The eagle was there, roosting on a nest high on the tallest eucalyptus tree. Shiro leant back against the rock to wait for Anthony and then slid down to sit crosslegged on the rock ledge.
She thought what marriage to Yogan would be like. He had touched her when they were on the sofa. His touch had been gentle … but awful. She had hated it. She imagined his hands on her body. It made her want to throw up. She giggled, that would be a bad beginning to the honeymoon.
Thoughts of Anthony’s long, slender fingers crossed her mind. His fingers on her shoulder, his hand on her hair. How wonderful it felt when he touched her. But then he was special, her best friend.
Shiro frowned at the growl of the motorbike and the screech of the brakes on the rough gravel. That’s careless. Anthony always parked his bike some distance away and walked to the stream. They had decided that it was safer that way. It wouldn’t draw attention to their meetings.
Shiro looked up as she heard footsteps. ‘Anthony …?’
‘Waiting for my brother are you, sweetheart?’ The voice was a vicious parody of Anthony’s.
Shiro leapt to her feet. ‘Who are you?’ Anxiety and fear raised the pitch of her voice. Even as she spoke, she knew who he was. This was Anthony’s brother, William, the awful man she had seen on the platform of Diyatalāwa station.
The laugh was arrogant and dismissive. ‘I could ask the same of you, my sexy little kitten. But no, I’ll tell you what I think you are.’ He gestured at the stream. ‘You’re the mermaid of the waterfall, sent to seduce hapless sex-starved men like me.’
William reached out a suntanned hand to touch her cheek. Shiro shrank back against the rock wall behind her and turned her face away.
‘Stop it,’ she gasped.
William moved closer and slid his fingers down her cheek. ‘So you had an appointment with my little brother Anthony, did you? Maybe I could stand in for him today?’ She stared back at him. His blue eyes were cesspools of dark desire. Her heart raced. She needed to get away.
William sneered. His eyes slid from her face to her breasts. Shiro gulped and grasped the top of her blouse.
He stepped closer, blocking her path. A strong smell of alcohol emanated from him. She glanced around. The tea fields were empty. There was no one to hear her if she screamed.
Suddenly, a wave of anger replaced her fear. Her father’s voice echoed in her ear. ‘Bastard whites think they can have any native woman.’ Well, she was not just any native woman. She was Shiro Rasiah. She was no pawn and definitely not a white man’s plaything.
William’s right hand slid down from her cheek to her shoulder and her arm. His fingers cut into her flesh. His other hand reached for her. His fingers played with the amethyst pendent of her chain nestled on her neck, then moved lower to rest on her breasts.
Damn him and all his kind to hell. Shiro drew her hand back. She lashed forward with all her strength. Her hand slashed across Williams face. Her fingernails gauged his cheek.
He pulled back. She saw the red stripes on his face where her nails had drawn blood.
‘Get your filthy hands off me,’ she screamed.
‘You little she-devil,’ William growled. His hands held her arms tightly.
Shiro struggled. ‘Don’t you dare touch me you damned white bastard!’ she spat.
‘Fighting words, my lovely.’ He pulled her to him. ‘I’ll show you that I’m a far better lover than my little brother.’ William lowered his mouth to Shiro’s.
‘Take your hands off her, you idiot!’ Anthony was on the path just above them, his body tense and eyes blazing. With two strides, he bridged the gap between them. He gripped William’s shirt and yanked William away from Shiro. William staggered and fell, sprawling in the mud. Anthony stood between William and Shiro, hands clenched into fists by his sides, breathing in sharp gasps. Shiro stepped back against the rock.
William sprang up. ‘How dare –’ He stopped, looked from Anthony to Shiro, and laughed. ‘Come on, little brother,’ he scoffed, smoothing his rumpled shirt. ‘I was just keeping your bit of fluff warm for you.’ He leered at Shiro again. His face reminded her of the demon masks the local sorcerers used for witchcraft.
‘What the hell are you doing here in Watakälé, William?’ Anthony hissed through clenched teeth. ‘Go. Get out of here before I do something we both regret.’ He looked at William’s scratched and bleeding face. ‘Get your face seen to. It looks like you’ve been trying to rape someone in broad daylight. That would be disgusting, even for you.’
William hooted with laughter. ‘Relax, Anthony, she’s all yours. Unlike you, I don’t find the natives tempting. The coolie girls are much more sexy and willing.’ He looked past Anthony at Shiro. He raised a hand in a mock salute. ‘But my compliments. This one’s truly a delectable piece of flesh. What fire, what spirit! Let me know when you tire of playing with her.’ He turned and walked away. They heard his laughter as he revved his motorbike and sped away.
Eyes on fire, Anthony turned to face Shiro. His breath was ragged, his knuckles white in clenched fists. The look in his eyes made her shiver. ‘Are you okay, Shiro?’ Anthony ran a finger over the bruise on her arm where William had seized her.
There was no thrill in his touch. Shiro shrunk further back against the rock. ‘Don’t touch me.’
‘You’re shivering, sweetheart.’ He stripped off his light sweater and wrapped it over her shoulders.
Tears stung Shiro’s eyelids and trickled down her cheeks. ‘He called me your bit of fluff and said you were playing with a native. Is that what you’re doing, Anthony?’
Anthony winced and shut his eyes. ‘The idiot.’ Then he sighed. ‘Shiro, my princess, please sit down. We need to talk.’
Shiro gulped and shook her head. She stood with her back pasted to the rock. ‘No. It’s gone.’
‘What’s gone, Shiro?’ Anthony reached forward and touched her arm. His touch calmed her but it was not enough. She turned her head away from him.
‘The magic – this place. He’s spoiled it all. See?’ She flung her hand to the sky. Even eagle isn’t here anymore.’
Anthony slid his hands down her arms. He picked up her hands and brought them to his face. He kissed her fingertips one by one. ‘I’m here, sweetheart.’
‘For how long, Anthony?’ She dragged her hands away. ‘Till you’re bored with being a best friend to me? Get tired of playing with the natives? Till you get me into your bed? The Englishman and the Sri Lankan native girl. This is all just a game for you, isn’t it Anthony?’ Tears flowed down her cheeks, unchecked.
‘Princess, no.’
Ripping off his sweater, she flung it at his feet.
‘Just go back home, you … you British bastard!’
Chapter 24
December 1967 Watakälé
Shiro kept her hands anchored in the pockets of her purple skirt as she strode along the gravel path. The wind swirled around her, blowing her hair around her face. Diamonds of water glistened in the curls.
Anthony rode his bike by her side, keeping pace with her. The mist rose from the valley, reached damp fingers between them. ‘Talk to me, Shiro. Please.’
She shook her head. ‘Why?’
‘Because I care.’
She twisted round to face him. Fury and pain warred in the depths of her eyes. ‘Care?’ She tossed her head and laughed. It was a sound of sorrow and anger that sent spears of anguish through Anthony. ‘How could you care? You are white – British. You pretended to be my friend. But of course we can’t be friends, can we?’ Her voice rose in pitch, took on a twinge of hysteria. ‘Just like Janet and Sarah couldn’t be friends to me. The wonderful white Raj, rulers of the empire, the lords of the plantation and us – the stupid, untouchable natives! The conquerors and the conquered.’
‘Shiro, sweetheart, please.’
‘No. Every time I think of yo
u, I feel a deep burning pain here.’ She pushed her clenched fist to her chest over her heart. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘No Shiro. Please. It isn’t like that for us. We need –’
A spear of lightning rent the lowering sky. Thunder drowned his words and a curtain of icy rain dropped from the clouds. Shiro spun round and dashed off the road into the weighing shed. Anthony left his motorbike in the rain and followed her. They stood panting, looking at each other in the half-light of the musty room. A flash of lightning illuminated Shiro’s face. She flinched, closed her eyes and bit her trembling lower lip.
Anthony moved closer to her. He whispered her name. ‘Shiro.’
Her voice caught in a sob. ‘I wish I had never met you. I would have gone to medical school, married some stupid Tamil boy of my mother’s choosing. But you’ve spoiled it all. Now I don’t know who I am.’
Anthony was lost. He groaned and drew her into his arms. Stabs of longing lanced through his body.
How could loving this glorious girl be wrong?
He caught her chin and turned her face up to his. She gazed at him, her eyes wide with wonder, longing and a dawning awareness.
‘Shiro, sweetheart, the feeling you have here,’ he placed his hand over her heart, thrilling at her sharp intake of breath, ‘what you feel for me is not hate, Shiro.’
Shiro’s lips trembled. ‘I’ve never felt this way. I don’t like it.’
‘Let me show you what it is, my love,’ Anthony whispered, a breath away from her mouth.
Her lips were soft and yielded to his. When his tongue touched her mouth, she parted her lips for him. He thrilled to the taste of her, the soft sweetness of her tongue on his. The drum beat of the rain on the tin roof of the weighing shed echoed the mad rhythm of his heart.
Shiro’s arms reached around his neck. She clung to him. Opening the top button of his shirt, she let her hand drift over his chest, exploring the contours of his body. Little whining sounds came from her throat.
Anthony groaned. With a little mew, she curved her body against him. His kisses deepened, demanding a response, drawing her essence, her soul into his keeping.
Surely this was love. Not the mild everyday affection punctuated by angry outbursts that seemed to keep his parents together, but a love that coloured life with an almost unbearable intensity – part wonder, part fear and pain.
‘I love you, Shiro. I love you more than life itself. I want you with me forever.’ He covered her face with kisses.
She nuzzled closer to him, her cheek warm on his bare chest. ‘Love, Anthony? How is that possible? There can’t be a forever for us.’ She raised her face. ‘Can there?’
The words brought Anthony crashing back down to reality. Her black eyes were clouded with desire and her lips swollen with his kisses. Her hair tangled on her shoulders. He caressed her face, feeling the warmth, the soft pliant acceptance of his touch. Then he kissed her again, storing up the feel and taste of her.
He did not want to let her go, not now, not ever. She was everything to him.
He held her tight, stroking her back. ‘Shiro, I need to go now, darling. I have to see to some things – important things. Come to our place tomorrow evening sweetheart. We will be together, Shiro. I love you.’
Her eyes glowed with joy and trust. Reaching up, she kissed him on the cheek. ‘I love you too, Anthony.’
He watched her leave the weighing shed and walk towards the Tea-maker’s house. He would never let her out of his life. They would find a way to be together.
This had to be his destiny.
Chapter 25
December 1967 Watakälé
Anthony rode up the path to the bungalow. He needed Shiro. He had been crazy to not acknowledge it earlier. He would call Bob, tell him about her. Get his advice. He would do whatever he had to do. He could not, would not, let her out of his life.
The sight of the Oriental Produce crested white Rolls Royce parked outside the bungalow sent a ripple of anxiety through Anthony. It meant a stopover by the visiting agent from London or a member of the family. No local used that car.
A visit without warning signified an emergency of some sort.
Anthony jumped off the motorcycle. He ran up the steps to the veranda and froze.
His father sat at the carved metal table. A plate of sandwiches and a tray with scones, cream and jam lay before him. Appu stood by his father’s side, his eyes fixed on the floor.
James Ashley-Cooper stirred milk into his cup of tea and then looked up at Anthony.
Anthony stood on the top step. He was soaking wet, his shirt still unbuttoned. He pulled his shirt together and shook the water from his hair.
‘Been working in the field, Anthony? Isn’t it a little late in the day to be supervising the plucking? Or were you otherwise occupied?’
Anger replaced anxiety at the sarcasm in his father’s voice. ‘Father, I didn’t know you were coming over. When did you get in?’
‘I landed this morning.’
‘Is something the matter?’
James Ashley-Cooper remained seated. Grey eyes locked with blue. As always, Anthony’s gaze dropped first.
‘Go get yourself changed before you catch pneumonia. I’ll wait for you in the study.’
‘Father?’
‘Go!’
Anthony capitulated, as always. He walked towards his bedroom. Appu’s mouth and throat worked soundlessly as Anthony walked past. He turned to follow Anthony into the house.
‘Appu, I will see you in the study now.’ James Ashley-Cooper’s tone brooked no argument.
Appu looked at Anthony.
Anthony nodded. ‘Do as he says, Appu.’
***
James Ashley-Cooper sat in the leather padded mahogany armchair at the office table. He had changed from his travel clothes. The crisp blue wool suit and silk shirt he now had on were unwrinkled. The overhead light glinted on his polished black leather shoes and shimmered off the whisky and ice in his hand.
His father was dressed for confrontation. Anthony recognised it and accepted the challenge. He stood across the table from his father, dressed in woollen trousers and a polo neck white wool jumper, his hair damp.
His father gestured to the drinks trolley. ‘Fix yourself a drink, Anthony. You’ll need a stiff one.’
‘Thank you. No.’ What the hell was this about?
His father gestured to the chair opposite. ‘Sit,’ he ordered.
‘Father, whatever is the matter?’ Anthony lowered himself into the chair opposite his father.
‘Anthony, I am not one to beat about the bush. You, more than anyone else know that.’ His father leaned forward and tented his hands on the edge of the desk. His lips compressed. His eyes glinted grey flint. ‘I am here because of reports of your behaviour on the plantation.’
‘My behaviour? What the hell are you talking about? I had the best tea prices for you at the auctions. The visiting agent himself told me that he has never had such glowing reports from the staff in Watakälé –’
His father’s imperious voice cut him short. ‘Your personal behaviour.’
Anthony leapt to his feet. ‘My personal –’
His father rocked back. ‘Yes. You raped a coolie girl and now you are sleeping with the Tea-maker’s daughter. Less than three years in the superintendent’s job. That is unacceptable and you know it.’
Anthony gasped. His breath caught in his throat. He stared at his father.
‘Father, I don’t know where you get your information. You are wrong. William raped a coolie girl last Easter. I had nothing to do with it. You can ask Appu –’
‘Appu,’ his father responded with a dismissive wave of his hand, ‘is loyal to a fault to the superintendent he is working for. I know that all too well.’
‘Ask the Tea-maker Mr Rasiah and his wife, then.
They were there at the staff party.’
‘This is your estate, Anthony. The girl told the apothecary that the superintendent raped her. And as for the Tea-maker, you are sleeping with his daughter. I don’t know what arrangement you have with him, but of course he would lie for you.’
Anthony felt the walls close in. He gritted his teeth. He didn’t care what his father said about him. He would not draw Shiro into this. ‘Shiro Rasiah and I are friends. She is a child, Father. Just seventeen. I am not sure where you got your information from but I am not, as you so delicately put it, sleeping with her.’
His father got to his feet. They stared at each other across the table.
‘So, this Shiro Rasiah is a child. So was the coolie you raped. So you have a penchant for young native women. You wouldn’t be the first.’
The bitterness of years spilled out of Anthony’s soul. He smashed his hand on the desk. The glass of whisky toppled and rolled off to shatter on the ground. ‘It’s William, isn’t it? My God, Father, you know he’s lying. I caught him trying to force his attention on Shiro and stopped him. I should have known he would run to you.’
‘He called me, true. However, I checked with the apothecary. I also called the assistant Tea-maker, Mr Wright. He didn’t know the details but reported gossip from the coolies that there was a girl who was raped by you and was helped by the Rasiahs. Sent away, he said. I hope she isn’t pregnant by you.’
Anthony reeled back. He hadn’t even thought of the possibility of a pregnancy!
He looked into his father’s eyes. ‘Damn it, Father, surely you know that I wouldn’t act this way. It’s William –’
His father’s grey eyes hooded over. ‘Your mother is distraught. She insisted I come over and prevent you making the biggest mistake of your life.’
‘Mother sent you?’ He remembered her words – the plantations charmed your father; take care that it doesn’t happen to you.
His father dropped back into the chair. He shut his eyes. Seconds passed. His father shuddered and re-opened them. Anthony gazed into grey pools of deep sorrow.
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