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Authors: Juliet Armstrong

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In ordinary circumstances she would have enjoyed Chawand Rao

s party. He had invited every European of standing within a forty-mile radius of Ghasirabad, and about sixty people were gathered, most of whom, isolated for the greater part of the year in tiny stations, were bent on having a good time. There was general atmosphere of cheerfulness; everyone wanted to explore the club premises, and since the raja had fitted up the place in the most modern English manner—combining Western ideas of comfort with the utmost simplicity in decoration—the stream of praise was continuous. As she moved around piloted by the voluble young Frenchman, she looked covertly around for Roger and the rest of his party but saw nothing of them; and gradually she began to hope that for some reason or other they might not be coming.

It was difficult to get near enough to Chawand Rao to speak, to him. Sumptuously dressed in silks and satins that made him look like some stately caliph from the
Arabian Nights,
he was standing at the top of the drawing room, his aunt, magnificent in a green and gold sari, with the famous emeralds flashing on her breast, close beside him. Around them surged their guests, eager to thank the raja for his generosity and to get a glimpse at close quarters of his wonderful, embroidered coat and jeweled turban, and the old rani

s splendid gems.

At last, helped by Armand, she worked her way through the crowd and was rewarded by a welcoming smile and handshake from Chawand Rao, and a more formal greeting from the old rani.

“This club is partly a present to you, Miss Hantley,” Chawand Rao said, very quietly. “Of all the English community, it is to you that I owe the greatest debt.”

“You

ve more than repaid me, Your Highness.” She looked straight up into his handsome, melancholy face. “I shall never forget your kindnesses.”

He met her eyes, and there was an expression in them now that she could not fathom. “No,” he murmured, this time so softly that no one but she could hear, “our debt to each other is still quite unequal. And yet there may come a day when I ask even more of you.

Startled, she dropped her eyes and moved on to speak to the old rani. But she was feeling so embarrassed now that she scarcely caught a word the old woman was saying, and had the greatest difficulty in framing even the most commonplace remarks about the beauty of the
club premises and the munificence of the raja

s gift.

Nor was her agitation lessened when, in turning back through the throng, she came face to face with Roger. Just for a second they were jammed so close together that she was reminded irresistibly of that moment when they had sheltered in the ruined tomb, and as she remembered the way he had held her and kissed her then, the color swept up into her face.

Whether his thoughts were traveling in the same
d
irection she could not tell: she only knew that she could feel the violent beating of his heart as he tried vainly to give her room to pass. And then she heard Armand

s cheerful
,
possessive voice, “This way, Stella—hang onto my hand.”

A movement in the crowd made it possible for her to step aside and follow Armand, but her flush deepened as she did so, and she could almost have cried with vexation. Roger would feel more certain than ever now that she and Armand had some sort of an understanding. He would imagine that it was on this account that she was blushing so stupidly. And though it was unreasonable to care what he thought, the idea that he supposed her to be in love with Armand made her feel thoroughly miserable and on edge.

If only I hadn

t been forced into coming to this horrible party,
she thought, poised between anger and tears.
It

s not fair that I should be tortured like this.
But her troubles, she found, were not yet over; for as soon as she and Armand got free of the crowd, they ran into Allegra standing with a middle-aged man and woman and had to undergo a formal introduction to Sir Cradwell and Lady Glydd.

At the sight of them Stella

s heart missed a beat. She had an unusual memory for faces and recognized them instantly as having been in the court with Allegra

s parents on more than one day of that ghastly case. But it was plain at once that they had no recollection of having seen her before. Sir Cradwell stuck his monocle more firmly in position and regarded her with considerably more cordiality than was absolutely necessary; while Lady Glydd, perceiving this, observed in clear high-pitched tones, “Let me see now, you

re this clever young nurse we

ve all been hearing about, aren

t you? So wonderful of you to work so hard—in this climate, too. How
do
you do it?” And without waiting for any reply to this purely rhetorical question, she smiled and nodded and moved on.

“Raddled old corpse! I wonder she

s not afraid of being mistaken for a xylophone in that backless gown?” Armand stared after her indignantly.

Someone ought to pop her into a shroud and give her decent burial. And would I come to the memorial service? You bet—and laugh myself hoarse.

“Armand—she might have heard!” Stella was genuinely shocked at his outburst.


I wish she had!” He was grinning broadly now. “I

m not big and brawny like—well, some people! But if anyone tries being nasty to you while I

m around, they

re going to be made very uncomfortable. Two can play at the tongue game, and I

m quite unhampered with scruples.”

“I

d rather not have that sort of defense,” she told him coldly. “You

re a gentleman, not a guttersnipe, and—”

“My dear, I

m a nice mixture of both,” he assured her genially. “Just as you, for your part, are a nice mixture of angel and devil! And now—suppose you stop scowling and dance with me.”

Already in the dining room, which had been cleared for the purpose, a few couples were waltzing to the music coming from a big record player, and though Stella was in no mood for dancing, she let Armand lead her onto the floor.

If we

re dancing,
she thought irritably,
he won

t be able to talk so much.
And
wondering why she found him particularly exasperating this evening came to the conclusion that it was because he was behaving in so possessive a manner

almost, she felt, as though they were sharing a secret.

Before long the room began to fill up, and after a while Armand, mopping his forehead with a brilliantly colored silk handkerchief, asked her if she would prefer to sit in the bar for a little while.

Not caring either way, she gave him a vague, “Just as you like,” and strolled out of the room with him. But when, reaching the attractive cream-and-chromium bar, she saw Roger and the Glydds sitting there, she stopped short and asked him hurriedly if they could find some other spot in which to cool down.

“Of course.” Not by a flicker of
an eyelid did he show surprise. “We

ll go and sit out in my car. I have a couple of good thick rugs, so we won

t be cold.”

She hesitated but already he was moving toward the entrance; and rather than stop him and engage in an argument, she hurried to get
her wrap and followed him out.

The air was crisp—no hint in it yet of the burning hot weather that was to come—and the sky was a sapphire bowl encrusted with silver stars. A faint tang of wood smoke mingled with the exotic spicy scents she had come to associate with this land of India; and the muted strains of music, combined with the soft radiance streaming from the long windows, completed a scene of almost theatrical beauty. It was a night, she reflected bitterly, for lovers to walk and talk together. Yet here she was in the company of someone who meant almost nothing to her, while fifty yards away the man she loved, and who loved her in return, was making polite conversation with the girl who, though he little knew it, was the direct cause of his unhappiness.

They found the car without difficulty, for Armand had parked it in a little space some way from the others; and though it was a shabby affair compared with some of the big Daimlers and Sunbeams, Armand was soon making her cozy with cushions and a fleecy rug.

“I

m not having you catch cold,” he said, and again there was that oddly confident ring in his voice. “You

re much too precious a person.”

“You

re absurd,” she said lightly, resolutely disregarding his disturbing change of manner. “The whole idea of coming out here was to cool down.”

“Was it, darling?” He laughed under his breath. “Could anyone remain cool very long when they

re with you?
C

est impossible
!”

“For goodness

sake, Armand, don

t begin any of that nonsense.” Her voice was coldly reproachful. “You promised, when you asked if you might bring me to this party, that you wouldn

t be—well, silly
!”

“Maybe,” he returned jubilantly, “but you can

t deny that things have changed since then and that I

ve justification for—”

“What on earth has come over you, Armand?” She was looking at him in astonishment. “Are you trying to tell me that you really have inherited a fortune?”

“Stop playing the coquette, darling.” He slipped an arm
around her waist. “Do you want me to embark on elaborate phrases—declaim to the stars that your love is a fortune in itself?”

“My dear Armand, you must be crazy! All I want at the moment is for you to remove your arm and explain why you are behaving in this extraordinary manner.”

“And all I want,” he exclaimed, laughing softly again, “is to kiss and kiss you until you drop this pose of coldness and confess to me what you

ve already admitted to other people—that you love me the way I love you.”

“It

s not true,” she began vehemently.

“It is,” he retorted triumphantly, “and you shall confess it.” His lips were brushing her throat. “Darling it

s a miracle that anyone so lovely, so perfect as you should have come to care for an obscure nobody like me. But I

ll make you happy, I swear I will.”

She struggled desperately to free herself from his grasp. “You

ve got it all wrong, Armand. Stop kissing me like this. You must listen to me.”

“You

re cruel, Stella! Snatching the cup away from a man who

s dying of thirst!” But in spite of his passionate words he loosened his grip on her and sat back, breathing heavily, asking, after a moment, in a steadier tone, “Well—and what is it that I have to hear.”

“That it

s all a mistake, your imagining that I

m in love with you.” And then her voice grew gentler. “I

m horribly sorry, Armand. I wouldn

t have had this happen for the world. I genuinely like you, and the thought of hurting you—”

“But, Stella, I was told quite definitely—no question of hints or anything like that—that you had actually spoken to other people of being in love with me.” His face, in the starlight, was white with misery and bewilderment.

“Then you were told a lie.” Her distress matched his own. “It

s a wicked shame, but perhaps if you tell me who the culprit was—”

“It was that Glydd girl.” He gave the answer without the slightest hesitation. “She seemed so absolutely certain, I couldn

t help believing her; though perhaps if I hadn

t been so eager to believe it—”

He broke off, turning his face away, and Stella, torn between fury against Allegra and pity for this man whom she had been obliged to humiliate so cruelly, laid a timid hand on his arm.

“Armand, I

m so frightfully sorry. I shall never forgive Allegra for what she

s done. It

s sheer misery to me to have to wound you like this—”

“You darling!” All the passion was gone from his voice, and he sounded utterly weary. “I shall never bear you the least ill will for anything you

ve said to me tonight. I shall just shrug my shoulders and tell myself that it was too much of a miracle, after all: that an angel like you could never have stooped to such a worthless fellow as myself. For I

m not up to your standards in any way, Stella—and I know it.”

She shook her head at that. “Don

t put me on a pedestal, Armand. I

m just as full of faults and weaknesses as any other woman. I only wish I was in love with you, but hearts are wayward things.”

A silence fell between them then, and after a little while Armand said quietly, “Do you mind leaving me here for a few minutes, Stella? I

ve had a bit of a blow, and I want to pull myself together.”

BOOK: Nurse in India
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