She turned a softer face towards him. She had no wish to quarrel either and she knew she’d involved him in more danger, when he already had enough of his own. ‘I’m sorry, too,’ she said. ‘I had no idea when I went to the Suris that this might happen.’
‘How could you? It was unfair of me to suggest otherwise. But I think we should take this evening’s little foray as a warning and heed it. While I’m away, please don’t go asking questions of anyone.’
She made no promise but she thought she would do as he asked. If tonight was anything to go by, he was right about her stirring a rats’ nest. They stood for a while drinking in the quiet coolness, then slowly retraced their steps through the garden and up the stairs to the veranda. She noticed he used his left hand to open the door. ‘You’ve hurt yourself,’ she said. ‘How did that happen?’
‘That young maniac’s car caught me on the wrist, that’s all. But nothing too bad—it’s a very slight injury.’
She paused on the threshold. ‘I’ll try to forget what happened tonight and I promise not to mention it again, but don’t you think the Suris’ reaction was extreme?’
‘Extreme it might have been, but whatever nerve you hit, you’d better not hit it again.’ He followed her into the empty sitting room. Mike had evidently gone to bed early. ‘Give it some serious thought. You’ve upset them sufficiently that they’re prepared to injure you badly. My advice—no, let’s make it a command—is that you keep clear of them. I want you in one piece when I return.’
She gave a small sigh. ‘I’ll keep as low a profile as I can, but you don’t even know when you’ll be back.’
‘I’ll be as swift as possible. In the meantime, you must be doubly careful. And when you see Mike tomorrow, tell him about the Suris. You needn’t mention what happened this evening, just that you made a mistake in going to see them. That way, he’ll be prepared in case there’s any further trouble.’
She nodded her agreement though she wasn’t convinced she should burden Mike with her problems. He seemed to have enough of his own. She picked up one of the jugs of water that Ahmed had left for them, and walked with it towards her bedroom. At the door, she paused. ‘I suppose I should bid you goodbye now. You’ll be gone by the time I’m awake.’
He walked up to her and took her face in his hands. ‘Keep safe,’ he insisted, and kissed her fully on the mouth.
For a moment, she was breathless. Shocked by the turn of events. He shouldn’t have done that and he must know it. Had the impulse been too strong for even such a controlled man as Grayson? In a daze, she watched him go back to the table for the remaining water jug. As he did so, there was a soft scratching at the front door. He looked across at her and his eyes widened. She felt fear begin its insidious creep once more and wished she were braver. Putting the jug back onto the table, Grayson walked quietly towards the door. Then he turned and held up a finger to signal to her not to speak. A pistol appeared in his hand and she could barely contain her gasp. She had no idea he carried a gun, but after their narrow escape in the street, she could see that it might be needed. He gestured her to crouch down behind the cane sofa. Then he flung the door wide.
A pair of soft brown eyes looked into the room. The young man on the threshold gave a startled glance at the gun and backed away, muttering his apologies. ‘So sorry to disturb you. I will come back another time.’
Grayson stepped through the door and pulled the boy roughly into the room. ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’
‘I have come to see Miss Driscoll,’ the boy faltered, ‘she is here?’
Despite Grayson’s warning hand, Daisy emerged from her hiding place.
‘Yes, I’m here. It’s all right, Grayson. I know this young man. He’s Mr Suri’s youngest son.’
The boy gave a small grateful smile. ‘I am Daya Suri,’ he confirmed.
Somewhere in the bungalow, a door closed. Mike, Daisy, thought. He wasn’t asleep after all, wasn’t even in his bedroom, but he’d made sure to avoid them. At the sound the boy’s head shot round, peering beyond them and into the dark corners of the room.
‘That was my colleague,’ Grayson said in a gentler voice. ‘There’s nothing to fear.’
The boy tried a smile, which didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I shouldn’t be here.’
‘I’d gathered that. But what are you afraid of?’
He didn’t answer but instead repeated, ‘I shouldn’t be here.’
‘So why are you?’
The boy looked across at Daisy who stood silently to one side. ‘Good evening, Miss Driscoll.’ She nodded an acknowledgement. ‘I have come to apologise. I wish you to know how sorry I am that you were treated so rudely at my home today.’
The formal courtesies jarred with the cloak and dagger atmosphere and made Daisy want to giggle. That was nerves too, she imagined.
‘And you travelled all the way from Megaur to tell me that?’
‘Yes. No. Not entirely. I wanted to speak to you at Amrita but there was no chance.’
She sank limply into one of the cane chairs. This evening was proving just a little too exciting.
‘I’m sorry.’ The boy seemed to need perpetually to apologise. ‘I have upset you by coming.’
Before she could answer, Grayson said, ‘Miss Driscoll has had a narrow escape this evening and she is naturally feeling a little weary.’
‘An escape? But from what?’ The scared look was back.
‘From a car driven deliberately at us. Do you know anything about it?’
The boy shook his head vehemently. ‘I know nothing. But why would you think that I did?’
Grayson’s voice was at its laziest. ‘Only that it was your brother who was driving.’
She thought the young man was going to faint. His face turned ashen and she saw his thin legs begin to tremble through the narrow trousers he wore.
‘You seem shocked, Mr Suri,’ Grayson said.
The boy stuttered into life. ‘I am shocked, terribly shocked. But are you sure it was Dalip who was driving? It is dark. It could have been anyone.’ His speech galloped ahead in desperation. ‘It might have been an accident. Perhaps the driver did not see you. Perhaps he was drunk …’ His voice tailed off.
‘He saw us all right,’ Grayson said grimly. ‘And Miss Driscoll will vouch for the driver’s identity.’
Without being invited, Daya sank into a second chair. What life he’d had in him had melted away and left him an empty husk. He remained slumped there for some while until Grayson poured him a glass of water and pushed it into his hand.
‘This is news to you then?’
The boy hung his head and muttered into his shoes. Daisy could barely catch his words. ‘I did hear something,’ he admitted, ‘but I did not think for one minute such a terrible thing would happen.’
‘What did you hear?’ Grayson was going to squeeze him for all the information he could.
‘My father ordered Dalip to make sure that Miss Driscoll never came back to the house. Or any of her companions.’
‘And why would that be?’
‘He does not want anyone asking questions about our family,’ the boy mumbled unhappily.
‘And is that the only reason?’
‘What else could there be? He is very protective of our honour.’
‘Honour?’ There was a derisive note to Grayson’s voice. ‘Is that what you call it?’
‘It is of the utmost importance to him. When I was very small, we owned a large estate in Sind province,’ the boy rushed on, ‘but then my father was deposed and lost everything and we had to start again in Rajputana. It has been hard for him. Humiliating. But I didn’t … I had no idea … I thought he meant that Dalip would speak a warning.’
‘He did a little more than speak.’
‘Yes, yes. It is most terrible.’ He gulped down more water.
Daisy leaned forward in her chair. ‘What did you come to tell us, Daya? It wasn’t just to apologise for your father’s behavio
ur, was it?’
He shook his head. ‘My father would not speak of the people you mentioned. But I saw that for you it mattered. He thinks that his sister was a very bad person. My mother was an honourable woman, you see. She suffered much to give my father two sons and she died when I was born. But my aunt lived and brought disgrace again to our family.’
‘And do you think she was a bad person?’
‘No.’ He shook his head in a bewildered fashion. ‘I don’t think so. I was too young to play with Anish but Dalip did. And when Anish came to our house, my aunt did too. I was a very small boy but I liked her. She was kind. That was before the trouble.’
‘What trouble was that?’
‘Before her husband cast her away. Before he died.’
‘So you never met her again? Not after her husband died?’
He hung his head, the picture of guilt. ‘Once. I met her once but for a few minutes only. She saw me in the bazaar. Dalip had taken me there. He wanted to buy a kit to make a model aeroplane. He used to build very many of them and it took him ages to find one he didn’t already have. I got bored and wandered off. Then she was there, in front of me, with a man I’d never seen before. I knew I was not supposed to speak to her, but I didn’t understand why. She was smiling and she was kind, still. She bought me sweets,’ he remembered. ‘They were wrapped in silver paper.’
Daisy felt the slightest shiver of excitement. ‘Do you know who the man was with your aunt?’
‘I am not to speak of him.’
‘You can speak of him to us. What you say will stay within these walls.’
Daya twisted in his seat, evidently uneasy. He had been brainwashed, Daisy thought, into seeing Parvati’s lover—and the man must be her lover—as a force of evil.
‘He was a friend,’ Daya said finally. ‘Not our friend, you understand. A friend of my aunt’s.’
‘I understand, but do you know his name?’
‘He is an important businessman, I believe. Or he was. Here in Jasirapur.’
‘His name?’
If it was possible, the boy looked even more guilty. ‘It’s best that you don’t look for him.’
‘I doubt that I would find him.’ She didn’t doubt it, but she could see the alarm in the boy’s face and she wanted that name.
‘Mr Bakhul Bahndari,’ he muttered with reluctance.
‘And then what happened?’ she prompted gently. ‘After you saw your aunt in the bazaar?’
‘Then nothing. We were not to mention her at home. I never saw her again and when she died, my father forbade us to go to her funeral.’
He saw Daisy’s shocked expression and tried to explain. ‘You see, in India it is a big disgrace to lose your husband to another woman. And if you are a widow—’
‘I know about widows,’ she interrupted. Anish’s words were still with her. A woman has no status of her own and, when her husband dies, she becomes nothing. Years ago a widow was required to throw herself on her husband’s funeral pyre. Now she dies a more lingering death. This is her punishment for losing a husband.
‘Then you will see how it was.’
‘And your aunt’s belongings. Were they really burned?’
‘They were brought to the house by the woman who rented her a room. My father ordered everything to be burned. He said they smelt of her and must be destroyed.’
‘But her son was in Jasirapur. Was nothing given to him?’
‘Only what my aunt Parvati may have given him when she was alive.’
And that was probably just one small pink leather purse, Daisy thought. Other than the name of Mr Bahndari, it seemed that Daya’s visit had provided nothing more than another dead end. She was still unclear, though, exactly why he’d come and she leaned towards him now, inviting a final confidence.
‘There’s something else, isn’t there, something you came here tonight to tell me?’
Grayson shifted uneasily from foot to foot and she knew he was unhappy with her probing. He’d already decided that they’d got from Daya everything worth getting and to prolong the interview could only heighten her disappointment. He wanted to protect her but he couldn’t. For him, this search was an unhealthy obsession; for her it was a visceral need to uncover the truth.
‘There was something,’ the boy murmured.
She felt her face relax, the tightness dissolve and her skin soften.
He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a battered postcard. ‘This was in my aunt’s things. I stole it,’ he said shamefaced.
‘Why?’
‘I liked the picture. It was so pretty and so strange. It had come from England—I could see that by the stamp—but it looked like India.’
Daisy stretched her hand to take the card. It shook only a little as she gazed down on the faded image.
‘It’s the Pavilion,’ she said aloud. ‘It’s Brighton Pavilion!’
‘Now I know what it is,’ Daya put in, ‘but then I was just a child and knew nothing about England. I was fascinated though, so I sneaked it away and kept it hidden.’
‘Until now. So why have you brought it to me?’
‘You looked so nice, Miss Driscoll. And sad. I thought you should have it. It is the only thing I have of my aunt’s.’
‘I can keep it?’
‘Of course. I think it must mean more to you than to me.’
When the young man had gone, slipping quietly into the darkness, Daisy sank back into the chair. Her body was limp with tiredness but her face told another story. It blazed excitement. She had been right to think that finding Anish’s family was key. She held the postcard delicately between finger and thumb and waved it at her companion.
‘It’s the Pavilion, Grayson.’ He nodded without enthusiasm. ‘But you see what this means?’ she continued. ‘Anish’s father was in Brighton and the postcard proves it. He must have sent it to his wife when he first arrived. I can just make out the date on the postmark.’ In the dim light she could barely trace the faded printing, but it was there all the same. ‘May 1916,’ she said in triumph. ‘He sent it to Parvati to let her know where he was.’
‘Of course he could always have been on a day trip to the seaside. An outing for wounded soldiers.’ Grayson’s gentle mockery passed her by.
‘The only reason Karan Rana would be in Brighton was to convalesce from the wounds he received in France, to convalesce at the Pavilion hospital where my mother was nursing. He would have known her, he had to have. And I’m sure he would have known the name of her lover. Hospital gossip would have seen to that. Was it someone on the staff, do you think? Or a visitor, a patient even? He must have known.’
Grayson sat down opposite her, putting the postcard gently aside. ‘What you say is quite possible, but I don’t see how it helps you in your search. Karan Rana is no longer alive and neither is his son. The trail goes dead after them.’
‘But Karan may have left papers behind, letters he wrote, a diary, anything that spoke of his time in Brighton and the people he met. Maybe they haven’t been burnt. Maybe they’re still sitting somewhere.’
‘Sitting somewhere? You thought they were sitting at Ramesh Suri’s house but they weren’t. All you have from there is one solitary postcard. Where else do you expect them to be—even if they still exist?’
‘I agree it’s a gamble. But this—’ she pointed to the faded postcard ‘—this is a strong clue. And there will be others, I’m sure. If Karan’s papers are still intact, they’ll be at his family home. I’m convinced of it. That’s what happens when people die—their possessions are returned to their home. Parvati’s were until that brute of a brother destroyed them.’
‘Just supposing there are papers and they’re where you say they are—the Rana family home—you have no idea where that is.’
‘And you have no idea where Javinder is.’
‘I don’t see the connection.’
‘If you can look for Javinder on only the flimsiest of evidence, I can look for the Rana house.’
>
‘At least I have a vague notion of where to look.’
‘And so do I. Anish’s family comes from the north of Rajasthan—Jocelyn said so in her letter.’
‘That covers around four hundred square miles.’
‘But that won’t deter you from your search, will it?’ She was newly energised. ‘And it’s not going to deter me either.’
CHAPTER 9
Grayson went to bed that night deeply troubled. The boy’s intervention had made a bad situation worse. Without the postcard of Brighton Pavilion, he might have persuaded Daisy to abandon her search. He’d been in a fair way of doing so, he thought. But now she knew that Karan Rana had been a patient there, the bit was firmly between her teeth. He worried that she was courting danger, but he knew Daisy and tonight’s incident was unlikely to stop her. He suspected the situation was a great deal more complex than she realised, that there were reasons for Dalip Suri’s attack she knew nothing of. It hadn’t yet occurred to her, but he’d been in the driver’s sights as much as she. At the moment, he couldn’t fathom what the connection might be between Suri and his own interests, but he was fairly certain that the young man had driven at them for reasons other than the questions Daisy had been asking. That thought was something he intended to keep to himself. But if he were right, it would be foolish to report the incident and involve the police, when his success at finding Javinder alive depended on working silently and alone.
And he must find him. Javinder was a senior man, responsible, professional, highly conscientious. He was a guardian of secrets, a possessor of crucial knowledge. And he was a friend. Grayson had worked with him on and off for months and they had grown close. It had been Javinder who’d aided his masquerade as a district officer when he’d first come to Jasirapur, Javinder who’d supported his evidence at the trial of the nationalist gang that had threatened Daisy’s life, and Javinder who’d helped him pick up the pieces when he’d been forced back to India to take temporary charge of the station after its chief officer fell ill. The young man had been a staunch ally throughout and, when India gained her independence, Grayson had been delighted to see him promoted and put in charge of liaison with SIS in London. He had to find him. But after this evening’s events, he was doubly unhappy at leaving Daisy alone in Jasirapur. Whatever grand plans she was hatching, he wanted her safe and he wished very much he wasn’t going away.
Daisy's Long Road Home Page 9