“Veronica Lake hairstyle, blonde and over one side of the face. His real name is Walter, Walter Lake. Then people started saying he had a real Veronica Lake hairstyle and before he knew it, it was shortened to Ronnie. He is a dear, Liz, and such a good friend.” Liz wanted to know what he did for a living. “He is an artist, not at all bad actually. One or two exhibitions, he just about survives off his work, but as things so often go. He has had an unhappy time lately. His partner died, and when he heard I was coming to see you he asked if he could come too. You don’t mind do you, Liz?”
“Sweetie, of course, I don’t mind – the more the merrier. I have so many staff looking after me it will be good for them all to work a little harder! I have invited friends to join us for dinner tonight. The general manager of the Taj Hotel and his wife. They have become very dear friends.”
The girls talked for a while longer and then noticing her sister trying to stifle a yawn she stood up, kissed her sister on the forehead and suggested she had a rest and later she could shower and dress and come down around seven p.m. “I will ask Aarav to make dinner for seven-thirty giving us time to have a cocktail first.”
Liz phoned the hotel and told Vihaan to arrive at seven rather than six-thirty which had been the original plan. Feeling everything was now in place, Liz went to her bedroom and sat at her favourite spot, breathing in the cooling evening air. The sun had started its journey towards the sea and despite the mosquito screen she revelled in the ever spectacular beauty of the sunset. Life felt good. She had her household. She had Ashok and Nina. She had her sister and Ronnie staying with her, and dear friends coming to dinner. All seemed right with the world…
chapter 9
It was while Kathy was staying with her that Liz thought she had another family of kittens in the garden. The original quartet now acted as if they owned the place. Mother Cat, as she was known, had been spayed and as soon as they were old enough Liz planned to have the kittens spayed too. She didn’t want to part with them, but equally, she had no desire to be over-run with cats. The black kitten, who had surprisingly blue eyes, was unsurprisingly called Blue. The black and white one, a female, was named Dotty, and the smallest, and Liz’s personal favourite, the pale ginger who had incredible rings of deeper ginger going up its legs like bangles. She called him Little Kat and he followed her everywhere. He seemed to sense her moods and when to play and when to lie still on her lap, lifting his head at intervals to look at her with his tiger eyes.
“My little tiger,” she would say caressingly, and he would purr profusely. Kathy was amazed.
“You don’t even like cats, Liz.” Liz laughed. She didn’t “before”, and she didn’t like cats in general, but these, her cat family, were like her children.
The first dinner party had gone well. Ronnie in his languid way had a knack of saying the most priceless things. Liz was already growing extremely fond of him and could quite see why Kathy valued his friendship.
It would soon be time for Kathy to return to England. She had been booked for a catalogue shoot for an Italian company based on Lake Como, which she thought would be quite fun as well as lucrative. Ronnie, on the other hand, seemed to have quite settled in.
Every morning Liz wrote, Ronnie painted and Kathy went out with Ashok in the car. She was, Liz told her, very brave. Kathy enjoyed the experience though, heart-stopping though it was at times. Ashok seemed to gain in confidence and, at Kathy’s importuning, he applied to take his test. Indian tradition allowed for family and friends to be in the car during the test and Ashok asked Kathy to sit in the back. Nina had said she would scream all the time, so Kathy, with some misgivings, agreed.
To Liz’s amazement, Ashok passed his test and was now a fully accredited driver! Liz was nothing like as confident as Kathy about his driving ability, though Kathy assured her sister that Ashok had improved radically.
Ronnie sought his hostess out, three days before they were due to leave. “Liz, dear Liz,” he began. “Can I ask the most enormous favour? Can I possibly stay on for a little while longer? I feel inspired here, the light is so wonderful, I am painting better than ever,” he paused. Liz smiled happily. She had been dreading the thought of them both leaving, now, although she would miss Kathy dreadfully, she would enjoy having Ronnie around. He was such good company.
So, with Ashok driving, Liz and Ronnie went to see Kathy off. There were tears from both sisters and Kathy promised she would phone as soon as she was home. She had agreed to put Liz’s house up for rent through Savills and arrange for certain items to be stored.
It was good to have Ronnie with her on the homeward journey and, while Ashok was putting the car in the refurbished garage at the end of the drive, Ronnie disappeared to walk on the beach and Liz wandered aimlessly around the garden, snapping off dead flower heads as she saw new shoots where major cutbacks had taken place. It was then she heard the mew. Drat, she thought. I really do not want more cats. She followed the sound and saw a small bundle of something tucked under a branch. Not much protection against the sun, she thought. Silly cat. She pulled away a scrap of material, and there, naked to the world, was a tiny baby girl, her face screwed up with crying. Liz ran to the gate and looked up and down the road. No one, nothing. She went back to the baby and gingerly picked her up, scared she might hurt her. The baby stopped crying and opened its eyes in surprise. Liz felt her heart miss a beat, she had never seen so young a child perhaps almost a newborn she wondered.
She kicked the front door with her foot, not having a free hand to open it. Anjali opened it almost immediately. “Oh, Madame O’Malley what have you got there?”
“A baby,” Liz answered simply. “Do you think it has been abandoned? I found it, her,” she corrected herself. “In the front garden by the tree near the gate.”
“I will ring the police,” Anjali said. “Not,” she added darkly, “as if they will do anything. “We could ring the orphanage in Panaji too, they are quite good.”
“What will happen to her?” Liz asked.
“They are quite good. The children are cared for and educated.” Liz held the baby closer.
“She can’t go to an orphanage.”
“But you can’t look after her.” As Anjali spoke, Liz knew, for sure, that she could, and she would. For now though, they must notify the police, borrow some clothes and things from Nina and Ashok and work out a place for the baby to sleep.
The police came and were surprisingly helpful, delighted that Madame was happy to keep an unwanted baby, particularly as it was a girl. They promised to make enquiries and contact the local hospital. Anjali made it clear that she did not hold out much hope. “Please Madame O’Malley, please take her to the orphanage. Really, she will be fine there.”
Looking at Liz’s determined expression, she shrugged and went away, muttering as she did, that the British were a strange race. Liz was left holding a rather damp baby and was wondering what now, when Nina arrived and, as far as Liz was concerned, “saved the day”. She rigged up a sari hammock and fetched a couple of cotton tops. She looked askance at Liz at the mention of nappies and suggested that Liz could lie the baby on towels in the sari hammock.
That night Liz hardly dared to close her eyes. The constant little snuffling noises from her dressing room where Nina had managed to hang the hammock between a cupboard handle and a chair, necessitated her making frequent forays to see if everything was alright with her new charge. She had sent Ashok to the market to buy baby milk and nappies, so at least temporarily the baby was fed and dry.
Nina could hardly believe the nappies when she saw them. She’d heard of them, but not one person she knew had ever used them. By the next morning, Liz realised she needed help. Leaving the baby sleeping blissfully after her early morning bottle, she made her way to the kitchen.
Anjali was having her breakfast of fresh fruit and yoghurt. She stood the moment Liz walked in. “Please sit down, Anjali. I need yo
ur advice.” For a few moments, the two women faced each other across the table.
Gradually the stony-faced Anjali mellowed. “Of course, I’ll try and find someone to help with the girl, but – and I know it is none of my business – I think you are being very foolish. Wait and see,” she warned. “Wait and see. Babies will be dropped here all the time once they know you are a soft touch.”
Liz felt a moment’s panic – then her heart beat faster. She knew, calmly and for certain, that this was what was to happen. She wanted to look after abandoned babies. There was still plenty of space on the top floor for a nursery. Then when they got bigger she would build a school, just a small one, in the garden. It would not be an orphanage, it would be a home, a real home for children who nobody wanted.
chapter 10
Kathy was horrified. Liz had telephoned and told her the bizarre plan. She telephoned Ronnie. “I’m desperate Ronnie,” she wailed, repeating what Liz had told her. “Please Ronnie, will you try and knock some sense into my sister’s head? You know I can’t come over, I’m off for the Milan fashion week, then Paris.” The silence unnerved her. “Ronnie, are you there?”
“Just thinking, darling. Just thinking.” Ronnie had been so caught up in a painting project for one of the clients at the Taj Hotel that he had not really been fully aware of what had taken place in the Villa O’Mal in the last twenty-four hours. “I will offer my moral support.”
Kathy gave a frustrated groan. “Just stop her, stop the whole thing,” she said urgently. Ronnie said a few placatory things and hung up, feeling worried about what he was getting drawn in to. For the first time, he rather regretted not returning to England with Kathy.
Liz was glad to see Ronnie. He would, she felt sure, be supportive. Apart from Nina, everyone else seemed against her at the moment. She now had a cot, and her dressing room had become the temporary nursery. Bernadette, an eighteen-year-old Christian girl who had spent most of her life in an orphanage, was due to start caring for the baby the following day.
Anjali, as good as her word, had been to see the Roman Catholic priest who had contacted the nuns for a recommendation for a nursery nurse. Bernadette had been helping with the babies and smaller children for some time now and Liz was impressed with her quiet presence and the way she had held the baby when she met her. Not officially trained, she was, in Liz’s opinion, a real “find”.
Ronnie was happy that the atmosphere was calm again with a gurgling baby holding court and the pretty Indian girl doing a great job as a nursery maid. He immediately ordered a pram from Mumbai and arranged for it to be delivered.
Life settled into a new pattern, with Ronnie continuing to paint local scenes around the villa and the beach. Concerned that he might be overstaying his welcome, he invited Liz out to dinner. “Ronnie,” she replied in response to his query. “I love having you here, we all do, please stay as long as you want. The chef loves having another mouth to feed. The staff are fascinated by your paintings of scenes they know so well but hadn’t really noticed until they looked at pictures you painted of them. And I, well, enjoy your company and I can continue to spend several hours a day writing.”
Ronnie tipped his head back and laughed. “Darling Liz, what a compatible pair we are. What a pity I’m gay!”
“I agree,” Liz said, smiling broadly. He was indeed a great friend to have. “Please stay as long as you want Ronnie.”
“Thanks, Liz – but kick me out if I become a bore or a nuisance.” She inclined her head slightly as if to acquiesce, smiling as she did.
Little Marie, the baby, was thriving, and before long, and inevitably, baby number two appeared on the scene. Anjali was horrified, Nina was delighted. Liz was constantly surprised by Nina, she had changed almost beyond recognition. The shy young woman was now confident and assured. She was a quick learner and, under Anjali’s tutelage, had learned how the villa ran on such well-oiled wheels. She had also persuaded Aarav to show her the mysteries of a modern kitchen and her days of squatting over a small fire whilst cooking were becoming a distant memory.
Nina had also developed a flair for desserts. Aarav enjoyed having a pupil and, rather than guard his chef’s secrets, he generously shared them with Nina.
Bernadette looked after the two little girls Marie and Therese and Liz found she was able to maintain her writing schedule of three to four hours every morning.
The big, square envelope addressed to Ronnie arrived some weeks later. Liz handed it to him as they ate their lunch on the terrace overlooking the gardens and sea. Mystified, Ronnie turned it over. “I wonder who is writing to me?” he said curiously. Liz was equally curious.
“Don’t keep us both in suspense!” she laughed. “I want to know too.” He opened the envelope and took out a square card. Liz saw the gold crest. “Goodness Ronnie, that looks impressive.”
Ronnie was reading a short letter that accompanied the card. He was smiling and a slight flush covered his face. He folded the letter and slipped it into his pocket. “I met this chap,” he began. As Liz grinned he shook his head in mock reproval. “I met this chap on the flight over,” he repeated. “It transpires he is in the diplomatic service and we have been invited to attend a reception in Delhi at the embassy.”
“We?” queried Liz.
He nodded. “I had mentioned I was visiting you and he has asked us both. Shall we go?”
Liz stood up and fetched her diary. The date was clear. “What fun,” she said. “But whatever shall I wear?” Ronnie burst out laughing. “Just like a woman! Much more important, my dear Liz. Is what shall I wear? I didn’t bring a tuxedo with me!”
That problem was soon resolved and within a week Nargis’s husband, the tailor, had made him a white dinner jacket, black trousers and even a black bow tie. Ronnie was delighted. “Whoever would have thought of a handmade bow tie?” he marvelled.
Liz scoured her wardrobe and finally concluded that the scarlet Frank Usher that she had worn for the Whitbread Award ceremony would be perfect. Ronnie approved when she showed it to him.
“Um Liz with your light tan as a foil, you will look stunning,” was his comforting comment.
She kept the thought to herself but concluded all women should have a gay houseguest – very good for the morale and generally excellent company.
There was no problem leaving the villa. Anjali ran the whole place on oiled wheels. The baby girls kept each other amused and Bernadette made sure they were properly cared for. With the future of the girls in mind, Liz had recently been in conversation with Father Joseph, the local priest who also oversaw the church school. Liz had been scandalised when she first saw it. Mean, was a complimentary description. With this in mind, and with the blessing of Father Joseph, she had acquired a piece of land about a ten-minute walk from Villa O’Mal and was in the process of working on plans with a local architect for a primary school. It would be private, but Liz had already decided she would subsidise it heavily. Even to the extent of supplying bursaries.
Liz believed Marie and Therese should be educated close to home but with excellent teachers in an excellent school. “Another of your projects,” Ronnie had teased, secretly impressed with his new and increasingly dear friend.
He had of course seen the dress she would be wearing in Delhi and was sure she would look lovely in it. Trying on his new silk tuxedo he was pretty impressed with himself. He had a light tan now, and with his blonde hair with its few streaks of white, he felt he looked rather distinguished.
They had agreed to meet in the foyer at the Delhi Taj Hotel. The hotel was as impressive as the other two Taj hotels Liz had visited with its broad flight of marble stairs leading to a grand foyer, where attractive, turquoise sari-clad young women plied trays of tea.
Ronnie was standing looking out at the pool area when he felt a light tap on his arm. He turned to see a vision in red beside him. Liz, with her freshly washed gleaming black hair, her beau
tiful skin with its light tan, and her red sheath dress that showed her sylph-like figure to perfection.
He indicated by a movement of his hand that she should twirl, and twirl she did. “Stunning from all angles Liz – you’ll wow them all.” Liz was not displeased with her escort either. “You do up nicely yourself,” she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. Satisfied and happy they went out to the waiting taxi, pre-booked by Ronnie.
“You shall go to the ball, Cinderella,” Ronnie said apropos of nothing.
Liz smiled happily. “I must say, I do feel a bit like that tonight.”
chapter 11
The Ambassador’s residence was all it should be. Grand without being over the top. The Ambassador greeted his guests warmly, introducing the rather dumpy woman by his side as his sister-in-law, Imogen Reeves. Liz had done her homework. Philip Broderick was a widower of about two years. He was considered an outstanding ambassador by the Indian Government, slightly less so by their neighbours in Pakistan. Nevertheless, he was credited with improving relations between the two countries.
Liz had been looking forward to meeting him as she had equally looked forward to meeting the consul who had struck up a friendship with Ronnie during their shared flight.
If Liz thought she had to write a job description for an ambassador, Philip Broderick would have fitted every detail. About six foot two, she surmised. Thick, slightly wavy, silver hair. Like everyone she met, he had a slight tan just from going about his duties and, she acknowledged, in his ambassadorial uniform he cut a dashing figure.
Imogen, though, at five-foot-two and almost as square as she was tall, cut a somewhat different figure, but her friendly charm made her instantly likeable and later in the evening, the two women had an animated and friendly conversation.
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