The Mountain of Love

by Barbara Cartland

  “Why should you make a mistake?” “Because, using my intuition as Papa could, I see you differently from the way others see you, perhaps differently from the way you see yourself.”

  “I think that is a very clever way of getting out of an uncomfortable situation,” the Viscount teased her.

  Kayla laughed and he thought once again that she was so completely different from what he had expected.

  *

  When the ship docked at Bombay, they drove straight through the crowded streets towards the Railway Station.

  Kayla gazed at the Indians in dhotis, saris, turbans, topees, ankle-bangles and bush-jackets.

  She longed to stop and talk to them all.

  They were just as her father had described them and she found everything fascinating.

  When they reached the Railway Station, they found a huge engine hissing with steam.

  The Station Master, dressed in a dark blue uniform like an Admiral’s, greeted Christopher.

  There were British like themselves walking down the platform enveloped in a large cloud of privilege with porters shouting and kicking the Indian passengers out of the way.

  Kayla realised that they were scrambling towards the train because they were frightened of being left behind. As she had expected, Christopher had reserved two First Class compartments for them and there was a servant’s compartment next door for his valet.

  The Courier who had met them when they docked had provided a padded quilt and a pillow for Kayla and another man produced a basket containing whisky and soda water, wine and lemonade and some potted meats.

  The comforts organised by the British for themselves on the trains in India was superb and it was obvious to Kayla that she and Christopher were being treated almost as if they were Royalty.

  The train started off slowly with the wheels jerking and clattering and the woodwork creaking.

  The noise from the platform seemed to swell into a great crescendo of sound.

  Dozens of arms were waving frantically and Kayla had no idea if it was to friends or to the train.

  On the P & O liner everything had become familiar and comfortable, but Kayla found the train was most unlike any form of transport she had ever travelled on.

  Whenever they stopped at a Railway Station, large or small, Indians brought them food and drink.

  Kayla’s compartment was cleaned and made tidy for the day and then cleaned again and made tidy for the night.

  The same thing happened in Christopher’s next door and his valet telegraphed ahead to organise their meals.

  The moment they arrived at any Station, out of the shadows two men would appear.

  Dressed in white, they would carry their luncheon or dinner on trays covered with a napkin.

  Whatever they ordered, the food seemed to be exactly the same – a fiery curry, chutney and onions and chapattis. With all this Christopher drank wine, while Kayla had fresh lemonade, which was either too acid or too sweet and never quite right.

  As they journeyed on and it seemed for a very long time, Kayla did not talk very much.

  The ever-changing view was, however, thrilling as they passed through plains, jungles and barren lands and there were green fields where water bullocks pulled heavy ploughs.

  They flashed past gypsies on an embankment – the women festooned in colourful bangles and earrings, their animals all beside them and their black tents pitched in the background.

  On and on until at last the air became much cooler and so Kayla now required a blanket to cover her at night.

  On and on until finally, after the arid plains, she saw the outline of the mountains in the distance.

  It was all very exhilarating.

  The train changed engines and they were transferred onto the Bengal and North-Eastern Railway.

  The passengers were now nearly all men.

  “We are now coming into Bairagnia,” Christopher told Kayla after they had eaten breakfast.

  She put on her hat to shade herself from the sun.

  ‘This,’ she told herself when they left the train, ‘this is where the adventure will really begin.’

  An adventure she was quite certain would be thrilling, yet she was once again wishing that she was with her father.

  Christopher had been quite pleasant, but, as the train was noisy, they had talked very little.

  He had actually spent most of the time in his own compartment.

  ‘If you were here, Papa,’ Kayla said in her heart, ‘you would be able to tell me what it is going to be like to walk into an entirely new world that is totally unlike anything I have ever experienced before.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  As Kayla climbed out of the train, she saw the usual collection of beggars holding out their hands optimistically.

  Then ahead and only a short distance from the Station there was the dak-bungalow.

  She knew that was where they would stay the night and to her surprise it was larger than she had expected and very comfortable.

  They sat down at dinner to a meal that was very much better than anything they had been served on the train.

  Kayla was convinced that the adventure she had been seeking had now really begun.

  They retired for the night early.

  *

  Kayla was up and had finished her packing before she walked into breakfast at six o’clock.

  It was a traditional English breakfast with small eggs characteristic of the East and the bacon, which no Muslim would eat, was delicious.

  As soon as she had finished her breakfast, she went outside, as she had been told that Christopher was waiting for her.

  There was a large cavalcade of ponies already loaded with their luggage.

  Her father had told her that the thick-necked Bhutan ponies were extremely sure-footed and, as soon as Kayla was mounted on one, they set off.

  She was thrilled with the beauty of everything she saw. She had learned from books that on the low plains of Nepal there were elephants, tigers and rhinoceros and in the higher parts, where they were now, there were bears and deer of every variety.

  She hoped they would not encounter any tigers. It was, however, difficult to think of anything but the beauty of the wild flowers.

  They grew on every available piece of open land and the wild orchids and convolvulus that had climbed up the trees made patches of vivid colour.

  Christopher rode ahead as if he was a Commander-in-Chief taking his soldiers into battle and this gave Kayla no chance of talking to him.

  She soon realised that it was very hard riding and she needed all her wits to keep her pony on the paths that were rough and narrow.

  They stopped for luncheon, which was just a hurried picnic under the trees.

  Then on again.

  Late in the afternoon, although Kayla hated to admit it, she was feeling very tired.

  Then to her delight her groom pointed ahead.

  “Sisagarhi Hill,” he told her proudly.

  Kayla then looked up to see what seemed an almost impossibly steep incline and on the crest of it there was what looked like a fortification.

  She knew this was where they would stay the night and it was yet another dak-bungalow specifically provided for English tourists.

  Her luggage was carried into a small room and then Christopher’s valet quickly unpacked her pillow and arranged her padded quilt on the bed.

  He also informed Kayla that dinner would be ready in half-an-hour, so she then washed and changed into the same simple gown she had worn the night before.

  While they ate, both Kayla and Christopher were too tired to talk much.

  In fact, as soon as she finished eating, she announced that she was going to bed.

  “Good night,” called Christopher, “and may I say I thought you rode excellently today and did not complain at the length of the journey, as any other woman would have done.”

  “It was a long way,” admitted Kayla, “but so beautiful it was worth every mile.”

>   She smiled at Christopher and then went to her room.

  As she undressed, she was wishing yet again that her father was with her and she could have talked to him about everything they had experienced today – and all they were going to see when they reached Katmandu.

  *

  Kayla felt that she had hardly closed her eyes before she was woken by a sharp knock on the door.

  Yawning, she climbed out of bed.

  She took a little time dressing and, when she reached the breakfast room, she found that Christopher had already finished and was busy supervising their team of porters.

  Once again they were on the road.

  Up the steep ascents and down the shorter descents.

  Only the kind of pony Kayla was riding could have managed the narrow twisting path.

  After they had been climbing for some time, the view below was breathtakingly beautiful.

  Now at last she could just discern the great mountains of Nepal in the distance. In the sunshine they were not only white, but seemed to turn from pink to red and on to gold.

  Kayla remembered that in one of the books she had read it was called ‘the flowering of the snow.’

  It was all so incredibly lovely that she wanted to talk about it to someone, but Christopher was still riding well ahead of her.

  Once again it was a long day and it was late in the afternoon before Kayla noticed what appeared to be a small village on top of another steep incline.

  Up, up and up further they rode.

  Eventually they reached another dak-bungalow.

  This one appeared to be so small that for a moment Kayla wondered if she would have a room to herself.

  It was usual in Nepalese inns for the travellers all to sleep on a platform. However, she was shown into a small room that was at least clean.

  The porters came in with her luggage and as usual, the quilt and pillow were put on the bed for her.

  She undressed and washed her whole body and then, before she put on her evening dress, she thought that she must rest for a moment.

  Christopher, having changed for dinner, was waiting for Kayla impatiently.

  He drank a large glass of whisky slowly, thinking that tomorrow they would be in Katmandu and then he would be able to make all the necessary arrangements for him to climb in the Himalayas.

  He supposed that Kayla could be looked after by the British Resident, who had already been warned in advance that the Viscount and Viscountess were visiting Nepal.

  Then he was informed by a servant that dinner was ready to be served, but there was still no sign of Kayla.

  If there was one thing that Christopher really disliked, it was women who were late for meals, although he found that invariably they had some excellent excuse when they did appear.

  He waited and waited.

  Then, rather annoyed, he thought that he would knock on Kayla’s door himself, as he felt it was better than sending one of the servants.

  Her room was next to his and only a little way down the passage.

  He knocked on the door.

  When there was no answer, he opened it.

  He saw at a glance that Kayla was lying on the bed naked and fast asleep.

  The dying sunshine streaming through the window seemed to turn her hair to gold.

  It then flashed through his mind that she looked more like a Goddess from Mount Olympus than a human being.

  Her body was as perfect as Aphrodite’s and he could not help appreciating her ethereal beauty.

  Then he recognised that she was sleeping from the sheer exhaustion of their long ride and it would be cruel to waken her.

  Very gently he pulled the quilt over her body.

  He stood for another moment gazing at the darkness of her eyelashes against her pale skin.

  The unworldly glow of the sun on her hair.

  He walked from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

  *

  Kayla woke to the sound of knocking on her door.

  It was only as she jumped off the bed that she was aware she had missed dinner and had slept all through the night.

  She wondered if Christopher was annoyed with her.

  When she reached the breakfast room, she saw that he had already eaten and was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘I must apologise to him profusely,’ she thought.

  There was, however, no time for it at the moment and she rapidly ate her breakfast.

  When she hurried out into yard, she saw Christopher standing beside her pony, checking that the girths were as tight as they ought to be and that the saddle was firm.

  To her surprise he helped her mount – something he had not done before.

  Then he swung himself onto his own pony and they set off ahead.

  There was first of all another stiff climb.

  When they reached the crest of the hill, there in the rising sun was the great range of the Himalayas. Their peaks were vivid against the blue sky and far below them the valley was still shrouded in mist.

  It was so breathtakingly lovely that Kayla could only wish that her father was there to paint everything she was seeing.

  It was a long descent past gigantic terraces cut into the side of the mountain. These were rice fields and amongst them were tiny huts roofed with straw.

  There was still a long way to go, but now they were actually in the Vale of Katmandu.

  There were valleys to cross with improvised bridges that seemed very insubstantial, spanning the roaring torrent a hundred feet below. Kayla then closed her eyes and she only hoped that her pony would carry her across to safety.

  It was afternoon before they reached Katmandu, a City of Palaces and Temples.

  It seemed impossible that so many beautiful buildings could be clustered together in one comparatively small place.

  The Nepalese themselves enhanced the fairy tale.

  The men all carried a Khukri, which was a curved knife, at their waist and the women had long black hair in which they wore red or yellow flowers.

  Kayla stared with delight at a huge statue in the centre of the Square of Kala Bhairab. ‘The Terrible Black One,’ with a severed head in his hands was trampling on a newly conquered demon.

  When they had passed it, Christopher remarked,

  “We could easily have stayed tonight with the British Resident. In fact, that is where you will go when I leave you to start climbing. But tonight and until I actually start my climb, I prefer to be in a hotel.”

  Kayla was a little disappointed.

  She thought that it would be interesting to talk to the Resident and she hoped that, when she was in Katmandu, she could meet some of the Nepalese.

  It would, however, have been rude to say that she did not wish to be alone with Christopher.

  ‘After all he is my husband,’ she told herself.

  At the same time, she could not help wishing again that her father was with her. He would be telling her some of the amazing stories of Nepal – tales of the Gods that the Nepalese believed lived in the mountains above them.

  The hotel, like every large building in Nepal, had once been a Royal Palace.

  It was very comfortable and they were welcomed by the manager and a number of servants all bowing almost to the ground.

  Kayla had a bedroom which looked out over a garden and beyond it were the foothills of the Himalayas.

  She ran to the window the moment she entered the room.

  Nothing, she mused, could be as beautiful as the sun turning the tops of the mountains to crimson before it sank out of sight.

  She started when she heard Christopher behind her say,

  “I hope you will be comfortable here, Kayla.”

  “I am sure I shall be and however tiring the journey, it was worth it to reach this enchanted paradise.”

  Christopher smiled.

  She thought perhaps she was being too theatrical. “I am afraid that tonight,” he said, “although we are tired, we are expected to dine with the British
Resident. It would offend him if we did not go, especially as I said we preferred to stay in a hotel.”

  “He must have thought that was rather odd,” Kayla commented.

  “No, he understands that we are on our honeymoon and naturally wish to be alone.”

  The way Christopher said it seemed almost as if he was rebuking her.

  It made Kayla blush.

  “I had forgotten,” she murmured. “I am sorry.”

  “Fortunately I remembered it.” He left the room before she could reply.

  ‘Surely,’ Kayla asked herself, ‘he is not touchy about something like that.’

  When she thought it over, she supposed she had been slightly rude.

  In fact these last days she had quite truthfully not remembered they were married as there had been so much else to think about.

  A maidservant came to help her unpack.

  Since they were dining at the Residency, Kayla felt that she should put on one of her mother’s gowns and she chose the most elaborate.

  If Christopher was intending to start climbing up the mountains tomorrow, she reasoned, she would not see him again for quite a long time.

  She and her mother had always been the same size and this gown, which was very pale pink, had been bought for when she was to sing at an opening night in the Théâtre des Variétés.

  It had a low décolletage and a little train and had been exquisitely made with a little skilfully inserted diamante at the neck and waist.

  Kayla was nearly ready when there came a knock on the door.

  “With his Lordship’s compliments,” she heard the valet say.

  The maid brought her a small tray on which there was a bunch of small pink roses and a glass of champagne.

  Kayla was touched.

  It was the first time that Christopher had treated her as if she was a pretty acquaintance.

  It was much better than an unwanted wife.

  She sipped the champagne while the maid arranged the roses at the back of her head in the Nepalese fashion.

  Kayla realised that Christopher must have enquired as to which colour she was wearing tonight so as to send her the right flowers.

  ‘That was thoughtful of him,’ she mused.