“Now?” John looked up at her as she stood.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said. “Have my croissant, Gramps, I can’t eat it.” And she disappeared out of the door.
Jimmy lay in bed and smoked a cigarette. It had gone well, he was pleased. He should be able to get it done within the month, if he was smart. Not that it mattered of course; there was no time limit, just a nice fat check on delivery. He smiled as the phone rang and leaned over the edge of the bed, fumbling around on the floor for it. He picked up the receiver and yanked the wire so it could reach his ear.
“Hello?” He sat up. “Good morning, Indu, how are you? Good, glad to hear it!” Scratching his armpit, he flicked his cigarette ash into the remains of last night’s coffee. “What, Monday?” he said, noticing a hesitancy in her voice. “Yes, I did actually!” he lied. “But I’m not telling you, it’s a surprise.”
He dropped the cigarette stub into the mug and it made a hiss as it went out. He leaned forward, reaching for the paper, thinking quick. “It’s pretty hard to cancel but I guess I could give the tickets away if I had to.” He scanned the entertainments page. “Why, don’t you want to come?” He hit on the right ad. “Oh, Indi, really? No, I guess not, but it is a shame, I tried really hard to get tickets for the Royal Opera House, it’s a complete sellout.” He waited as the other end went silent. He needed Monday night, it would be impossible to start up again if she dipped out at this stage. “Indi, are you still there?” He let out a sigh of relief. “It isn’t a problem if you really can’t make it, honestly, I can give the tickets away.” He was sweating. “I know it would be a terrible shame, I was so looking forward to it.”
He bit his thumbnail. “Can you? The other person won’t mind you canceling at this late stage?” A shot of adrenaline surged through him. “Oh great! I’m really pleased.”
He reached for his cigarettes and lit another one up. “Shall we meet in Covent Garden? At the Crusting Pipe?” He heard Indi hesitate again. This was going to be more difficult than he had first thought. “How about the Opera House itself, then, outside at seven? Good, we’ll do that.” He dropped his feet over the side of the bed and stood. “I’m really glad you can make it, Indi, really glad.” He bent and picked up the phone, holding the receiver in the crook of his neck and walking naked to the window. He lifted a slat in the blind and looked out. “OK, Indi, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he said. “Yes, take care. Bye!” He hung up. “Shit!” he said aloud. “Fucking shit!” He left the phone on the win-dowsill and walked through to the sitting-room. He had rented the flat unfurnished and had a phone, a TV and a bed. In the empty kitchen he opened all the cupboards, hunting for a Yellow Pages; under the sink he found one. He took it back to the bedroom, looked up booking agents and dialled the first one on the page.
“Yes, hello,” he said, “I hope you can. I need two tickets for Madame Butterfly at the Royal Opera House tomorrow night.” He chewed his thumbnail again. “No, I’m not concerned with price,” he snapped irritably, “I’ll pay whatever it takes!”
27
FOR THE SECOND TWO WEEKS OF JUNE, A MASSIVE HIGH rested over England and the summer weather lived up to all expectations. The sky was a pale azure blue, streaked with feathery clouds, the sun shone and a faint southeasterly breeze blew in off the coast of Sussex.
Indu Bennet lay in a field on her back under the shade of an old oak tree and stared up at the pattern the leaves made against the blue of the sky. Her head rested on a cushion, and she wriggled her toes against the soft wool of the rug underneath her. Reaching to the side, she felt for her wine glass and, finding it, carefully tipped it up to her lips and sipped the champagne. She closed her eyes and sighed.
“You’re not going to sleep are you, Indi?”
She smiled but kept her eyes closed. “No, I’m just resting from the view.”
Jimmy rolled on to his side and looked at her. She was beautiful, half Indian jasmine, half English rose, a heady combination of the exotic and the delicate. He traced the line of her face from her brow down to her chin with his fingertip, and she opened one eye. “Oi!” She grinned. “I’m trying to relax here, Mr. Stone, it was you who told me to chill out in the first place, remember?”
Jimmy smiled and dropped his hand away. He sat up, taking the bottle of champagne out of the cooler and pouring himself another glass. Beside them lay the remains of their picnic, ordered and packed by Claridges, the hamper open, their plates, cutlery and disheveled napkins strewn over the grass. Jimmy took an apple from the fruit basket and bit into it. “Have you given my idea any more thought, Indi?” he asked, pulling his legs into the lotus position.
Indi opened both eyes and glanced sidelong at him. “No, not really,” she answered. “Why?”
“The briers come through,” he said, “Balisthan, the Mogul Palaces of Balisthan.”
Indi sat up. “Really?” She cuffed him on the leg. “Jimmy! Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“I wanted today to be perfect,” he said. “Relaxed, easy, no decisions to be made.”
Indi leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “You are sweet,” she said. He caught the back of her head and held her face close to his but she looked away, lowering her eyes and pulling back. He released her. “OK, have it your way.” Smiling, he took another bite of the apple.
“You don’t mind, do you?”
He shrugged, still grinning. “Why should I? It’s the way you are; it doesn’t bother me.” He looked at his apple, deciding which bit to try next. “It frustrates me, yes, but it doesn’t upset me.” He bit. It didn’t upset him in the slightest; he was in it for the money, nothing else. Sleeping with her would have been nice, a perk of the job, but he wasn’t going to push it. He couldn’t afford to take that sort of risk.
“So when are you off?” she asked.
“At the end of the month.” He glanced up quickly to check she wasn’t too shocked. She was thinking, her forehead creased in the odd frown she had when concentrating, the corner of her lip bitten. He flicked her arm. “A penny for them?”
“They’re worth more than a penny, Jimmy!” She knelt forward, poured herself some more champagne, then stood and walked away from him, some way down the hillside. She sat on the grass and looked at the view. She had no idea what to do.
In the past two weeks Indi had seen a great deal of Jimmy Stone. She’d had nothing else to do, and he was persistent, constantly arranging things for her, fun things, extravagant things, jaunts and trips that men her own age would never have thought of. She liked him, he was good fun, easygoing. He was completely different from anyone she had ever known before. And now he had asked her to go to India with him, all expenses paid, no ties, just for the company, just for the crack. He was leaving in a couple of weeks and she hadn’t told John, she hadn’t said yes and she hadn’t said no. She couldn’t make up her mind and she didn’t want to make a mistake either way.
Sipping her champagne, she heard Jimmy come up behind her. He sat down and reached for her hand.
“I see a major trip abroad coming up,” he said, looking down at her palm, “with a very good-looking, charming young man.”
Indi smiled and continued to stare at the view. “It is an offer you can’t refuse,” he went on. “The chance of a lifetime!”
Indi gently pulled her hand away. “Don’t, Jimmy!” she said. “I’m trying to think.”
He shrugged and sat in silence next to her for a few moments. Then he said, “I don’t see what the problem is, Indi, I honestly don’t.” She turned toward him. “All I’m asking is for you to come to India with me for a while, for as long as you like. I’ll book an open ticket, you can come home when you want to, stay as long as you want to. It’ll be fun, Indi, really good fun! I really like you, I adore being around you, it would make working there so much more enjoyable if you were with me!” He took her hand again. “What’s the problem with that, eh? I couldn’t make it any easier now, could I?”
Indi sm
iled. “No, no you couldn’t,” she said. “I do realize that, it’s just…” She sighed heavily. “Oh I don’t know.” She shrugged and pulled a face. She did know, she knew exactly what was holding her back but she didn’t want to discuss it. Her grandfather was a subject she found impossible to talk about.
“So you’ll come then?”
“Maybe…” she looked back at the view, “maybe not.”
John hated India; he had always made it quite clear that he never wanted Indi to go there, or have anything to do with the country. She presumed it was losing Jane there that had turned him or maybe there was something else? Whatever it was, she knew he would take a proposed trip to India very badly. Very badly indeed.
Jimmy stood up and held out his hands. He knew not to push things. He had to work slowly, thoroughly; he didn’t want to bully her into making the wrong decision. Indi took them and he pulled her upright.
“Race you down the hill?” he said.
“Yes, all right… Hey!” He sprinted off and she set off after him, her bare feet skimming over the grass and the fine cotton of her skirt billowing out behind her as she ran.
The picnic was followed by a long walk across the Downs, then collecting up the rubbish and driving in Jimmy’s car to a pub on the edge of the River Arun. They sat out by the water as the day finally faded and watched the twilight, cool and especially long, as it gracefully eased the day into night and brought the shadows to life.
Jimmy drove Indi home. She asked him in; but he refused; he had a meeting in London early in the morning and had to be getting back. She climbed out of the car and quietly closed the door, holding up her hand to wave and stepping out of the glare of the headlights. She watched him disappear off down the drive, then she put her key in the door and went into the house. The lights were on in the sitting-room.
“Hello, Gramps.”
“Hello.” John put the paper down. “Did you have a nice day, Indi?”
“Yes, a picnic up on the Downs, then a drink at the Mucky Duck at Roundal, by the river.”
“Lovely.” He looked at her face, flushed from the sun, the honey color turning a darker brown, the color of sandal-wood, and she smiled at him, a warm, familiar smile, honest and clear, like Jane’s had always been. “You see rather a lot of this Jimmy Stone, don’t you?” he said as Indi came into the room. “He’s obviously very nice.”
“Hmmmm.” Indi glanced down at the headlines of the paper John had just put down.
“It’s not serious is it?”
Indi suddenly looked up. “No! Of course not!” She blushed and John laughed, reaching out for her hand.
“You’ll have to learn to stop blushing like that, Indi,” he said. “None of your patients will take you seriously if you go crimson every time you’re embarrassed.”
Indi smiled and sat down on a footstool, hugging her knees. She waited for John to pick up the paper again, then she said, “Jimmy wants me to go to India with him, Gramps, in a couple of weeks’ time.”
John held the paper steady but his body flinched. “Does he now?” He kept his face hidden for a few moments longer, making sure he was composed when he looked at her. He lowered the paper. “And what did you tell him?”
“I haven’t told him anything yet; I thought I’d talk to you first.”
“I see.” Keep calm, his inner voice was saying, for God’s sake keep calm. “And who exactly is this Jimmy Stone chap? What do you know about him, Indi?”
“He’s a photographer, I told you, he works freelance for various publishers, he’s twenty-seven and he lives in London.”
“Is that all?”
“No! That’s not all, Gramps! We’ve talked about loads of things, what he likes, what he’s done with his life, where he’s travelled.”
John nodded, trying to keep his face impassive. “What about his parents, Indi? His background, what school he went to?”
“I can’t believe you just asked that, Gramps! What does any of that matter?”
“Not a lot, but at least you should know where he comes from!”
Indi bit back an angry retort. “He doesn’t talk about his parents,” she said tightly. “Not everyone does. And he hasn’t talked about his school so presumably it’s not Eton!”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic, Indu!” John snapped. “I am asking this for your own good!”
“Oh really?”
“Yes really! Think about it India isn’t Blackpool, a train ride away, it’s a complex, difficult country with a man you hardly know. Please, Indi, be sensible!”
“I am being sensible! I want to go.”
“Obviously!”
They both glared at each other for a moment, then Indi looked away. She never rowed with Gramps, never! She could hardly remember a cross word between them. She turned back to him and said, “Look, I’m sorry, Gramps, it’s just that I think I’d really like to go, to see where I was born, to be a bit independent. I don’t want to upset you, honestly I don’t.”
John heard the plea in her voice but he wasn’t able to see sense; he panicked at her words, lashed out stupidly. “You will upset me, Indi,” he said harshly, “if you go to India.”
“But why?” Indi threw her hands up in the air. “You’ve never told me anything about India, about my parents, just that they were killed in a car crash in 1966! That’s it, that’s all you ever said! I don’t understand why you don’t want me to go, why you have this dislike of a country you’ve never been to!”
John sat still and looked away. How could he explain now? And yet how could he risk letting her go to India to find it out on her own? What could he tell her? About her mother, about Phillip Mills and his awful bloody murder. That Jane ran away? That she was pregnant by an Indian lover and accused of murdering her husband, ran away to have the baby. That she and the Indian were killed and the baby was smuggled out of the country to England, to him and Caroline, her grandparents. That was all he knew, yet how could he tell her all this now? Without warning, without proof? He turned back to her. “Indi, I forbid you to go to India,” he said, knowing he had no other way open to him. “I absolutely forbid you!”
Indi looked incredulously at him. “How can you? How can you forbid me, Grandpa? I’m twenty-three years old, I can do whatever I please!” She stood up and stormed over to the door. “You know, you were the one who said, get out, do something with your summer vacation, and now, now I want to go to India for a few weeks, a month at the most, you’ve suddenly changed your mind!” She shook her head, exasperated. “I don’t understand, Grandpa, I just don’t understand you!”
“I wouldn’t expect you to!” John suddenly shouted. “But I have my reasons!” He stood up and, flinging the paper down, he crossed to the window. He stood with his back to her and stared out at the garden in darkness. In hindsight he knew that he should have told her then but he just couldn’t do it. Perhaps it was too difficult even to admit to himself, without the pain of having to tell Indu. He stayed silent, closed up.
“I don’t want to go without your approval,” Indi said quietly, “but I do want to go, Grandpa, I want to see where I was born, I want to go…”
“Go then!” John cried suddenly, swinging around to face her. “But you go without my approval, you go in the knowledge that you make me very unhappy indeed!”
Indi shook her head. “Please don’t make me feel guilty; don’t burden me with that,” she murmured. “Tell me what it is; explain, please, Gramps.”
But John was old, he had suffered the terrible loss of his beloved daughter, the shame of her accusal and he was tired, he couldn’t face any more emotion. “I’m sorry, Indi,” he said, “but I won’t explain and I won’t be here for you if you go to India; you can no longer rely on me.” He turned away, unable to look at her face. “That’s it, go to India and you go entirely alone. If you get into trouble then it’s your problem.”
Indi put her hand up to her mouth, and a sob caught in the back of her throat. This was awful; she didn’t
understand any of it. How could she go under these circumstances? And yet…Jimmy’s words went round and round in her head. She was twenty-three, an independent person, she had to start living, she had to break free! She had to see life while she still had the chance. Opening the door, she turned to leave. “Gramps, I…?” Her voice failed her but he didn’t look around. Silently she went upstairs to her room and in the darkness, lay down on the bed, curled herself up into a ball and cried confused and angry tears.
John made his early-morning cup of tea and, placing the mug and a couple of biscuits on a tray, he went through into the hall and picked The Times up off the floor, placing it on top of the tray. He carried it all back upstairs to bed. There wasn’t much point in getting up yet; there was nothing to get up for, so he laid the tray on the bedside table, kicked off his slippers and climbed back into bed. He looked at the date on the front page of the paper and sighed heavily. It was only Tuesday, Indi had been gone for nearly two weeks now and it felt like a month. He glanced out of the window, knowing that today was the date she had planned to leave for Delhi and, despite the sunshine, he felt as miserable as sin.
John got up. Leaving the tea, he wandered through into Inch’s old bedroom and stood in the tidy, immaculately clean room, longing for the mess of papers, books and clothes all strewn about the floor. Mrs. Jones had done a good job, too good a job, he thought, and, crossing to the window, he opened it to let some air into the room, to give it some life. He heard the postman.
“It’s amazing,” he said aloud, “how important the post becomes when you’ve nothing else to occupy your mind.” And leaving Indi’s room, closing the door firmly behind him, he went eagerly downstairs for his letters.
The first one John opened was from The Rose Growers Association. It was marked I. Bennet but he was the only member in the house so it was obviously a typo and should have been J. He ripped the back of the envelope and unfolded the page, scanning down the paragraphs and hurriedly reading the contents. Halfway down he stopped and peered closely at it, going back to the first line and rereading it more closely. Then he sat down on the bottom stair and closed his eyes. It was Indu’s letter; he had opened it by mistake. It was Indi’s registration of her first hybrid rose, the John Bennet Rose. He swallowed hard and, standing, held on to the bannister while he fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief. He blew his nose then walked through to the kitchen and out of the back door into the garden. He went into Indi’s potting shed and stood just inside the door. There it was, her weeks of secrecy, a deep red bloom, the John Bennet Rose.
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