by Sue Peters
'I'm sure the outing on Wednesday will soften the blow,' Dee smiled, and thought gleefully, That disposes of Luke on Wednesday.
It would still leave tomorrow and Tuesday, for which he appeared to have already made plans that included herself, and for which, highhandedly, he had not seemed to think it necessary to seek her approval first.
He's got a shock coming, Dee promised herself, but found she was unable to think of a plausible excuse when Manoj cajoled, 'Will you allow us to show you something of Delhi tomorrow, Dee? Luke tells me you will be free, and he says you haven't seen much of the city so far.'
'Oh, I couldn't possibly encroach on your holiday,' Dee protested, and her host smiled.
'You would be doing us a favour. Gita in particular.' He sent his wife an affectionate look. 'She is something of an historian, and nothing pleases her more than to show off our famous monuments to a visitor.'
He went on proudly, 'Gita is an excellent guide,' and added as a further incentive, 'The boys will be coming with us, too. If they can help it they never miss one of their mother's walkabouts, as they call them. They are already showing signs of Gita's sense of history. They can't wait to come to England. Luke has promised to take some time off to be their guide.'
How could she refuse?
Without saying a word himself, Luke had driven her into a corner from which there was no escape. Dee threw him a frustrated look, and their glances met across the room, and locked. The quartz flecks flared triumphantly, confirming that it was Luke who had engineered the invitation. Dee felt the sour taste of defeat in her mouth, and found her usually alert mind equally devoid of ideas for an excuse when Gita added her plea to that of her husband.
'Do come with us, Dee. We'd love to have you. We'll take you to see the Taj Mahal. You'll love that. And the fort.'
'She's already been to the fort, and had her headscarf stolen by the monkeys,' Luke put in, and amid the general laughter which followed Gita offered generously,
'I'll lend you one of mine.'
Luke brought the scarf with him when he called at Dee's hotel to collect her the next morning.
'Thank you.' She took the tissue-wrapped package and slid it open, and gave a gasp of pure pleasure as she unfolded the long length of embroidered silk.
It looked new, as if it had never been worn. Perhaps it was one of Gita's best scarves? By a happy coincidence it matched the basic colours of Dee's cotton trousers and top, freshly laundered overnight to their original crispness.
'It's lovely. How kind of Gita.'
Dee draped its gauzy beauty across her dark hair, and flicked the one tasselled end over her shoulder in the approved manner, and Luke agreed, 'Very lovely,' with a long look which brought a ready flush to her cheeks, and made her wonder if he meant the scarf or...
She was given no time in which to pursue the thought, because Luke went on immediately, 'You won't need a head-covering quite so much today. We'll be using a minibus. It's air-conditioned, so you should find your sightseeing a lot more comfortable.'
And, true to Luke's intention, she would not be doing that sight-seeing on her own. 'Turned loose on Delhi' was the way in which he had phrased it. His choice of words still rankled.
His steady regard was making her feel the reverse of comfortable, and it was a relief when Manoj and Gita and the children came to join them.
The two men took it in turns to do the driving, and at first the children were quiet, evidently under constraint from their parents to be on their best behaviour, Dee diagnosed, but her friendly overtures soon restored the boys' normal exuberance, and they chattered gaily as Gita led the small party round her favourite monuments.
Dee thanked her warmly for the loan of the scarf.
'It isn't one of mine,' Gita denied. 'Although, of course, you would have been more than welcome to borrow one. But Luke wanted to get you one himself. He thought you might like it to keep, as a souvenir of your stay in Delhi.'
'He didn't tell me that it was from him.'
It explained why the colours so exactly matched those of her cotton trouser suit. She should have suspected, knowing that Luke was bound to have a noticing eye for detail such as colour, but she'd had no reason to imagine that he might give her a gift. The fact that he was giving her his time he probably regarded as a patronage.
He had allowed her to accept the scarf, thinking that it was on loan from Gita, knowing that once she had worn it she would not be able to return it, and would be obliged to keep it, not as a reminder of her stay in Delhi, but as a reminder of him.
Why?
On past experience she was unlikely to have any further contact with Luke after they returned to England. Perhaps, like all powerful people, he enjoyed wielding that power over others, even in minor things like the wearing of a scarf.
She had good reason to know that Luke was an adroit manipulator when he wanted to get his own way, and within the constraints of Bill's instruction Dee determined to evade that way, whatever it might be, as much as possible.
The two posed a conflict that kept her nerves on edge in spite of the temporary armistice between them, and the light touch of the scarf across her head and shoulders felt uncomfortably like the dominant touch of Luke's hand upon her, which the intense heat would not allow her to shrug off.
In spite of the comparative coolness of the minibus, they were obliged to leave its shelter at intervals in order to explore, and then it was much too hot for her to abandon the scarf and go bareheaded, and it remained, a gossamer reminder of Luke's victory, that brought with it a moment of pure panic at the ease with which he had taken control.
CHAPTER THREE
The morning of sightseeing presented Dee with a Pandora's box of sights and sounds, which she enjoyed in spite of Luke, and which were to remain forever in her memory.
Delhi sparkled. Gita brought its history to life, and the children bombarded their mother with all the questions which Dee might have hesitated to ask for herself.
'Gita's in charge today. I'm just the chauffeur.' Manoj good-humouredly conceded the stage to his wife, obviously proud of her expertise, and just as obviously enjoying what he must have heard many times before.
'It's fascinating. None of the guidebooks give as much detail as this,' Dee answered, enthralled.
It was a day of contrasts. Cool marble and shady stone made a blessed relief from the fierce heat and dust of the streets. The insistent call to prayer from a nearby mosque cut across the raucous din of the markets, and the tinkle of temple bells dropped a melodious chime into their ears, as soothing as the sound of a falling fountain.
'Don't you envy the bride?' Gita teased her as they paused to watch a wedding procession go by.
The cars were gay with garlands of lilies and marigolds, the colours as cheerful as the crowd, who laughed and waved to the happy couple and their guests.
Dee laughed and waved too, but her head-shake was vehement. 'Envy her? Certainly not. I told you, I intend to stay solo.'
She was aware of Luke watching her, listening to the small exchange, but she didn't care. Her plans for her life were nothing to do with him, and she didn't allow his quizzical look to spoil her enjoyment when he stationed himself by her side, the better to point out detail she might otherwise have missed in the crowded thoroughfares.
The challenge of Luke's presence heightened Dee's sensitivity, and honed her powers of observation to an acuteness which nearly matched his own, and it soon became a silent contest between them, all the fiercer because it remained unspoken, as to who should be the first to notice things.
Dee pointed gleefully. 'Look! There's a snake charmer. Over there, by the foot of the market steps. He's got a rattlesnake,' she guessed wildly, squinting against the glare towards the living rope that swayed to the piped music, horrifyingly close to its owner's face.
'That rattlesnake is a cobra,' Luke scored another point triumphantly, and Dee bit her lip in vexation.
It was a cobra, of course. Her tongue seemed fa
ted to put her in the wrong with Luke. But then, he knew Delhi, and she did not, she excused her defeat.
By tacit consent they both abandoned their verbal sparring when they drove to see the Taj Mahal, their own conflict dwarfed by its tragic history.
Dee gazed in silence at the glittering marble structure. Its reflection was blurred in the stretch of wind-rippled water which made a long mirror below it. Like the tears that must have blurred the sight of the grieving husband who had had the monument built in memory of his wife. Dee felt a lump rise unbidden in her throat as Gita recounted the story, and she felt no shame at her own emotion.
She could contemplate Romeo and Juliet, and all the other great lovers of history, with a detachment that left her unstirred. The Taj Mahal was different. Here was genuine heartache, locked in stone, the pain and the desolation of lost love frozen into its glistening walls. A monument to human anguish, mocked by the unfeeling sunshine.
The tenderness and the tragedy caught at Dee's heart-strings, still raw from memories of her own recent unhappiness, and when Gita remarked quietly, 'Now there is a real love story,' she blurted out with a bitterness she could not quite control,
'To be loved like that would be almost worth giving up your freedom for.'
'Almost? Not quite?' Luke enquired sardonically from beside her.
Dee flashed him a defensive upwards glance, and then looked away again quickly, unable to meet the glowing quartz flecks that, even when she averted her face, continued to burn down on to the top of her head, penetrating the flimsy protection of the bright silk scarf, and leaving the unanswered question dangling like a tossed gauntlet between them.
A threatening storm ended their sightseeing abruptly shortly after lunch. The heat began to build up to suffocating proportions, and Dee visibly wilted.
'It's time you had a rest,' Luke decided masterfully, ignoring her protestations and adding, 'I'll expect you all to dinner this evening. I'll collect Dee from her hotel.'
He smiled down at the two hopeful-looking children. 'It will be long past your bedtime, I'm afraid. But I'll make up for it. I'll buy you both an ice-cream on Wednesday.'
Luke was domineering, but he could be kind when he wanted to be, Dee reflected later as her weary body obeyed Luke's commands, even though her rebellious mind willed otherwise, and she drifted off to sleep in the grateful coolness of her air-conditioned room at the hotel while she tried in vain to push away the suspicion that it was as much Luke's presence as Gita's expert guidance which had made Delhi sparkle for her that morning.
Dinner was a memorable meal, as much for the surroundings in which they ate as for the food itself. In deference to his two Indian guests, Luke chose vegetarian for himself, although to Dee's surprise he made no attempt to influence her own choice.
Nevertheless she tuned into his reason and intuitively followed suit, and silently derided herself for her quick flash of pleasure as she met Luke's glance of approval from across the table.
In an attempt to divert her thoughts she fixed her concentration on her surroundings. Bread and water would become nectar and ambrosia in a place such as this, she thought, awed by the splendour of the magnificent room.
Luke had brought them to his own hotel for the meal. 'It was a palace once,' Manoj enlightened Dee, and she thought tartly, Where else would the king of the antiques world stay but a palace? And then felt ashamed of her sarcasm when Manoj added wistfully, 'So many of our palaces have had to be turned into hotels in order to earn their upkeep. Just like your own ancestral homes in the UK. It's sad, in a way, although it does preserve their splendour for future generations to see.'
'This is magnificent. Out of this world!' Dee exclaimed, making no attempt to hide her admiration, and, obviously pleased, Gita offered,
'I can tell you its history if you like. That is, if you haven't heard enough of history for one day?'
'Do tell,' Dee urged.
History was safely in the past, done with and unalterable, the perfect antidote to the turmoil and uncertainty of her own thoughts, which she pushed thankfully into the background while Gita obliged, and ancient tales of love and war and derring-do occupied most of the rest of the meal, until at the end Dee confessed, 'I wish Bill could bring his exhibition over to India and hold it here. It's so much more romantic than at home.'
Luke's look derided her choice of words, and she flushed hotly, wishing them unsaid, but Luke made no comment, merely questioning, 'Isn't he using the National Exhibition Centre? He usually does.'
Dee raised mental eyebrows. For someone who so consistently ignored the services of WW, Luke seemed to be remarkably well informed about the firm's activities. She answered off-handedly, 'Not this time. He's looking for an exotic background to match the exhibits. I suggested Windsor Castle,' she dimpled.
Gita chuckled, but Luke took her up with a quick, 'Has he got any particular venue in mind? Apart from Windsor Castle, I mean?'
'He hadn't when I spoke to him on the telephone last night.'
'That must mean the date for the exhibition hasn't been finalised yet, either.'
'Only in broad terms. It will be some time towards the end of the month. Nothing specific as yet, so far as I know, because when relies upon where.'
'Mmm.'
Luke looked thoughtful, and Dee sent him a searching look. Was the 'Mmm' dismissive? Uninterested? Critical? How dared he criticise her firm, whose services he consistently rejected?
Manoj broke the slight silence which had fallen by applauding, 'That is good. It means the exhibition will still be running while we are in the UK. I would like to take Gita to see it.'
'It would be cooler over there than if you held it here.'
Gita's smile teased Dee, and she admitted ruefully, 'I thought I could cope with heat. But Delhi at this time of the year produces a brand of its own.'
'You would get used to it, in time.'
'I shan't be here for long enough.'
'The monsoon heat makes us wilt, too,' Manoj consoled, and Gita said,
'We're going to stay in the hills for a few days, for a short break before Manoj starts his lecture tour. Why don't you come with us? There's plenty of room in the bungalow, and we'd love to have you. We shall be starting off as soon as the men get back from the cricket match on Wednesday.'
'I'd love to come,' Dee answered promptly, 'but there's just the chance that the exhibits might arrive on time after all. I must be in Delhi for when they come.'
'Luke said they would be another ten days. That means at least a fortnight in India,' Gita returned with accepting frankness, and Luke cut in with a decisive,
'You'll have plenty of time for a trip into the hills. Leave your telephone number with your contact here, just in case, although it won't be necessary. Gita's right on target about the timing.'
So was Luke. His arrows scored the target of her pride, and made her want to shout at him, 'No, I won't leave my phone number. I won't be told where to go and what to do by you, as if I were an employee.'
She didn't doubt that the offer of a holiday in the hills had been engineered by Luke, as had the sightseeing tour this morning. He was determined to dispose of her waiting time in the manner in which he thought fit, and his success so far rubbed her pride raw.
But—another fortnight of enduring the heat of the city and she would surely melt. The only alternative, if she was to insist upon remaining in Delhi, would be to stay in the air-conditioned hotel, which left her with the choice of dying of boredom, or dying of heat.
The hills offered temptingly cool air, and a blessed escape from the destructive, breathless, end-of-monsoon humidity.
The choice was no choice at all, and, avoiding Luke's eyes, Dee capitulated, 'In that case, I'll come. The heat is getting at me, but it seems such a waste to spend the waiting time hiding away from it in the hotel,' making it seem as if it were her own decision, and not Luke's, that she should go. The heat was making her feel limp, but surely in the modern air-conditioning of the restauran
t it shouldn't have accounted for the sudden feeling of depression that latched on to Luke's choice of words?
'You will have plenty of time.' Not 'we will have...' Did it mean that Luke wouldn't be joining his friends for their holiday in the hills? Dee should have felt relieved, but instead a flat feeling of anticlimax kept her silent as Luke drove her back to her hotel at the end of the evening.
His, 'See you on Wednesday, Manoj. I'll be in Calcutta until then,' confirmed that Dee would be on her own for the next couple of days.
Having demonstrated his power to dispose of her as he thought fit, cynically Luke had no compunction about leaving her stranded when it suited him, Dee condemned him unjustly, chagrined to discover that the prospect of freedom, in which she would have rejoiced a few hours earlier, now gave her a completely irrational sense of desertion.
She didn't see Luke again until Wednesday afternoon, when he and Manoj and the boys returned from the cricket match, but in the meantime his kiss remained with her, burning her lips, hotter than the Indian sun, and from which there was no protection when he left the imprint of himself upon her mouth, like a brand to reinforce his taunting, 'I'll be back...'
His gesture when he stopped the car outside her hotel caught Dee wholly by surprise, and, taken unawares, she had no defence against him. He silenced the engine, and, turning swiftly in his seat, he caught her in his arms in one fluid movement for which, her thoughts turned inwards, she was totally unprepared.
'Goodnight, Dee,' he murmured.
His head was a descending silhouette above her, his lips a demanding firmness on her mouth that cut off her stammered thanks for the dinner, took away her breath, and exploded a million stars in her dazed mind, which far outshone the brilliance of the night sky above them.