Daisy's Long Road Home

by Merryn Allingham

  After hours of useless talking, he walked into the office he shared with Mike to find his companion looking equally disheartened. The room was sticky with heat, a ceiling fan stirring the sluggish air to little effect. Mike looked up as he came through the door, a slow trickle of perspiration running down the centre of his forehead and stopping short at the bridge of his nose.

  ‘Did you have any luck?’ he asked.

  Their last evening’s clash seemed to have been forgotten and Grayson could see his colleague was trying hard to look cheerful. That made him feel a little better. He hadn’t enjoyed being at odds with Mike, who was a good friend, an old friend. And he needed the man’s help if his quest was to have any chance of success.

  ‘Not a scrap. How about you?’

  ‘Much the same. I’ve been trying since early this morning to get these files into some kind of order.’ He waved a damp hand towards the tottering piles of paper which all but covered the surface of both desks. ‘I’m sure Javinder Joshi was an excellent worker. I can see he kept his paperwork more or less up to date, but he’s been gone several months, and since then the filing has turned into a paper Everest. I reckon every person in the building has slung something in here over that time. Probably anything they didn’t know what to do with.’

  Grayson slumped down in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk and dislodging several files. He surveyed the mass of paper glumly. ‘It certainly looks that way. But you shouldn’t have the bother of going through every document in detail. For now, just stack the stuff as tidily as you can and someone else can decide later where it all belongs.’

  Mike shook his head, then fished around on the floor for an errant pair of reading glasses that had somehow jumped from the desk. ‘I’ve been reading everything closely in the hope that amid this mound of frustration, I might come across something that would help you. But I haven’t.’

  He straightened up and looked across at Grayson. ‘You won’t want to hear this, but I’ve got to say it.’ His voice was cautious but determined. ‘My advice is seriously to consider calling off the search. I know I’ve urged it before and you decided not to listen. But the problem is pressing now. We’ve found nothing and you haven’t a clue where Javinder’s gone or where you’d be going.’

  ‘You’re right, I haven’t.’ Grayson yawned, dazed by the soporific atmosphere. ‘Not an actual clue, at least. But I’ve been thinking about the conversations I’ve had these last few days. Nothing very specific, but I’m getting a feel for where I might start.’

  His colleague looked decidedly sceptical. ‘A feel? You mean you’ll point your compass and feel where the needle leads you?’

  ‘Not quite so haphazard. It’s just that certain comments, certain ideas have stuck in my mind. Almost as though they’ve been blown towards me in the breeze and then lodged deep in my consciousness.’

  ‘Very poetic, but pure fantasy, Gray, and hardly likely to get you very far. What comments by the way?’

  ‘I can’t be certain and I shouldn’t say too much for the moment. But the idea of a princely state is beginning to ring bells.’

  ‘But surely they don’t exist any longer? I thought they’d been incorporated into India.’

  ‘Most of them. Mountbatten managed to persuade nearly all of them to sign the Act of Accession but some held out. Some are still holding out—the larger states particularly.’

  ‘But not Rajasthan?’

  ‘Rajasthan has always been a collection of princely states. Some large, some very small. Most have signed up, but a few haven’t, and they’re the ones I should be looking at, I think. It’s the smaller ones to the north where there’s trouble. And one or two of the ICS officers are convinced that Javinder travelled northwards.’

  Mike’s expression made it clear that he wasn’t equally convinced. ‘Have you thought that the problems you’re talking about might have nothing to do with Javinder’s journey? They might be nothing more than the usual disputes.’

  ‘How is that?’

  ‘From what I gather, tension between the different communities is long standing. If there is aggression, it could be the same old trouble rearing its head. Why should it be anything new?’

  ‘Because disaffected people cause trouble. And that’s what we’ve got. There are rulers who refuse to accept the new dispensation. For them the fifteenth of August last year was a day of mourning. That was when they lost their privileges, lost the world of pomp and splendour they’d expected to inhabit for the rest of their lives.’

  ‘You’re saying these chaps might be responsible for the violence? That they’re deliberately organising it? That seems pretty far-fetched to me. What on earth would they gain? In any case, there must still be pockets of unrest around the country. The odd disturbance is still happening elsewhere in India, isn’t it, so why not in the north of Rajasthan?’

  ‘It is happening,’ Grayson conceded wearily. ‘And you could well be right. I don’t honestly know what to make of the reports. At the moment I’m just going on a hunch.’ He swung his legs off the desk and got to his feet. ‘I think I’ll miss the tea break. I’ve had enough chai today to float me to the Indian Ocean. I’d feel better if I went back to the bungalow and stood under a shower.’

  Mike walked with him to the door. He laid his hands on either side of Grayson’s shoulders and shook him gently. ‘You can’t plunge through Rajasthan on a hunch. You have to have more to go on than that. The country isn’t properly stabilised yet and God knows what kind of mishap you could meet with. That’s if you’re lucky and it’s not outright danger that you face.’

  ‘I appreciate your concern, Mike, but I’ve been asking questions for two whole days and I’m still none the wiser. A hunch, I fear, is all I’m going to get.’

  ‘So the answer is don’t go.’

  Grayson’s expression was mulish. It said quite plainly that Mike was making needless difficulties and he wished that he wouldn’t.

  ‘Your place is in the town,’ his companion ploughed on, undeterred. ‘Send scouts to wherever you think best, but stay in Jasirapur and manage the search from here. Think man, you’ve brought Daisy with us. I’m not saying she’s a problem, at least not at the moment. And I like her well enough. But she’s here against my advice, I’d remind you. And you need to keep a closer watch on her.’

  Grayson’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. ‘Whatever do you mean?’

  ‘Let me ask you this. Do you know what she’s doing right now?’

  He felt mystified. Of course, he didn’t know exactly. And did it matter that he didn’t?

  Mike looked satisfied at having startled him. ‘I thought not. You have no idea what she’s up to and neither have I. But I’d bet a pound to a penny, it’s something you wouldn’t approve of.’

  CHAPTER 6

  Grayson wouldn’t have approved, Daisy was sure. She was following a uniformed retainer down a long hall of polished marble and feeling very slightly intimidated. She wondered whether after all she should have mentioned her plans to him, or at least left word with Ahmed. It was too late for that now. The hall which had seemed unending finally came to a halt, and she was ushered into what she supposed was a drawing room. She had a brief glimpse of sumptuous walls lined with red and gold silk before a man glided towards her. He offered her his hand in greeting.

  ‘Miss Driscoll? I am Ramesh Suri.’

  Her host wasn’t a large man, no more than average height and of slender build, but Daisy still felt a qualm when she looked at him. She wasn’t sure why. He gestured her towards one of the several thickly brocaded sofas and sat down opposite. The servant who’d escorted her toured the room, pulling the satin blinds fully down at every window and plunging the space into near darkness. For a short moment, she was blinded but then her eyes regained focus and she was able to take in her surroundings. There was richness everywhere, from the wall coverings to the embossed ceiling to the Indian silk rugs on the floor. What she took to be antiques were scattered at random t
hroughout the room. Ramesh Suri was evidently a very wealthy man, but one who chose to live isolated. She wondered where his money came from and had a premonition that it might not be too sensible to enquire.

  ‘You have come far, Miss Driscoll?’ he asked in a soft voice.

  ‘From Jasirapur.’

  ‘That is far enough on a hot day. And in an open tonga.’

  Her skin was doing an unpleasant thing, sending short, sharp prickles around her body. There was nothing in his speech to make her wary, so why did she feel this disquiet? She sensed his gaze on her, hard and impervious. Yes, it was his gaze, she decided, or rather his eyes that were so disturbing. They were coal black and, at a certain angle, they appeared opaque, as though a screen had descended. As though their owner could look out but no one could look in.

  ‘Have you happened at my gate by accident?’ he asked.

  He must know that she hadn’t. He had clearly heard her tell his aggressive servant that she had come to speak to the master of the house. But she answered him tranquilly enough, ignoring his pretence. ‘Not by accident, Mr Suri. I came to see you.’

  She heard a slight shuffling behind her and saw Suri beckon to whoever had come into the room. From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of two young men, one not much more than a boy. They hovered discreetly to one side until their father beckoned to them again.

  ‘You must meet my sons, Miss Driscoll. This is Dalip.’ The older of the two came forward and bowed. He didn’t offer his hand, she noticed. He was dressed less ostentatiously than his father but there was the same opaqueness to the eyes. ‘And this is Daya.’ The boy moved awkwardly forward. He was barely out of his teens and had not yet lost the innocence of boyhood. His face was open, friendly. Quite unlike his brother or his father.

  A second servant, dressed in the same red embroidered livery, brought small bowls of sweetmeats and a tray of clinking glasses. Gratefully, Daisy sipped the iced lemonade. Ramesh Suri had been right in saying it was hardly a sensible day to come travelling in an open tonga. Another misdeed for which Grayson could scold her. Right now, though, she must banish him from her mind. He had his own business to attend to and she had hers. And hers was here, in the home of Anish’s uncle.

  ‘So how do you find Jasirapur?’

  ‘It’s an interesting town,’ she said neutrally, and then with more enthusiasm, ‘and India is fascinating.’

  ‘But this is not your first trip to India, I believe?’

  How did he know that? If she were a stray traveller who’d stopped at his house—to ask for directions, to seek refreshment—he would surely know nothing of her. But she wasn’t a stray traveller, was she? He knew her, he knew who she was. She had a frightening feeling that he’d known even before she’d said her name at the gate. The prickling increased.

  ‘And are you here for long? This is not the best time of the year to visit our country.’

  ‘I’m not sure when we’re to return to England. We may stay for the cooler weather.’

  ‘You mention “we”. So you are here with companions?’

  She was sure that he knew that too. And just as sure he was aware of who her companions were. Suddenly, the thought that Grayson and Mike belonged to the Intelligence Service carried meaning. It had always seemed a strange way of life, Grayson’s career, nothing to do with the real world as she knew it. But, in that instant, she realised it had everything to do with it. And this man with the opaque eyes knew that better than she. ‘I’m here with a friend and his colleague,’ she said, continuing the bluff. ‘They have business in Jasirapur.’

  ‘And have left you to your own devices today, I see. You have come adventuring alone.’

  She didn’t like the way that sounded. ‘I left a message to say where I was going. They won’t be worried.’

  ‘How very sensible of you. But to come all this way—Megaur must be more famous than I realised.’ He lounged backwards in the heavily embossed chair, his head resting on cushions weaved in golden thread. The slightest smirk touched his mouth. He was playing with her, she decided.

  ‘It’s not Megaur I came to see, Mr Suri, but you.’ She was fed up with this cat and mouse game. She would state what she wanted and he could make what he would of it.

  ‘Dear me. Now why would you wish to see me?’ He swatted lazily at a passing fly.

  ‘I knew your nephew.’ She was bold now, refusing to look at the black eyes.

  ‘You must be mistaken. I do not have a nephew.’

  ‘No longer, it’s true,’ she said even more boldly, ‘but you used to. His name was Anish, Anish Rana. I’m sure you cannot have forgotten him. He died only ten years ago. His mother, Parvati, was your very own sister.’

  ‘I know none of these people, if they ever existed.’

  She felt the elder son begin to move towards her, but his father’s glare flashed at him to stay where he was. Suri’s eyes were as hard as agate and he sat poker straight in the imposing armchair. His mouth was a thin, tight line, his expression no longer lazy. If she were to find out what she wanted, she would need to be more conciliatory.

  In a gentler voice she said, ‘I understand this subject may be painful for you but—’

  ‘You understand nothing,’ he interrupted, and there was no doubting his hostility.

  ‘Forgive me if I’ve angered you. I’ve come only to ask one question and I hope you will answer it for me. I think you can. It’s something that is entirely personal but very important to me. I believe Anish’s father may have been a patient in the hospital where my mother was a nurse. If your sister left papers belonging to her husband and you still have them, it’s possible that my mother is mentioned in them.’

  He said nothing but his face was chipped from stone.

  ‘I know it sounds most unlikely,’ she went on, ‘but it’s the only lead I have. I’m sure Anish’s father must have written to his wife while he was recovering in England from the wounds he’d received, and it’s just possible that your sister kept his letters. I hoped you might still have them.’

  ‘I know not one person you speak of.’ The voice brooked no argument.

  It didn’t stop Daisy though. ‘Karan Rana was your brother-in-law and you don’t know him?’

  Ramesh half rose from his chair, his body taut and his stare dagger sharp. ‘I know nothing of this man.’

  ‘And nothing of your sister, Parvati?’

  ‘I have no sister. Can you not understand that? I have never before found the English to be quite as stupid as you appear to be.’

  ‘Is it stupid to ask for information?’

  ‘There is none to have.’ He clapped his hands as if to underscore the finality of his words. ‘Now I think it is time for you to leave.’

  ‘But—’

  He pointed to the door. ‘Leave, Miss Driscoll, unless you wish to be helped on your way.’

  She became conscious that the retainer who had served them drinks had returned and brought with him several companions. Together they flanked the doorway.

  The glowering elder son walked forward, his steps marked and deliberate. He took up a position at his father’s shoulder. He was a clone of the older Suri, she thought. It was Daya who was different. He remained standing at a distance, half in shadow, but she could see the smooth skin of his face creased with worry lines.

  Unhurriedly, she stood up. She was determined not to betray alarm and fought to keep her voice level. ‘Thank you for your hospitality.’ She hoped the irony would not go unnoticed.

  Her legs felt flimsy but, without a backward glance, she strode to the door. It swung open before she reached it, and she realised that yet another servant had been lingering on the other side. Suri appeared to need a battalion of retainers to protect him, any one of them eager to eject her if she’d shown a reluctance to leave. His voice followed her as she began to walk back along the long ribbon of marble.

  ‘You would do well to forget your questions, Miss Driscoll. For your own well-being. Enjoy India but
forget the questions.’

  She stopped in her tracks and retraced her steps to the door, facing her host across the flurry of silken rugs. His threat was too important to ignore.

  ‘I will enjoy my stay in your country, Mr Suri, but it won’t stop me asking questions.’ And, with that, she turned and marched proudly back along the hall, through the huge carved wooden door, which stood ajar, and out into the hot midday sun.

  ‘You won’t get any answers, you know.’ It was Dalip who had followed her out to the iron gates. ‘That woman brought humiliation on our family. A woman from a princely house who should have brought only pride. Her belongings were burnt. Every item. There is nothing left. Whatever you hoped to find no longer exists.’

  Daisy climbed into the tonga without replying.

  Her pride was bruised. The visit had been a disaster. She’d been all but thrown out of the house and had learned nothing for her pains. As the tonga bounced its way back to Jasirapur, Dalip Suri’s parting shot echoed in the rhythm of the wheels. His words had hit home. Everything his aunt had owned had been burnt, he’d said, and she believed him. His father wasn’t just angry, he was malevolent. Ramesh’s insistence that he’d never had a sister, never had a nephew, disclosed the cold fact that he’d wiped these two close relatives from out of his life. The burning of Parvati’s small stock of possessions was consistent with her brother’s frightening pretence that she had never existed. And consistent with his refusal to accept any of Anish’s belongings when his nephew died. The adjutant had described Ramesh as rude. Daisy would have said vindictive. But there was little point in name calling. If Parvati had ever possessed papers that in anyway referred to her husband’s time as a patient in England, they were long gone. And, after all, it had been the most tenuous of clues.