India Gray: Historical Fiction Boxed Set by Sujata Massey

Author:Sujata Massey [Massey, Sujata]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ikat Press
Published: 2015-11-17T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

JULIAN

Chinsurah

Winter 1924

Father asked what I thought of Calcutta, just as he’d asked about Darjeeling. I huffed out all my breath and said, “I miss it.”

I was done with my bath, and was on the veranda spinning a little wooden top Ayah had given me for my last birthday. She was giving the girls their bath and had told me to speak to my father, because he hadn’t seen much of me since our return.

Father was in his favorite lounge chair and on its arm had balanced next to his gin a plate of sardines on toast, the teatime meal he requested when Mummy wasn’t around. He chewed up a sandwich and then said, “What can you possibly miss about it? Even though I go up for meetings and parties, it’s such a noisy crowded place. I prefer the quiet we have here, watching the Hooghly River flow by.”

“But in Calcutta there are big cinema houses. We saw a film with the actress Veruka. She beat up six men and jumped off a building and onto an elephant’s back. Truly, she did it!”

Two tight lines appeared in the space between Father’s eyes and above his beaky nose. “So you saw your first film?”

“Yes, and we had seats in the middle of everything!” In a rush I described the delicious smells of sandalwood and samosas and coconut coming from the Calcutta people sitting around us, and their laughing and calling out to the screen.

“What did Mummy think?”

“Oh, Mummy wasn’t there. She was Christmas shopping.” With a twist of my fingers, the top went around. And around again, reminding me of the electric round-about in Whiteaway’s, but much faster.

“So Ayah took you.”

“Mmm,” I answered, keeping my eyes on the top.

“She was shopping with Mrs. Marshall?” Father asked. “Did the Marshall children see the film with you and Ayah?”

“Not Mrs. Marshall! She was with that man, I think—”

“What man?” Father carefully set down his glass.

“The brown-haired one from Darjeeling,” I answered, keeping my eyes on the top. “They were happy to meet again. He was following her at Whiteaway’s.”

“Ah, Whiteaway-Laidlaw!” Father said with a chuckle. “He was a floor-walker, I imagine. All the best shops have them.”

“Really?” I clapped as my top teetered to a stop and finally hit the stone floor.

“What else did you do in the city?” Father asked.

“We had fabulous meals—much better than cook makes here. Ayah ordered us the most enormous plates of biryani and bowls of chicken curry and fizzy drinks with drinking straws. And so many ice-creams! Tutti-frutti ice cream is my favorite. What’s yours?”

Ignoring my question, Father said, “Many of the restaurants in Calcutta serve excellent Continental food. Did you try fillet meuniere?”

“Well, for supper we usually had the hotel room service. Another time we went out to eat cakes—”

“You stayed in a hotel? I thought you were at the Marshalls’.”

“No. It was the Grand Hotel. A room for us and Ayah, and just down the hall was Mummy’s friend’s room.” I looked up from my game, because he sounded so strange.

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