Daisy's Long Road Home

by Merryn Allingham

  The next morning she was already eating her chota hazri when Grayson made an appearance. He looked at her and she saw him smile.

  ‘Lovely dress, Daisy. But much too good for the bazaar. ‘

  ‘On the contrary. I have to compete with some very beautiful women and some very beautiful saris.’ Her polka dot sundress was young and fresh but against the richness of Indian materials, she knew it would go unnoticed.

  ‘No competition. You’ll win hands down.’ She felt herself flush beneath his gaze. She would have to be careful. She buried herself in the plate of small, sweet cakes that Ahmed had left to tempt her.

  Grayson said no more and made no effort to join her at the table, ignoring the customary small breakfast and downing two cups of coffee while he stood by the window.

  ‘It’s going to be hotter today, if that’s possible,’ he opined. He was looking out at the garden, which was already shimmering in the heat. ‘We’d better get going unless we want to fry in the jeep.’

  There were few other vehicles on the road. Several bullock carts passed them, heading out of town, and for a while they were caught behind a small boy who was driving his flock of goats to the fields. Eventually, he peeled away from the main thoroughfare and, with loud yells and brutal whackings of his stick, herded the beasts down the narrow lane leading to their barren grazing.

  Grayson picked up speed again and they were halfway to the centre of town when he said suddenly, ‘Would you like to take a look at the old place?’

  He meant the old bungalow, she knew, the one she’d shared with Gerald and his malevolent servant, the one that had stored stolen guns for a group of outlawed fighters and nearly cost her her life. She felt beads of perspiration on her forehead.

  ‘You don’t have to put yourself through it,’ he said quietly. ‘But I thought it might help.’

  Would it help? She didn’t think so, yet she knew she had to see the house again. For years, she’d hoped she could break free of its frightening shadow. Grayson seemed certain that she had, that she’d coped with the past far better than she realised. But she knew differently. She hadn’t coped with it. Not really. Not deep down. She’d muffled it in bandages, layer upon layer of them. And though she’d wanted to come back to India, secretly she’d been sceptical that a return could act as any kind of purification. But here she was, and she owed it to herself to take whatever chance offered to lose the millstone she carried.

  ‘Yes, let’s take a look,’ she said, as casually as she could.

  It was a shock when she saw the place. The garden had always been unkempt, Gerald having little interest and even less money to keep it under control. But now the alfalfa grass had grown almost to the roof line and a weed she couldn’t put a name to had started its inexorable colonisation, gripping the whitewashed walls in iron tentacles. Rajiv’s quarters to the right were almost submerged beneath the wilderness. As she looked across at the rooms he’d inhabited, she could conjure no clear picture, no clear vision of him emerging from his door, sullen-faced, suspicious, hostile. That was good. That particular image was rubbed clean.

  ‘It looks pretty dilapidated,’ Grayson said.

  ‘It never looked anything else.’

  ‘Not quite as bad as this though. In the ten years since you left, I don’t think it’s had a lick of paint. And see, several of the shutters are off their hinges. They won’t afford the house any kind of protection—and there’s a hole appearing in the thatch. Come the monsoon, the rain will pour through that roof and drown the interior. I imagine rot has already set in. A few more years and the house will crumble inwards.’

  ‘A waste of a bungalow,’ she remarked, though privately thinking that crumbling was exactly what was needed. If the house lay in ruins, she would be happy. It had only ever been the garden that she’d loved and that was beyond saving.

  ‘It is a waste. It would have made someone a good home. I made a few enquiries.’ That was news to her. So this unscripted visit wasn’t quite so unscripted. ‘The army tried to sell it as soon as they knew the regiment was to disband—they must have acquired the property years ago—and they were willing to sell at a knockdown price. But there were no takers. No one would even move in for free. The locals won’t come near the place.’

  ‘Because of what happened here?’

  ‘That hasn’t helped, certainly. The gang has become notorious in the district.’

  Anish, too, she imagined. He would be just as notorious. ‘But they’re all in prison.’

  ‘That makes no difference. India is a land of superstition and superstition ensures that the gang will return to haunt the place. It doesn’t help either that the house was built on an ancestral burial ground. That in itself would be reason enough for the locals to avoid it. Far too many ghosts.’

  Ghosts, she thought ironically. The ghosts she was supposed foolishly to have seen when she tried to talk to Gerald of her fears. Those particular spirits had turned out to be entirely flesh and blood, and criminal flesh and blood at that. But she’d had other phantoms to face and they were still with her. She turned away and walked back to the jeep. If she’d hoped the visit might prove an exorcism, it had been unsuccessful.

  CHAPTER 4

  Grayson dropped her at the edge of the bazaar and then disappeared in a swirl of dust, intent on a mission that would take him deep into the network of narrow alleys and hidden courtyards. For most of that morning, he would be only a few hundred yards from her but she was sure she would see nothing more of him. He would keep a low profile and so must she. She’d had second thoughts about asking questions today. It might be better to postpone them until a second visit and in the meantime, learn or relearn her way around the sprawl of shops and traders.

  She spent several delightful hours wandering between brilliantly coloured stalls and, despite her best intentions not to buy until she left for home, she came away with a bolt of the most beautiful emerald silk and a stock of coloured glass bangles. They would be small presents for any patients she had in the future, when or if she found another post. Miss Thornberry’s reaction to her resignation had been typically ill natured and she wasn’t expecting a glowing reference.

  In the last few minutes, her skin had begun to burn, even as she stood in deep shade. It was time to turn for home and she headed for where she remembered the tonga drivers used to gather. Weaving a complicated path through the jumble of stalls, she edged her way through one narrow space after another, skirting the sweep of craft workers who plied their trade at ground level. Very soon she spied the tall plumes of a horse’s bridle and saw them move with the shake of the animal’s head. She felt pleased with herself that she’d managed to find the place unaided.

  The sun was now directly overhead, its rays arrowing through the thick air and hitting the ground with such force that they bounced upwards and slapped her in the face. She felt sandwiched between two opposing armies, both brandishing fire, and it was a relief to climb into the first carriage she came to. She lay back in the shade of the faded cloth canopy and watched its decorative bobbles jump to the rhythm of the wheels, as the tonga swerved out into the traffic and made for Tamarind Drive. She was looking forward to home, to a cold shower and an even colder drink. And then a long rest on the cool counterpane. It was a guilty pleasure, a sheer indulgence, when at this very moment she should by rights be directing the activities of a busy ward.

  But when she walked up the veranda steps, her plans received a setback. Mike was sitting at the dining table surrounded by paper, and she felt disconcerted. She had expected him to be at the office. He looked up when she walked in and she thought he seemed irritated. That was probably her imagination, for his face relaxed quickly into a smile and he folded the map he’d been studying and asked her how her first day’s return to Jasirapur had gone.

  ‘Don’t clear the table for me.’ She gestured to the stack of papers he’d begun to load into his ancient briefcase. ‘I’m ashamed to say the bazaar has tired me out and I think I may tak
e a sneaky nap.’

  ‘I don’t blame you. This heat is a killer. But I have to go back to the office in any case. I just needed a few hours’ peace and quiet to go through some difficult correspondence.’

  She went to the table and poured herself a glass of water and drank it down thirstily. Mike’s words surprised her. She remembered Grayson saying that the administration team was short staffed, and it seemed odd that his friend had been unable to find a quiet haven in which to work, but perhaps the offices were in more of a mess than Grayson realised. His passion lay in fieldwork, she knew, and he was more than happy to leave the paperwork to someone else. But Mike must feel just the same and she felt sorry he had the unenviable task of trawling an endless succession of files in the meagre hope that he might uncover a clue to Javinder’s whereabouts.

  He tucked his briefcase beneath one arm and walked to the door. ‘You look a trifle hot still,’ he said. ‘Ahmed is ordering me a tonga. Shall I ask him to bring you some tea?’

  ‘You’re right. I am hot, and tired too. I’d forgotten how tired you get—I’ve no energy left. But I’ll settle for water, thanks. I don’t want to delay you. I may be utterly lazy but I know the wheels of industry must keep turning.’

  ‘Not much industry going on, I’m afraid. We’re on a bit of a wild goose chase.’

  ‘Grayson doesn’t appear to think so,’ she said carefully. ‘He’s expecting to leave in a few days. This morning, when we drove into town, he was talking about the equipment he needs to order.’ It had been news to her that he needed to prepare so extensively for his travels. ‘I wasn’t sure what exactly he had in mind.’

  ‘I imagine he’ll be camping, so a tent, cooking utensils, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Then he must be anticipating a long journey.’

  ‘Who knows?’ Mike shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s a crazy idea, a crazy trip and fraught with danger, but you know Grayson.’ His smile was a little off centre. ‘He’s no idea where Joshi could be, except a vague notion that the man travelled north, but he’s setting off come what may. He’s too stubborn for his own good. For all he knows, the chap could be dead by now.’

  ‘So there’s been no more news?’

  ‘Nothing. We haven’t a clue, but I sure as hell wouldn’t start traipsing through Rajasthan in this excruciating heat. Not to mention the restive natives. And all on the off chance that I might come across a missing man. He’s probably gone walkabout to see his family. I’ve been told they come from an adjoining state, so it’s more than likely.’

  ‘I suggested that to Grayson, but he said Javinder was far too conscientious to do such a thing.’

  ‘He would, wouldn’t he? He trained him. But whatever the truth of the matter, I haven’t been able to persuade him out of this fool’s errand.’

  She took another long drink of water, then looked up to find that Mike had left his case by the door and walked back into the room. He was standing very near, his face serious, and when he spoke he leaned towards her to emphasise his words. ‘I haven’t persuaded him, Daisy, but you could. And I hope you’ll try.’

  She felt herself grow hot with embarrassment. ‘I doubt I’d be any more successful. I don’t have that much influence.’ Maybe once, she thought, but not any more.

  ‘You underestimate yourself. You mean a lot to him and he’ll listen to you. There’s still time to get him to think again.’

  She felt trapped. She didn’t want Grayson to walk into unknown dangers, any more than Mike did, but neither did she want to do or say anything that might unsettle their new relationship. At the moment, it seemed to be working. It was affectionate but mercifully uncommitted. If she pleaded with Grayson too hard, she might raise expectations she couldn’t fulfil.

  Mike walked back to the door and picked up his briefcase. ‘Talk to him tonight,’ he urged. ‘He can still be made to abandon this wild project.’

  ‘Tonga here, Mister Corrigan.’ Ahmed had come quietly into the room and she was spared from answering. Mike gave her a brief nod and strode towards the veranda.

  ‘See you at supper,’ he said over his shoulder.

  The sound of hooves on the gravel signalled that Mike was on his way to town. The house was within easy reach of Jasirapur, just a short tonga ride away. Unlike the lonely bungalow she’d visited this morning. That had been a thieves’ den, but had also been her prison, and she could never think of the place or what happened there without her heart beginning to trip and her stomach to knot. So she wouldn’t think of it.

  Ahmed had returned, this time bearing another large jug. ‘For you, memsahib. Water is very cold. I think you are still feeling bad.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  She smiled her thanks and allowed another glass of the liquid to slide icily down her throat, then sat for some while simply enjoying the feeling. It was strange how uncomfortable she’d felt when Mike was in the room and it made her pause. He’d seemed so insistent that she intervene with Grayson. Perhaps that was it. But when she thought more, she realised she hadn’t felt entirely easy with him during the whole journey. Even on the ship, his heartiness had seemed a little forced. She hardly knew him, of course, whereas Grayson and he had been colleagues, good friends too, for many years. But in the short time she’d spent with him during the war, he’d seemed almost a different man.

  He’d driven her to the safe house in Highgate, except that it had turned out to be anything but safe. At least not for her. He’d been easy-going, she recalled, pleasant, chatty. He was still friendly enough but she had the sense of it being purely a surface emotion. He’d lost the genuine warmth she remembered, that was it. She wondered if he resented her being here. Grayson might have voiced his doubts but Mike had seemed happy to include her in the trip. He’d welcomed her effusively, perhaps too effusively. After all, she’d invited herself, imposed herself on what had been an all-male adventure. He’d probably been looking forward to working closely with his friend—a last grab at the old life, Grayson had called it. In London, he might have been easy with her decision to join them but now her presence in India had begun to feel intrusive. Even worse, he might have started to suspect that Grayson and she were trying to rekindle their romance and he’d be dragged unwillingly into the situation. He really needn’t worry on that score; it was the last thing she intended.

  What she did intend was very different and, when the sun began its slow fade to the horizon, she roused herself to wash her face, brush her hair and don a fresh dress. Her wardrobe was severely limited, as much by money as by space, but a plain linen button-through seemed ideal for the lady she was about to visit. If Edith Forester still espoused the exotic flowing robes she used to love, it would be the perfect foil. The Foresters would be starting on their journey back to England any day now, but she had discovered from Ahmed, who seemed to know the ins and outs of every military deployment, that at the moment at least, they were still at the civil station.

  The cantonment was subtly changed from the first time she’d seen it. Most of the army had moved out only months before but already she could see the signs of neglect. The clipped lawns were no longer quite so neat, the whitewashed walls of the bungalows not quite so white, and the road which ran a straight course through the spread of houses arranged in military precision had fractured into potholes every few yards.

  The tonga had barely pulled to a halt outside the Foresters’ official bungalow, when Edith came running out onto the veranda. As soon as she realised who her visitor was, she ran down the wooden steps and greeted Daisy ecstatically. As though she were a long lost sheep, Daisy thought. A black sheep, perhaps.

  ‘It’s so lovely to see you, my dear. After all this time, too. Of course, Jocelyn has kept us up to date with all your doings but it’s not the same, is it? To actually meet again, face to face, is quite wonderful.’

  Over the intervening years both she and Jocelyn had proved poor correspondents and Daisy thought it unlikely that Edith knew much about her life, but she smiled s
weetly and returned the compliment. ‘Thank you, Mrs Forester. It’s very good to see you too.’

  ‘Edith, my dear. Surely we know each other well enough not to stand on ceremony. And you’re back in Jasirapur?’ It was a question that answered itself. Daisy could see the older woman was agog with interest. And why wouldn’t she be? After what had happened here, Jasirapur would be the last place anyone would expect her to return to.

  ‘A friend of mine, Grayson Harte—you’ll remember him, I’m sure—kept in touch when we got back to England. He mentioned he had to make a short trip here. Something to do with his work, I’m not sure what.’ She had better give nothing away, she thought, though Edith was unlikely to pose a danger to the security service. ‘At the time I’d just resigned from my job and thought that for old times’ sake I’d like to come back. Just once more.’

  The ‘old times’ stuck in her throat but she tried to sound indifferent. Mrs Forester was unlikely to believe such a feeble explanation, but she had no intention of disclosing why she was really here.

  ‘The Colonel will be so sorry to have missed you. He’s just this minute gone back to barracks. Goodness knows what the problem is now. There’s always something. But come in, my dear, and Salim will fix you a drink.’

  She led the way into a large but bare sitting room, her dress streaming behind her. It was the same floating, exotic garment that Daisy remembered, but this time a little faded, a little limp.

  ‘You see what a state we’re in. Most of the house has been packed up, but there’s still so much unfinished business left for the regiment that I’m beginning to doubt the Colonel will ever be through. The boat will most likely go without us.’