And no wonder. It was hardly credible. Mike might have been shaken by Grayson’s declaration that the army was already on its way, but the Rajah was a different matter. He’d remained unconvinced and he was right. Any chance of escape depended entirely on Javinder. And even if the young man had managed to find his way into the town and somehow get to a telephone, it would all take time. Too much time. If and when the army finally arrived, the terrible project would have begun its inexorable devouring of people and she and Grayson would be dead. These evil men might be caught, but even that was more of a dream than a reality. They could well have fled by the time the first of the military knocked at the palace door.
Bound and gagged, they stumbled awkwardly up the staircase, their captors pushing and prodding them step by step. Progress was slow and the little party had been climbing for some considerable time before she saw a change in the light. The stairwell was growing noticeably less dim, and in the far corner of her vision she saw a small patch of pink-streaked sky appear above. The patch gradually widened and the glow of a setting sun penetrated the staircase gloom, strengthening all the while, until they were pushed through a stone arch and out onto the flat roof of the palace. Here the light was brilliant, the sun still a great golden ball, though already obscured by the tallest peaks of the surrounding mountains. Beneath its dying lustre, the grey granite of the building sparkled with unusual warmth, making even its embattled ramparts seem less forbidding. Coming at such a moment, it was ironic. She wondered if Grayson shared the same thought.
She’d had no chance to exchange as much as a glance with him. From the instant she’d walked into the audience chamber, there’d not been a moment to think. All she had done was react to the terrible events unfolding around her. Flanked by his captors, Grayson now stood directly ahead. His tall frame was erect, his head high, his shoulders unbowed. Her heart reached out to him. The man he’d considered his best friend, the man who for years had been a trusted ally and companion, had betrayed him so completely. And then had died by Grayson’s own hand. It was a nightmare come true and she could only guess at the turmoil he was feeling. But there was no going back. It had happened and they were here together, facing a last trial, facing death.
Their murder was apparently proceeding apace. In single file, they were marched along the roof to one of the turrets they’d seen from a distance, when yesterday they’d driven along the road to the palace. She remembered how happy they’d been just being together. Was that really only yesterday? Such a bewilderment of events ever since, each one sending them a little further on the path towards nemesis. Their captors pushed them roughly into the turret and lined them up side by side. There was some discussion between the men and then their gags were removed.
‘At least we can scream as we fall,’ Grayson said to her very quietly.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.
He cast a sideways glance at the men but for the moment they appeared to have lost interest in their prisoners. ‘You’ve nothing to be sorry for,’ he whispered back. ‘This is my fault. I should have said a very strong no to you weeks ago when we were in Brighton.’ He gave a crooked smiled. ‘Not that you’d have listened, of course. And why leave Javinder and come back here?’
‘I had to. I had to try and help. I know that sounds pitiful but I couldn’t leave you.’
‘I wish you had. I was imagining you free and safe. And I wanted that more than anything.’
The men had now gathered in a knot a few feet away and were arguing vociferously. Were they growing impatient, she wondered, or would they follow their orders and wait until the sun set? She could see it sinking fast, and even in the short time they had been on the roof, the mountains had been busy swallowing its bright sphere inch by inch. Their execution couldn’t be long delayed.
She turned towards him, slowly so as not to attract the men’s attention. ‘I couldn’t ever be free and safe. Not if you died here, alone.’ There was a long pause and then she said in a voice that carried on the still air, ‘You’re my reason to stay alive, Grayson.’
And he was. All these years, she thought, and she’d finally realised that one simple fact. The only fact that mattered.
‘It’s a bit late to find that out,’ he said a little shakily. ‘Right now, they’re arguing just who is strong enough to heave me over the battlements. You’re a cinch, you’ll be glad to know. It will happen just as soon as the sun disappears. They’re nothing if not obedient.’
She looked out across the immense landscape, the town appearing a pygmy settlement against the vastness of the encircling slopes, shadowed now in the purples and pinks of evening. A broad beam of sunlight shone through the dip where two of the mountains met, like a searchlight, out across the foothills, across the whitewashed town, and came to rest at the door of the palace. Above them, a huge sky sported shades of pink and amethyst and deep purple, with here and there streaks of grey, and a blue that was deepening all the time. Night was coming. The sun was slipping away. Just a small segment flickered above the lowest of the hills.
‘I know it’s too late to say this,’ she began, ‘but if we survive …’
She could not bring herself to finish the sentence. Together they looked down, remorselessly drawn to the drop below. Hundreds of feet below. Immediately beneath them, the jagged rock from which the palace had been hewn sent its spikes skywards. Their chance of survival was nil and they both knew it. She shuffled a little sideways and rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. ‘I want to kiss you, but this is the best I can do.’
‘In the circumstances, it’s pretty good,’ he said.
‘It means I love you. I’ve always loved you.’
He bent his head towards her and skimmed her hair with his lips. ‘Don’t you think I know that, darling Daisy?’
The sun had finally fallen from sight. ‘We’re together,’ he said. ‘Remember that, we’re together, always.’
The men had resolved their quarrel and were moving towards them. One of them pointed to her. ‘You first.’
There was something in those two bare syllables that hit her for the first time with the shock of what was happening. A kick over her heart sent a sharp, frightening spasm through her entire body. Her blood hammered, slamming in heavy painful strokes through head, fingers, throat. They grabbed her by the arms and dragged her to the edge of the turret. She turned frantically to snatch a last look at Grayson, to keep his image in her heart as she fell to her death, but instead she found her gaze riveted on the road below. Surely they were lights that she could see, lights in their dozens, moving purposefully towards the palace. She tried to focus more clearly but it was difficult. Then she realised. They were torches, torches of fire, and they were coming this way. She stopped dead in her tracks and the man pushing at her almost stumbled. He cursed loudly but continued to thrust her forwards.
‘Stop,’ she said. And when he took no notice of her, she gestured with her head towards the precipice below. ‘Look down there. The army has come.’
That stopped him. He knew the English word. He peered over the turreted wall, then rocked back on his heels, a look of incomprehension on his face and she could see why. Now she was able to make out a line of armoured vehicles, still at a distance but driving between the rows of flame torches, and there were men, small, dark shapes from this height, but massing in their hundreds.
His two henchmen had taken up positions either side of Grayson and yelled across at him. Whatever they said, it made him shrug his shoulders and turn away from the view below. He had his orders and he intended to carry them out. He pushed her up onto the narrow ledge which ran around the inside of the turret wall. From here it was a breath away from extinction. She closed her eyes in readiness, but, as she did so, a great rumbling started up below, the noise loud enough to reach the clouds. The rumbling increased to a roar: engines revved, tyres squealed and a hundred pairs of boots thudded on flagstones. There was a deafening crash, as what she judged was an armoured-plated vehicle s
mashed its way through a wooden door a foot thick.
The man holding her let go of her arms, leaving her teetering on the ledge. She heard a frantic scuffling behind her and hasty footsteps in retreat. Overcome by dizziness, she dared not move at first. Then very carefully she managed to snatch a glance over her shoulder. The men had melted away. Only Grayson was left in the turret, his hands still pinned behind his back, but with a wide grin on his face.
‘Javinder did it!’
Then suddenly there were soldiers, dozens of them swarming across the roof towards them. An officer resplendent in drab olive, a lion badge with two stars on his arm, emerged from the stone archway and marched up to Grayson. He saluted smartly.
‘I’m sorry I can’t return the courtesy, Colonel,’ Grayson said, his arms still strapped awkwardly behind his back. ‘A little local difficulty. But perhaps you can help the lady down. She’s in something of a precarious position.’
At the commander’s signal, two of the soldiers restored Daisy to the turret floor, and then set about cutting both their shackles. Once they were free, the colonel excused himself. ‘We must leave you for the moment, Mr Harte. We still have business below.’
Another salute and he had turned sharply back towards the servants’ staircase, his men following him down into the bowels of the palace. They were left alone on the roof and, for a moment, they simply stood there in the warm enfolding dusk and looked at one another in a long, long gaze. It was like being born again, she thought. Then they walked into each other’s arms.
‘Is that it?’ she asked.
‘That’s it,’ he said.
CHAPTER 23
Bombay, May 1948
The carriage drew up outside the church at ten minutes to twelve. Daisy craned her neck. Its magnificent spire still kept a benevolent watch on the tree-lined street below, but, after all these years, it was alone in being unchanged. The wall encircling the churchyard was shabby now, its whitewash peeling badly, and its protective railings rusted and unpainted. And the graveyard itself was badly overgrown; she could barely see the memorial stones through grass that for years had rampaged at will. War and independence had left this vanished part of an old empire battling alone against age and decay. Only the spire was still its glorious, tranquil self, its golden delicacy lifting out of the trees to soar skywards.
‘Shall we go in?’ She felt Grayson’s hand on hers. ‘It’s far too hot to sit outside. The porch should be a good deal cooler and I’m sure the rector won’t mind us waiting there.’
She nodded and he came round to her side of the carriage and helped her down. The driver moved his horse further along the road looking for what shade there was.
It was hot, very hot. And she was glad she’d decided on the thin silk dress and the piece of flippant confectionery which sat on her head. Beneath it, she had pinned her hair into a topknot of curls. Like a film star, Grayson had said, and laughed. He had remembered the dress when she’d shown him, and liked it, even though it was old and no longer fashionable. She’d chosen it deliberately. It had been the dress she’d worn ten years ago when she’d married here in this church for the first time. It had been hot then, she remembered, but everything else had been different. She had certainly been different, a bewildered bride, new off the boat from England.
He took her arm and led her into the cool of the stone porch. She glanced through into the church and saw two white-garbed figures at the altar making their final preparations. The scene was uncomfortably reminiscent. But ten years ago it had been Anish who’d ushered her from this porch and down the aisle to meet a drunken and resentful bridegroom. She glanced up at Grayson and he gave her an encouraging smile. He must know what she was thinking. He always did. She felt her hand squeezed comfortingly and the old scene faded away, to leave nothing in her heart but joy for the day to come.
It was to be a true celebration. As she’d wanted. The dress, the church, the carriage, the time of the year, all held the worst memories for her but today would be the chance to expunge those memories for ever, and to make new and very different ones. From this morning, St John’s Afghan Church, the silk dress, the hot sun, would mean only happiness. Grayson had been right that coming back would exorcise her ghosts.
The rector beckoned to them from his position at the altar and she had only a minute to smooth out her dress and check that her hair was not about to fall to her shoulders, when the priest assisting him came smilingly towards them.
‘Mr Harte, Miss Driscoll.’ He shook their hands vigorously. ‘Please follow me.’
She was glad that she could go to the altar as Daisy Driscoll, but this time she would be losing that name for good. This time her marriage would mean something. She saw Grayson give a small downward pull to his mouth. ‘This is it, Miss Driscoll,’ he whispered. ‘Any last thoughts? Speak now or forever …’
‘None,’ she said. ‘Except that this is the best day of my life.’
Or perhaps the second best. Her hand instinctively went to her stomach and smoothed the small, barely noticeable bump. From an antechamber, she saw a man approach and stand to one side of the altar. One of their witnesses. Her mouth rounded in surprise when she realised that it was Javinder who had joined them. Grayson grinned at her and she wondered if there were more revelations to come. But the second figure was that of the young man she’d seen him approach at the Victoria Railway Terminus when they’d first arrived from Jasirapur. The boy had come to Bombay for an important interview and Grayson’s offer of a carriage ride to his appointment and a hotel room and dinner that night was sufficient to enrol him as a witness. He looked happy, Daisy thought; his interview must have gone well. The boy’s smiling face, Javinder’s unexpected presence, were symbols of a day where nothing could go wrong.
She walked slowly down the aisle, her arm entwined with Grayson’s. The same red carpet, the same black and white geometric tiles, just a little more worn, a little more dowdy. But the stained glass windows were as magnificent as ever and, as the sun reached its zenith and poured itself through a hundred images, the dark interior of the church was dappled with pools of bright colour. It was like having your very own light show, she thought. Ten years ago, she’d hardly noticed their artistry, though the display must have been just as brilliant. She’d been too concerned to hurry to the side of the man she loved, thinking him ill. She’d been desperate to help, she remembered, and then more desperate still when she’d discovered the truth that he was the very worst for drink.
Today the man who stood beside her could not be more different. Despite the crushing heat, he looked immaculate in pale grey shirt and cream linen suit. In the dim light of the church, he made a vivid figure, his eyes a startling blue, his face tanned by an Indian sun. He handed the rings to the rector and the service began. It was brief. No more than ten minutes later they were crowding into the vestry along with their witnesses to sign the register. Then back along the aisle and out into the porch, its stone greeting them with a welcome rush of cool air.
Grayson pressed an envelope into the young man’s hands and wished him well. Then they were in the carriage, together with Javinder, and bowling along the dusty road through Colaba on their way to the port. She remembered the suburb well: large houses, wide roads and overhanging trees. It was a very attractive part of the city. Gradually, though, the roads grew narrower and the traffic more dense. The driver had to pull up at regular intervals, blocked by a cart or a lorry or a cycle rickshaw and occasionally a wandering cow. Vehicles hooted, people yelled to and at each other. The horse twitched his ears and waited patiently.
‘Happy?’ Grayson asked her, turning from Javinder’s congratulations to cradle her arm in his.
‘You know the answer to that.’
‘I hope I do. But this heat is appalling. It might not have been our best idea—a wedding while we’re still in India.’
‘We couldn’t have done it better. Today has been wonderful.’
‘And no ghosts to spoil it?’
‘If that’s really true, you’re forgiven for persuading me to marry in a cauldron.’
‘And forgiven for the very private wedding?’
‘That’s hardly a problem. What man wouldn’t want something as modest?’
Javinder nodded his head enthusiastically. ‘Indeed Miss … Mrs Harte. But yes, Mr Harte is right. The big wedding is not a good idea.’
‘Javinder,’ he exploded, ‘how many times have I told you to use our first names?’
‘I forget … Grayson,’ he said carefully. ‘Things are so different now. With independence, there is no barrier. We can use names. We can be friends.’
‘Weren’t we always? I’d hoped we were.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. But that was because you were not as the others. I have had many British colleagues over the years, but never a British friend—except for you.’
‘And I’ll stay one, I hope. I want you to visit us, once Daisy and I are settled.’
She leaned forward and clasped Javinder’s hands. ‘You must promise to come to London very soon. I intend to take you to every one of the sights.’
‘You are very kind. I would like that. But first I have a most gigantic mountain of reports to write.’
Grayson wrinkled his forehead. ‘I’ve left you a lot of work and I’m sorry. If the justice system could have dealt with Verghese and his entourage more swiftly, I’d willingly have helped.’
Before they’d left Jasirapur, they’d signed witness statements concerning the events at Sikaner. She knew that Grayson was hopeful that these would be sufficient and they would not have to return for the trials to come. There was plenty of other evidence both in Jasirapur and Sikaner of what had been going on, paper evidence and evidence on the ground. And, of course, Javinder’s own testimony.
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