Victoria Holt by The India Fan

Author:The India Fan [Fan, The India]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

The Approaching Storm

There was bustle the next morning. I was accustomed now to these arrivals in port. People seemed to change their personalities and it was almost as though those who had been close friends for weeks now slipped back into the role of strangers. One realized that what had appeared to be a deep friendship was only a pleasant but passing acquaintance.

Poor Alice! She was aware of this, but she was a brave and sensible woman. She would never admit that she had allowed herself to entertain warm feelings toward a man whom she might never see again.

And there we were on that crowded quay.

One of the officials from the dock approached us and asked if we were Miss Delany and Miss Philwright. If so, there was a carriage waiting to take us to our destination. A few paces behind him was a most dignified Indian in a white puggaree and a long blue shirt over baggy white trousers. He ignored the official and bowed low.

“You Missie Delany?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied eagerly.

“I come for you and Missie Nannie.”

“Oh yes…yes…”

“Follow please.”

We followed our impressive leader as he shouted orders to two coolies who appeared to be part of his entourage.

“Coolie bring bags…Missie follow,” we were told.

And we felt that we were well and truly being treated like honored arrivals.

A carriage was waiting. It was drawn by two gray horses, standing patiently in the care of another coolie.

Tom Keeping left us there, having more or less handed us over. I noticed that he held Alice’s hand firmly and seemed reluctant to let it go. I watched her smile at him unflinchingly. I liked Alice more and more as I began to know her better.

We were helped into the carriage by our gracious protector; our hand luggage was passed to us and we understood that our main baggage would be delivered in due course. Such was the outstanding presence of our man that we were confident everything would be in order.

The memory of that drive stays with me still. I suppose it was because it was my first glimpse of India.

The heat beat down on us. There were people everywhere—noisy, colorful. It was quite unlike anything I had ever seen before. Small boys seemed to be darting all over the streets. I thought we would run some of them down, but our driver skillfully avoided them, although on one occasion he shouted something that sounded like a string of curses and the miscreant turned and gave him a look of intense dismay which I was not sure was due to his narrow escape or to the awfulness of the curses.

How colorful were those streets—the buildings white and dazzling and very grand; and in the side streets, of which we had a fleeting glimpse, the contrast of dark little hovels and people squatting on the pavements…poor old men who seemed nothing but rags and bones, little children naked save for a loincloth, searching in the gutters…for food, I imagined. I was to

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