Daughters of India by Jill McGivering

Author:Jill McGivering [Jill McGivering]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780749021870
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2017-09-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

Isabel stepped down the gangway onto Port Blair’s teeming waterfront. Her clothes were tattered and crumpled, her hair filthy. She hailed a tonga to the house.

Singh lazed on the ground, smoking with Cook. His mouth gaped. He jumped up, squashed out the remains of his bidi and rushed forward to greet her.

‘Madam.’ He led her up the staircase to the upper storey. The wooden stairs felt grand after the rickety ladders of the Mission. ‘Hot water, madam, for bathing?’

‘And some chai, please, Singh.’

Isabel sat with her china cup and saucer and silver teapot and looked out over the ordered flower beds, coconut palms and the jungle creepers stretching away up the hillside. It seemed very tame to her now. In the distance, a gramophone played a jazz tune. When she was last here, Edward had been with her. It seemed a very long time ago.

She thought of poor James who had been thrust into the darkness to meet the ghosts of his ancestors and emerged transformed. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the edge of the chair, overcome by a feeling of exhaustion and of emptiness.

Below, on the road, a car horn blared. She awoke in confusion, uncertain for a moment where she was. Her mouth was parched and her neck stiff. When she opened her eyes, they fell on Jonathan. He sat across from her, one leg crossed over the other, a gin tonic in his hand. She looked down at the table between them. The tea tray had been cleared. Beyond, the sun was low and the light tangled in the coconut trees was yellow.

‘I suppose I should say welcome home.’ He studied her with the coolness of a cat. ‘You look different.’

‘Do I?’

He continued to scrutinise her. ‘Sunburnt, of course, but more than that.’

She shrugged, looked away. She was different. After all she had seen, all she had lost, she was no longer afraid. ‘We need to talk, Jonathan.’

‘I won’t divorce you. Do as you please, but keep it quiet.’

She wondered how long he had sat there in his chair, watching her. ‘You want me to stay?’

‘Yes. Play the part.’ He got to his feet, set down his empty glass and crossed to lean against the balcony rail.

She looked at him with an odd sense of detachment. He was her husband and yet a stranger. If she left him and returned to Delhi, she would be a long way from Car Nicobar and Edward and the disgrace would ruin her parents.

‘Leave the boy alone, Jonathan.’ She thought of Bimal’s red eyes. ‘He’s too young.’

He shrugged. ‘He’s old enough.’

The darkness deepened. In the trees, birds shrieked as they wheeled through the dusk and settled along the branches. Clouds of insects hung above the rail.

Singh stepped onto the balcony, set a mosquito coil on the table and lit it. The smoke rose and dispersed, bringing bitterness to the evening air.

He picked up Jonathan’s empty glass and paused.

‘Another gin tonic.’ Jonathan looked across at her. ‘And for you, my dear?’

‘Nothing, thank you.

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