Meet Me in Bombay

by Jenny Ashcroft

  She was too ashamed to face him.

  She hung back as Ahmed let him in, just as he must have done the day before. She heard—from the warm familiarity with which Ahmed greeted Luke in Urdu, and Luke’s own friendly reply (so wrenching to hear that low, vibrant voice again)—where Ahmed’s loyalty lay, and felt a familiar tug of pity for poor Guy; he really didn’t deserve to come this constant second place.

  And now Richard was clattering down the stairs. She sat back on the window ledge as he, too, greeted Luke with a delighted enthusiasm he’d always withheld from Guy—even after he’d grudgingly accepted the engagement.

  “My God,” he said, “Luke, Luke. Come here.…”

  Alice pictured him pulling Luke into an embrace, slapping his back.

  “Richard,” said Luke, “it’s so good to see you.”

  “It’s bloody marvelous to see you, my boy.”

  My boy.

  Alice shut her eyes.

  If only she had it in her to feel such undiluted joy. But then Richard wasn’t trapped here in India. He could follow Madeline and Iris if they went. He’d always been able to follow.

  Richard invited Luke to take breakfast. To Alice’s relief, he declined, saying he couldn’t stay long.

  “You’ve seen Maddy?” said Richard.

  “Yes,” said Luke, and Alice swallowed dryly. Even through the door, she could hear the love in his voice; as true as it had ever been.

  They talked on. Alice, hand to her throat, listened to it all: Luke answering Richard’s questions about what had happened to him—his lost jacket, his tags, the desperate tragedy of Fraser (“Oh,” said Richard heavily, “oh God…”), how he, Luke, had come to on the Menin Road, only to black out again—and telling him in turn of how he’d returned to India for Madeline and Iris.

  “I can’t apologize for it,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to,” said Richard.

  She heard Luke ask for her, Alice, and felt a spike of alarm, but Richard said she was indisposed (for which she was cowardly grateful), and that he would gladly take a message.

  She wondered if she was imagining it when Luke said what the message was, and that he would never be the one to mention Diana’s letter to Madeline.

  “You’re sure?” said Richard dubiously.

  “Quite,” Luke said, and went on, saying that she’d been angry enough when he’d told her how Peter, almost dead himself, had only possibly seen him back in Ypres. “Alice needs to be able to speak to her about this herself,” he said. “And if she doesn’t want to, well,” he paused, “I’ll respect that, too.”

  “You mustn’t feel obliged,” said Richard.

  “It’s not about that,” said Luke. “There’s been enough pain. I don’t want this to come between them. Not more than it has to.”

  Alice slumped back on the ledge. She’d expected such fury. Her heart pounded at Luke’s understanding; the unfathomable generosity of it.

  She almost gathered herself sufficiently to get up and thank him in person.

  If he hadn’t left so quickly, she might even have managed it.

  She’d like to think she would have.

  “You don’t deserve this,” said Richard, once he came in to find her. “And whatever Luke says, you have to tell Maddy. You owe her that.”

  “I know,” Alice managed to say.

  “Not today,” said Richard. “She’s got enough to think about.”

  “I know that, too,” said Alice.

  Richard gave her a cold look. “I suppose now I know why I have the pleasure of Alf’s employment.”

  She didn’t attempt to defend herself. There was no defense.

  It made Luke’s kindness even harder to understand.

  “It’s not hard,” said Richard, with crippling disdain. “He loves our daughter.” Another hard stare. “This is what love is.”

  “I know what love is,” she said, and this time she couldn’t help her tears, because it broke her in two that he could suggest otherwise.

  “Do you?” he said wearily.

  Yes, she wanted to shout, I know. It’s what I have for you, for Madeline and Iris.…

  But before she could, he turned on his heel and left.

  It was as though he couldn’t stand to hear it.

  * * *

  He said no more to her that morning. He didn’t suggest going to church either. And although he opened the motor door for her when they left to collect Madeline and Iris for lunch, he did it wordlessly. He kept his eyes on the shaded road for the short drive to Guy’s, sighing deeply as they drew to a halt.

  Madeline came out to meet them. She looked as weary as Alice felt, her paleness accentuated by the navy dress and cloche hat she wore. Alice wasn’t sure why she’d chosen the color. She never normally wore anything dark.

  Her mood, perhaps.

  She wondered if her meeting with Luke hadn’t gone as well as he might have been hoping.

  Or was it being back at this villa that was upsetting her?

  No. She shook her head mentally. Stop second-guessing.

  You will run mad.

  “Hello, darling,” Richard said to Madeline, the affection in his voice a stark contrast to the coolness with which he’d been treating Alice all morning.

  “Can we not talk about anything?” Madeline said, embracing him. “Iris doesn’t seem herself again, and I don’t want to ruin another day for her.”

  “You have our word,” said Richard.

  “Of course,” said Alice, who had no intention of bringing any of it up anyway. (Her age-old preference for saying nothing when there was too much unspeakable to say.)

  “Thank you,” said Madeline with a tired smile.

  Alice struggled to smile back. She discovered she couldn’t quite meet Madeline’s eye either. The awful secret she’d kept, and the prospect of admitting it to her, made it impossible.

  She looked toward the house instead. “Where’s Iris now?” she asked.

  “Upstairs changing,” said Madeline. “She spilled milk on her dress.”

  “I’ll go and fetch her,” said Alice, seizing on the opportunity to escape her guilt for a few minutes.

  “There’s no rush,” said Madeline, as she went. “We’re still waiting for the others.”

  “I know,” said Alice.

  “Mama,” Madeline called after her, “you mustn’t mention Luke. She’s already been asking why he’s not coming today, and I don’t want to make it worse.”

  “I won’t say a word,” Alice assured her.

  She really didn’t plan to. All she wanted, as she climbed the stairs, was to give her granddaughter a cuddle. To sit her on her lap and hold her close; she needed the comfort of that so very much.

  She peeked around Iris’s door, into the beautiful room Guy had furnished with such boundless affection. She soaked it all up: the pictures on the walls, the toys on the shelves—and Iris, in the midst of all of it, not getting changed at all, but sitting on the floor in her petticoat, tongue pressed between her teeth, trying to get the milk stain out of her dress with a wet rag.

  “Let’s find you another one, shall we?” said Alice, and almost choked on her rush of sadness that if Luke had his way, she might never help this little girl with anything again.

  Fighting to compose herself, she went to the closet to fetch her a gown.

  You mustn’t mention Luke, Madeline had said.

  But it was Iris who brought him up.

  “Where is my daddy staying?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Alice tightly.

  “Do you like him?”

  Alice flicked through the dresses. “Yes, of course.”

  “Does he want to take me and Mummy away?”

  Alice went still at the question, the sudden quaver in Iris’s voice.

  Yes, she yearned to scream. Don’t let him, please.

  “Why do you ask that?” she forced out instead.

  “Guy told me.”

  Alice
turned to face her, then stopped short at the anxiety in her wide blue gaze. Moving instinctively, she went to pick her up, cradling her close, just as she’d yearned to on her way upstairs.

  “When did Guy tell you that?” she asked.

  “Last night,” said Iris. “I had a bad dream. Mummy didn’t come.”

  Alice’s heart juddered. She’d been with Luke. She must have been.

  “Did Guy try to wake her?” she asked Iris, somehow managing to keep her voice at a normal pitch.

  “I don’t know.”

  “And have you told your mummy about your nightmare?”

  “Guy said I shouldn’t.”

  Alice nodded. “And what else did Guy say?”

  “That he wouldn’t let anyone take me anywhere, and I’m safe, and I should tell Mummy how much I want that.” Iris looked up at her, hot little face creased and horribly confused. “He said she’d do anything for me.”

  Alice closed her eyes. “Did he?”

  “Would she?” said Iris.

  “Yes,” Alice said, “of course. That’s what mamas do.”

  “So I should tell her I want to stay here?” Iris said, bottom lip wavering, perilously close to tears.

  Alice hesitated before answering.

  Then she kissed her again, and slowly, the words seeming to create themselves, said to her what she realized she must.

  “You promise me?” said Iris.

  “I promise,” said Alice. “But you must do as I’ve said, and never tell your mama that Guy told you to do this.”

  “I won’t,” said Iris solemnly.

  “Good girl,” said Alice, already half tempted to take back all she’d said. But it was too late. She couldn’t turn back. Not now.

  She talked on, telling Iris to come and see her, any time she needed to. “I will always help you, my darling.”

  Iris nodded.

  Alice held her tighter.

  This, she told herself, this is what love is.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Guy was waiting at the large seafront table he’d reserved when the rest of them arrived for the lunch and ices he could truthfully do without. He glimpsed Della first, leading the way out through the hotel’s glass doors with the menace that was Emily contained in her viselike arms. With a sigh, he tucked the note he’d been reading away—the one his bearer had left for the maître d’ to hand to him—and, still trying to make out what he thought of the contents, ran his hand down his face, assumed a smile, and stood to greet them all. His legs were unsteady. His entire body was shaky with fatigue. Exhausted as he’d been when he’d blacked out after dinner, he hadn’t been able to sleep again once Iris had woken and he’d found himself manipulating her as he had. He’d lain awake in his hot bed, bloodshot eyes on the mosquito net, sickened at himself for involving such a small child, even more so because he’d known already that he wasn’t going to take any of what he’d said back.

  He touched his hand to the note in his pocket and feared he’d say it all again if he needed to.

  As the hours had ticked by until dawn, he’d kept glancing at the door to Maddy’s room, willing a noise to come from it and convince him that she only hadn’t run to comfort Iris herself because of the draft he’d given her. It had been a strong one, after all.

  He watched her now. His wife. She was with Peter, as she so often was, her blond head dipped toward his, her hand on his arm. Peter was holding her gloved fingers, nodding as she talked, looking quite wretched. Guy had a good idea as to why. Their long-forgotten conversation in the Quai d’Escale had returned to him forcibly. It was another thing that had kept him awake the night before: how he’d assured Peter that his sighting of Luke on the Menin Road must have been imagination—and how that nurse had tried to convince him in turn that it mightn’t have been. In all this hideousness, wouldn’t it be nice to think there might still be some good surprises left? God, but he’d been so certain she was wrong. It mortified him now, how readily he’d dismissed her optimism as fantasy.

  But he hadn’t ignored her. He stole comfort from that. Even in spite of that naik’s assurances that he’d seen Luke buried, he’d tried to call at that CCS she’d told him about. He had tried.

  What more could he have done?

  Nothing, he’d told himself again and again.

  Nothing, he told himself now.

  He pushed the matter determinedly from his mind, before it drove him to distraction.

  He had plenty else to think about, in any case.

  “Maddy,” he said, as she drew closer.

  She looked up, toward him, her irresistible eyes concealed by the rim of her hat. He couldn’t make out whether her lips turned in a smile that was nervous, or guarded. Tired, certainly. Much more so than he might expect from someone who’d been knocked out for the night by sleeping salts.

  Shaking the unwelcome thought away, he went to meet her.

  “Hello, dearest,” he said, pressing his lips to her warm cheek, feeling himself stir despite his worry. “Can we have a quick word, before we join everyone else?”

  * * *

  He led her back into the hotel, out of sight of everyone else in the main foyer, behind an ornamental potted plant. Through the leaves, Maddy could just see Della’s hat, Peter’s fair head, both of them craning their necks from beneath the table’s large parasol, trying to see where she and Guy had gone. She hadn’t had long to speak to either of them. Only a snatched minute to tell Peter he wasn’t to blame himself, not even a bit, you’ve done that more than enough, and to quietly let Della know that yes, she had seen Luke.

  “And?” Della had mouthed, as Emily had begged her for a carry. “What happened?”

  “Later,” Maddy had mouthed back.

  “Maddy,” Guy said, drawing her eyes back to him. “Are you listening?”

  She stared up at him. She had been.

  “You’ve seen a lawyer,” she repeated flatly.

  His face softened. “Please,” he said, “don’t be like this.…”

  “You’re asking too much,” she said.

  “Too much?” he said. “I’m your husband. You vowed to—”

  “Don’t,” she said, louder than she’d intended, so loud that even the punkah wallahs—drilled in the art of being wallpaper—turned to look. It was the long night, her nausea at everything he’d just said. She couldn’t contain it. “Please,” she said, “don’t say obey.”

  “I was about to say love me,” he said, with such awful distress that she had to look away. “Like I love you. And Iris. It’s why I want this.”

  “Guy,” she said, “be reasonable. Luke is Iris’s father. He’s missed … everything, everything he should have had with her. He is not going to let you be chaperone when he meets her. I am not going to let you.”

  “I don’t need your permission.”

  “You certainly don’t have it,” she said. “I can’t imagine what you’re thinking.”

  “It will be better for her this way.”

  “Please don’t try and tell me what is best for my daughter.”

  “You need to listen,” he said, taking a step toward her. “Please, just listen to me.”

  She took a step back, knocking awkwardly against the plant. “I won’t listen to this.”

  “Have you even asked Iris what she wants?”

  “She’s a child,” she said, moving to set the plant straight before it fell.

  “You should ask her,” he said.

  “Like you’ve asked me?” she said, her gloves now covered in soil.

  “I don’t think you know what you want.”

  “Guy,” she said, giving up on the plant, “I know. I am so sorry, but I do.”

  “How can you?” he said, eyes wide, imploring. “It’s been five minutes.”

  “A little longer than that. I—”

  “No,” he shouted, making the punkah wallahs turn again. He took a breath, appearing to calm himself. “I won’t talk about this now,” he said. “I’ve told you
, I need you to give me this month.”

  “A month is too long.”

  “A month is barely any time at all,” he said, taking another step toward her. This time she had nowhere to go. “Let me prove to you how happy I can make you.” He reached for her soil-dusted hands. “Promise that you won’t see Luke alone, that you’ll try with us.”

  “Guy…” She shook her head, unwilling to make any more promises she couldn’t keep.

  “One month,” he said, grip tightening. “At the end of it, we’ll talk again, I swear.”

  “Please,” she said, “I—”

  “We’ll see what you want,” he said, “ask Iris what she wants. If you both tell me it’s to go, then,” he swallowed, averted his eyes, his entire face tense with reluctance, “I’ll stand aside.”

  “I need to be with Luke,” she said, as kindly as anyone could say such a thing. “I’ve always needed that. Iris will be happy one way or another.” Still he didn’t look at her. “Guy,” she pressed his arm, urging him to, “please don’t do this. A month won’t change anything.”

  But he wouldn’t be moved.

  “We’ll see” was all he said, turning to go back outside. “We’ll see.”

  * * *

  Somehow, they got through the sweltering two hours that followed: the curled sandwiches and warm champagne, the sundaes that were already half melted by the time the waiters brought the glasses to the table.

  “I don’t mind,” said Iris, who at least seemed happier again, perched on her grandmother’s lap, the sea glistening behind her, her grandfather on one side, lovely Lucy giggling on the other.

  Maddy sat just along from them, between Peter and Della, as far away from Guy as she could manage. She refused to look at him, certainly not as much as her hot, prickling skin suggested he was looking at her. She wanted only to leave, find Luke in his rooms and tell him all of it so that he needn’t be in the dark a moment longer. She was so angry at Guy, more so the higher the sun climbed, and the grittier her tired eyes became: for exploiting the archaic laws that trapped her to give her such an ultimatum, but mostly for even suggesting it would do Iris any harm to see Luke without him.