Harte …’
‘Grayson,’ he corrected.
‘I wonder if you could help me, Grayson? I can’t make this gentleman understand that I need paper patterns for the materials I’ve bought.’
He stepped forward and spoke in what Daisy imagined was fluent Hindi. ‘You don’t need a pattern apparently,’ he translated. ‘You choose a picture that you like, a dress you see illustrated in a magazine, for instance—like the one Sanjay was showing you—and the durzi will make it for you.’
Her mouth fell open at this news. ‘It is pretty amazing, isn’t it,’ he went on. ‘I knew you could get a suit made in that fashion, but I wondered whether ladies’ clothes might be a bit more tricky. Not so, though.’
She turned to the stallholder to say goodbye and Grayson translated for her. ‘He thanks you for your custom and he’ll deliver your purchases later today. What’s your address by the way? He probably has it, but better to check.’
She gave it and he looked surprised. ‘You’re not in the cantonment then? I would have thought you’d be living alongside the other military families. But perhaps your bungalow has its own attractions?’
She wouldn’t have described the cheerless house as having any attractions, but felt compelled to defend Gerald’s choice, though why if there were accommodation within the cantonment he’d not taken it, she was at a loss to think. ‘I believe Gerald—my husband—chose it for its tranquillity,’ she managed to say.
‘It will certainly have that,’ Grayson agreed. ‘It must be the last building on that side of Jasirapur.’ But he had a frown on his face as he spoke.
‘How is your job going?’ she asked abruptly, hoping she might deflect him from finding fault in Gerald.
‘I have the feeling that it will suit me very well, but thank you for asking—Daisy? I hope I may call you that.’
They were standing outside the bazaar and Sanjay had retreated into his small, airless office.
‘Yes, of course. I’m glad it’s working out for you. I expect you much prefer it to sugar cane.’ She remembered his telling her that one small personal detail, that he’d spent three years in a neighbouring region, working in the sugar business and hating every minute.
‘I was never cut out to be a businessman but the experience hasn’t been a complete waste of time. The languages I learnt eased me into the Foreign Office and then helped me land this job.’
‘I suppose you’ll use them when you start travelling. I don’t expect you’ll be staying in Jasirapur for long.’ From what Gerald had said, a District Officer spent most of his time on the road.
He seemed uncertain of how to answer. ‘At the moment I’m not sure of my movements. But even in town, it can be useful to speak the local language. As we’ve just discovered.’ He grinned and waved his hand towards the shop behind them. She was following his direction when a severe crash from a stall several yards to their left startled her. The crash was followed by a body hurling its way towards them. A bareheaded man in a dirty white kurta came rushing down the alley, knocking everything and everybody aside, a uniformed policeman in hot pursuit. Grayson grabbed her arm and pulled her out of harm’s way.
‘You seem fated to attract wrongdoers. But this time fortunately you’ve stayed on your feet.’ He was holding her in a loose clasp.
She felt herself trembling and when she attempted to reassure him with a smile, it didn’t quite make it to her face. The memories were too painful for her to do better.
He let go of her arm but his expression was anxious. ‘You don’t look at all well. You should make for home.’
‘I’m fine, really I am. Gerald is meeting me and he’ll be here very soon.’ She made herself say it with a conviction she didn’t feel.
Grayson looked relieved. ‘In that case, I hope you won’t mind if I leave you. Please forgive the sudden departure but I should go. Have fun with your dresses.’
And in an instant he’d disappeared in the wake of the fleeing man and his uniformed pursuer. It happened so quickly that Daisy could only blink. One minute he was standing beside her, shielding her with his arm, and the next he had melted into the crowd that had gathered to debate with great volubility the incident they’d just witnessed. Grayson Harte was in the civil service, a pen pusher, Gerald had said, but his conduct hardly seemed to match the job and raised all kinds of questions. What was he doing still in Jasirapur when rightly he should be miles away, dispensing justice to a clutch of outlying villages? And why had he taken off after the two running men? It seemed very odd and she could only conclude that somehow she’d got things wrong. Perhaps District Officers had to train in town before being let loose on the population, and today he’d simply remembered that he needed to be back at his desk for an important meeting.
From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Gerald waving at her from a nearby alleyway. She felt real gratitude that he’d managed to come, and walked towards him as swiftly as the heat allowed. The burning air was dancing ever more energetically through the bazaar and she felt drained by its onslaught. Drained, too, by the recent unwelcome reminder of what had happened on board ship. The memory was never far away and for the moment she was thoroughly shaken.
Beneath the shade of his topi, Gerald’s expression was unreadable, but his words made his feelings clear. ‘Buck up, Daisy. I’ve been waving at you for an age. I borrowed a regimental motor to come, and it has to be returned straight after lunch.’
He marched forward, leaving her to follow meekly behind. In single file they retraced their steps to the road and the waiting car. She didn’t see Grayson Harte, once more mingling with the crowd and all but invisible. Didn’t see that from beneath the awning of a nearby stall, he was watching them and watching them intently.
Their journey back to the bungalow was conducted in silence, both of them exhausted by the oppressive atmosphere of early afternoon. The once bright blue sky had turned leaden but a pewter sun was no less powerful, bouncing its rays off the topi she’d remembered to wear. She tried to blot the discomfort from her mind and concentrate instead on gathering her thoughts into some kind of order. She was looking forward to eating dinner with her husband that night. ‘Looking forward’ was perhaps optimistic; the prospect was making her apprehensive, even a little scared, but she knew she must make the attempt to clear the air between them, and very soon.
She had been in India three entire days and the conversation she’d been waiting to have remained unbroached. She would have liked the meal to be special but this morning she hadn’t felt brave enough to give Rajiv a menu. Ten to one he would pretend he didn’t understand, or the food she chose would not be available. And then Anish had arrived and taken her to the bazaar and she’d pushed the thought of the meal to the back of her mind. So whatever Rajiv chose to cook tonight would have to suffice. And the food itself was unimportant, it was what she must say to Gerald that was vital. What would she say? How would she say it? She could begin perhaps by recounting the details of her day. He wouldn’t be interested in cottons and trimmings, she knew, but it might give her the confidence she needed, the courage to speak the difficult words.
The driver swerved to a halt in front of the bungalow and Gerald said something to him in Hindi.
‘He’ll be returning at five,’ he explained. And before she could question him further, he’d strode
