Dishonored

by Maria Barrett

  John nodded. He had started at the mention of Baijur, it had thrown him for a moment. He cleared his throat and said, “Fine, thank you. Please, do go on.”

  “Well, Baijur is near the border, and the maharajah was concerned about political stability. Anyway, apparently the house of Rai made copies of everything, the family’s entire wealth and the son, trusted friend of the maharajah, etc, was supposed to hide the real loot. But he ran off with it! He disappeared, vamoosh, never to be seen again. Him and all the loot!” Wraughton shook his head. “The family, the house of Rai had to pay it all back and that’s what was supposed to have bankrupted them. It’s a hell of a story, isn’t it?” He smiled and sat back in his chair. “If you can believe it of course!”

  “You don’t?”

  Wraughton shrugged. “It’s an Indian tale, a story. I’m not sure I’d take it too seriously.” Again he smiled. “According to my colleague, the son wrote down where he’d hidden the loot, but needless to say, no one’s ever found his notes!”

  John swallowed hard. “No, quite.” His heard was pounding and he’d begun to sweat.

  “Though God knows what anyone would do to get their hands on that piece of paper,” Wraughton joked. “If it did exist!” He stopped smiling. “Erm, Mr. Bennet? Are you sure you’re all right?” Wraughton got up and buzzed for his secretary. “Can I get you some water, Mr. Bennet?”

  “Yes, yes please.” John wiped his face with his handkerchief, then put his head down between his knees. He had never felt dizzy in his life before. He tried to breathe evenly.

  “Mr. Bennet?” He felt someone touch him on the arm. “Mr. Bennet, your water.”

  “Thank you.” John sat up. He took a deep breath and sipped the water. “That’s better. Sorry.” He placed the glass on the desk and his hands were trembling. “It must be the heat in here.”

  Wraughton went immediately to open the window.

  “Thanks.” John looked across at him. “Would you know when all this happened? The disappearance and all that.”

  Wraughton came back to the desk. “I don’t think so.” He flicked through the notes. “Oh, wait! Here, I’ve got a note that says some time around the beginning of 1966.” He shrugged. “How true that is I have no idea.”

  John finished the water. He stood. “Thank you, Mr. Wraughton,” he said, “you have been extremely helpful.”

  “I have?”

  “Yes, extremely helpful.” John held out his hand. “I appreciate it.”

  “No trouble at all, Mr. Bennet. I’ve enjoyed the research.”

  John nodded at the secretary and walked toward the door. He stopped and looked back. “Did this Indrajit Rai come from Bombay or Delhi by the way?”

  “Neither,” Wraughton answered. “Don’t ask me why, but he always lived and worked in a small city north of Delhi. An odd little place, Moraphur, famous for nothing!”

  John shivered. “Except the mutiny,” he answered

  “Yes, of course, except the 1857 mutiny!”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Wraughton,” John said. “And thank you again.”

  “Goodbye. It was a pleasure.”

  John walked down to the lifts and stood watching the lights on the panel while he waited for it to come up. He felt in his top pocket for his credit card holder. Bugger being over seventy, he decided, stepping into the elevator. He would be on the next plane to Delhi and nothing was going to stop him. Indi was in danger and he was damned if he was going to lose another daughter in that God-forsaken country.

  Indi stood with her back to the hills and looked inward, across the fort, to Oliver’s figure, high up on one of the parapets, the rising sun to his left, the dawn sky streaked with its light, fading purple, burning orange. She watched him for a few minutes, solitary and motionless, and felt an ache in the pit of her stomach, a familiar ache, longing. She wanted him, she knew that, she wanted to love him but she couldn’t, she couldn’t let herself do it, not now, not until… She saw him move toward the steps to come down and quickly looked away. Maybe not ever. She just didn’t know, she didn’t know anything any more. So how could she possibly know about love?

  “Indu?” She glanced to her right, her thoughts interrupted.

  “Ashok.”

  The Indian came to stand beside her and they both turned to look out at the hills. “We are stuck, are we not?” he asked.

  “Yes, I think we are,” she answered. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  They stood in silence for a while. For five days they had worked together now, Ashok, Indi and Oliver, they had found the pattern, uncovered the clues and ended up at the fort, the Tiberis Fort, thirty miles from Baijur, high up in the hills, the last place, the last clue.

  “What are we to do?”

  “I don’t know,” Indi said, “I wish I did.”

  Ashok turned to face her. “Indu, I have something that I must tell you,” he said, “something that I have not been honest about.”

  Indi shrugged. She had been angry and disappointed at Ashok’s revelation several days ago but she was unable to dislike him. He had been clever and resourceful in their search, kind even, and in different circumstances he might have become a friend. “Forget it,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me anything.”

  “Yes, I do.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out a photograph. “Here, please look. It is my wife-to-be,” he said, smiling and holding it out to her. “Please.”

  Indi took the photo. “She’s very beautiful, you must be very proud.”

  “I am.” He took the photograph back and carefully placed it in his pocket again. “Indu,” he took a deep breath, “I am not a government official, I have lied to you. This is not an official investigation, it is personal, it is something that has to do with my family.”

  Indi watched his face. She knew he wasn’t lying and it shocked her. “What has it to do with your family, Ashok?” She bit her lip. “I think you’d better tell me, now.”

  Ashok flushed. He didn’t know where to start. He hesitated for a few moments, then said, “My father died when I was just born, Indi; my mother went to her husband’s uncle, the only man in her family, she was one of five sisters. This man took her in, Dr. Bodi Yadav, he cared for her and me for my first two years, I called him uncle. In 1966 he became involved in a great scandal here, in Baijur. It ruined him, my family were dishonored, they never recovered.”

  Indi swallowed. “He wasn’t involved in the murder of…?”

  “No, I do not think that he was.” Ashok looked down at his hands then up at Indi. “There was a theft from Vikram Singh, the maharajah of Baijur, and my uncle disappeared just after this. The man that was involved was Ramesh Rai, he was a great friend of the maharajah, his family were jewelers, they had worked for the house of Singh for many, many years. He was also a great friend of Bodi Yadav, like a son to him. He disappeared one night with the entire wealth of the maharajah; no one ever heard of him again.”

  Indi held her breath. She had the most peculiar feeling that she knew what was coming next.

  “Ramesh Rai was working for the maharajah,” Ashok said. “He was supposed to have hidden the wealth and made a puzzle of where to be able to find it. It was all for political security, Baijur was a very unstable state then.”

  “Did he make this…?” Indi lost her voice. She coughed to clear her throat and took a deep breath. “Did he make this puzzle into a book?”

  “Yes, I think so. I think that is what we have. I thought it from the first moment that you gave it to me in the gymkhana club… Indu?”

  Indi had slid down the wall and squatted, her head in her hands.

  “Indu? Are you all right?” Ashok knelt beside her. He touched her arm and she looked up.

  “You think my father is Ramesh Rai?”

  “I think it must be so. I think you have the puzzle that he made.”

  Indi blinked rapidly to try and stop the tears. She desperately wanted to blow her nose and longed for Oliver to appear with
his handkerchief. “Why tell me now?” she asked, using the sleeve of her shirt instead.

  “Because I wanted you to know the truth. I am doing this for my family, I cannot get married until my family has regained its honor; Mira’s family will not have me.”

  Indi hung her head. It was stupid, and she was trying desperately not to, but she couldn’t stop herself crying. The tears streamed down her face and the sobs caught in her throat. She covered her face.

  “Oh my God, Indu, please do not cry. Please do not upset yourself on my account.”

  “It’s not on your account,” she cried, half weeping, half laughing at his ridiculous assumption. “It’s… Oh, forget it!” She lifted the hem of her shirt and blew her nose loudly on it, but the tears still streamed.

  Ashok leaned forward and gently embraced her. “Please, do not be upset, Indu, please.” He stroked her hair. “Please, be calm now.” He pulled back and very briefly kissed her lips, a kiss of friendship, the seal of her forgiveness. He wiped her face with his fingertips. “Come now, we will go and find Oliver and see if he has been able to solve this last piece of the mystery.” He stood and pulled Indi to her feet. “Come, let us go.” And, holding her arm, he led her down the stairs to find Oliver.

  Oliver stepped into the shadows out of sight and turned toward the view, gripping the wall, his knuckles white with tension. He hadn’t been able to hear what was going on, he hadn’t been able to properly see, he was too far away, but he had caught sight of them kissing, he hadn’t been too far away to see that! He dropped his head down and closed his eyes. The pain of it tore through him and made the black behind his eyes turn red and burn. He knew now, of course he knew! He’d known all along really, only he just couldn’t admit it. He was in love with her, he had been from the first moment he saw her. Only he’d been stupid, stupid to imagine for one moment that she might feel the way that he did, stupid to think that she was different, special. One night, one intense moment of passion, and he thinks that’s it. What a prat! He had honestly believed that she… He stopped himself and opened his eyes. She had never given him any sign, apart from that instinctive passion. Hell, they hadn’t even touched since; how in God’s name could he have thought all of that? He turned toward the fort and saw Indi and Ashok below in the courtyard. “You were wrong, Oliver,” he said aloud, “you were bloody wrong! You fool!” And he swallowed down the hurt, knowing he had no choice, put his hand up and called out to them.

  “Oliver? Are you all right?” Two hours later, Indi walked into the suite after him and dropped her bag down on the sofa. He hadn’t said a word for over an hour now, not since Ashok had left for home to go over Bodi Yadav’s diaries in search for something that might give them a lead. He had suggested it, then sat in stony silence all the way back to the hotel. “Oliver?”

  “Yes!” he snapped. He took a breath and turned away again. He had nothing to say to her, why couldn’t she just leave him alone?

  Indi shrugged. She didn’t need this, she had enough grief of her own. She walked through to the bedroom and took her washbag off the side. “I think I’ll have a bath,” she called, “and then maybe get some sleep.” They had been up nearly all night, traveling to the fort, climbing up there and then trying to figure it all out. She went into the bathroom and ran the taps. She was tired, she needed to unwind, think about things. Closing the door, she stripped off, sprinkled some perfumed oil into the water and, testing it first with her toe, she climbed in the bath and sank down into the water. She submerged herself and came up seconds later feeling instantly better. She remembered her hair shampoo; it was in the bedroom.

  Oliver stared at the closed bathroom door for several minutes before hoisting his rucksack on to the bed. He unclipped it and went to the drawers for his clothes. She didn’t need him there, they were almost at the end now and he was peripheral, an extra. She had Ashok, they could solve it between them, they didn’t want him messing up their romance.

  He pulled his three shirts from the drawer, all freshly laundered by the hotel, and dropped them in his rucksack. He crossed to the bed and pulled open the bedside drawer. Now he’d made up his mind, nothing was going to stop him.

  “Oliver?” He looked up. “What are you doing?” Indi stood in the doorway, dripping wet, a towel wrapped around her body.

  “Packing,” he answered sharply. “What does it look like?” He didn’t want a scene, he wanted to be left alone to get on with it.

  “It looks like something’s upset you,” she said. “Why don’t you tell me what it is?”

  “Butt out, Indi!” Her presence annoyed him, it was as if she wanted to rub it in.

  Indi came into the room. She was suddenly angry, irrationally so. What the hell was he doing? He couldn’t just leave, walk out on her! The anger flared dangerously in her chest, fueled by panic. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What? Butt out?” Oliver took the small pile of personal effects and stuffed them in the pocket of his bag. “Exactly that!” he said.

  Suddenly Indi grabbed his arm and shook it. “Stop doing that!” she cried. “If you want a row you can have one.” The thought of him going made her faint with pain.

  Oliver brushed her off. “I don’t want a row. I just want to leave. OK?” He shoved past her.

  “No! It’s not OK!” She went after him. “You can’t leave now. How will we manage without you? How will we get any further?”

  “On your own,” he said, collecting up his bits and pieces from the sitting-room. “Like most grown-ups.”

  “Like most…!” Indi turned away speechless. Her stomach was churning and she wanted to scream. How could he do this? How could he?

  “Excuse me.” Oliver brushed past her to get back into the bedroom.

  Suddenly she pushed him. “No!” she shouted. “I won’t excuse you!” It didn’t hurt but it unbalanced him for a moment and he stumbled, knocking himself on the door. He spun around and without thinking, pushed her back. Only his strength doubled hers and she smacked into the door frame with a loud crunch. She caught her breath, shocked for a second, then she yelled. “You fucking bastard! Don’t you dare…”

  She went for him. One instant she was looking at his face and the next she was punching him in the chest, kicking him, screaming at him. He took it for a moment, too shocked to react, then he grabbed her wrists and held them up while she struggled against him. He yanked her hands down to her sides, shoved her back against the door with his bodyweight and went to release her, to walk away. He looked at her eyes.

  “Jesus Christ!” Moments later they were kissing. She pressed her body into his and her arms went up around his neck, pulling him down to her, the force of her passion so intense it took his breath away. They sank down to the floor and he ripped the towel away from her. She wound her legs over him as his hands traveled the length of her body, she fumbled with his belt.

  “Wait,” he whispered harshly. “Wait.” He let her go and knelt up, taking off his shirt, unfastening his trousers. She touched him and he closed his eyes. “God, Indi, I…” he broke off and looked at her, naked and beautiful in the early morning light. He finished undressing, then reached for his shirt, rolled it up and gently placed it under her head. “You are beautiful,” he said.

  She caught his hand and kissed the palm, the wrist, then she lay it on her breast. “Then love me,” she whispered, “love me.”

  Oliver moved over, covered her with his body and she smiled, reaching up to him. He licked the perfumed skin of her breast and gently sucked her nipple. He found her mouth and she wrapped her legs high up around his hips. They kissed, their mouths and their bodies became one and as he moved, slowly, making her cry out, she caught her fingers in his hair and whispered his name, over and over again.

  Later, after they had made love again, slowly, tangled in the sheets of the bed, Oliver woke from a light sleep to find her gone. He rolled over and snapped his eyes open. She was sitting on the floor with his shirt on, her head resting on her k
nees and a photograph from one of the news cuttings in her hand.

  “Are you all right, Indi?”

  She looked up. “I don’t know,” she answered. “This is my father,” she said quietly, holding up the cutting. “I think, anyway. Ramesh Rai, friend to the maharajah of Baijur, seducer of married women, accessory to murder perhaps, thief.” She dropped her head back on her knees and Oliver climbed out of bed, going across to her. He knelt down.

  “You don’t know any of that,” he said. “Not for sure.”

  “I don’t know anything at all, Oliver, I am more uncertain of myself now, of everything I am, than I have ever been in my entire life before.”

  He glanced away. He had hoped, thought, that perhaps she would be certain of one thing, of him and what she felt for him.

  Indi wiped the tears from her cheeks on the back of her hand.

  “I thought I knew who I was, where I was going. Now, now I don’t even know what to do next.” She didn’t dare talk about them, about what had just happened. She couldn’t.

  Oliver reached out and brushed her hair off her face. “You are going to find out what happened to your parents,” he said. “The truth. That’s what you’re going to do next.”

  “How? We’ve come to a dead end. The Tiberis Fort led nowhere and the verse meant nothing to me. I’ve no idea where it came from.”

  “Hmmm. Look, don’t worry, I’m certain something will come up.”

  Indi narrowed her eyes. “What does hmmm mean? Do you know something I don’t?”

  “I’m not sure, maybe.”

  She looked doubtfully at him. “Are you always this optimistic?”

  He leaned forward and kissed her bare knee. “Only after fantastic sex,” he said. She smiled. “Will you come back to bed?”

  “No, I think I’ll finish that bath I started earlier.”

  Oliver stood and grabbed a towel off the back of the chair. “Would you mind if I joined you?”