I smiled rather tremulously back at him.
‘You are lovely when you smile,’ he said, as if he had not heard the story at all.
The incongruity of the remark struck me and I laughed a little harshly.
‘That is not a good laugh,’ he said, raising himself on his elbow, so that he was quite close to me, and taking my hand again. ‘I have some advice to give you.’
‘Yes?’
‘Let me marry you. Let me show you what life and love can really be.’
I started up as if to run away, but he would not let go of my hand.
‘Don’t go away. Hear me to the end.’
I looked down at him and was astonished at the beauty which flooded his face; it was transfigured. There was love in it such as I had previously seen only upon the face of a new mother – no lust – just a glow of affection. I knew I was seeing something rare, and I sat down again, hardly knowing what I did but fascinated by a loveliness I did not know a man’s face could show.
‘I have loved you from the first day I saw you – you must know it.’
I did know it although I had not acknowledged it to myself. I nodded.
‘We would have to fight many difficulties together, as we are of different races – yet those difficulties could also make us cling together and know each other.’ His eyes were imploring. ‘I would love you so that sadness and weariness left your face, and contentment filled your life.’
‘You do not ask me if I love you.’
‘I do not ask your love now – only the chance to win it – and the privilege of giving you happiness.’
I felt curiously humble before him, very uncertain of myself, but the desire to run away had gone. It was as if unimagined treasures had been laid before me; and it seemed to me that I had done nothing to merit such a gift.
I tried to think clearly, to imagine what living with a man who was brown would be like. My mind refused to grasp anything, however, except that a delicate, brown finger was stroking my wrist and that a man of known integrity and ability was looking at me with adoration, and had just offered me all that he had and an entirely new life.
‘Ajit – I am not worth all the sacrifice it would mean.’
‘My Rani – my Queen, you are worth everything to me.’ He slipped his arm round me and drew me closer. Suddenly I turned my face to his shoulder and wept wearily. I wept the last tears I had for Barney, who had been such a scallywag in life and was so pitiful in death. And for the first time for years I desired to make someone else happy instead of hugging my own miseries to myself.
The Chinese say that the time to court the widow is immediately after the funeral, and there had certainly been a funeral the day before, a funeral during which love had been replaced by hate and then by pity – pity for Barney, pity for Angela, pity for myself.
He let me cry until the sobs became less. Then a brown hand turned my face to his. Very carefully he pushed back the loose hairs from my face which must have been ugly from crying. He bent his head and softly caressed my cheek with his nose. A butterfly kiss went across my lips, and I lay still, too tired to protest.
Infinitely patient, he courted me as if I was a girl bride who had never seen him before and was afraid of being alone with him. He did not attempt to kiss me as Barney had kissed me. Just light kisses, softly across my mouth, until I began to desire more. His breath was sweet in my nostrils, and my arms almost of their own accord went up and round his neck.
When he felt my whole body stir uneasily, he said: ‘Marry me?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and he released me slowly. He was beaming.
‘You will be the Lakshmi of my house,’ he said, ‘the Goddess and Giver of all Good Things.’
The winter sun grew sharply stronger, as the clouds rolled away. I smiled at him very shyly although my pulses were pounding. I had just accepted a very difficult set of ties and yet I felt released from bondage. I sat back on my heels and surveyed my future husband.
Because I was for the first time imagining him as a partner, it was as if I had never seen him before. He lay and puffed his pipe contentedly and hummed under his breath, as if nothing had happened, his eyes shadowed by their dark lids and enormous lashes. A patient man, I thought. Anyone else would have followed up the advantage which my acceptance had given him. Some inner perception must have warned him to go slowly – or was it an infinitely subtle skill in the making of love?
At the thought of his really making love to me, a hot flush rose to my face and I scrambled to my feet. He got up too. He was shivering, whether with cold or desire I did not know, but I arranged his scarf for him and made him button his raincoat to the top.
‘Hot tea and bacon and eggs,’ I said as I pulled on my woollen gloves.
‘These English women,’ he said. ‘So practical – and also so impractical,’ and he swung me towards him and kissed me hard until my body slackened against his. I pulled myself away hastily.
‘Bacon and eggs,’ I said firmly, and ran up the sea wall to the top. The wind hit me as it blew straight off the sea.
‘It’s really cold,’ I said as he joined me.
‘Let us then run.’
So, laughing, we ran along the sea wall to get warm. As I raced Ajit, the wind tearing at my hair and the waves roaring at my feet, some youth came back to me, and I was filled with young hope for the future.
There was a log fire in the parlour of the pub where we had out tea, and as we were the only customers, we afterwards sat hand in hand on an old wooden settle and watched the sparks fly up the chimney.
The landlady who served us looked upon us with disdain, but when she heard our voices, she confided audibly to her daughter behind the bar that: ‘She isn’t a common sort,’ and she unbent enough to ask Ajit if he was a student from India. She also asked me if I was a student. I said vaguely that I was a social worker, not wishing to invite further questioning. The landlady was nonplussed by my answer and said to her daughter, as she took our dirty dishes to the sink behind the counter, that: ‘It was a right rum combination – an Indian and a social aid worker.’
Both Ajit and I giggled when we heard this remark; but it reminded Ajit of another problem.
‘What will your father say about your marriage to me?’
I was secretly worried about my parents’ reaction to the marriage, although I did not want to communicate this worry to Ajit.
‘Father likes you very much,’ I said cautiously, ‘although he will be very upset at my going to live so far away as in India.’
‘We shall see – I do not wish that he should grieve.’ He let go of my hand, picked up the poker and poked at the fire, while his fine eyebrows knitted and a frown broke the smoothness
