A Sahib's Daughter (30 page)

He drove her to the Taj Tandoor, a new Indian restaurant on the Lisburn Road.

“Let’s just order everything we need,” he said. “My parents will never know you didn’t cook it.”

A grateful Samira hugged and kissed him. “You are so devious and so clever. Thank you, darling!”

Irene and Edward arrived on time, excited about the meal. The house was immaculate. Justin was watching television and drinking a bottle of beer, and Samira wore an apron over her expanding bump. There was a faint smell of spices and charring in the air. After a couple of drinks, they moved to the dining room.

“I’m starving,” said Irene. “I’ve been looking forward to this for days.”

They had chicken curry, spicy potatoes and lentils served with a colorful vegetable pulao, all of it cooked to perfection. Justin and Samira ate heartily, hungry for Indian food. Edward and Irene started somewhat gingerly, but then dug in, appreciating the spicy flavors. Samira spooned more pulao rice onto their plates, delighted that they were enjoying it.

“This is absolutely delicious,” said Edward.

“Yes, well done, Samira,” said Irene. “Everything is wonderful. So clever of you. How on earth did you manage to cook the rice in all those different colors?”

The grains were green, yellow and orange with vegetables mixed in.

Samira stared at her, at a loss for words. She’d eaten multi-colored pulao all her life without ever wondering or knowing how it was done.

“Er, well, I just used colors, and…and…different spices.” It was hopeless. She was not a good liar.

“We cooked the colors separately and then blended them,” said Justin “It’s not as difficult as it looks.”

Samira shot him a grateful look and mouthed, “Thank you.”

Irene continued to eat with relish, oblivious to Samira’s discomfiture. When she said she’d love the recipes as they took their leave, Samira handed her the Indian recipe book with a flourish.

“Keep it,” she said. “It’s a gift.” She was done with Indian cooking!

The baby was due at the end of April, Dr. Gibbons said. All the tests came back normal, and there was no reason why she shouldn’t deliver a healthy child. The doctor recommended gentle exercise and a healthy diet. He suggested the hospital in Downpatrick for the birth and said that she would go there for her checkups when she was further on in her pregnancy.

She booked trunk calls to Prava’s neighbor several times but kept getting cut off by the operator. Her parents said they would call as soon as the phone company connected them. Everything moved at a snail’s pace in India. So she had to content herself with writing letters. She and Justin decided it would be best for her to have the baby in Ireland and return to India when it was one or two months old. She persuaded Justin that they should marry in Darjeeling a few months after the birth. It would make no difference to the child, and she was not in the right state of mind for a wedding right now.

She walked miles every day, as recommended by Dr. Gibbons, and became a familiar figure in the town. She learned all the streets and ventured farther each day. Sometimes, Justin accompanied her, but it seemed he always had better things to do. Although she was accustomed to a lonely lifestyle, it felt like she was always alone these days. She went to the library several times a week and started to re-read the English classics just as she had promised herself, gaining a new appreciation and insight into the books she’d studied. She was looking forward to visiting her Aunt Pauline in Bray and meeting her father’s one remaining relative.

Chapter 24

Northern Ireland, Ireland, 1979

Irene had come to terms from an early age with the fact that she was not, and never would be, a beautiful woman. She realized that there were aspects of her appearance she would never be able to change. Her eyes were set a little too close to each other, her nose was too wide and her lips too narrow. She waged a lifelong battle against freckles, which she had to an extent won with the assistance of a particular Elizabeth Arden concealer that she reserved for special occasions. She had long abandoned hope of ever shedding any of her bulk. There were few pleasures left at her stage of life and with Edward’s inadequacies in certain quarters, food and drink were one of the few remaining to her. Moreover, over the years, she had acquired an impressive collection of corsets. The support they gave to her lower body helped to emphasize the size of her massive chest. When she emerged in one of her carefully planned ensembles, she stood out from other women, flamboyant, larger than life and supremely confident.

And while there were aspects of her face and her figure she was unable to improve, there was one feature she could absolutely and utterly control and that was her hair. The vicious auburn of her youth had been tempered into a soft, strawberry blonde. Regular visits to her beauty salon ensured that her hair was always permed and set. It developed a life of its own and sat on top of her homely face like a shining Olympic torch.

Part of her psyche was her need to feel superior to certain individuals, particularly women. Whatever measure of superiority she was not able to impose by her appearance or her intellect, which was somewhat limited, she inflicted through sarcasm and innuendo. For some unknown reason, one of her acquaintances that she felt most compelled to impress was the unfortunate Bernadette McIlroy. It might have been because of her extreme thinness, or her large purple eyes, but in all probability, the reason for her resentment towards Bernadette was that Irene could not forgive her for having a daughter who hadn’t been able to give her grandchildren.

Three years after Lorraine’s death, her irrational resentment of Bernadette persisted. And now that it had come to light that the doctors had been wrong in their diagnosis of Justin’s infertility, she wanted to somehow make it known to her that their childlessness could not be attributed to him. Once the thought took root in her mind, she couldn’t shake it off, regardless of the fact that Lorraine had passed away. She felt she had to find some means of communicating to Bernadette that her son was capable of fathering a child.

She devised some reason to be in their neighborhood off the Lisburn Road in Belfast the following day and casually suggested to Edward they should visit the McIlroys, as they were so close. Naturally, she had taken pains to present herself faultlessly for the occasion. As luck would have it, Bernadette and Toby were both home. It was three in the afternoon, and they were about to have tea.

Bernadette was dressed in a form-fitting, burgundy velour pantsuit that only someone with her petite figure could carry off. She was oblivious to Irene’s efforts to supersede her, which only incited Irene even further.

There was an awkward silence after pleasantries were exchanged. Finally, Edward cleared his throat and said,

“We didn’t know if you heard but Justin’s home on leave.”

No, they hadn’t heard, they said, and hoped he was keeping well.

“Actually, he’s engaged to be married,” Irene said. “We felt we should tell you personally.”

“Oh, I see,” said Toby. “Is he engaged to someone local?”

“No, not local,” said Irene. “She’s a British tea planter’s daughter, and her mother, well, actually she’s an Indian aristocrat from a Himalayan kingdom.”

Edward shot her a sharp look. It was the first he’d heard of any such thing.

“Ach, that’s lovely,” said Bernadette. “We hope he’ll be very happy.”

“Indeed, she’s a lovely wee girl, so she is,” said Edward.

“So, she’s here with him? You’ve met her?” Toby asked.

“Aye, we have. And she’s expecting a child. It’s due in April.
His
child.” Irene looked with triumph at Bernadette, who paled as she digested the implications of what Irene had said.

“But, but, didn’t the doctors all say,” her voice trailed off. “That it was because… because of Justin that they couldn’t….”

“That they did,” said Edward, beginning at last to understand why his wife had wanted this visit.

Bernadette sat quietly, her knuckles white. Toby reached over and patted her hand.

“But it seems they were wrong,” said Irene, unable to resist, “so it must not have been Justin’s fault.”

The unspoken implication hung in the air, too awful even for Irene to mouth, ‘And therefore the fault must have been Lorraine’s.’

“Well, there you are now,” Toby said, standing up. “It was good of you to come and see us and share your good news. Please give our best to Justin.”

Realizing that they were being dismissed, Irene put her tea cup down noisily. She stood up and picked up her handbag. Now that she had made her point, she began to mourn the loss of Lorraine. She put her arms around Bernadette with tears in her eyes.

“Ach, we miss wee Lorraine every day of our lives, every single day.”

It seemed her capacity for grief was more intense than anyone else’s, and it was she who was seeking consolation from Bernadette.

“Come along, dear.” Edward led her away, seeing the look on Bernadette’s face.

“Good-bye. Thank you for the tea.”

He was silent in the car, a silence learned from years of living with Irene. It was pointless to ever say anything because he would never win.

“Ach, well. I thought they would appreciate a visit from us,” Irene said. “Toby needs to learn some manners. But what can you expect from such a family? Justin has found someone of his own level now. Poor wee Bernadette, though, such a frail, unhealthy little thing, just like her daughter.”

Samira was finally on the train to Dublin, visiting her Aunt Pauline. It was the end of February, and Samira never dreamed that it would be this long before she saw her. In October, Pauline and Sean went to their timeshare in the Canary Islands. In November, Rachel came to visit and gave Samira the opportunity to see some of Ireland. It was a happy time. Justin and the two ladies had jumped into the car and driven around the province, staying in quaint bed-and-breakfasts. They checked into a pretty cottage outside Ballycastle and were shown their rooms by a dour, bearded farmer. The inside of the house was nothing like the charming pictures they had seen in the bed and breakfast guide. The bedrooms were musty, and cats perched on every available surface.