“Memsahib? Memsahib?”
Jane opened her eyes and realized that she must have dozed off. She saw her ayah and smiled. “Hello, Usha,” she said. “Gosh. I must have fallen asleep.” She sat up with difficulty and the ayah stepped forward to help her. Giving a little laugh, she took the hand she was offered.
“Is that my tea?” she asked, settling herself.
“Yes, memsahib, and there is something for you to eat, something that will be giving you strength.” The ayah smiled and came forward, laying the tray on a small cane table by the side of Jane’s chair. She gently placed a hand on Jane’s stomach. “Something that will be giving you both strength.”
Jane smiled. She had got to know this Indian woman well over the past few months; she trusted her. It was a small household, all of the servants chosen by Bodi, but the ayah was the only other woman Jane came into contact with. She would have been very lonely without Usha’s company. Jane took the tea and sipped, looking over the rim of the cup at the valley as it came to life.
“Is your brother coming to Ghanerao this month?” she asked, as the ayah cut the fruit for her.
“Yes, memsahib, he is coming a week on Saturday.”
Jane sat still and continued to sip but she couldn’t quiet the sudden racing of her heart. Usha’s brother worked for Dr. Yadav and he would bring Jane’s letter from Rami. She finished her tea and exchanged the cup for the small plate of peeled fruit. “Thank you,” she murmured distractedly; she was already thinking about the letter. Rami would know now, she had kept it a secret for as long as she could but she had had to tell him, in her last correspondence. It was getting close, she needed help, she needed a midwife, maybe even a doctor. She wondered what he would say, whether he would be pleased, or anxious, angry even. She longed for his writing, for Usha’s brother to visit his family in Ghanerao and bring Rami’s words. She longed for his answer to her letter, telling him that she was pregnant with his child.
* * *
Shiva looked at Rami across the table in the restaurant of the gymkhana club in Baijur and watched him sip his water. Rami, the chiseled beauty of his face calm and; composed, averted his eyes. He knew Shiva was watching him; he felt the force of the gaze and he continued to look away. He had planned this meticulously, he had been working on it since he received Jane’s letter and he wasn’t about to make any mistakes at this stage.
“You leave at what time?” Shiva asked, clicking his fingers for the waiter.
Rami turned back to his grandfather and shrugged. “Later, some time this evening,” he answered. “Viki wishes me to keep it secret.”
Shiva nodded. He was handed the wine list and surveyed it with the waiter standing at his elbow. Rami knew he wasn’t really looking, he was playing for time, for effect. “Chablis,” he ordered, his habitual choice, “the sixty-three.” He glanced up and closed the list. “You are being escorted?”
“Yes, by three of Viki’s men. They will be escorting me to the city limits to ensure I am not followed.”
Shiva nodded. He looked away and smiled, raising his right hand in greeting to one of the English contingent from ICI. He didn’t trust Rami, hadn’t trusted him from that first moment that Jane Mills disappeared, but whatever way he followed him, whatever way he watched him, it always came to nothing. He was very, very careful. The wine arrived and Shiva tasted, then nodded. It was poured and he took a mouthful.
“How long will you be gone?”
Rami shrugged. “As long as it takes,” he answered.
Shiva momentarily lost his patience. “For goodness sake, Ramesh!” he hissed. “I am your grandfather! You might at least have the courtesy to tell me what is going on!”
Rami sat silent. He had been waiting for this moment in his task for Viki, the very last part, the removal and hiding of the family wealth. He had prolonged it for as long as he dared, waiting until he needed the cover, knowing that Shiva wouldn’t dare try to follow him on royal instructions. He was going to see Jane for the first time in four months and he was using the final chapter of Viki’s book as a cover.
“I am unable to tell anyone anything,” he said, “I am sorry.”
Shiva’s nostrils flared but it was the only outward sign of the intense anger he felt. His grandson was insolent! He was deceiving him and Shiva knew it, he sensed it, felt it. He had never had the justice that was deserved. Without a culprit, the Mills murder had faded from view, become just another unsolved crime. Without Jane Mills to elevate it to a scandal of the highest proportion it had been forgotten and this pained Shiva; he didn’t like his jobs only half done.
“But you will be back for the wedding?” Shiva raised an eyebrow. “It would be a great insult not to return for the wedding.”
“Of course, I will be back in time for the first ceremony.” Rami knew he had three days before the celebrations began. He could just make it in three days.
Shiva smiled. So Ramesh was heading south-east. He clicked for more wine and sat back to enjoy his second glass. He wouldn’t attempt the desert terrain to the west in just three days. He was obviously heading for the hills above Ghanerao; that was a three-day trek. He sipped the wine and looked across at his grandson. You have slipped, Ramesh, he thought, his lip curling slightly in a sneer, you are not as clever as you think you are. And he dragged his eyes away from the face that had disappointed and deceived him and began to plot the course that his men would have to take.
Imran Devi stood on the corner of the bazaar and peeled an orange, dropping the peel on to the ground and kicking it idly into the gutter. He had been in Baijur for over four months now, his Hindustani was perfect and his olive skin had burnt a dark Asian brown. He wore native dress, a fine muslin kurta and churidar, his slippers were soft kid, embellished with gold leaf. He was a high-caste Indian, he lived in a suite of rented rooms in a bungalow on the Eastern drive and filled his days doing very little, keeping out of sight, watching, listening. He rang London once a week and he waited.
He was waiting now. He had arranged to meet someone, he was early but that didn’t matter and he was tense. The meeting was important; if his information was right then there wasn’t much time. He glanced up as an Indian joined him on the street corner and stopped to light a cheroot.
“You wanted to see me,” the man said, flicking the lighted match to the ground. “You have some work?”
Imran dropped the remains of his orange into the gutter. “Yes,” he answered, “I have.” He turned toward the crowded streets of the market. “Come,” he said. “This way.” And he led the way through the bazaar to a small coffee shop and a tiny, dark back room he had hired for his purpose.
Dr. Bodi Yadav had left Baijur two days earlier. He had said goodbye to his wife and family for his extended visit to Europe and a medical convention at which he was presenting a paper in London and Paris. They didn’t ask any questions; it was something he had done before and his wife was used to his business trips away from home.
But Dr. Yadav didn’t leave for Delhi, he didn’t board the British Airways flight for London, he had no intention of doing so. He waited for two days in a small town on the western side of Balisthan, a dried-out, fly-infested place that no one ever visited and few had ever heard of. He made the last of his arrangements and took delivery of some things he had ordered in Delhi. When the time came, he would be with her. He was ready.
He loaded the jeep and collected the food that had been prepared for him. He was anxious and he was frightened. He had taken every possible precaution, he was certain that they could not be followed but he didn’t for one instant doubt Shiva Rai’s determination, his shrewd cunning and an evil streak he had had the misfortune to have seen on too many occasions.
Just before darkness fell, Bodi Yadav left the town, taking the desert road east toward Baijur, cutting across country and stopping forty miles south of the city, off the road, under cover of the trees and in the place he had marked for Rami on the map. He hid the vehicle from view, climbed out a
nd, having made sure that the place was deserted, sat by the side of the road to wait.
He didn’t have to wait for long. Rami too had left before darkness fell. He had driven out of Baijur in a Land Rover, Viki’s men watching the roads and following him twenty miles east of the city. Satisfied that he had departed unseen, they turned back and Ramesh continued on forty miles along the main Balisthan route south. At a junction that split east or west, he cut cross-country. Bodi had prepared him for the next stage. The terrain was rough, difficult, the road turned to track and often petered out into open country. He followed the map pinned to the dashboard and drove with a compass in his hand. It was grueling, the sky was dark and the land in deep tracks of black shadow. He peered hard through the windscreen, his eyes trained on the foreground, watching the distance every now and then, watching the mirror for any sign of light behind him. It took him three hours.
Bodi looked up at the faint roar of an engine in the distance. He had been dozing, the small fire had almost gone out. He stood, turned his head to the right, then the left and, looking to the west, he listened hard. The night was breathless, the air still and the noise carried. It was Rami, it came from the west. He kicked the coals of the fire and scuffed the ground, covering the ashes with sand. He walked back to the jeep, uncovered it and climbed inside. Starting the engine, he drove into view and, able just to make out a glimmer of a headlight on the horizon, he waited for sight of Rami.
An hour later, they parked the two vehicles at the back of a small deserted garage in a village several miles across country from the main road and Bodi climbed out. He quickly embraced Ramesh, then, opening the back of his jeep, he began to transfer his things across to the Land Rover, piling them on top of the rows of metal boxes. They were taking only one vehicle, it was safer; the other one Bodi had arranged to be collected the following day. The small task took a matter of minutes. When he was finished, he glanced at his watch.
“It shouldn’t be long,” he said. “We’re early.” Rami nodded. The road up to Ghanerao was rarely used, the Land Rover would be obvious and the lights seen for miles around. Bodi didn’t want to risk it. He had arranged for a guide to help them up through the rough ground, away from the road, circumventing the village and driving straight up to the small house that Jane rented. It was a hell of a journey but it was by far the safest. Villagers talked; they could arouse suspicion further afield.
Bodi walked back to his jeep and locked it. He leaned against the bonnet. “Where the devil is this chap?” He didn’t like the holdup; it made him nervous. He glanced behind him as a figure materialized out of the darkness.
“Jhoti Sahib?” he hissed.
“Yes.” The figure came into view. “You are ready?”
Bodi nodded and looked toward Rami. The man was younger than he’d been led to expect but there wasn’t time to worry. “We are ready,” he said. The man walked over to the Land Rover.
Rami opened the door for him and he climbed up, placing a canvas bag on the seat beside him and taking out a spotlight. He looked at Rami’s map, then ripped it off the dashboard and folded it away. He replaced it with his own.
Bodi climbed in behind him and waited for Rami. He had a sixth sense, something was making him edgy and he was anxious to get away. Rami took the driver’s seat and started the engine. He switched on the headlights.
“Which way?” he asked.
Jhoti nodded to the east. “Take the road for about two miles and then we cut off.”
Rami shifted into gear. He glanced in the mirror and moved the Land Rover forward. Bodi checked the road behind them, watching until the deserted garage disappeared from view, then he settled back and rested for a few moments. He would be needed when they moved off road, another pair of eyes would be vital even with the beam from the spotlight. He untied the cotton scarf he wore over his mouth and loosened it, winding down the window, relieved at the cool breeze on his face. They were in for a long night, but, if the gods continued to smile, a safe one. He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Please the gods a safe one.
Imran Devi picked up the phone immediately as it rang. He listened, wrote a number of things down, then replaced the receiver. He dialled another number, spoke quickly, issuing instructions and hung up. He walked through to his bedroom, lay down on the bed and stared out of the window at the black, starless sky. The time had come but he still couldn’t stomach the thought of it.
Somewhere, at the back of a small garage off the Pindi Road heading southeast, someone had just made themselves fifty rupees. Life was very cheap in India.
23
JANE WOKE WITH A START. SHE HADN’T SLEPT WELL FOR WEEKS now; the baby kicked at night, its feet lodged just below her breasts, and she woke fitfully every couple of hours to shift position, to try and get comfortable. Now, lying in the dark, she listened to the night sounds, staring at the sky through the window, a little afraid, a little lonely. She rolled on to her side and tried to close her eyes. It was silent, eerily calm and she could count the beats of her heart. Suddenly, she heard a noise, a sharp crack outside.
Struggling, she sat up and switched on the lamp, flooding the room with light. She put her hand up to her chest and pressed her palm hard against her racing pulse. She took a couple of deep breaths, gently easing her legs over the side of the bed and dropping her feet onto the floor. She stood up slowly, silently, and crept to the long, half-open window. It was cold and she shivered, wrapping her arms around her, covering her swollen belly. She peered out into the dark, very frightened now, ready to call the bearer. Then suddenly the door opened behind her and she swung round.
For a moment she didn’t believe it. She stood, ashen-faced, frozen to the spot, then she stumbled forward, relief and joy making her weak and Rami caught her, taking her weight and holding her close to his body.
“Jane, my darling Jane,” he murmured into her hair. “Dear, dear Jane.”
She jerked back. “Is it you?” she cried. “Is it really you?”
He kissed her face, her lips, her eyes. “Yes, it is really me,” he whispered fiercely. He placed a hand on her stomach. “And this? This is really you?”
Jane nodded and covered his hand with her own. “It is you and me, both of us.” She looked down at her belly, at their baby, growing inside her. “Do you mind?” she asked quietly.
Suddenly Rami laughed, loudly, joyfully. “Mind?” He shook his head and stroked her through the thin muslin of her nightdress. “It is the most wonderful thing,” he answered. He knelt and, lifting the muslin, he kissed the skin stretched tightly across her belly; he kissed their baby. Jane held his head, her fingers wrapped in his hair. “One pure moment of love,” he said, looking up at her, “one union, blessed by the gods.” Jane closed her eyes as he gently kissed her again and the baby moved under his touch. Then, silently, she began to cry.
Later, lying curled up with his body wrapped around her, his hand across her womb, Jane felt the movement inside and, staring out at the sky, she said, “What is going to happen to me?” She pressed her hand against Rami’s, against her stomach, “To us?”
Rami kissed her hair. “Sssh, Jane, it is all right, you will be with me, you will be safe.” He stroked her skin.
But Jane moved so that she could look at his face. “Safe?”
He didn’t answer her.
“Safe?” she said again. “What do you mean?” Her voice rose in panic. “They haven’t found who murdered Phillip?” She shifted and with difficulty, sat up. “Tell me, Rami,” she said. “Tell me the truth. Everything.”
Rami rolled on to his back and looked up at the ceiling. He was silent for some time, not sure what to do, what to say. He didn’t want to lie to her but he did want to protect her. At least for the moment, to protect her and the baby.
Jane reached over and switched on the lamp. Rami covered his eyes, the sudden light making him wince.
“Please,” she said, “I have a right to know.”
Rami sat up as well. He fac
ed her, crossing his legs, taking her hand in his. He looked down at it, at the strong capable fingers, the pale freckled skin.
“They have not found who murdered Phillip,” he said. “You are the suspect; they are not looking for anyone else.”
Jane caught her breath. She had been fueling a blind hope, believing in the truth. She had honestly thought they would find the murderer; she had prayed so hard that the misery of this isolation wouldn’t last. Pulling her hand away from Rami, she covered her face. “Oh God,” she breathed, “my poor baby…”
Rami leaned forward and cradled her body in to his. “Janey, it’s all right,” he said. “We will overcome this, I give you my promise, we—”
“How?” Jane suddenly cried, pushing him away. “How for pity’s sake?” Her face creased with anxiety. “How…?” She stopped and stared down at her belly as a spasm of pain shot through her womb. She gasped and clutched the bed.
“Jane?” Rami sprang forward. “Jane, what is it?”
Clenching her jaw, Jane shook her head. “Nothing,” she hissed. “A pain, that’s all…” She started to breathe deeply, seconds later her grip relaxed. “The ayah said it’s normal…” Her breathing regulated. “She said it’s normal a few weeks before.”
Rami let out a sigh. He took both of Jane’s hands and kissed them, pressing the palms to his mouth. “God, I love you, Jane,” he said. She smiled sadly. “I will look after you, both of you, I promise you that.”
Jane glanced away.
“Bodi has applied for a job for me, in America,” he said suddenly, “a teaching job.” He hadn’t wanted to tell her until he was sure but she needed to know now; he had to reassure her. “He is able to get me a passport…” Rami smiled. “Not legally of course, but I will put you on it, you and the baby.” He touched her stomach as he said this, “We can leave India, cross over to Pakistan and go from there…” He broke off. “Jane? What is the matter? What?”
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