The Jasmine Wife

by Jane Coverdale

“I would prefer you didn’t, my dear.” Charles made his meaning quite clear; he would be angry if she did.

  It was impossible not to be aware of Sabran’s presence in the room. Sara knew he was watching her. She could feel him in every nerve of her body. She cast him another hasty look. He seemed tired; she could tell by the bluish smudges under his eyes, but somehow it pleased her that he might not be sleeping well, hoping she might be the cause of his sleeplessness.

  As soon as she glanced back at him he sent her another questioning look.

  The tension at the table was becoming unbearable.

  “I must speak to him. It’s terribly rude not to.”

  She rose to leave the table, but Charles pulled her down almost at once.

  “I said, I would prefer you didn’t.”

  Sara rose once more. “Charles, you’re hurting me!”

  He released his grip on her arm and, before he could stop her, she hurried across the room and stood before Sabran’s table. He smiled up at her, showing a faint flash of his white teeth. She was so overcome with nerves she put one hand on the table to steady herself.

  In the background the clinking of the cutlery against plates seemed amplified. Even the servants waiting at table were hushed at their tasks and moved around the room as though treading on eggshells.

  He stood at once and bowed his head.

  She spoke in almost a whisper. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I went back to the palace and they said you were here. I was going to have it out with your husband once and for all. I felt like a coward, leaving you there to face him alone.” He was clearly agitated and could barely remain in his seat. “I want you to come with me … tonight …” his voice purred as he reached out for her hand.

  She pulled it away as though it burned. “Please, someone will see.”

  She turned around to look at Charles. Even though he seemed deeply engrossed in conversation with Cynthia she knew he was enraged by her behaviour. She could tell by the red flush on the back on his neck.

  “Please, by persisting you put us both in danger.”

  “If you hadn’t come to me I would have come to you. Then I would have forced the issue once and for all. Your husband could never have stood me approaching you at his table.” He spoke with such bitterness Sara shivered.

  “He senses there’s something between us; you can hardly blame him for his attitude.”

  His mouth twisted into a nasty half smile. “I want him to know. I want him to know what it’s like to lose something he loves.”

  A chill ran down her back. “What do you mean?”

  A loud scraping noise of a chair being moved caused her to look around. Charles stood glaring at them both from across the room, holding his napkin in his hand, ready to spring.

  “I must go. Promise me you won’t tell him … Please promise me?”

  “You ask me to forfeit my honour …”

  “Promise me?”

  “For the moment, yes, I agree, but soon I will confront him with the truth.”

  She gave him one last despairing look, then hurried back to her table and tried to resume her meal, despite the cold air of disapproval.

  “There,” she said, trying to smile at her husband’s furious face, “I’ve spoken to him, and good manners have been observed. It wasn’t so terrible, was it?”

  She could see Charles wanted to unleash his anger on her but, being in a public place, he struggled to overcome it. Instead he took out his fury on a waiter who had delivered a meal not to his liking.

  He leaned over his plate with a look of disgust. The waiter began to tremble, knowing he was in for a storm of abuse.

  “Take this back to the kitchen at once! When will you ignorant fools learn to do the simplest of tasks?”

  “Charles, please! Does it matter so much?”

  “Well, of course it matters. This might seem a small thing but it’s a symbol of how useless these people are.” He spat the words bitterly, and loud enough for Sabran to hear on the other side of the room.

  Sara glanced up and caught Sabran’s contemptuous smile. His face was dark with loathing. He could barely control the contortion of his mouth. Sara realised then just how much he hated Charles; it was dangerous and all-consuming, and unlikely ever to be resolved.

  Charles fell to eating his meal with relish, while Sara looked on, fighting her disgust.

  “Of all places to run into Sabran, just as well I’m on holiday and in a good mood, otherwise I might be tempted to bring him in for questioning. Though it’s more nuisance than it’s worth, and besides I haven’t a scrap of proof and his lawyers are notoriously accomplished about their work, but the fellow really is causing me a lot of trouble at the moment …”

  “What do you mean?” Sara could barely speak.

  “I don’t want to discuss it, not in front of decent women …”

  “Oh, please, Charles, a little bit of gossip is just what we need.”

  Cynthia tossed him one of her slavish smiles, and Sara noticed for the first time how much she resembled a little sharp-toothed fox.

  “Well …” he laughed “… you ladies must have your gossip … It’s about the woman he lives with. You know her husband wants me to intervene in some way and make her go back to him. I told him there was nothing I could do and it’s the truth. But I suggested he use force if need be. I won’t stand in his way … By the way, this isn’t half bad,” he said, indicating with his fork at the roast beef.

  Sara started, shocked to the core. “Charles! How could you suggest such a thing?”

  He looked at her with genuine surprise. “You know nothing about it, and I don’t believe Sabran really cares about the girl. With his money he could buy fifty of the most beautiful girls in Madras. He only keeps her to irritate me. I believe he’d do anything to get back at me …”

  His words rang in Sara’s ears and a horrible doubt began to creep over her. Surely, surely Ravi hadn’t made love to her in order to get back at Charles? Was the love-making, the passion, the words of love, only to get back at Charles? No, she was sure that wasn’t so. He loved her … He must love her …

  “The man is capable of anything.” Cynthia’s voice broke into her thoughts, though the words came muted and far away, in the form of an echo. “You remember, Charles, that vulgar affair with the wife of that fool, Harry Tyler. They were carrying on behind the poor devil’s back for months, and everyone knew he was only doing it because Harry had spoken out against preventing half-castes from joining the tennis club in Sabran’s hearing … Just the sort of disgusting revenge that cad would go in for …”

  “Yes, and I believe he’d murder me without a moment’s hesitation if he thought he’d get away with it. Though he’s cunning enough to find other ways to hurt me without getting caught.”

  “Do anything to get back at me …” The words seemed to pound in Sara’s ears.

  “I want him to know what it’s like to lose something he loves.”

  “Cunning enough to find other ways …”

  She’d been warned over and over about him, right from the very beginning, by almost everyone of her acquaintance, yet she had chosen to ignore them all. Even when it was obvious he hated her husband with a passion. She was a fool! A naive fool!

  Sara glanced up at Ravi and, catching him off guard, saw his smile of sneering hatred as he watched Charles. How could she have ever imagined he could be interested in her, when he had Maya, beautiful Maya, the loveliest, most desirable of women?

  He had made love to her for revenge. She was sure of it now. How could she be so stupid? Without realising it, her face took on a look of absolute horror.

  “Are you quite well, my dear?” Charles asked, though Sara could do nothing but stare down at her plate.

  Cynthia’s voice chattered on. “Of course, the Tyler woman had to leave town; no one would have anything to do with her once the whole thing was discovered. Her husband was sent to Cairo, I believe; he could never hold up
his head in Madras again. Sabran just laughed, of course, as publicly as possible, as he always does when he sticks his knife into one of us. And that’s not all … There are so many rumours. It seems even that Turnbull woman was having an affair with him as well …”

  Sara rose from the table, summoning all her strength to appear to be normal and unconcerned. “Charles, would you mind? I think I’ll take my dinner in my room. I’m feeling a little unwell …”

  “My dear, you are looking a little pale.” He stood to help her, and she swayed a little. He put an arm around her waist to steady her.

  From the other side of the room, Sara heard the sudden noise of a coffee cup hitting the saucer, and she knew Sabran was watching her.

  Cynthia’s sharp eyes crossed from one to the other and Sara caught the look in her eyes. It was barely perceptible but there all the same. She suspected something.

  Sara stayed in her room feigning sickness and spent the whole of the next day pacing the floor, condemning herself for her own foolish behaviour, and blushing with shame at her willingness to fall into Sabran’s arms when he must have been laughing at her the entire time.

  She waited till Charles went downstairs for dinner before leaving her room, only venturing out into the cool of the hotel garden when darkness fell, and she felt safe from prying eyes. But again she paced, wearing herself out with recriminations, till at last she threw herself down on a garden chair and wept with frustration.

  A sudden movement from the depth of the garden made her look up, at first in alarm, to see the dark figure of a man silhouetted against the light of the full moon.

  “Who’s there?”

  A figure stepped out of the darkness.

  “It’s Ravi … I’ve been waiting for you. I thought you must leave your room some time.”

  “Monsieur Sabran,” she said coldly.

  He sat down beside her and tried to take her hand, but she snatched it away.

  “Please, if Charles should …”

  “I have something to tell you. It cannot wait, my darling …”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head from side to side. If she looked into his eyes or even listened to his words she would weaken.

  “I told you. I don’t want to see you again, ever!”

  “That’s impossible. Too much has happened.”

  As he came closer to her she drew back, recoiling from what she saw as his false charm. “Nothing has happened … If you are referring to my disgusting behaviour, please don’t. I’m terribly ashamed of it. I was lonely and feeling sorry for myself …”

  She stood to leave; the moonlight lit up the expression on her face. Her eyes were so cold he stepped back. His smile faded; he understood at last. “Disgusting? You call what passed between us disgusting?”

  She thought back to those joyous weeks, weeks she had once held sacred as a beloved memory. A memory she’d turned to, to sustain her as she had lain unhappily beside her husband.

  “Why are you talking to me like this? What have I done except confess my love for you? You know we’re meant for each other, even more so now.”

  “If you mean because you’ve discovered I have Indian blood?” she sneered. “I don’t see what possible difference that could make.”

  She drew on everything she had to repel him. She raised her chin to look down on him with a cold disdainful stare. “I don’t want to discuss it. If you were a gentleman you would forget the whole thing. Can’t you see how your presence here is offensive to me?”

  This time his anger was palpable, and he chose his words for maximum impact. “Disgusted and offensive! You didn’t seem so disgusted and offended at the time.”

  She put her hands over her ears as though his words gave her pain, but he was pitiless in his scorn.

  “So an affair is acceptable as long as no one finds out, and then you crawl back to your husband.”

  “Is that what Harry Tyler’s wife did to you?” She snapped around to face him, her eyes black with fury.

  He almost laughed out loud. “What do you know about this?”

  “Enough.”

  “Enough to condemn me forever, on what seems to me to be very thin evidence.”

  “I’m told your behaviour was dishonourable in every way.”

  “Dishonourable! Maryanne was a lonely woman whom I liked very much, as it happens, but it was long ago and I was alone; we both knew it was never serious. It’s unfortunate she was discovered, that’s all, and she was made to pay dearly for her indiscretion. Yes, part of me wanted to get back at her husband. He offended me, and I was ruthless in getting my revenge and I didn’t care who I hurt. But it’s different with you …”

  Ruthless! The word taunted her. Yes, he was ruthless; she had seen it herself when he had commanded his men to lie prone before her. Well, she could be ruthless too. Her face when she turned to him was almost contorted with emotion.

  “There is something you should know, and it might help you to understand once and for all. I love my husband! I always have. I was bored, that’s all! And for a moment or two you filled that boredom!” Her voice shook as her eyes filled with tears. “But your presence is now hateful to me, despite what the gods have ordained!”

  Her rage had sustained her, but now everything seemed flat and listless.

  He looked at her closely, as though trying to read her mind. Then he smiled, very cool and very calm. “As you wish, madam. You will never see me again.”

  Then he stepped back into the darkness of the night, his footsteps echoing on the flagstone path as he stormed away, without once looking back.

  Chapter 34

  Barely a month later, Sara looked out of the window of her house in Madras to see, with the coming of the rains, the scarlet sunbirds had returned to her garden once more.

  To be back was almost a relief after all, despite the time of year and the unsettling monsoon season. She loved the sudden storms and flooding rains, which seemed with their downpour to act on her own emotions and somehow relieve the pent-up pain and anger she still felt over her final scene with Ravi.

  Life was relatively calm now, at least on the surface. The atmosphere in the house had altered, especially since Lakshmi had left, and it seemed she had taken some of the tension with her. Sara could almost convince herself she liked the little house now, but she knew it was really because she was about to leave it forever. It was hard, though, to turn her back on the life around her. She had lingered only because she’d become so fond of all the people in the house, and they too looked to her as a stabilising influence over Charles. His wild and unpredictable moods frightened them, as they had once frightened her, but now, as she was about to put all of it behind her, she felt like a traitor for their sakes.

  She wondered at the wild episode with Ravi and put it down to a type of temporary madness. The image of Ravi’s face, once so strong, had now begun to fade, as the tiger lilies in her garden faded after being exposed to too much sun.

  At times, when she felt the old burning desire to be near him again, she quickly crushed the sensation, reminding herself over and over again of how he’d tricked her, and how he had used her, and it became easier as time passed to convince herself she felt nothing for him.

  Though sometimes her agony became unbearable, and the wild deep sobs that followed left her with not only swollen eyes and a bleak heart but also with just enough courage to carry on a seemingly normal life.

  She had managed to persuade Charles not to return Maya to her husband, and her conscience was soothed by the thought that the girl would be safe at last. That one concession by Charles had helped her to forgive him some of his other faults and had made it more bearable for her to live with him till she could leave. There were no pangs of regret, only that she hadn’t left him sooner, and a deep, all-consuming sadness.

  There was pity for him, as in a way she felt he was a victim too, of a society that trampled and twisted its people into a hard, unfeeling mass of repressed emotions. He had been
trained well and she knew, deep in her heart, he was unlikely to ever change.

  Her main regret was that she would never be able to see Prema again, though she consoled herself with the knowledge that the little girl was well taken care of, and better off with her own people, even though she felt she had not really fulfilled her promise to the old man.

  Though, even as she said the reassuring words to herself, she crushed a feeling of longing. The episode in her life where she’d felt the most fulfilled, the most truly herself, was over with, along with the storms and colour and the burning passion. It had been too consuming after all, and, she told herself, it was a relief to be safe from feeling too much.

  At times she thought she might go to Europe to live, Italy perhaps.

  The climate was much healthier than India and, as her past sickness had returned more frequently than ever, she began to think it was the best plan after all. But it was all so painful to think about: to leave India, her parents’ home, and Malika as well, when she had only just discovered them.

  However, her real reason to consider leaving India, even though she dared not admit it, even to herself, was because the pain of her memories was at times too much after all, and if she was ever to have real peace of mind she needed to forget she had ever once loved Ravi Sabran.

  Her bag was packed and hidden under her bed. All that remained now was to tell Malika, and they could leave before Charles returned.

  She couldn’t go to Lucy’s, as Charles would be sure to go there. Also, it was very possible she might run into Ravi, and that would be disastrous. The Maharani would take her in, but she and the Maharaja had left for Ceylon to wait out the dry season in their little province and it would be several months before they returned to India.

  Then she remembered the small hotel next to Chandran, the silk merchant. It was a respectable place, mainly for ladies from the country who came to Madras to buy wedding saris for their daughters. There, no one would ever be likely to discover her.

  Her precious jewels had been wrapped in a silk nightgown and pushed to the back of her underwear drawer. But as soon as she opened the drawer she knew something was wrong. Her various silks and linens lay scattered about in wild disorder when they were usually folded neatly. Malika would never leave her things in such a state. She made a frantic scrabble at the corners of the drawer, but she already knew it was hopeless. The mother-of-pearl box had gone, along with her self-control. She lunged at a fine lawn nightgown in frustration, tearing at it with her teeth, till it lay a tattered rag at her feet. Of course he’d taken her jewels, to make sure she was enslaved to him forever.