” She went to her bags and began to unpack her paints.

Within minutes she had set up her easel and small stool and, adjusting her hat, she sat down to start.

“Not a word,” Rami called. “You promised!”

She dipped her brush into her water and flicked it across the space at him. “Not a word,” she replied and they both laughed.

Toward the end of the morning, Jane sat back and looked at what she had done. She always painted very close to the paper and
found she could only properly judge if she stood and took several paces back. She got to her feet, her legs aching, and stepped
back. She had taken a corner of the temple, set against the backdrop of the forest, and painted the carvings in exquisite
detail. The colors were pinks and greens and azure blue, the sandstone, the trees and the sky.

“Have you finished?”

Jane started. True to her word, she had not said a thing for nearly three hours. She had been so absorbed in the work that
she had forgotten Rami was there. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“May I see?”

“Yes, of course.” Jane turned away and busied herself washing her brushes and tidying her paints as Rami came across to the
painting.

He stood and stared for quite some time. Then he said, “Jane, it’s beautiful.”

She looked up and smiled. For some peculiar reason his opinion was tremendously important to her. “Thank you.” She straightened
and wiped her hands on her apron. “I have some lunch,” she said. “Would you like to share it?”

“I would love to share it but I am afraid that I have lunch with my grandfather, Jane.” He remained standing in front of the
picture. “Jane?” He turned. “I hope you don’t mind me asking but would you be interested in selling this painting?”

Jane came to stand next to him. “I don’t mind you asking but I’m sorry, I don’t sell my paintings.”

He smiled. “No, I didn’t think you would.” He walked back to the rug. “Ah well.” He shrugged. “I must go,” he said and bending,
he packed everything away. “Perhaps you might like to come sightseeing with me one afternoon, Jane,” he said as he strapped
his things together, ready to attach to his bicycle. “I did call a few times but I seem to have…”

“I know,” Jane interrupted. “I’ve been out a lot, drawing.” She imagined Phillip’s tutting disapproval. “I’m very busy,” she
said.

“Yes, of course.”

Rami walked back to her and held out his hand. “It was nice to see you, Jane.”

Jane took his hand, the long, smooth, brown fingers cool to touch. Phillip wasn’t the only reason for her excuse, she knew
that. “It was nice to see you too, Rami,” she answered. “Cycle carefully.”

He smiled and hitched his things up on to his shoulder. “Goodbye!” he called as he strode off. He glanced over his shoulder
at her and waved, then he disappeared off into the undergrowth.

* * *

An hour later, Shiva and Ramesh Rai stood on the intricate and delicate mosaic floor of the anteroom in the Lake Palace and
waited for Vikram Singh, the Maharajah of Baijur. A cool breeze blew across the water and in through the open fretwork of
the windows; in the lily pools it gently rocked the flowers and sent tiny ripples across the still, calm ponds. Ramesh thought
about Jane, about how much she would love the beauty of this palace; he wondered what she was sketching now at the Kali Temple
and what she was having for her lunch. He heard his grandfather cough and glanced up.

“You are someplace else, I think, Ramesh,” Shiva said.

“I am sorry,” Rami looked away from his grandfather’s harsh, penetrating stare.

“No matter, here is the maharajah!” Rami turned back in time to see his grandfather’s face change, the smile, the warmth that
suddenly appeared and he resented it.

“Shivaji! And Rami!” The maharajah, smartly dressed and relaxed, broke off talking with one of the royal officials and walked
toward them. He was smiling broadly.