Ryman, Rebecca (61 page)

Olivia
had forgotten that he intended to seek an audience with Arvind Singh. In fact,
the matter of the ill-fated coal and all the misery it had caused had become
anathema to her. If she listened now with concentration it was only because
Kinjal had lately been in her thoughts a great deal, even more than
usual. Arvind
Singh, Ransome informed her, had received him after all but with an anger that
was as obvious as it was, in Ransome's opinion, justified. But at the same time
the Maharaja had made it clear that he had no desire to create a continuing
scandal. Since the insurance company was being obstreperous and trying to find
flaws in their claim, it was up to Templewood and Ransome to make immediate
compensation for the repairs of the mine as well as for the bereft family of
the unfortunate watchman. Naturally, Ransome said, he had agreed. "There
can be no further denial of justice even though our damages will be crippling.
We might as well shut up shop," he concluded dismally. "In any case,
I have lost the taste for commerce and Josh has lost his mind. By the time everything
is paid off, there will be little liquidity left. And I am too old and
disheartened to start all over again. After the
Sea Siren
went, I knew
we could not rally."

Even
in her apathy, Olivia was vaguely surprised. "But surely your funds cannot
be that low—what about reserves?"

"Reserves
are what we are living on now. Few are willing to trade with us for fear of
being blacklisted by Trident. Nobody wants to endanger his investments by
risking Raventhorne's wrath when he returns." He smiled. "My dear, if
the East can make men monarchs overnight, it can also turn them bankrupt just
as fast."

When
he returns...!

Olivia
heard the phrase but it was too grotesque, too unreal, to leave any mark on the
surface of her consciousness. Instead she was overcome with renewed anger at
the sheer waste of it all. So much heart-break, so much destruction, so many
lives laid in ruins. In fulfilling his own misbegotten destiny, Jai Raventhorne
had ensured that no strand of their existences should be left unbroken.

It
is not your war, Olivia. Don't get caught in the cross-fire.

That
night Olivia cried again. She cried quietly, seeing for the first time how
neatly and methodically she had devised her own perdition. She had heard
warning bells; she had not listened. She had seen signs and omens and portents;
she had not recognised them. She had instead hurtled headlong towards a
disaster she had not tried to divert but he had. No, neither Jai nor Estelle
was her true betrayer. She had betrayed herself. And in doing so she had denied
herself even the solace of having someone else to blame. Time—she needed time,
or did she? Ironically, what was rumoured to be a healer for everyone else was
for her a fraudulent
quack, for it would bring her no curative balms, this Olivia now knew with
growing certainty. Just as Jai Raventhorne had, time too was preparing to
abandon her totally.

Since
she had learned the shameless truth, Olivia had avoided her uncle. The
compassion she felt for him was minimal and she found it difficult to
camouflage her contempt. But whatever her personal feelings, courtesy demanded
that she make known to him her decision to leave his home and hospitality. Lady
Bridget, she decided, could be informed later, when her frame of mind improved
sufficiently to allow her to receive the news with coherence.

Olivia's
chance to talk to Sir Joshua came one afternoon when he surprised them all by
announcing his decision to go fishing. Since Arthur Ransome's legs were again
painful, it was Olivia who offered to accompany her uncle to the fishing
grounds on an upper reach of the Hooghly where
bhetki
and
rahu
fish
abounded. The path led through a forest of sal, and the region was known for
its prolific spotted deer and bison. With his rifle tucked under an arm and his
deerstalker snug over his head and ears, Sir Joshua silently navigated the long
march ahead of Olivia. Behind them, with the equipment, came Rehman and two
other servants. As she walked, enjoying the quiet and the scenery, Olivia
formulated in her mind the conversation to come. She would, of course, be
blunt; there was no point in shilly-shallying. And no matter what her uncle
said, she would not be dissuaded from her decision to leave.

Oddly
enough, it was Sir Joshua who provided her with an opening. As he started to
assemble his fishing-rod on a low promontory that was their destination, he
spoke without looking at her. "I am glad that you decided to accompany me,
m'dear. I have been meaning to express my gratitude for everything you have
done for us. I have not been unaware of your selfless efforts in that
direction."

His
speech was slightly slurred and his voice sounded strained, but apart from that
he appeared unusually normal. "The misfortune that has befallen us belongs
to us all," Olivia responded stiffly. "I deserve no special gratitude."

He
shook his head. "Arthur tells me that it is entirely due to your
resourcefulness that we have been spared a scandal. Bridget," he paused to
swallow, "would not have been able to survive that."

"Would
you have?" she asked with an edge of sarcasm.

Carefully,
he slid the bait up the hook. "In India one learns
to improvise
one's own means of survival." He stood up, circled the line about his head
and cast expertly in midstream. "I have. Bridget has not."

Puzzled,
Olivia was on the point of asking a question but then she stopped. Whatever the
import of his mysterious pronouncement, it was now outside her interest.
Firmly, she returned to the purpose of her excursion with him but worked her
way up to it with tact. "You say you are grateful for what you consider I
have done for you. In that case, would you see your way to some
repayment?"

He
looked surprised but nodded. "If it is within my power, you shall have
it."

"It
is well within your power. I would consider your gratitude genuine if you would
make your peace with Aunt Bridget. That would be more than adequate repayment
for me."

Sir
Joshua went still. For a while he sat motionless, then his chin slumped to his
chest and he shook his head. "What you ask is not within my power,"
he muttered. "Had you asked for the moon I would have given it more
easily."

Olivia
regarded him with anger—was there no end to his obduracy? "I don't pretend
to understand the complexities that are between you, Uncle Josh, nor would I
consider it my position to ask. But surely the time for false pride and petty
grievances has passed? It would please Aunt Bridget if you—"

"You
are mistaken, Olivia," he cut in harshly. "Nothing will please her
anymore. I must now do what I have to do."

That
pronouncement Olivia did not even try to understand. Each one of them had to
lead his or her own life; it was not for her to rush in where she was not
required. Frustrated, she dropped the subject. "I wanted to tell you,
Uncle Josh," she said instead in a flat monotone, "that I would now
like to return to my father. He has written that he has need of me in
Honolulu."

Briefly,
his hands trembled around the handle of the rod, but he said nothing. A little
ashamed at the brusqueness with which she had made her announcement, Olivia
plunged hastily into the fabrications she had already given to Arthur Ransome.
He listened in silence, his staring eyes glued to the spot where his
still-slack line pierced the water. "Would it be easy," Olivia
concluded with some gentleness, "to book passage on a boat sailing to the
Pacific?"

He
looked vague again. "The Pacific? I should imagine so. Arthur would be
able to answer that better." He frowned, then said suddenly, "She has
not said so but Bridget wants to return
to England. I can sense it. Could I
impose on you one more time to ask you to wait and accompany her to England? I
would arrange for you to proceed home from there, although the route would be
circuitous." His expression was anxious, the half smile apologetic.
Olivia's colour drained, and inadvertently her expression became one of horror.
To wait? Why, that was impossible! Observing her reaction, Sir Joshua's
shoulders drooped. "Yes, I know it is an imposition," he muttered.
"You have already given us so much of yourself. I should not have
asked."

Inwardly,
Olivia dissolved with sudden shame. They did still need her—how could she turn
her back on them now like the daughter they once had? But she had to, she must!
How ironic that had her uncle also asked for the moon she could have given that
more easily! Panic trickled through her veins in icy little dribbles. Which way
was she to turn? The storm she had sensed brewing was now a reality—a grim,
living reality.

In
her womb she was carrying Jai Raventhorne's child.

The
mail packets that awaited Olivia from Hawaii on their return to Calcutta were
gratifyingly bulky. Apart from letters, they also contained generous gifts for
everyone to mark the Christmas season. Impatient for news of home, Olivia
quickly disbursed the presents, then withdrew to her room to read the letters.
Astonishingly, together with her father's, there were also letters from Sally
and her boys. They too were in Hawaii . . .?

Skimming
over the main body of her father's letter, Olivia reached the concluding page
knowing instinctively that this was where the crux of his news would be.
I
know it will not surprise you,
he wrote finally in his firm, unhurried
handwriting so reminiscent of the man himself,

that
Sally and I have finally decided to marry. I am sure you have long suspected
that one day we might, and our mutual decision has been made in the secure
knowledge that you will approve and be happy for us. The boys, bless their
cotton socks, are delighted. I have been as much a father to them since Scot
died as Sally has been a mother to you. You must know, my darling daughter,
that your mother's place in my heart
is secure and always will be so. Nobody
can ever take that away from me. But you know, my sweet, there comes a time in
a man's life when the sight of a cold stove, a darkened house and one pillow on
the bed starts to hurt like a knife wound. The heart yearns for joys shared,
for . . .

Olivia's
eyes brimmed and her heart filled with happiness. Yes, she had known that one
day Sally and her father would marry, and she could not envisage a more perfect
arrangement for any of them. She loved Sally dearly, and Dane and Dirk were
already as brothers to her. Brushing aside her tears, she read on.

.
. . sorrows divided and the warmth of mundane companionship. I don't want you
to feel, as you do now, that your own life must stop so that you can take care
of your lonely, aging Dad. I want you too to marry, to set up a home, to have
children, to travel and grow and develop in your own way at your own pace. It
is what I have always wanted for you, to be independent, to be your own person,
to fear nothing, to experiment boldly and always to be true to yourself.
Perhaps you have already met a man you consider worthy of your love, that man
you wrote you had met and whom you wanted to meet again, for instance . . .

She
could not go on. Crushing the pain that shafted through her, Olivia gritted her
teeth and thought only of her father and Sally and of the quiet contentment
that reached out to her between the lines. They would be a family again.
Perhaps there would be a farm in some idyllic Hawaiian valley, maybe a
whitewashed farm-house full of the fragrances of freshly baked bread and
cinnamon-smothered doughnuts and the ocean right outside the window. There
would be chickens and pigs, a horse or two, a swing in the garden, a sugar
white beach for the children to play on . . .

For
the first time in weeks, Olivia felt her pall of endless gloom lift. Suddenly,
life didn't seem totally hopeless after all. More
than ever now she longed to be
up and away, and in her bounding exhilaration she found the courage to break
the news of her intended departure to her aunt. Since their return to Calcutta,
Lady Bridget had improved perceptibly. There was again colour in her cheeks,
firmness in her step. Only this morning she had caught Babulal with two
cucumbers concealed under his turban and had been animated enough to scold him
severely. This portent alone, Olivia decided, was enough to indicate that the
worst was over for Lady Bridget.