‘By you?’
‘If not me, then who?’
He went back to the net. ‘To the north of the beach at White Town there is a small river. Someone who does not understand the sea might think that the current from the river would carry a thing far out into the ocean. This does not happen. The river current is not strong and anything in the water will remain close to the coast.’
‘There was a breeze blowing inland, and high tide at about six o’clock.’
The man merely grunted.
Maliha stood and pressed her palms together. ‘Namaste.’
vi
They trudged along the coast northward, then climbed up to the road where the walking was easier. Half an hour brought them back to the seafront at White Town. Maliha pulled a letter from her reticule.
‘What’s that?’ said Renuka.
‘A lady is not so bluntly inquisitive.’
Renuka hid a laugh behind her hand. ‘I have noticed that you are always blunt, cousin.’
‘But I am not a lady, Renuka, I am a mere half-breed.’
‘I think it’s romantic, what happened with your mother and father.’
‘They were burned alive, Renuka.’
‘That was an accident, everyone says so.’
‘Do they?’
‘Yes.’ Renuka sounded uncertain like a small child that had been rebuked.
Maliha sighed. She turned and smiled at her cousin. ‘Whether it was an accident or not, can you not see that this thinking is what killed Arnithi Devanaya?’
Renuka shook her head with a frown.
Maliha did not want to force her cousin into a cultural dead end, but neither did she want her dead. So she tried again. ‘You must not think these thoughts. There is no real romance. You must be the best wife you can be to impress your mother-in-law, whoever she turns out to be.’
‘But you get to do whatever you want.’
‘Because no man will have me, Renuka, except to access my money and that’s what we’re going to see about next.’
*
Maliha pushed open the door of the offices of Jean-Felix Laurent, Legal Representative, and entered the sweaty interior. The secretary, dressed in a well-cut French suit, took her name and asked her to take a seat. He took her information through to an inner room.
After a short delay Maliha was admitted to the interior. Renuka and her maid remained in the waiting area.
‘Mam’selle Anderson. I am delighted to make your acquaintance.’
Dark against the light streaming in through the closed and dusty window, Jean-Felix Laurent was a slightly overweight man of perhaps forty years. His black hair was thinning. His smile appeared genuine and he even kissed her hand.
‘May I offer you my sincerest condolences on the death of your parents.’
‘Thank you. You may speak French, Monsieur Laurent, if you prefer.’
‘I must practice my English, Mam’selle, if I am to represent you as I did your father.’
‘As you wish.’
He indicated the leather upholstered chair and she perched on its edge.
‘You have read the copy of the will I sent to you?’
‘Yes, it was quite clear. I understand I am independently wealthy.’
‘Oh yes.’ He smiled. ‘Your father’s patent has been licensed sensibly, while his investments have been modest but generate a regular income.’
‘However I do not gain control of the money until I am twenty-one.’
‘That is considered normal.’
‘Normal for the British and the French, but not my family.’
The legal representative barked a laugh. ‘Oui, Mam’selle, c’est vrai! But your father has taken care of that. The terms of his will are quite explicit. No one can control your money, except for normal administration and dispensation of your expenses, and the only person who can do that is me.’
Maliha nodded. ‘So I understood. But you must understand that my family would like to marry me off with a large dowry and keep the rest for themselves.’
‘Greed is a terrible thing, Mam’selle Anderson.’
‘As is the marriage market.’
He nodded. ‘But, as I have said, they can do nothing. Pondicherry is under French law.’
‘But if they marry me off, my regular income from the estate would go to my husband.’
He thought about it and nodded slowly. ‘Can you not refuse to marry?’
‘I can, and I will not be staying so they will have even less chance. However, I want something else to be done with my income. Something they cannot touch. My personal needs are modest and my father was quite generous with his allowance to me.’
‘Do you wish to invest?’
‘No,’ she said, ‘I wish to build an ashram on the site of my parents’ house.’
‘Ashram?’
‘A school, for girls so they can be educated properly.’
‘Really?’ he said.
Maliha frowned. ‘Someone will be required to manage the entire process,’ she said slowly, ‘and I could take my business elsewhere.’
He laughed again. ‘I believe your idea has tremendous merit, mam’selle. Charitable deeds are the one thing at which the fairer sex excel.’
His use of the word ‘fair’ irritated her. It was the one thing her skin would never be, and she would most certainly not emulate those Indian women who tried to whiten their skin. It was futile and insulting to their sex.
‘Very good, Monsieur.’ She stood and he jumped to his feet. ‘I will leave it in your hands, but I expect to see full financial reports as well as progress updates each month.’
‘Of course, I will set to work on it immediately.’
‘I will send you my address in Ceylon.’
He grabbed the handle to open the door for her, but she laid her palm against it. ‘Monsieur Laurent, I require absolute secrecy. I do not wish my family to know the true nature of the project until I am ready. Until then, you are simply rebuilding the house.’
‘Of course.’
‘And one final thing: make sure the area is thoroughly cleansed and blessed before any work is started,’ she said. ‘There must be no possibility that anyone can criticise the school.’
‘Yes, Mam’selle.’
She swept from the room. Not that he would be able to get any workmen to set foot there until it was cleansed, anyway.
*
Renuka did not ask what the visit had been about, but she seemed to have lost her enthusiasm for the journey and lagged behind. Maliha looked up and down the street but could not find what she was seeking.
‘I need to send a letter to Captain Paquette. Where’s the post office?’
Renuka pointed further up the street. ‘It’s round the next corner. Why do you need to write to him?’
‘I want to talk to him. I have some questions.’
The trip to the post office was uneventful. Maliha bought some paper and envelopes and borrowed a pen. The postmistress looked askance at the address when she took the letter, and eyed Maliha carefully. ‘Ten centimes.’
Maliha handed over the coin. ‘Will that be delivered today?’
‘It is local, before six.’
Maliha nodded and stepped back out into the brilliant sunshine. Renuka was standing on the corner, staring blankly along the street.
‘You should return home,’ said Maliha. ‘The sun is getting very high and that will not be good for your complexion.’
Her cousin looked almost relieved. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I am going to go to the library to look at the newspapers,’ said Maliha, ‘which will be very boring for you.’
‘Why do you want to look at newspapers?’
‘Because I am very boring.’
Thankfully Renuka agreed and headed back into Black Town. Maliha got her bearings and went south again until she reached the Bibliothèque Publique in the heart of the city.
The building was even older than the lighthouse but w
ell preserved. It was airy and the stone construction kept the interior cool.
Her European clothes provided some protection from criticism but her skin betrayed her. Rather than have to defend against hostile cross-examination, she had found it better to take the offensive. She approached the desk looking for some way to engage the librarian in conversation.
‘Good afternoon,’ she said in French. The man behind the desk glanced up at her from the books in front of him. He had a tortoiseshell fountain pen and she recognised the design immediately. ‘Is that a Waterman Self-Filler?’
He frowned at her with incomprehension.
‘Your pen,’ she said. ‘An excellent device and, I would imagine, ideal for your purposes.’
‘Yes, miss, it is a Waterman.’ He hesitated, and then added, almost as if he were excusing himself for having such an ostentatious writing tool, ‘It was a gift.’
She nodded and forced herself to smile. ‘I was wondering, do you carry The Times of India and local newspapers?’
‘The Times is in English.’
‘I am fluent.’
‘Through the doors.’ He waved his hand in the direction of the double doors that led further inside. ‘If you go to the left you will find all the newspapers in a room off the main area.’
‘You are very kind, sir,’ she said, then let her head drop and continued in a subdued tone. ‘I wonder, though, would it be too much trouble for you to escort me? I know that some patrons of this excellent library might find my presence difficult, and I do not want to cause any offense.’
He reached out as if he intended to pat her on her hand but, to her relief, the distance was too great for him to do so without awkwardness. ‘Of course, miss, if you would care to follow me.’
With deliberate care, he replaced the pen top and laid it neatly beside the journal. He stepped out from behind the desk and led her through the doors, courteously holding them open for her and leading her to the newspaper reading room. It was empty of other patrons.
He took his leave and she ran her fingers across the huge folders used to contain the magazines. She could have asked him to get them down for her, they were heavy, but she had little idea of where she would find what she needed. Or if she would find it at all.
She sighed. She probably only needed the financial reports for the past two years but if she went backwards through time she could keep going until she found what she needed or decided it wasn’t there.
It was going to be a long afternoon.
vii
Maliha left the library at around six. She was hungry but there was no time for food, and nowhere to get it at this hour. She headed out to the promenade. The tide was in. There must be a storm out to sea because six-foot waves were thundering hard on to the sand. She found it quite invigorating.
She walked slowly north. French couples and children with their governesses and nurses wandered by her, barely noticing. Her hat put her face into shadow and it was difficult to tell the colour of her skin, and she had been blessed with the European bone structure of her father.
In this place at this time she could have been one of them. But it was not something she would ever feel.
When she had been a child here she had been allowed to run on the beach. To explore and discover all those things children found interesting and exciting. And for her there was nothing she did not find interesting, or that she ever forgot. There had been the pink conch shell washed up near a boat with blue and red stripes. She had carried it to her mother who told her how the ancient warriors of India would commence a battle by blowing a conch, and that Maliha should give it to the temple because it could be made into a sacred musical instrument.
The young Maliha had wanted to keep it but her mother had insisted. She remembered reluctantly handing it to an old priest who took it gracefully and offered her a blessing in return. He told her the sound of the conch would drive evil spirits away.
The older Maliha wished that driving out the evil spirits could be that simple. But the evil she had experienced lived inside of men and women, and driving that out seemed all but impossible.
The promenade shrank to an empty single pavement. She reached the end of that and looked down at the stream tumbling from the hills to the north of the city. Even though it did not flow through any significant residential area, the smell emanating from it was unpleasant.
She believed the captain when he said that they had only talked.
‘Miss Anderson?’
She turned to see him walking towards her in his dark green uniform. Beside him was one of the friends he had been arguing with the first time she had seen him. They were unlike in so many ways: Louis was pale and blond with a bone structure one might almost describe as delicate, while the other was dark with heavy Germanic features and matching moustache.
‘May I introduce my friend Emil Chauvin?’
Maliha held out her gloved hand. Emil took it gently and touched his lips to her fingers.
‘Charmed, Miss Anderson.’
Maliha noted how his accent differed from the captain’s. ‘Good evening, Major Chauvin. Forgive me for asking, but would I be right in thinking your family is from the northern borders of France?’
He smiled. ‘Not quite, miss. A small village in Chamonix.’
Maliha smiled. ‘Of course. The Swiss border. The mountains must be impressive.’
‘I do miss them, though I am told the Himalayas put all our mountains to shame. I intend to visit them before I am posted elsewhere.’
They were both immaculately turned out, though the major’s uniform was older with wear at the joints. They both carried sheathed sabres at their side. Maliha shivered at the thought of such a weapon being driven through the body of Arnithi Devanaya.
‘If you would excuse us, Major, I would like to speak to Captain Paquette alone.’
He bowed and withdrew. Maliha turned her attention to Louis Paquette. He was looking tired and drained, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.
‘Where did you talk, Captain? Not here, surely?’
He gestured to some rusted iron steps that led down to the beach. She stepped over to them and saw they were quite steep. ‘If you would be so kind, Captain.’
He descended the six steps ahead of her and held her hand as she followed awkwardly. She did not curse her scarred thigh but it could be inconvenient. She stood at last at the bottom with her shoes sinking into the soft dry sand. When she had been young she seldom wore shoes. But now she was going to be pouring grains from her boots and working them from the gaps between her toes.
There was an iron bench with rotted wooden slats against the wall of the breakwater.
‘We sat here,’ he said.
The tide was beginning to withdraw but the waves still rolled in. If Arnithi had been killed here, no one would have heard her cry. Maliha studied the bench; there were no bloodstains.
‘Then let us sit also.’
She sat carefully, concerned it might not be strong enough, but it held her weight. When Captain Paquette sat she felt the wood bend. The seat was only for two and he was almost touching her as he sat.
‘Where are you from, Captain?’
He hesitated, almost as if he wasn’t expecting such a question. ‘Argelès-sur-Mer.’
The name drew a blank in Maliha’s memory but the name indicated it was by the sea. ‘Which coast?’
‘It is on the Mediterranean.’
‘I haven’t heard of it.’
‘It is not big, though there are too many people to know everybody’s name.’
She nodded. ‘Pondicherry is like that.’
They were both silent for a while. Maliha watched the waves and the seagulls hanging above them.
‘What did you talk about?’
‘I do not think I should betray her confidence.’
‘You, sir, are an idiot. First, you put the life of a young woman at risk through stupidity or ignorance. And now you refuse to help me find the perso
n who killed her. I cannot imagine what harm you bring to anyone you do not call friend!’
He said nothing. If she did not look at him she could pretend she was on her own.
‘She spoke of her dreams and desires.’
‘Which were?’
‘She wanted to travel, she wanted to see beyond the borders of Pondicherry and the house she was confined to. I would tell her about all the places I had been and what I had seen. She never seemed to tire of it and even when I had run out she would have me repeat myself.’
Maliha nodded, not caring whether he noticed or not. If she had been trapped in this place instead of being sent away to school she could imagine herself wanting to break free.
Like Renuka.
Societies were changing in the outside world but it would be a long time before they changed here, if they ever did.
‘What else?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Please don’t lie to me.’
There was another pause. ‘She told me what her mother-in-law did to her.’
‘I saw her injuries and I know what can happen. What did you say to her when she told you?’
‘I said I would take her away.’
Maliha closed her eyes. Fools. ‘And what did she say to that?’
‘She said it was impossible.’
‘She was right,’ said Maliha. ‘How often did you meet?’
‘Usually twice a week, sometimes only once.’
‘And did you meet her the night she died?’
‘No, I was expecting to hear from her but sometimes she could not get away and would not send a message. I was disappointed but it was not unusual.’
‘But she was here.’
The truth, which was obvious to her, struck him and he jumped to his feet. ‘Someone intercepted her message. Oh dear God. It might as well have been my own sabre that killed her. I am the reason she is dead.’
Maliha said nothing, since there was nothing that could usefully be said. Of course it was his fault, but not because someone had seen her message.
viii
Maliha had had to bear the harsh tongue of her grandmother when she finally returned to their home at nearly ten o’clock in the evening. Missing the evening meal was a crime of considerable magnitude.
She went to her room without eating and lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant waves crashing on the beach in constant but unpredictable roar. Although she could have memorised every page of every newspaper, she had chosen to restrict herself to the financial pages. Even so, it was a great deal of information. The only exception was the wedding of Arnithi Moopanar to Srikanth Devanaya; she had read the mentions in the local newspaper for that.
Lure of the Riptide Page 3