Jane watched with consternation from the rail. ‘Oh dear, I would have liked to go ashore. I’ve never seen Bombay, but it looks so busy.’
‘We have the rest of the day here,’ said de Silva. ‘We can wait awhile until our presence is less of a novelty. Perhaps it will be quieter in an hour or so.’
An hour later, the knots of beggars and vendors had thinned as he’d hoped. They fetched de Silva’s camera and Jane’s parasol from the cabin and set off.
The rickshaw they hired drove them along broad streets lined with splendid buildings that rose from the ground like cliffs of stone and glass. Many of the frontages were highly ornate. Government buildings, banks and headquarters of great corporations, they were the palaces of industry and power, as grand as many of the royal residences built by the old maharajahs.
So many things cried out to be photographed that de Silva was very glad he had put a new film in his camera before they set out. He noted with interest that there were many more motor cars than one would see in Colombo. Bombay was a far richer and more populous city than Ceylon’s capital. All the trams were double-deckers too; in Colombo they were mainly single-deckers. But, even in this most modern of cities, bullock carts still lumbered, unconcerned, between the vehicles.
‘I’d love to see the main bazaar,’ said Jane.
De Silva leant forward and tapped the rickshaw man on the shoulder. ‘Take us to the bazaar,’ he shouted. The man nodded.
Once they were out of the shade of the rickshaw’s canopy, the heat intensified. Jane put up her parasol and they set off into the crowds that swirled between the stalls. The hot air was filled with aromas battling for supremacy: spices, herbs, incense and flowers were pleasant to smell. Less attractive odours came from stalls selling tallow candles, kerosene, oily ghee or raw meat.
Jane stopped at a stall selling second-hand books, their pages limp in the moist heat. De Silva shook his head. ‘We already have enough with us to start a shop of our own.’
‘You’re exaggerating, dear. But I suppose there’s always the ship’s library if we run out.’
She pointed to something behind him. ‘That looks intriguing. Shall we go and see?’
De Silva turned to see a man sat cross-legged on a piece of sackcloth laid on the ground. A small brown bird sat on his shoulder. A considerable audience had gathered to watch as the little creature took a thin cigarette from between his fingers, fluttered to his other shoulder and gently put the cigarette in his mouth. He gave the bird a morsel of bread, removed the cigarette from his mouth and began the process again.
Bored after a while, the audience started to drift away, but then the man changed his show. Scattering a handful of coloured beads on the sackcloth, he held out a needle to the bird. It was threaded with red cotton. The bird jerked its head from one side to the other, its bright eyes fixed on the needle, then darted to take it in its beak. Everyone watched as it deftly pushed the needle through the hole in the first bead and tilted it so that the bead ran down the cotton thread. The clapping and laughter resumed as bead after bead was threaded by the same means.
‘Clever little thing,’ remarked de Silva. He paused to take a photograph. ‘I hope he treats it well.’
‘I do too,’ said Jane. She looked away, her attention distracted. ‘Why, I’m sure that’s Harry Delaney from the ship. He seems to be in a great hurry. I wonder where he’s going.’
‘Perhaps like us he just wants to see the bazaar,’ said de Silva with a shrug.
‘Rushing along at that speed, he won’t see much. And if he’s not careful, he’ll cause an accident.’
Just as she said the words, there was a shout. In his haste, Delaney had barged into a cow browsing at a vegetable stall. The beast lowered its head and pinned him against the wooden side, its tail swishing. Desperately, Delaney struggled to push it away.
Jane’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh dear, I don’t expect any of these people will want to drive the cow off. Shanti, shouldn’t we do something? The poor man might be badly hurt.’
‘Don’t worry; I’ll go and help him.’ But he had only taken a few steps towards the stall when the cow lost interest in its victim and returned to browsing. Delaney didn’t wait for a second chance and disappeared into the crowd.
‘He was lucky,’ said de Silva, returning to Jane. He glanced at his watch. ‘Unless you’re feeling too hot and would prefer to return to the ship, I’d like to take a few more photographs.’
‘I’m happy to stay for a while. As long as you promise not to make us late for dinner.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’
He looked around and gestured to a street leading away from the bazaar. ‘Shall we try going that way? There looks to be an interesting old house on the corner.’
‘Whatever you say, dear.’
The street was an attractive one, lined with houses and small hotels, many painted in bright ochres and reds. Here and there, courtyards, cooled by fountains and luxuriant plants, led off it. They all made charming subjects for de Silva’s photographs.
But after a while, the buildings became rundown and the pretty courtyards vanished. At a tenement offering rooms to rent by the hour, they decided to turn back.
Later, when they arrived back at the ship, more stores were being taken aboard. It amazed de Silva that so many provisions were needed, but of course, this was now the last time they would dock until they reached Port Said.
While Jane went to their cabin to rest, he strolled along to the lounge. Before they went out, he had noticed bundles of newspapers being delivered. There was plenty of time before he needed to dress for dinner. He would use it to catch up with what was going on in the world. Soon, he was ensconced behind a copy of The Times of India.
Chapter 5
The ship turned westwards; the next sighting of land would be the coast of Africa. More than a thousand miles of sea to cross! De Silva had never experienced anything like it before. So far, there’d been very little choppy water, but if that changed, he hoped that his newly acquired sea legs wouldn’t desert him.
It was just after breakfast on the second morning that there was a knock at their cabin door. He called out, and a steward entered.
‘A note for you, sir. Shall I come back later for the reply?’
‘Please do.’
He turned to Jane. ‘Were we expecting anything?’
‘No, and I don’t recognise the writing.’ She slit open the envelope and pulled out the sheet of notepaper inside. It was thick and creamy and embossed with a crest.
‘Oh! It’s from Lady Caroline Petrie. She begs us to forgive her for not writing before, and for the short notice. She says she and Mr Petrie would be delighted if we’d join them for dinner this evening.’
De Silva’s stomach gave a lurch. He knew Lady Caroline regarded him with favour for his successes at home in Nuala, but dinner with the superior of his boss, Archie Clutterbuck, was a daunting prospect. Cabin Class was bound to be extremely formal. Then he saw Jane’s expression. He hated to disappoint her.
She put down the letter. ‘We can make an excuse if you don’t want to go, dear.’
‘But you’d like it if we did, wouldn’t you?’
‘Well, it’s very kind of them to invite us, and I’m sure it will be a lovely evening.’
He swallowed his doubts; it was a small sacrifice to make. ‘Then we’ll accept. You’d better write a reply before the steward comes back.’
**
Lady Caroline had suggested they meet in the foyer that led to the Cabin Class dining room. Its walls were panelled with wood that had a warm, golden sheen, setting off the inlays of stylised fruits and flowers. A domed ceiling decorated with coloured glass reminded him of the entrance hall to Nuala’s grandest hotel, The Crown.
‘Good evening to you both!’
De Silva and Jane turned to see William Petrie and Lady Caroline smiling at them. Petrie kissed Jane’s hand and shook de Silva’s. De Silva remembered in time that he sho
uld kiss Lady Caroline’s hand.
She smiled. ‘I’m so glad you were able to join us. I would have sent the invitation sooner, but unfortunately, after the first night out from Colombo, I was unwell.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear it, Lady Caroline,’ said Jane. ‘I trust you’re fully recovered.’
‘Completely, thank you. Luckily for William, he never suffers from seasickness, but he has been very patient with me.’
A commotion at the door heralded the arrival of a dumpy lady whose grey hair was crimped into tight waves. She wore a black dress, liberally adorned with jet bugle-beads. Despite the warm evening, she had added a heavy fur stole, and numerous ropes of pearls festooned her large bosom. She was rummaging in the small, beaded handbag she carried over her arm. Clearly, she didn’t find what she wanted for her thickly powdered face radiated displeasure. She snapped her fingers and a nearby steward jumped to attention.
‘Go to Mrs Meadows’ cabin and tell her she’s forgotten my lorgnette,’ she said in a voice that carried far. ‘I must have it straight away. Well, what are you waiting for, man? Don’t you understand English?’
De Silva heard Lady Caroline murmur something that sounded like, “Oh dear”.
The dumpy lady spied them, and the scowl was replaced by an ingratiating smile. She waddled over. ‘Dear Lady Caroline, and Mr Petrie. How delightful.’ She extended a hand for William Petrie to kiss. The fingers were swollen and mottled, like uncooked sausages and beringed with diamonds, one the size of a bee-eater’s egg.
‘Good evening, Mrs Pilkington,’ said Petrie.
Ignoring de Silva and Jane, Mrs Pilkington rattled on. ‘I’m delighted to see you looking so well, Lady Caroline. I’ve been so looking forward to having the pleasure of your and Mr Petrie’s company after we dined at the captain’s table that first night. What a pity you’ve been unable to join us again. I suppose you didn’t like to leave Lady Caroline, Mr Petrie.’
‘I admit I was concerned for her, but I’m afraid I probably wasn’t much help.’
‘I do hope you called the doctor. Seasickness can be very unpleasant, you know. I used to suffer terribly myself when I was young, but no longer. My doctor in London – a Harley Street man, of course – prescribed some marvellous pills before I left England. You really must consult him next time you travel. I’d be delighted to introduce you.’
‘You’re too kind,’ said Lady Caroline giving Mrs Pilkington one of her gentle smiles. ‘As for the captain’s table, we’ll have to wait until tomorrow to enjoy your company. We have guests this evening, so my husband has booked a separate one for us.’
For the first time, Mrs Pilkington turned her attention to de Silva and Jane.
‘May I introduce Inspector Shanti de Silva and his wife Jane,’ said Lady Caroline. ‘They are friends from Ceylon. By a happy accident, we find ourselves fellow travellers.’
Mrs Pilkington cast her eye over the de Silvas as if she was inspecting a dish of food that wasn’t to her taste. ‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ she murmured after a palpable interval.
She turned back to the Petries. ‘I hope you’ll come and have drinks with me in my stateroom one of these evenings. I can promise you French champagne. I always bring my own supply. I never trust what these people give one on board, even in Cabin Class. Or perhaps you prefer whisky or brandy, Mr Petrie?’
‘In your company, Mrs Pilkington, anything would be a pleasure.’
Mrs Pilkington simpered. ‘You flatter me, you naughty man!’
The steward hovered with the retrieved lorgnette. After a few more pleasantries, they parted company with Mrs Pilkington and headed for the dining room.
‘I must apologise for her rudeness,’ said Lady Caroline quietly as they walked in. ‘I’m afraid she isn’t quite the lady she likes to think she is.’
‘There’s no need to apologise, Lady Caroline.’
‘Oh, but there is – all the same, it’s good of you to say so. Now, let’s find our table and enjoy the evening.’
At the top of the dining room’s magnificent staircase, de Silva couldn’t help pausing to admire the sight before him. A serpentine balcony ran from either side of the staircase right around the walls providing space for tables whose occupants could survey the rest of the diners on the floor below. As in the foyer, the walls were panelled with richly coloured wood. It contrasted with the smart black paint of the balcony’s intricate, wrought-iron balustrade. Massive ebony and gold columns supported the domed ceiling, fanning out like palm trees where they met it. The room sparkled with the light of many huge chandeliers. De Silva estimated that each of them must be at least eight feet in diameter.
Descending the sweeping staircase seemed to take a very long time. Despite what de Silva had said to Lady Caroline, it was hard not to be discomfited by Mrs Pilkington. His collar felt tighter than it had when he fastened it in the cabin. As they followed the steward to their table, his feet seemed to mire themselves in the thick, claret-coloured carpet. Thankfully, they turned out to be seated at a reasonable distance from Mrs Pilkington. She had now taken her place between the captain and an elderly gentleman whose dinner jacket blazed with medals.
‘Poor things,’ remarked Lady Caroline, glancing across the room. ‘They’re in for a dull evening, I fear. I doubt Mrs Pilkington will let them get a word in edgeways.’
Petrie sent her a quelling look.
‘Oh, I doubt she’ll hear me,’ said his wife airily. ‘Do you recognise any of her victims?’
De Silva was shocked. He wasn’t used to hearing the British being so outspoken about their fellow countrymen. Lady Caroline was far more of a rebel than she’d appeared to be on previous acquaintance, but then again, she was the daughter of an earl.
A new couple arrived at the captain’s table. De Silva noticed that numerous heads turned to admire the glamorous lady. She was tall and willowy, with dark hair worn in a short, stylish cut, bow lips painted crimson, and elegantly arched eyebrows. Her off-the-shoulder gown was made of black velvet, ornamented with a striking diamond brooch in the shape of a fan. She also wore several diamond bracelets.
Her companion was a tall, thin man with protruding eyes, beetling brows, and a rather weak chin. His noticeably long arms hung awkwardly at his sides, giving him a faintly simian air. Even at a distance, de Silva heard his braying laugh as he replied to some remark of Mrs Pilkington’s.
‘Ah,’ said Lady Caroline. ‘Diana March and her fiancé, Arthur Chiltern. Sparks may fly with Mrs Pilkington.’
Her husband shot her a reproving look. ‘You’re very indiscreet this evening, my dear.’
Her blue eyes twinkled. ‘We’re among friends, William.’
‘It’s very kind of you to say so, Lady Caroline,’ said Jane.
‘Not at all.’
Petrie picked up the wine list. ‘I must admit, they seem an unlikely couple to me, Chiltern and Mrs March.’
‘Yes,’ said Lady Caroline. ‘One can’t help wondering what she sees in him. We sat with them at the captain’s table on the first night, and she seems to be a charming, intelligent woman.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I’m afraid Chiltern is a terrible bore.’
Somewhat firmly, as if he had decided it was time to put an end to the topic of conversation, Petrie put down the wine list. ‘I think a dry sherry will go well with the soup. What do you say, de Silva?’
‘I’m no expert, sir. I’ll be only too happy to follow your advice.’
‘Then sherry it is.’ Petrie clicked his fingers to summon a passing steward.
‘I hope you don’t mind my asking, Lady Caroline,’ said Jane when he had gone to fetch the sherry. ‘But why did you say sparks might fly with Mrs Pilkington?’
‘Ah, that’s because she and Arthur Chiltern’s mother are at daggers drawn over who’s the queen of London hostesses. Mrs Pilkington thinks she has the right to the crown, and Lady Chiltern vehemently disagrees. It may be in Mrs Pilkington’s mind that she needs to seize her opportunity early and impress on A
rthur Chiltern’s wife-to-be that she would be wise to defer to her, even if her future mother-in-law doesn’t choose to.’
‘Caroline, dear, you’re very critical tonight.’ Petrie’s tone was reproachful, but he smiled.
‘I wonder what Diana March and Lady Chiltern will make of each other,’ he went on. ‘I have to admit, I’m rather surprised Arthur took the step of getting engaged without his mother’s sanction. But I remember Sir Roger Chiltern, his father, telling me when we once met in England that he was sending Arthur out to work in the Hong Kong branch of the family bank in the hope it would put a bit of backbone into him. He was concerned his son needed to be more independent. Perhaps the experiment has been a success.’
‘I do hope the two of them get on,’ said Lady Caroline. ‘Family life can be very troublesome at the best of times, and Mrs March has already had enough sorrow. A tragedy to be widowed so young. She can’t be much more than thirty now. She told me her late husband died a few years ago. Apparently, he was much older than her. Afterwards, she went to live with close friends in Hong Kong. She and Arthur Chiltern met there and became engaged.’
Glasses of nutty, dry sherry were produced, and the soup served. Courses of fish, meat, savouries and dessert followed. Even though British food wasn’t often to his liking, de Silva had to admit that it was all very tasty. The Petries were charming company too. He was glad to see Jane’s evident pleasure in the occasion.
The hum of conversation, discreet at first, rose as the evening went on. The guests at one of the tables to their left appeared particularly bent on enjoying their evening to the full. As the number of wine bottles set among the debris of their meal mounted, so did their laughter.
Only one of the men was quieter than the rest. He looked about forty with a face that might have been handsome if the ice-blue eyes and the curl of the lip hadn’t lent it a reptilian air. Lazily, he surveyed his companions, from time to time contributing to the conversation a remark that made them roar with even louder laughter than before.
[Inspector de Silva 06] - Passage From Nuala Page 3