Chapter 20: Chapter 20

When Eliza arrived back at the castle it was almost night and she was in a furious mood. She had not failed to grasp the hints beneath Clifford's words, and fumed at what he had said, but soon forgot that when she saw that the castle was in uproar. She let thoughts of Clifford go, at least for the time being, and watched as people bustled about, marching back and forth across the courtyards with grave expressions on their faces. Nobody paid her any attention. She was about to escape to her room to think about Shimla, but then spotted Indi standing under one of the colonnaded archways. The girl beckoned her across and Eliza went over. 'What's going on?' she said. 'Anish is sick.' 'Is it serious?' 'I think so. There are physicians and astrologers in attendance.' 'Do you know what it is?' The girl shook her head, but Eliza had the distinct impression something was troubling her. 'But he'll be all right?' Indi again shook her head. 'Nobody knows. The trouble is if anything happens to Anish, Jay will have to take over and Chatur will stop at nothing to prevent that.' 'But why?' 'Jay is a modernizer. Chatur is the exact opposite and will accept no other viewpoint. He can manipulate Anish to his own ends. He would not be able to manipulate Jay. I think Chatur has been worried about Anish's health for some time now and has been hiding it from us.' As Eliza turned away she felt a little unnerved by what Indi had said. But maybe this was just Laxmi's talk of poisoning upsetting her and, while Anish's illness could have nothing to do with her, she decided to keep out of the way for the rest of the evening and get on in her darkroom. While working she couldn't stop her thoughts revolving. She had tried to live up to expectations, first as a daughter and then as a wife, but she'd failed at both. She had done her best to love Oliver: cooked for him, kept their little apartment immaculate, and tried to respond to his advances, though it had usually ended in frustration for both of them. He was the only man Eliza had ever been with and, at first, inexperienced in the ways of lovemaking, she'd blamed herself, but she'd had one important ally. Books. She was a great reader and had spent much of her childhood with her nose in a book, so gradually, after reading about sex and growing more and more red-faced, she had realized that Oliver was not at all a tender lover or a tender person. He seemed to expect her to open her legs whenever he demanded and, with little input from him, to accept his body into hers. And when she didn't, all the worse for her. She had hated it. It was as simple as that, and she had fought not to hate him too. It was on one of these occasions that he, in anger, had told her she was cold and asexual. In retaliation she had flung her wedding ring out of the window and told him she wanted a career. The next day she had tried to make it up to him, arranged flowers on their dining-room table, put on her prettiest dress, sprayed perfume behind her ears. It hadn't worked, and her words had spilled out as she had told him she would be a photographer whatever he thought of it. He had slammed the door on his way out and that was the last time she'd seen him alive. And, although she realized now that she had never loved him, it saddened her that he had died in that senseless manner. Gradually she grew calmer. The blank silence of her darkroom gave her space and time to think; it soothed her too, as if the mechanical pouring of chemicals smoothed out the creases in her mind. But, apart from her photography, she had to face the fact that she had nothing to offer a man. What good was knowing how to make a picture of who someone truly was? What good was her ability to put people at their ease so she could take a natural shot? She had been a hopeless wife before, and certainly had no desire to marry again if it meant wasting her life looking after somebody who should be capable of looking after himself. Of course Jay would want a subservient wife and could never be interested in her; he was destined for a vastly different kind of life. It had only been a kiss, after all, and he must have kissed countless women. She had been dazzled by him, nothing more, and so she tried to convince herself it didn't matter. But Clifford had let her down. He had promised to help with the funding for the irrigation project and now Jay would be left high and dry. Laxmi had already mortgaged some of the family jewels to pay for the engineer and to hire the machinery and start the construction. It would be disastrous if everything were to be held up now. They had all been relying on Clifford coming through, and though she could never do it, it did sound as if he still might come up with the funds if she gave him what he wanted. When Jay came to her room late that night, she opened the door and after glancing up and down the corridor allowed him in. He was waving a newspaper as he came in. 'Have you seen this?' He thumped the paper. 'Your Winston Churchill has called Gandhi a "half-naked fakir".' Eliza was puzzled. 'Gandhi walked right up to Viceroy House wearing only a loincloth. The British didn't like that one bit.' He had spoken in anger but now he paused. 'Actually, it's almost funny when you think about it. Pity you couldn't have been there to take a photograph. You'd have made a fortune.' 'I see.' He frowned and scratched his head. 'Is something wrong? I'm sorry this is the first chance I've had to come to you.' 'How's your brother?' she asked, but her throat was dry and she battled to find her way through a knot of contradictory emotions, longing to savour every moment with him, and yet knowing she could not. Even her own voice sounded strange. The ease between them had vanished, and now it was worse than if that one night of sharing his secret world had never happened. He pulled a face, and she found it impossible to gauge what he was thinking or feeling. 'He's fine, or he will be. A spot of indigestion, probably.' 'But Indi looked worried.' 'Did she?' He paused and, as he walked across to sit in the armchair, she wished she could be more courageous. And yet always the fear of rejection, of saying too much, of being hurt. Better to keep her guard up. 'I haven't come to talk about Indi or my brother.' She looked at his hands and imagined them on the back of her neck again when he had kissed her. 'Then what?' She had struggled to keep the vulnerable sound out of her voice but worried that he'd heard it anyway. 'I've been thinking about what happened on the night of Holi.' 'Me too,' she said, ashamed of her own lack of mettle, but glad that he had been the one to speak. He sighed. 'Tell me about you.' She was surprised. 'Tell you what?' 'There's always something holding you back, isn't there? I've known it from the first. You don't belong here, but I wonder if there's anywhere you do belong.' He had spoken in a soft voice, the one he had used when telling her he'd been there when her father died. She threw herself on to the sofa, then sat hunched up and gazing at her feet. 'Sometimes you really need to take a risk in life.' She glanced at him and then away again. 'I've taken a risk by coming here.' 'I mean with your heart.' He paused. 'Eliza, look at me.' She shook her head. 'Clifford has offered me another job.' 'Well, that's good, isn't it?' 'It's in Shimla. I have to let him know by the end of the week.' She didn't dare look to see if his face revealed his feelings, but when he spoke his voice was entirely expressionless. 'When would you need to leave?' 'Immediately.' She heard him draw in his breath. 'Eliza, I don't know what your expectations are.' She looked up at him. 'You can relax. I have none.' 'It's important you understand that your life is in your own hands.' 'And what of destiny?' 'You make your destiny.' 'Is that what you really think?' 'It's what I believe. You know we believe in karma here. What you do now affects the future, whether in this life, or the next.' 'So if I'm a good girl I might come back as an Indian Princess. Somebody a Prince could be with. Is that what you mean?' 'Of course not.' He gave her a broad smile. 'You'd hate it anyway. Being an Indian wife, I mean.' She didn't smile and wanted to glare at him. But whatever either of them were to say now, it would make no difference. She'd always be a widow from a dubious background and he'd always be the glamorous, inaccessible Prince Jayant Singh Rathore. A man whom countless women would adore. She'd never get below the surface of the palace, of India, or of him. Beads of sweat broke out on her brow and she swiped her fingers across to wipe them away. The back of her neck felt hot too. 'Eliza, what's wrong? Tell me.' She drew in her breath. 'Actually I do have something to tell you. Clifford has failed to obtain funding for your water project.' She steeled herself, longing for him to beg her to turn down the offer of Shimla, and tried not to falter under his gaze. There was only silence and the air seemed to chill. 'Why are you staring at me?' she asked eventually, still hoping, though in her heart she already knew. Her heart sank as he sprang to his feet. 'So that I can remember everything about you after you're gone,' he said. She struggled not to crumple beneath a bewildering feeling of disappointment, strangely tempered by something almost resembling relief. That was it. All over before it had begun. He made for the door. 'If you forgive me, I have some thinking to do. Don't trouble yourself about it. Now that I have the bit between my teeth I shan't stop. I have to finish before the rains and I still have a few months. Thank you for your help. Goodnight.' He bowed and left the room.