Where Earth Meets Sky (23 page)

One night, over dinner, she said, ‘Ewan, whatever must the rest of the servants think, with me eating in here every night? Don’t you worry about them telling your wife?’

The doctor sat back, lighting his pipe, looking contented and well fed.

‘There’s no need to worry, Lily. The only one who has any contact with Muriel is Jane Brown and she won’t breathe a word even if she guesses. She’d be far too wary of upsetting her. She’s a good woman, Jane is, if rather starchy. And you know,’ he sat back, beaming at her across the table, ‘apart from the question of Muriel, whom I obviously don’t want to hurt, I find myself strangely indifferent to the idea of scandal. There’s plenty of all sorts going on in Mussoorie, make no mistake. It’s rather that kind of place. And too many people look for my help for them to condemn me. Blind eyes will be turned, you can be sure.’ He reached across for her hand, speaking with great energy. ‘I just want to
live
, Lily. God, I do. All this time, I feel as if I’ve been buried alive. And then you came along . . .’ He smiled beatifically at her. ‘Say I can come to you tonight, darling! Don’t shut me out, will you?’

He had developed some fiction in his mind that Lily was the one who could decide whether to give or withhold her favours, when she felt now that in fact she had no choice.

‘Whoever’s that?’ Lily heard the gossip as she and Dr McBride swept in through the airy foyer of Mussoorie’s Savoy Hotel. People didn’t even trouble to lower their voices.

‘It’s that creature old McBride’s been seen out and about with. Hadn’t you heard? She’s his housekeeper, I’m told, but my goodness, you can see what he sees in her! Fancy – you wouldn’t have thought he had it in him, would you?’

‘Well! You’d think he might be more discreet. Positively flaunting her! But she really is rather a looker, isn’t she?’

The hotel was buzzing with one of the winter parties, walls festooned with green boughs, bows and baubles and the red glow of poinsettia leaves and holly, fires burning in the hearths, polished cutlery and glasses and crisp white cloths on tables laden with food and drink. Snow had fallen all across the hills outside, blanketing them in magical white and the mornings were bejewelled with icicles hanging from railings and roofs. The air was bitterly cold, breath streaming away white. On bright days the view across the hills was glittering clear, but when the fog came down, filling the valleys, everyone moved along the Mall and through the bazaars like spectres:
jhampanis
and women in saris, bearers with huge loads tied to their backs and mountain people in hats with ear-flaps appearing in silhouette out of the gloom.

It was warm and cosy inside the hotel, and loud with the sound of festive British chatter. Lily took off her wraps and shawls and they were whisked away by a smartly liveried servant.

‘Come along, my dear,’ Dr McBride said, taking Lily’s arm. When they were out together he always seemed to want to be touching her, pulling her arm through his, or holding his hand in close contact with hers. He left no one in any doubt as to what their relationship was. And as they passed through the festive partygoers, soon finding themselves with glasses of sherry in their hands, he was greeted with cordiality but also a certain embarrassed reserve.

‘Evening, McBride!’ a short, whiskery man boomed at him. ‘Nice to see you in circulation again, old man. Been a long time!’

‘I say – Dr McBride!’ This time a thin woman, with a harsh voice and inquisitive face. ‘So glad to see you’re still joining us, with your, er, friend! I don’t believe we’ve been introduced?’

‘This is Miss Lily Waters,’ Dr McBride declared. He gave no other explanation. He knew they had been seen about together already and that the gossip was flying.

‘Didn’t I see the two of you at Kempty Falls a few weeks ago?’ the woman shrilled. ‘How very lovely it is there. So marvellous for an outing.’ Lily had noticed, in all the time they had been out in public, that no one ever mentioned Muriel McBride, as if she and her condition were some kind of dirty and shameful secret.

‘You may indeed have done,’ Dr McBride agreed amiably. They had taken an afternoon out together to the waterfall, a beauty spot outside Mussoorie, in the glowing autumn sunshine, not long after Lily had become Dr McBride’s lover. Since then they had gradually come to be seen out more and more in public.

‘Lovely spot, isn’t it?’ the woman cooed to Lily. ‘And I must congratulate you on your dress, my dear. What a marvellous design. You really are the belle of the ball tonight, I must say!’

Lily could hear the barbed tone of her voice, but she also knew that what the woman said was true. She had seen an entirely different side of the apparently austere doctor emerging. Ewan McBride liked to dress her himself, choosing the highest quality silks and velvets from stores in Mussoorie and Dehra Dun, even ordering items for her from emporia as far away as Bombay and Madras. He did have an eye for colour, and Lily discovered in herself a gift for adorning herself lavishly, flatteringly, which she had never realized before. Among her wardrobe she now had some of the most beautiful handiwork that India could offer, fashioned into European-style gowns: turquoise and gold silk from Benares, rich coloured mirror cloth from Rajasthan for a dress she had worn for the Hindu festival of Diwali – where the doctor had paraded her among the burning lights of scores of oil lamps and the firework display – Kashmiri embroidery and shawls, and dyed raw silks tailored by the best
dirzi
in the area.

Tonight she had on a long, sweeping gown in a rich cranberry and a delicate, cream, hand-embroidered pashmina. She had smoothed her hair up into a pleat and clipped tiny glass beads into it, rather as she had seen Susan Fairford wear hers, and put on Mrs Chappell’s lovely brooch and seed pearls. The jewels glowed against her fresh skin. When she looked at herself in the glass she recognized that her pretty, rounded girlishness had matured into a feminine beauty which took even herself by surprise.

‘Oh, my dear, you look quite out of this world.’ Dr McBride seemed excited when he saw her. He stroked her cheek as if she were a marble statue. ‘Oh, my Lily, you are so beautiful, my dearest child. You really have excelled yourself this time. Come now – are you ready?’

Lily realized that more and more people were starting to recognize her and that she and the doctor were becoming the talk of the town. As they went about the place some were scandalized, some kind, and some a mixture of the two. No one could fail to notice the doctor’s transformation from a crusty old recluse to a cheerful socialite with the most beautiful and stylish woman in the room on his arm.

They were much less sure how to deal with Lily, though. As his consort, she smiled at the doctor’s side, looking gorgeously attractive but being quiet and reserved. All her life she had never welcomed questions about her background or her past. She did not fit into a normal social mould in any case and now they were scandalizing such moulds by her acting blatantly as his mistress. The other women had to decide whether to be envious or to make a friend of her, but the doctor, it seemed, was indifferent.

‘You don’t need to worry,’ he had said one evening as they rode along the moonlit Mall in a rickshaw on the way back from a party. In the distance Lily caught sight of the white peaks, lit by the moon. The doctor was in a relaxed mood after several whiskies. ‘I’ve told you, I have high standing in the town and despite my outraging some of the more, let’s say puritanical types, they’ll just have to accept me. I’ve lived like a dead man long enough. And besides, I’ve attended most of them at their bedsides over the years and they know it. They’re grateful. So you don’t need to be afraid. Why don’t you just tell them about yourself? Come to that, why don’t you tell
me
, to start with?’

‘Oh, Ewan.’ She rested her gloved hand on his and smiled at him. ‘I’ve told you – there’s nothing to say of any note. I’m a vicar’s daughter who became a nanny and came to India. That’s all.’

‘Well,’ he chuckled. ‘You don’t
behave
much like a vicar’s daughter, I must say. Or perhaps you do.’ He nuzzled his face up close to hers, searching out her lips. ‘Perhaps they’re the naughtiest of the lot!’

After he had kissed her he drew back and in the dim light she saw his face harden. ‘You’re not
fast
, are you?’ His tone was nasty. ‘Giving favours to anyone who asks?’

‘
No!
’ she said, appalled. What on earth made him say that? ‘I’m not. You know I’m not!’

‘Well, I hope so. Let’s keep it that way, hm?’ Lily was chilled by the tone of his voice. Every so often he had these little bouts of jealousy over things he imagined she might be doing. They were all in his mind, but she was stung by the way he talked to her.

She stayed at his side throughout the evening, eating some of the Anglo-Indian mix of food: mutton and poached salmon accompanied by chicken pilau and pickles. Lily was the doctor’s decoration: the conversations, the decisions about where in the room they moved or sat, were all his. Sometimes one of the young women who had decided to be friendly would come up and talk to her and Lily found she enjoyed the company, but if Ewan McBride decided to move she would have to cut short her conversation. She had to sit with people he wanted to be with, who were usually older, and she was often bored, but she told herself this was the price she had to pay. It was her job. She had a fine life, lovely clothes and status as a beautiful woman to be looked at. The doctor had told her to cut down on her work in the house, to preserve her energy and keep her hands smooth and soft. She was barely more than his mistress now. But at times she felt terribly lonely and went to the kitchen to talk to Stephen and Prithvi. If it was not for them and Jane Brown her life would have been really very solitary.

She followed the doctor round the room, exchanging pleasantries. The party included some singing of Christmas carols round the piano, led by a plump woman in a crimson dress who was an accomplished player and good at jollying everyone along. The doctor steered Lily into the carousing huddle just as ‘I Saw Three Ships’ was coming to a lusty end with clapping and cries of, ‘Encore!’ and ‘Marvellous. I say, it does make one long for home!’ There was a moment of confusion during which someone pushed in and positioned himself somehow between Lily and the doctor, who had to step aside for politeness sake.

‘How about “Good King Wenceslas”?’ the pianist cried, and everyone joined in enthusiastically, except Lily, who had no idea of the words. She stood among the crowd, the air laced with smoke and whisky fumes, pretending to mouth the carol and hoping no one would notice. But someone did.

‘Would one of these be any help?’ a voice said close to her ear, and she turned to see a fair-haired young man in a well-cut suit smilingly offering her a sheet with some of the words on it and little drawings of bells and holly printed in the corners.

‘Oh – thank you!’ she said, startled. ‘Is it so obvious I don’t know it?’

‘Oh no, not at all,’ he assured her. ‘I suppose I’m just rather good at lip-reading, that’s all! What you’re mouthing doesn’t seem to correspond all that well. Nothing to worry about, though!’

He laughed so merrily that Lily could only join in as the group launched into, ‘
Hither, page, and stand by me . . .
’ ‘Thank you – I don’t happen to know this one.’

She saw a puzzled expression come into his eyes, but he refrained from further comment at this odd gap in her education. One of so many, Lily thought. She had been skivvying for the Horne family instead of going to school.

‘I’m Johnny Barstow,’ he said, holding out his hand.

Lily shook hands, and as she did so, saw the doctor’s gaze swivel towards them.

‘Lily Waters.’

They were almost having to shout above the singing and he drew her aside a little. She saw that he was well built and very sprucely dressed. His jacket fitted beautifully.

‘I’ve seen you about town, I’m sure,’ Johnny said. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Kulri – near the end of Camel’s Back.’

‘Ah yes – a fine spot.’ He was sipping from a glass of something dark and warm and saw her looking. ‘Punch – have you not had some? Here – I’ll snaffle you a glass.’

The two of them moved over to where a waiter was ladling out the hot punch and he handed her a glass. Lily sipped it and found it strong and fruity. It made her cough and Johnny laughed.

‘Not used to that either, eh? Are you long in India?’

She told him a small amount about her time there, about Ambala.

‘Ah yes – good old Umbala,’ he said, pronouncing it the old way. ‘Funny that – I spent a short time there. I’m an engineer – based at Meerut now, though I’m not army. I’m with the railways. But I always like to get up to our lovely Mussoorie whenever I can. Much better than stuffy old Simla. D’you know the place?’

‘Yes,’ Lily said, glad she knew something for once. ‘We used to summer there, from Ambala.’

‘Course, yes. Well, I like it here much better. Very jolly. Tell me – where are you from back home?’

Again, the questions, always questions, Lily thought. How inquisitive people were about each other! She did what she had always done and made up a story.

‘Kent,’ she said firmly. She wasn’t sure why she had fixed so firmly on this version of events. After all, she had only been to Kent once, for her interview with Susan Fairford’s sister, but it had felt a respectable place, far from Birmingham’s industrial grime and her real childhood.