The Last Kashmiri Rose by Barbara Cleverly

Author:Barbara Cleverly [Cleverly, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Police Procedural, ebook
ISBN: 9781616950033
Google: J_zUbH2-fpUC
Amazon: B00OGV0CIY
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2003-02-14T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

THEY SAT FOR a moment in the car on the Governor’s gravelled driveway as Naurung stepped out and opened the door.

‘Beautiful!’ said Joe. ‘Beautiful garden!’

He looked with pleasure on lawns that would not have been out of place in the Thames Valley, trees as old as the British Raj, a broad walk with a double flower border leading to a fountain. In the shade of a distant pavilion on a man-made hillock irrigation channels gurgled.

They stepped out of the car and at once the khansama came forward bowing and salaaming and offered a note on a silver tray. He was known to Nancy who greeted him as an old friend.

‘A note from Uncle,’ said Nancy in surprise and slit it open with her thumb. She read aloud: ‘“Was so looking forward to our evening together and now, instead of spending the evening with you, I’m spending the night in a train on my way back from Delhi. Unable to get away any sooner. See you, therefore, tomorrow morning (my train gets in at half-past ten). ‘“I’ve told them to put a bottle of Niersteiner 1916 on ice for you and there’s a good Château Lafite to go with it. I even made bold to order your dinner but as Bobagee seldom takes any notice of what I say, I won’t attempt to prophesy what will actually appear on the table. But, anyway, have a good evening and I’m sorry I can’t share it with you. Your affect. Uncle.”’

They looked at each other. There was no question but that the same thoughts had occurred to both.

A liveried khitmutgar stood attentively at the head of the stairs and, salaaming from the shadows, the ayah emerged to take Nancy under her wing and bustle her off with much clucking sympathy while the khitmutgar led Joe up a flight of stairs. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nancy disappear up a second flight of stairs and, with ironic amusement, wondered whether Uncle had deliberately sited them a decent distance apart.

To one accustomed to the dak bungalow at Panikhat, the room into which he was shown was a miracle of luxury. Marble floor, marble walls, fretted screen opening on to a wide balcony, a bed that would have slept four, a bath with actual running water and, in place of the top hat-like contrivance he had become used to, a genuine and unmistakable water closet with ‘John Bolding, London’ inscribed on it. The whole set within a mahogany seat in which was recessed an ivory handle inscribed with the words ‘Lift to flush’. On his dressing-table he found a further note which said in a slightly uncertain hand, ‘Dinner will be served at seven hours. This man will show you the way.’ Joe bowed to ‘this man’ who stood in attendance and allowed him to run a bath.

In preparation for his dinner with the Governor, Joe had on his way back up the Chowringhee called into the Army and Navy Stores and bought himself a white mess jacket and a dark blue cummerbund.

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