by M A Bennett
Outside, the freezing air was welcome. My jacket was long gone, but I needed to cool down anyway. As we got away from the crowds, replying cordially to all the farewells, we were at last alone, wending our way through Longwood to the house. We made the fateful decision that, since it was so late, we could risk going in through the front door. As we walked down the drive I felt the need to make an apology. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’ she said. ‘I kissed you.’
‘You know what for.’ For feeling nothing. For not reciprocating. For not being in love with her.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do.’ She gave herself a little shake. ‘It’s fine. It’s just … I’ve never been kissed before –’
‘Ever?’ I interrupted. ‘I would have thought … I mean, someone as beautiful as you …’
‘Haway with you!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve been snogged loads of times. Do you not think I look cool in me best togs?’ she teased. ‘No. I was going to say I’ve never been kissed before by someone who’s in love with someone else.’
‘I am not in love with Ritu,’ I said truthfully.
‘I didn’t mean Ritu.’
There was a small silence. Then she took my hand again; not the whole thing – we were not in that place now; she linked my little finger in hers and then shook it a bit.
I carried her hand to my lips and kissed it.
That would have been a better goodbye with Ina than the one I was destined to have. Our actual farewell was not nearly this neat.
As we approached the house we saw two figures seated on the front steps. It was impossible, in the dark, to tell who they were. But then there was the familiar metallic snick of the queen’s lighter, and the thing struck first time to illuminate two blond young men lighting cigarettes from the same flame.
Gideon – and Rollo.
It was too late to avoid them. I moved Ina behind me.
‘Let me handle this,’ I said.
In the moonlight the boys could almost have been twins. Both in evening dress, both with bow ties undone, both smoking in a mirror image of each other. But in a panicked flash of inspiration, I knew then that they were nothing at all alike.
It was Gideon, not our Lord of the Manor Rollo, who spoke first. Once again, I got the odd impression that he had some sort of authority this weekend. That he was some sort of Master of Ceremonies. Maybe that’s what that fragment of conversation meant, overheard and forgotten: Grand Master. ‘Where have you been?’
‘To a dance,’ I said. ‘I invited Ina.’
‘A likely story. How would you know what’s going on in Longcross village? She must have told you.’
‘I meant that she had no choice but to take me,’ I said hurriedly. ‘It was an order.’
‘Bet she didn’t put up much of a fight,’ said Gideon. Now he addressed Ina. ‘You dirty little bitch. I knew you liked me copping a feel the other night. Can’t get enough, can you?’ He sauntered down the steps and stopped in front of her. ‘You look damned tasty tonight.’ He did a little mime with his forefinger, as if he were stirring tea with it. ‘Turn around. Give us a twirl.’
Ina looked at me.
‘Don’t,’ I said. I put myself in between him and her. ‘I thought I had demonstrated my power to you once tonight. Don’t make me do it again.’ Then I got right up close to him. ‘We are jungle creatures, Gideon. And the dark is all around us.’
I locked eyes with him, holding his gaze, willing him not to look at Ina. ‘Go to bed.’ It was as if I were speaking to a dog. Gideon, amazingly, dropped his eyes, turned and slunk inside.
We had almost forgotten Rollo was there. He had not spoken until then, but now he got to his feet. In the moonlight he was absolutely white with fury. ‘Where have you really been?’ he said to me, just as he’d done on the very first night, when I’d followed Ina from the folly. And he looked at me with such utter disdain that my heart shrivelled within me. I could not be sure that his eyes were not wet with tears – the moonlight had turned them to mirror. ‘I thought you were different.’
All at once I was back in yesterday’s bath, letting the water go cold around me, as his disappointment seeped into my soul.
Rollo threw his cigarette on the steps and crushed it out savagely with the glossy toe of his evening shoe. When the fire was completely extinguished, he turned on his heel and crossed his threshold, leaving Ina and me on the outside.
Suddenly I felt the cold, the bitter wind whipping through the thin cotton of my evening shirt. Ina, deflated, looked up at me, her eye make-up smudged, her eyes enormous. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘It will be all right. You go first – we shouldn’t be seen together. Go right up to bed.’
She ducked her head and ran inside.
And I was alone.
I entered the house where I was no longer welcome, and walked slowly up the grand staircase, my thoughts racing. I couldn’t go to bed, not yet. A strange, unsettled feeling twisted my stomach. There was only one person I wanted to see. I felt the compulsion to explain to Rollo how it had been. I was still angry with him, with all of them, over the dreadful weekend of fun and games they had planned for the brown boy, and who knows how many other misfits before me. But I still had a ridiculous yearning to follow that unspoken code of the gentleman. Rollo, the host, might not have behaved in a way that was due to me as his guest, but I wanted to be clear that I, as his guest, had not abused his trust as my host. I wanted him to know that I had not importuned Ina in any way, not abused a young girl in his employ, as Gideon had so readily done. It was suddenly the most important thing in the world to let him know that nothing had happened between Ina and me. I wanted him to know I was better than that.
And I thought I knew where to find him.
I heard Gideon’s voice in my head. Always prowling the gallery, is old Rollo. And Rollo himself had said, I like communing with the ancestors.
I climbed the stairs to the Long Gallery.
But when I got there, there was no one in the long room. Nazereth and Monty and all the other de Warlencourts stared at me from the walls, and the moonlight flooded in through the windows, silvering the polished floor. I walked the length of the room, downcast. I had already turned to retrace my steps and return to my room when I heard the cry.
Whether in fear or pleasure I could not tell. But one thing I knew for sure.
It was Ina.
I heard Gideon’s voice again. Then he takes her on the roof and gets his end away …
There had to be a stairway to the roof. I skidded back down the gallery to the far wall and began to push and press the pictures, the skirting board, the beams – anything I could think of. It seemed hopeless, but in fact a little panel swung inwards to reveal a stone flight of stairs. I dashed up it into the freezing night air and emerged onto a strange silvery moonscape – tiles and chimneys and acres of slate as far as the eye could see. I was on the roof of Longcross Hall.
I forced myself to stand absolutely still and listen. There was the sound again: half cry, half sob; air being pressed out of lungs. I ran lightly in the direction of the sound and there, behind a chimney stack towards the front of the house, I saw them.
Ina splayed out like a silver spider, crying out the word no, her bright foil skirt all but extinguished by a shadow. A dark shape twisting and writhing on top of her.
And a head of bright blond hair.
‘Rollo!’
I think I roared his name in a rage. The dark shape stilled. Blind with fury, I grasped two handfuls of his tail coat and pulled him off Ina’s prone body.
An enraged voice spluttered, ‘What the hell?’ It was Gideon’s voice.
I turned him to face me. ‘You animal,’ I spat. ‘You utter Savage!’ Ina sat up and straightened her clothes, dazed. I took no more than a second to make sure she was all right, and then began to pull Gideon with me. The rage lent me superhuman strength and I dragged him to the edge of the roof. ‘All your breeding,’ I said, ‘and no one taught you how to treat a lady
.’
He struggled, but I had him up against the parapet. ‘She’s not a lady,’ he spat. ‘She’s just a common slut.’
I really believe I hadn’t decided what I was going to do until that moment. In a trice I had him dangling off the edge of the roof, leaning out into space, holding him only by the lapels of his tail coat. He grabbed and clawed at me. ‘All I have to do,’ I hissed, ‘is let go.’
His eyes widened. ‘No … please. Please, Hardy.’
I leaned him out further, drunk with rage and power. Not the nursery power of feeding someone a chilli, but real, grown-up power over life or death. I was the Raj now.
He was crying, his feet scrabbling on the lip of the roof, desperately trying to find a footing. ‘I beg of you. I’m begging.’
I don’t know what I would have done if Ina hadn’t touched me on the shoulder. ‘Don’t, Aldrin,’ she said. ‘Let him go.’
For a second Gideon and I were locked in that deadly embrace. Then I felt something warm at my leg. He’d wet himself, his urine falling onto the leads and down the ancient drains. My anger drained away too, to be replaced by a cold contempt. I pulled him back onto the roof and threw him down on the tiles.
I glanced at Ina. Her skirt, the one she’d made so lovingly, scraping together pennies from her wages for fabric, hung off her in shreds. Oddly, of all the sights I’d seen that evening, the ruin of the silver skirt made me want to cry. I said to Gideon, ‘Apologise.’
‘I’m sorry, Hardy. I’m sorry …’
‘Not to me! To her.’ His mouth worked like a fish and I realised then he didn’t even know her name.
‘Ina.’
‘I’m sorry, Ina.’
‘Now get out of my sight.’
Without meeting my eyes, he scuttled to the stairwell and disappeared.
I went to Ina, not sure what to do. My instinct was to embrace her, but I thought she might not welcome the male touch right then.
But she stumbled into my arms and I held her tightly.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did he …’ I could not think of the words. Penetrate was too medical, rape too brutal. But what I wanted to know – had to know – was whether Gideon had … had … ‘Did he hurt you?’
She understood. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not in that way. But if you hadn’t arrived when you did …’
I looked at her face, the tear tracks silver too. I could feel the rage rising again. ‘How the hell did he get you up here?’
‘He was waiting for me on the nursery corridor and wouldn’t let me past. He said he wanted to show me something and it wouldn’t take a minute. Said if I didn’t come with him, he’d tell Mrs Nicky where I’d been tonight, and I’d be dismissed.’
I thought again of how little power she had. The ultimate threat of dismissal hung over her head like a sword and made her everyone’s creature. ‘What can I do?’
She smiled through the tears. ‘I feel like I want a bath. Actually, I feel like I want about ten baths.’
‘Then have one.’
‘Haway,’ she said – that strange word again. ‘You think we’ve got a bath in the servants’ quarters? We get one once a week, man.’ She sounded much more like her old self.
Suddenly I was certain. ‘Use mine.’
Her eyes brightened a little. ‘Can I?’
‘Of course. Take as long as you like. I’ll stay away. I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight anyway.’ It was true. There was too much going on in my head for sleep.
She kissed my cheek. ‘Why don’t you go and find him?’
‘Find who?’
‘You know.’
I did.
Aldrin and Armstrong embraced under the light of the moon.
I let her go first. Just as she was about to disappear down the hatch to the little stairwell, she turned back. Her silver space-skirt caught the moonlight.
‘Good luck, Mr Gorsky,’ she said.
Midnight
I am about to write the reason why no one must ever find this diary. I don’t think I have ever been so happy. Nor so afraid.
When Ina had gone I sat on the roof, shivering, but not from cold. Why had I been so angry?
Because I had felt protective of Ina, yes. But did that explain my rage? No. I had not felt the same white heat of anger that first night when Gideon had put his hand up her skirt. I had felt pity and empathy, but not anger.
So why?
The moon, staring kindly down, let me work it out for myself.
I had been angry because I thought Gideon was Rollo.
I didn’t want Rollo making love to anyone.
Anyone else.
Ina had known.
You’re in love with someone …
Why don’t you go and find him …?
Good luck, Mr Gorsky.
I got to my feet and walked, as if in a trance, down the little staircase, along the Long Gallery and to the door of Rollo’s room. I lifted my hand to knock, but before I could do so Rollo opened the door. He was dressed only in his evening trousers, and his chest and feet were bare. In the moonlight he looked like a silver angel.
‘I know,’ he said, as if we were already in the middle of a conversation. ‘I know.’
‘What do I do?’ I asked helplessly.
The tiger song from the gramophone, and from the disco, was singing in my head. Teach me, tiger, how to kiss you. Teach me what to do.
Can someone else hear your thoughts? If they and you are bound together somehow? Only that would explain what he said next.
‘I’ll teach you.’ He drew me into the room and the door closed behind us. Then he put his hands in my hair and kissed me on and on.
And then everything was all right.
‘Oh. My. God.’
I didn’t mean to be Janice from FRIENDS but that last entry in Aadhish’s diary really was a record-scratch moment.
I let Shafeen say it.
And, in a daze, he did. ‘He loved him. My father was in love with Rollo de Warlencourt.’
I looked up at the Indian night, and the same moon that had watched Aadhish and Rollo in 1969 watched us now. Even I needed a moment for it all to sink in, so God only knew what Shafeen was feeling – Aadhish was his dad.
I took his hand. ‘Do you want to stop?’
‘Are you kidding?’ he said, incredulous. ‘No way. I want to see how their story ends.’
Monday, 27th October 1969
Morning
I woke with my head on Rollo’s chest, supremely happy for the first time in my life. He was awake. The moon had gone and the early-morning sun turned him to gold. He smiled, his blue eyes for the first time soft and kind, and my heart failed. He stroked my hair, unhurriedly, but then said, ‘No one can ever see us like this.’
A cloud came. ‘I know.’
‘No one can ever know.’
‘I know that too,’ I said.
‘It would be over for us. Our lives would be over.’
I looked away. ‘Yes.’
‘You know what they’ll call us.’
Now I looked back at him. ‘Yes.’ I did know. I was not so sheltered. Faggot. Queer. Bender. Poof. Queen. Brutal names to add to the roll call I already had. ‘I’m used to names.’ Now it was his turn to look away. ‘Mowgli. Hardy. Aldrin.’ I didn’t explain that last one. ‘And none of them my own.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
It was time. I held out my hand, as if we’d just met. And in a way, we just had. ‘My name is Aadhish. My real name, I mean. Aadhish Bharmal Kachwaha Jadeja.’
He took the hand and shook it seriously. ‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, Aadhish Jadeja. But you’d better go before the girl comes to do the fire.’
‘Ina,’ I said. ‘While we are calling people by their proper names, her name is Ina.’
‘Ina then,’ he said. He propped himself up on his elbow. ‘You know Admiral Lord Nelson?’
‘Of course. The c
olumn in Trafalgar Square?’
‘The very same. He had a dear friend called Captain Hardy. They were devoted to each other, soulmates, and fought side by side on many campaigns. Hardy was with Nelson when he died. Nelson’s last words were “Kiss me, Hardy”.’ He traced my profile with one finger. ‘So when we’re in public I’ll call you whatever you want. But when we are together like this, just you and I … well, with your permission, you’ll be my Hardy. And I’ll be your Horatio. Would that be all right?’
‘Yes. That’s different.’
‘How is it different?’
‘Because it means something. It’s not a nickname, or a racial slur. And –’ I smiled – ‘because you asked me.’
I threw back the covers, but now it was Rollo who pulled me back. He wrapped his strong arms around me from behind, tight, tight. ‘I don’t want you to go.’
I put my hand on the arm that was across my chest. ‘We’ll be together,’ I said. ‘At school. At Oxford. At Sandhurst.’
‘And then?’ he asked, turning me around. He put his hands on either side of my face. ‘Me here. You in India. Both of us taking over the family firm. We’ll have to marry. We’ll have to have sons. All the things we talked about in the Long Gallery. There’s no future for us.’
I took his wrists and pushed him back on the bed, holding both his hands above his head until we were both shaking with silent laughter.
I looked down at his golden beauty, breathing hard. We were both suddenly deadly serious. ‘There’s no future,’ I said. ‘But there is a now.’
‘Then what do you suggest we do?’ he said, his voice ragged.
‘Well, for a start, let’s go to breakfast. I am starving.’
He smiled and the sun was back. ‘And then?’
‘Then we catch the train to school.’
‘And then?’ Softer now.
‘Then tonight,’ I said, softly too, ‘tonight, you will come to my rooms.’