“Yes,” he whispered urgently, “this is the British justice that he died for!” He gripped Jagat’s arm. “Remember that,” he urged, “every time you look at the bird remember that!” Nanda released him. “Now go! Hurry, before any more time is lost!” He helped Jagat mount, looking up at his figure as he pulled the headdress around his mouth and covered his face. He slapped the horse’s flank and Jagat moved off.
“Ride like the wind!” he called out, and the boy looked back at him, a look so like his father’s that Nanda’s heart ached. “Go on! Go!” he shouted. “Go!” And, straining his eyes in the darkness, he watched the horse and rider until they were just a tiny dot on the horizon and the sound of them had blurred into the muffled noises of the night.
Part II
6
London
March 1965
MITCHELL HARVEY’S LONG BLACK BENTLEY PULLED UP AT THE entrance to the departures terminal at Heathrow airport and parked on a double yellow line. The driver climbed out, beckoned to a porter and went around the back to open up the trunk. The two pieces of luggage were loaded on to the trolley, the porter directed to the check-in desk and the driver climbed back in. He glanced in the rearview mirror, saw that the glass screen was up, and, staring straight ahead, waited for further instructions.
In the back of the car, Mitchell Harvey sat with his wife. He took her left hand, briefly glanced down at the three-carat diamond on her fourth finger and held her hand loosely in his own.
“Suzanna?”
She turned to him, her face cold and impassive.
“I will be arriving at the villa in five days’ time,” he said. “Margaret has my flight details and my itinerary; she will be in touch.”
Suzy nodded.
“I expect you’ll want to do a bit of shopping,” he remarked. “With the season fast approaching.” Again she nodded without speaking. Mitchell reached into the breast pocket of his suit and took out a thick roll of fifty-pound notes; he laid them carefully in Suzanna’s lap.
“Suzanna?”
She looked down at the money and then turned away from him, her nostrils flaring with distaste. Mitchell squeezed her fingers, knowing the diamond cut into her flesh.
“Thank you, Mitchell,” she said after a few moments.
He nodded, keeping up the pressure, then he said quietly, “You will remember what we discussed won’t you, Suzy?”
He waited for her to answer, slowly crushing her fingers as she took her time to reply. She winced at the pain but remained silent.
“I asked you a question, Suzanna!” he suddenly snapped, wrenching her hand toward him and making her cry out with the pain. He held his fist up, her long thin fingers white and bloodless in his hand. “I won’t have it,” he snarled. “Not now, not any more!” With his other hand he pulled her face around, pressing his nails into her cheeks. “I have been very patient, but people are talking, they are talking about a kept man, a gigolo and they are laughing at me, Suzanna! I don’t like to be laughed at!” He let go of her face and she dropped her head, forcing back the tears. “Do you understand me?”
Swallowing down the urge to scream at the pain in her hand she managed to nod. Then Mitchell suddenly released her fingers and a sharp pain shot up her wrist as the blood flowed back.
“I will not tolerate the situation anymore,” Mitchell said calmly, smoothing his suit jacket as if nothing had happened. “And don’t try to lie to me, Suzy; I know exactly what you are doing.” He reached forward and pressed the buzzer. “Always.” Seconds later the door was opened by his driver and he climbed out while Suzanna waited for her own door. Wearily, she stepped on to the pavement, shivered in the cool early-morning air and took Mitchell’s arm, escorting him to the check-in desk. She waited, smiled at the young blond man behind the counter and wondered vaguely whether he was Mitchell’s type. Then Mitchell turned to her, kissed her cheek, and taking his briefcase from the driver, he turned on his heel without another word and strode toward passport control.
“Goodbye, Mitchell,” she murmured under her breath and, thoroughly miserable, walked slowly back to the car.
Later that morning, Suzanna Harvey walked out of Biba, laden with carrier bags. She had spent Mitchell’s money; all of it. It was the only thing about her husband that gave her any pleasure—the money. It was the only reason she had married him. She held the door open for the young man behind her and he followed her out on to the pavement, carrying another four huge black-and-gold bags and watching the slim curved shape of her bottom in front, clearly visible in her tight, bright-red miniskirt. Her taxi was waiting. The meter was running, with four pounds ten already on the clock, and the driver jumped out at the sight of her, opening the back door and letting his eyes travel over the expanse of thigh she showed as she climbed into the cab. Crossing her legs, she bent and smoothed the soft black suede on her knee-length boots and then looked up at the driver who hadn’t taken his eyes off her legs.
“The bags?”
“Oh, yes, sorry…” He coughed, embarrassed, and turned to the young man, taking the bags and placing them neatly alongside the front seat in the cab. Suzanna leaned out of the window, handed the young sales assistant a ten-shilling note, and glanced nervously behind her. Satisfied that there was no one following her, she relaxed back and opened a copy of Harpers and Queen.
“Where to, Mrs. Harvey?” The driver strained to look at her over his shoulder; it was a while since he’d seen a pair of legs like that.
She glanced up. “Home of course,” she answered archly. Despite the shopping, her mood hadn’t lightened.
“Of course,” he muttered under his breath as he indicated and pulled out into the traffic. “I’m a bleedin’ mind reader, ain’t I?”
Major Phillip Mills let himself into the flat in Grosvenor Square, dropped the keys of Suzy’s Mercedes in an ashtray on the hall table and put his suitcase down by the front door, calling out to Suzy. He smoothed his hair back off his temples and checked his appearance in the mirror. The tan suited him, his clean-cut angular face was more pronounced by the deep brown and his hair had lightened to almost blond. He smiled, pleased with himself, and called out again.
“Suzy? Darling?” He could hardly wait to see her.
He strode through to the huge sitting room, then the bedroom and realized she was out. Disappointed, he dropped on to the sofa, put his feet up and reached for the top copy off a pile of Vogues. He lit himself a cigarette. This was Suzanna Harvey’s pied-à-terre, a base she used when she came up to London and didn’t want the bother of opening up the Regent’s Park house. It was a present from her husband, a sweetener they called it privately, and Phillip Mills had helped her decorate it, had bought the furniture with her, chosen the bed. Naturally, he treated it as he would his own home.
Settling back and placing a cushion behind his head, he opened the magazine, drew on the cigarette and took the ashtray from the side table, balancing it on the arm of the sofa. He glanced at the glossy ads, flicked through the features, then ground out the fag, closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep. It was eleven o’clock in the morning and he had just flown in from Delhi.
“Phillip! Darling!” Suzanna stood poised in the doorway, one small Biba carrier bag in her hand and a stocky, red-faced taxi driver behind her, laden with the other seven. “I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon!” She glanced behind her at the driver. “You can go,” she said curtly. “Leave the bags there.”
Digging in her purse, she followed the cab driver out into the hallway and pulled out a pound note. She handed it across. ‘Thank you,” she said, and Phillip kicked off his shoes, hearing the slam of the front door. He sat forward and peered out into the hall.
“Suzy?” The only reply he got was the soft rustle of what he thought were her clothes, then the sharp click of her boots on the parquet floor. He waited.
“Have you missed me?” she asked from the doorway.
He turned to look at her. She stood in her black pant
ies and boots, the bare skin on her round, firm breasts the same nut brown as her long, smooth thighs. She flicked a strand of chestnut-colored hair back off her shoulders and smiled.
“My God… Have I…?” He held out his arms. “Come here…”
Moving across to him, she stood in front of him while he kissed her chest, trailing his mouth down across her breast to the erect tip of her nipple. She was so filled with longing that it took her breath away. She needed him; it was like a drug, the sex between them.
“Well show me, then,” she murmured, taking his hand from her hip and pressing it gently against the lace covered mound between her thighs. Then she knelt, one knee either side of him on the sofa, and unbuckled his belt. “Show me how much…”
Some time later, wandering naked from the bedroom to the kitchen to make some tea, Phillip heard the phone ring and went to answer it.
“No!” Suzy had jumped out of bed and was at the door of the sitting-room. His hand froze above the receiver. “I’ll get it, darling,” she said casually in an attempt to cover her tension. “Oh, and put something on, will you?” She smiled. “You never know who can see into this flat.”
Phillip narrowed his eyes and looked at her as she answered the call but she ignored him. He walked toward the kitchen.
“Oh, hello, Poppy! Yes, yes fine, darling!” She perched on the edge of the table and looked down, pretending to inspect her nails. Phillip watched her for a few moments, then went on into the kitchen to make tea. He kept one ear tuned into the conversation. “No, no I didn’t know,” Suzy went on. “Oh, really? Well, if he does I’ll let you know. Of course, but things change, Poppy, you never know what…” Suzy broke off as Phillip came back into the sitting-room and placed a tray on the sofa table. “All right, I’ll let you know. Yes, yes thanks, Poppy. See you!” She hung up.
Still naked, Phillip poured the tea. “What things change?” he asked, handing her a cup. “And who’s the mysterious ‘he’?” Sitting, Phillip saw Suzy blush but she quickly turned away to hide it and fiddled, tying the belt of her silk wrap.
“ ‘He’ is no one important,” she answered. “And lots of things change.” She smiled nervously and disappeared into the bedroom. A few moments later she stood in the doorway and chucked a towel at him. He caught it and held it up.
“What’s this for?”
“Don’t be churlish, Phillip,” she answered, “put it on and make yourself decent.”
He reached for his cigarettes, still ignoring the request and lit two, handing one across to her. “Why?” he asked, leaning back. “You’ve never complained before.” He glanced down, then up at her, making his point. “And why not answer the telephone? It’s never bothered you in the past.”
Suzy shrugged, avoiding his eye, and, bending forward, she flicked her ash. Phillip caught her arm and held her wrist. He felt a moment of panic. “What is it, Suzanna? You’re not tired of me?”
She jerked her arm free. “No! Of course I’m not tired of you! For God’s sake, Phillip, you should know that at least!” She looked away. They had been together for over three years and Phillip Mills was her life. “It’s not you, it’s…” she broke off and stood up, crossing to the window. She didn’t want this confrontation now, not on his first day home. “It’s nothing,” she said. She turned her back on him and looked out of the window at the street six floors below. She felt suddenly very desperate.
Phillip waited. He stared at her back, at the tense line of her body as she hugged her arms around her and hunched her shoulders. He could feel an intense fear rising in his chest.
“Have you met someone else?”
Suzy spun around. “Oh God, no!” She laughed; the question was so ridiculous. It was a sharp painful sound and it seemed to break her. Suddenly she put her hands up to her face. “Oh God!” She started to cry.
“Christ, Suzy! What is it?” Phillip sprung forward and pulled her close to him. He had never seen her cry before; in three years he had never seen a tear. “Suzy?” He kissed her hair as she pressed her head against his chest. “Suzy, please, it can’t be that bad.” He tilted her face up. “Hey! Come on.” He kissed the corner of her mouth as she wiped her tears on the back of her hand, sniffing loudly. “Come on.” He led her over to the sofa and sat, pulling her down beside him and reaching for the towel to cover himself. He was suddenly embarrassed by his nakedness.
“You OK now?”
She nodded, fumbling in her pocket for a handkerchief.
“Are you going to tell me what’s the matter?” Suzy looked away. “What is all this stupid ‘don’t answer the phone, don’t walk around without any clothes on’ about?” He stared at her profile, a perfect face framed with soft dark hair, and he loved her so completely that it frightened him. “Am I the ‘he’?”
She started. “And you don’t know I’m in England, you haven’t seen me?” His voice took on an angry edge. “You don’t even want Poppy to know, your best friend?”
She kept her face turned away from him and gripped the handkerchief, twisting and wringing the silk around her fingers.
“Why, Suzy?” Phillip asked it almost lazily, as if he couldn’t care less but the blood was pounding in his ears. “Why all this drama?”
“Because…” She broke off helplessly and reached forward for her cigarettes.
He caught her wrist. “Because what? What Suzy?”
“Because of bloody Mitchell!” she cried, wrenching her arm free and jumping up. “Bloody, bloody Mitchell!” A sob caught in the back of her throat. “Mitchell is watching me, his spies, they’re everywhere, they know all about me, about you!” Her voice was high and tight, the pain strangling her. “He wants a knighthood, he wants you out, gone! Out of my life! He made threats, he hurt me! He said…” She was shouting, her face crumpled with grief. “He said people are saying you’re a gigolo, a kept man, he said people are laughing at him, that I’m causing a scandal!” She covered her face with her hands and began to weep.
All Phillip could do was sit motionless and stare at her. He was so shocked he didn’t know what to say, how to comfort her. Mitchell Harvey had never been part of the question, he had been a blank face in the background, a ruthless homosexual who had married Suzanna as a cover for his sexuality. He didn’t care what they did so long as they were discreet within their own circles. He didn’t care about anything, least of all Suzanna.
Phillip looked helplessly down at his hands. “Suzy, please,” he said quietly. “Please don’t cry like this.”
“Like what?” she suddenly screamed. “Like I’m going to lose the only thing that I’ve ever wanted, ever loved! Don’t you care? Don’t you…” She lashed out at him but he caught her arm.
“For God’s sake, Suzy!” He yanked her toward him and held her, pinned her body tight to his own, his arms locked across her back. “For God’s sake, stop it,” he cried hoarsely, as she struggled against him. “Jesus, Suzy…”
But her violence stopped as abruptly as it had started and she slumped against him, her face buried in his chest. Phillip stroked her hair, wrapping his fingers in it. He looked above her head at the picture on the wall, a picture they had bought together in Bond Street, a Chagall, and he remembered handing the money over in cash, Mitchell’s cash, he remembered the thrill of it, the sexual excitement that the power of money could bring. He remembered fucking Suzy all night, the picture propped up against the wall in the bedroom and her face turned toward it every time she climaxed. Gently he tugged on her hair and tilted her head back.
“You OK?”
She nodded and tried to hide her face again.
“It’s all right,” he said, “I love you, remember? You won’t put me off with baggy eyes and a red nose.” He did love her, it was the truth. He loved everything about her, her beauty, the lifestyle they shared, her money.
Suzy smiled, a sad, half-smile, then she moved away from him across the room and picked up the packet of cigarettes, lighting two, as was their habit. She held Phillip�
��s out to him and he came over.
“Thanks.”
“I have to go to Spain,” she said flatly. “At the end of the week. Mitchell is entertaining at the villa.” She smoked as she spoke, almost continually, holding the cigarette close to her face. When she finished one, she immediately lit up another. “And he wants to do the season, all of it, poncing around with him, dressed up, lying to people, pretending!” She stood up and walked away. “I won’t be able to see you, he’ll make sure of that. I won’t…” She broke off, unable to go on. Swallowing hard, she managed to calm herself. “He means it,” she said quietly, coldly. “He wants the House of Lords, he has some deal, some bloody deal to finance and he needs respectability, he needs me! Ha! What a fucking joke! Mitchell, the East End thug in the House of Lords! Lord Harvey, duffing up his wife!” The bitterness in her voice shocked Phillip. She hardly ever talked about Mitchell, he knew very little about the other side of her life. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said, looking away. Her voice had changed again, it was small, like a child’s. “All the time you’ve been in India I’ve thought about you, about this.” She glanced around the flat, their flat. “Being together.” She dropped her head and put her hands up to her face. “I don’t think I can live without you anymore,” she whispered, “I really don’t.”
“You won’t have to live without me,” Phillip answered. He reached out to her and took her hands. “Suzy? Look at me, Suzy.” She lifted her head. “Listen, I promise you that we’ll find a way out of this.”
She shook her head helplessly.
“Yes! I promise!” Pulling her toward him, he held her hands up and kissed her palms, her wrists. “I don’t know how, I can’t pretend that I do, but there will be a way.” He eased her in closer so that she stood before him and dropped her hands, slipping his fingers inside the silk, touching her warm flesh. “Have I ever let you down?”
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