She took a few steps towards the building, hoping no one had been hurt, or worse, but then she remembered the building had been locked up and nobody appeared to be lying on the ground dead or injured, at least not on her side of the street. Though she could hear coughing and spluttering, the only other sound was the crackle of the fire. A moment later a crowd of blackened ghoul-like creatures swarmed over to the Imperial side of the street; some with cuts on their arms and faces, clearly from flying glass. She watched for a moment to see if there were others who might need her help, but then heavy smoke stopped her. In the centre of the street it cleared and it was only then that she saw him, standing alone and covered in blue-grey dust. She ran forward, and as she did he saw her.
29
Jay gave her a weak smile. The next moment he crumpled right in front of her and fell to the ground. With her heart pulsing in her throat she ran across and knelt on the black gravel ground beside him, stroking his face and pleading with him to open his eyes. There was no response. She felt her chest tighten with fear as she spoke, repeatedly telling him that help would be coming and he was to hold on, that she was right beside him and she wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
An official from the hotel came out to try to encourage her back inside in case of flying masonry, or even worse, but she refused.
‘Help will be here soon,’ the hotel concierge said, but then stepped away from danger.
She and Jay were alone in the street, but she could hear that the crowd behind them on the steps of the Imperial had found their voices and were either crying from shock and relief that they were safe or excitedly telling their stories. She drowned out their noise by focusing on Jay.
He was still breathing, and she took comfort in that, and he didn’t appear to be cut anywhere. She wondered if something had hit him on the head? She didn’t take her gaze from his face, as she sat watching for the slightest sign of movement. She heard bells ringing and a man moving the crowd away at the side of the street, and then, as a doctor in a white coat appeared, Jay opened his eyes, seeming to regain consciousness.
‘I signed the papers,’ he said, trying to lift his head. ‘We did it.’
She looked at him and couldn’t help smiling. ‘You almost get killed and the first thing you say to me is that you signed the papers?’
He almost smiled back, but then he seemed to shrink back into the ground and was gone again. She had been holding back tears but now they began to spill.
‘He’s still breathing?’ the doctor asked as he knelt beside Eliza.
‘He hasn’t stopped breathing at all,’ she said, clutching at any chance of hope in the midst of this. ‘What’s the matter with him? He will be all right, won’t he?’
‘I can’t tell yet.’ He listened to Jay’s chest, then glanced up at her. ‘Breathing a little weak and heart racing. You know this man?’
‘He’s Jayant Singh Rathore, a Raja from Juraipore.’
‘And you are?’
‘A friend,’ she said, but she wanted to say I am the one who loves him.
‘Well, it’s a hospital bed for him.’
‘Can I come?’ She paused. ‘Please?’
‘It’s a little irregular, as you’re not family, but as you seem to know him, then very well.’
At the hospital Eliza did not leave Jay’s side. For the rest of that day and overnight she sat alone on a wooden straight-backed chair, trying very hard not to weep in front of anyone. You have to live, she whispered, as time distilled into this one moment. You have to live. You cannot die. That this strong, wonderful man could have been felled like this was unbearable, and she held on to the fact that he was young and healthy. If anyone could pull through surely it was he. But every hour that went by brought no sign of improvement. She watched for his grey cheeks to change in colour, or for the sign of blood returning to his whitened lips, or the slightest, just the very slightest, flutter of his eyelashes. But still there was nothing. He remained pale and barely alive.
As she sat she thought of Clifford. And then she thought of her mother, also lying ill in a hospital bed. Until that moment her mother had completely gone out of her mind. Whatever happened, she would still have to leave.
The next day she asked a nurse to organize a telegram to be sent to Laxmi and then the doctor sent her back to the hotel. She still had to eat and sleep, he said. And she tried to do both. She really did. But the food turned her stomach, and when she attempted to sleep she woke, hot and sweaty, her disturbed mind exploding with anxiety. And it was only then that she realized her prints might have all been destroyed in the explosion and the plates with them.
After just a few hours of this hopeless attempt at resting, she washed, changed her clothes and went down to the hotel foyer to ask if the tickets had arrived, praying that they had not. When the receptionist handed Eliza an envelope she tore it open. The train tickets were for that evening. In just two hours’ time. She raced up the stairs, packed, and then a driver took her back to the hospital. She had to see Jay before she left. Had to know if he would be all right.
When she arrived the doctor took her aside. He led her into an office and indicated that she was to sit. ‘He has recovered consciousness.’
She drew in her breath sharply and her eyes began to fill.
‘He has sustained an internal injury but I have hopes he will recover.’
She covered her mouth to hide the trembling.
‘He’s very weak but he has been asking for you. Please don’t tire him. Although I have explained a little of what happened, at the moment he remembers nothing of the fire. Please don’t say anything that might upset him at this stage.’
She nodded, her heart swelling with a mixture of hope and fear.
‘I’ll let you have a few minutes and then I’ll come and get you. He’s still in a fragile state, you understand.’
She nodded and brushed her stupid tears away. He was alive. He would live. That was all that mattered. She wanted to run to his bedside but took several long deep breaths, got up from the chair and forced herself to walk calmly and with her head erect. She felt a lump develop in her throat but told herself to remain calm, as Laxmi would have been.
When she reached the bedside his eyes were closed and for an awful moment she feared the doctor had been wrong, and that he would not recover at all, but he must have heard her pull up a chair because he opened his eyes. His skin was a better colour now and so were his lips. She absorbed that quickly, all the time really only looking at his eyes for signs of recognition.
‘Eliza.’
She swallowed the lump in her throat and her eyes blurred. His voice had been soft and low and it made her want to wrap him in her arms and hold him tight until he was strong again.
‘Don’t speak if it tires you,’ she said.
‘I don’t know why it happened but suddenly Clifford Salter arranged my release.’
She reached out to him. He held her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. There was a long silence during which he closed his eyes and she continued to hold his hand.
‘None of that matters now,’ she said.
He opened his eyes and gave her a warm smile. ‘We’ll go away. Just you and I. We’ll have a splendid camp before the rains and then go on to Udaipore.’
She blinked rapidly. ‘My mother is ill. I’m on my way back to England.’
‘When you’re back, then?’
She nodded, knowing she could not tell him that when she got back she would be marrying Clifford, nor would she ever be able to explain why. Thank goodness she hadn’t put her engagement ring back on. She reminded herself that right now she must not say anything that might upset Jay’s recovery.
‘I love you, Eliza,’ he said softly. ‘Main tumhe pyar karta hu aur karta rahunga.’
‘I love you too. For ever. With all my heart.’
They stayed like that, with her holding his hand and him so weak, and her trying to be brave. At least he’s alive, she thought. Alive.
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She heard a cough and twisted back to see the doctor appearing at the door.
He tapped his watch. ‘Time’s up, I’m afraid. He’s very weak.’
She nodded and got to her feet, then leant over Jay and kissed him very gently on the lips.
‘Goodbye, Jay.’
He didn’t speak, but lifted his hand and traced her hairline with his fingertips.
Out on the street, devastated by what had happened and feeling completely wretched, Eliza ducked into an alleyway, where she crumpled and sank to the ground. She felt hollowed out, as if the solid parts of her had turned to liquid and were flowing out over the very edge of her world. Everything had been destroyed: her hope of an exhibition in October and the jeopardy the whole project would be in if her prints and plates had been fire-damaged. But far worse, her love and fear for Jay. She could never tell him the truth. She buried her face in her arms and, feeling that she would never wake from this nightmare, the sobs flooded out of her.
Part Four
* * *
‘Only those who are ravaged by love know love …’
– Rumi, Mathnavi, 109
30
Gloucestershire, England
Eliza gazed at the big sky above the tree-lined hill behind her mother’s house. Anna Fraser’s home was a square residence, surrounded by broken dry-stone walling, and, standing on the corner of a narrow crossroads, its Cotswold stone glowed buttery in the late afternoon light. Eliza’s gaze followed the beech-lined lane leading further down the valley and along the drive to James Langton’s house. It was beautifully, refreshingly green, though Brook Park itself, a gloomy, turreted place, had seen better days. Eliza could see the top of the clock tower rising above the old stables, but the house itself was blocked from view by dark fir trees. She took one last look at the sky, picked up her case, found the spare key under a stone at the side of the hydrangea bush, and unlocked the peeling back door.
Inside was only silence.
She walked into the kitchen, where the washing-up had been piled up haphazardly, encrusted pans had been left on top of the cooker and the rubbish bin was overflowing. Was her mother here or still in hospital? She checked the living room and found it also in a mess. Had Anna been rushed to hospital leaving all this? She began to tidy up, planning to book a taxi to the hospital a little later, but then she heard a weak voice calling out.
‘Hello. Who is there?’
It seemed that her mother must be upstairs. Not knowing what state Anna would be in, Eliza climbed the stairs cautiously and tiptoed across the landing to her mother’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and stepped inside the interior of the cold, dark room.
She made out her mother lying on the bed, fully clothed but very pale. ‘I came home from hospital yesterday,’ she said in a small voice. Eliza walked across to her and held her mother’s left hand. ‘What did the doctors say?’
‘Oh, you know. This and that.’
She stroked her mother’s hand, noticing how it trembled, then spoke in a low voice. ‘Mum, I don’t know. You need to tell me.’
‘I’m so tired, darling, so tired. You call the doctor. He’ll tell you. We’ll talk later.’ Anna’s voice was as weightless as she herself appeared to be. She closed her eyes and Eliza carefully placed her mother’s hand back by her side. It was as if Anna was somehow trapped inside her fragile body, and Eliza felt she couldn’t reach her.
She opened a window, then went downstairs and found the family doctor’s phone number in a small book on the hall table. She wondered if Anna even knew what was going on, but straight away called the consulting rooms. When the call ended she sat down on the floor with her head in her hands. Anna’s hospital stay had revealed an incurable cancer and now there was nothing more the doctors could do. The stroke had been minor; it was the cancer that was killing her. I hope you’ll remain at home with her, he’d said. We wanted her to stay in hospital but she insisted on going home. She doesn’t have long.
The next day, while her mother slept, Eliza drowned her distress by walking. While she walked she thought of her mother and then of Jay and prayed that he would fully recover from his injuries. It would be too much to lose both of them.
She followed the lane, walking beside coppiced hedging cut back to encourage low growth, and noticing that the dips and hollows of the Cotswold countryside were at their best, gleaming in myriad shades of green. On the higher banks above the grassy verges, sheep were grazing in the patchwork of small green fields and above her the sky, with its mixture of blue, grey and white, glittered with moisture caught by the sun. She carried on up to the woods at the top of the hill behind the big house, where large trees marched across the horizon in a gloomy military manner. After passing through them she ran down the other side into the old bluebell woods, where as a child she would often roll in the beautiful sea of blue beneath a bright green canopy and where, later in the year, the smell of wild garlic drifted.
When she grew tired and her feet and legs ached from the exertion, she sat on a log and tried to imagine a future with Clifford. She still wanted to do so much more with her photography. Give a voice to the voiceless. That was the thing. In a more positive state of mind, she became brighter and remembered how her camera made her forget everything else. She decided she’d maybe walk to the valley on the other side of Cleeve Hill, and take pictures there, or follow the deep dark tree-lined road going down to Winchcombe, or perhaps even climb up to Belas Knap, the ancient long barrow that she had loved since childhood.
During the day walking soothed her brain; during daylight hours the present was manageable.
As May turned into June she was relieved that Anna had stopped drinking and seemed well enough to sit in the garden. One day as they sat out there with just a light breeze warranting a cardigan, she asked Anna about her stay in hospital.
Her mother gave a little laugh. ‘It was quite nice.’
She had spoken lightly, as if she’d been talking about a short visit to Weston-super-Mare.
Eliza had decided to probe a little further and touched her mother’s sleeve, as if to say, come on Mum, talk to me. ‘They dried you out, didn’t they?’
‘I suppose. I haven’t had a single drink since you came home.’
I wish this could have happened sooner, Eliza thought in the silence that followed. But now that her mother was more alert and at last confronting the truth there could be a chance of something, however small.
‘I’m pleased you’re a bit better,’ Eliza said. ‘Really pleased.’
‘It’s been lonely. I’ve been lonely.’
‘I’m here now.’
No more was said then, but Eliza glanced at her fragile mother and felt sad at heart.
Still she cared for her ailing mother solicitously, and Anna’s favourite occupation became sitting with Eliza and reminiscing about the old days.
‘Do you remember the wonderful early days in Delhi?’ Anna said one late afternoon when the shadows were lengthening.
Eliza thought about it. She remembered the monkeys everywhere, climbing on walls in the garden, scampering up trees and sometimes even coming into the kitchen to steal food. She had loved the monkeys.
‘And the garden?’ Anna said.
‘All those bright flowers?’
‘Yes, them.’
Eliza glanced at Anna and saw tears in her eyes.
‘It was good, Mum, India was good. Do you remember all the shops in Chandni Chowk?’
Anna smiled. ‘Selling everything.’
‘Yes. Snake oil, Dad used to say.’
‘He did.’
And so the days passed, but at night the loss of Jay disturbed her rest. Even her snatches of sleep were broken by dreams of explosions and she would see him covered from head to toe in black dust, sometimes dead, sometimes alive. At night she wrote letters. It was all she could do without waking her mother and she wrote many, many letters to Jay, that in the morning she tore up and stuffed into the ol
d wood burner. When her mother complained of the smell she said, ‘Oh, it’s just the burner, just the burner getting old.’ She had to do something to rid herself of the hurt, had to find a way to escape her own mind, but the questions kept spinning. What would really happen when she married Clifford? What if she could not stop herself shrinking back?
The constriction in Eliza’s chest did not diminish.
But Gloucestershire’s rolling hills and valleys were lovely, as they always were at this time of year, with the hedgerows bursting and all the trees fresh and green. The blue sky was a comfort to Eliza, as were the gently moist air and mild sunshine, so different from Rajputana’s scorching heat and dry burning air. While her mother slept, she told herself over and over that it was for the best and that no matter how long it were to take she would stay with Anna.
As the dull, detached days passed, Jay’s words repeated in her head. I love you, Eliza. She told herself she would get over him. She would take beautiful photographs and that would heal her. She would be safe behind the camera lens. She would look out at a world that couldn’t look back. She decided, as she had done as a child, that pain was better withheld, untouched, controlled, and while she might never experience true happiness again, she had her memories.
Anna ate almost nothing, but when Eliza suggested her mother might like to accompany her on one of her walks, Anna gave a little nod and suggested a picnic. They left the house by way of a gate at the back of the small garden that led to a cobbled pathway, skirting one of James Langton’s orchards. As a child, one of Eliza’s favourite pastimes had been to climb the gnarled apple trees and sit in the branches munching on stolen fruit. It had given her a secret kind of pleasure but had come to an end when James found her there, ordering her down immediately. He didn’t approve of children climbing his precious apple trees. With a hammering heart she had scrambled down too fast and, though she had done it many times before, her foot had caught behind a branch and she had tipped out of the tree. Nothing broken, but she’d badly twisted an ankle and received a series of lectures about the evils of girls climbing trees.
Before the Rains Page 25