Authors: Joya Victoria
“Oh, Aunt Dolly,” she cried out in desperation. “I am so very unhappy.”
Dolly was really very upset and taken aback at seeing this tearful Miranda, a girl who was so full of life, so vibrant and vivacious. What had happened to her? What was the matter with her beloved niece? She was so very fond of Miranda and seeing her in this state really upset her considerably. Was it Derek? It must be him, she was sure. And here she was planning a wedding. She was hoping to hear some good news, but this? From the time Mary had rung and informed her that Miranda was with Derek, Dolly was sure of wedding bells. She had to make Miranda speak.
Dolly went over to the weeping Miranda and held her in her arms and slowly rocked her gently. Miranda snuggled close to her aunt and buried her face in her ample bosom. Tears streamed down her face, but she would not utter one word. Dolly waited patiently, coaxing Miranda gently to speak. The more she asked the more the tears flowed and Miranda clung all the more to her aunt. Dolly decided to telephone Mary but not within earshot of Miranda. It was a while before the tears stopped flowing and Miranda lifted her head. Looking at her tear-strained face broke Dolly’s heart.
“It’s Derek, isn’t it?” she asked ever so gently.
Miranda nodded. “It’s a silly thing,” she said and tried to brush it off.
Her aunt would not be brushed off so easily, however. She wanted to know what had really occurred and why Miranda was so unhappy.
Pushing her aunt off ever so gently, Miranda made her way to her room to make that all-important call to Mary. With her heart pounding, she lifted the receiver to dial Mary’s number.
In the meantime Dolly was quicker than Miranda and had gotten to Mary first. Dolly had already gotten off the phone with Mary by the time Miranda dialed Mary’s number to ask her when could she see her. She felt much better after that call, though what she was going to achieve she hadn’t the foggiest.
What in the world was wrong with this man, Dolly was wondering. Tom was of no use. Whom should she talk to? Whenever Miranda saw Derek she came back sad and despondent.
Dolly knocked on Miranda’s door. “I forgot to tell you, dear,” she said as she was walking into the room in her cotton-printed frock; it was so hot and, being slightly overweight, she felt it a bit more!
“Your friend Charu called, from somewhere near Singapore. They are coming over to spend a few days with Derek.”
Miranda looked at her aunt, rather surprised. “Charu and Charles?” she repeated.
Apparently Charu had phoned to inform Miranda that they were arriving within the next few days to spend some time with Derek and to see Miranda at the same time. They couldn’t have come at a worse time, Miranda thought to herself. Charu, Charles, and Derek. All very rich, and Charu married. She would have to put up a very friendly and brave front and again make a foursome with Derek and them. Maybe she would leave for England within a few days and escape meeting them. Her heart was pounding. She felt sick, like throwing up.
Aloud she said, “That’s nice,” with very little enthusiasm. Anyway, she was looking forward to next day and her rendezvous with Mary. Derek would not be a mystery anymore. Why was he so—what was the word—
erratic
in his behavior? As if he were two personalities trapped in one. Amiable, kind, and even humorous, but certain words and gestures triggered a little “something” in him and that was it! He was very fond of her, she knew that much, but why did he not want to commit himself? Was it Hannah? Was there “something” between them that made it impossible? Anyway, there was no use speculating. All would be revealed, she felt sure, tomorrow morning.
A restless night again, tossing and turning in her soft double bed. Miranda was wide-awake most of the night. Very early in the morning she could hear the chirping of the birds, the only sound at that time of morning. It was almost musical, the silence broken only by the singing of the birds. She could hear them frolicking around on the veranda that her wide heavy bedroom doors opened onto. Moving the mosquito net aside, she got out of bed and walked toward the outer door in her thin cotton nightie. Opening the door ever so softly, trying not to frighten the birds away, she stepped out. The morning air had an almost an ethereal feel. She breathed in deeply, drinking in the fresh, cool, unpolluted air, filling her lungs with it. Soon all the activities would start, since life here started early. She wanted to enjoy the solitude, wanted to think. The hubub of the daily activities was a bit of a hindrance.
Miranda walked languidly across the floor toward one of the comfortable cane chairs that was nearest to the creeping bougainvillea plant with beautiful pink flowers. This was the day, she thought to herself. Miranda had arranged to meet Mary for coffee at eleven in the morning. “Girlie talk,” Mary had said with a giggle. Lovely, kind, and friendly Mary. She was pretty in her own way. She always had a welcoming attitude, and James doted on her. They made a lovely couple pity they had no children.
Aunt Dolly had told Miranda in confidence that Mary and James were going to see some specialist in London next time they went home. Miranda felt her thoughts were straying. She was about to get up and go indoors when a sudden scream broke the stillness of the morning, a piercing shriek. Where had it come from? One moment it was so quiet and the next this heart-wrenching scream. She stood up with a jolt. She craned her neck out to see across the green lawn but could see nothing. Suddenly it all went quiet as suddenly as the scream had started. Then she could hear voices, people running, toward what or whom she did not know. Miranda went briskly into her bedroom. The room was still dark as the heavy brocade curtains had not been drawn. Grabbing her blue cotton housecoat from where she had flung it carelessly on the chintz chaise lounge, she ran
downstairs. Her aunt and uncle were both outside, her aunt still trying to tie the sash of her housecoat.
“Ah, there you are, Mira!” she said, glancing toward Miranda.
“Good morning,” Miranda answered. “I heard an awful scream,” she said.
“I’ve sent one of the servants to find out,” Tom replied, looking rather worried. He dug his hands further into his dressing-gown pocket. His eyes were fixed on the white wooden gate, waiting expectantly for some news, any news.
Aunt Dolly suggested they all go in and have a cup of tea in the meantime. The sun was already creeping up, and the eastern sky was a shimmering gold. The morning air had a feel of freshness about it, and it was cool. The day was going to be hot and sultry, what a contrast!
The telephone rang. Aunt Dolly was nearest to the phone; they had all trooped into the spacious dining room by then.
“Hello,” she said. “Mary! What is it, Mary?” She sounded concerned. “James?”
Aunt Dolly flopped down in the nearest chair to listen.
“What’s happened to James?” she asked.
“Nothing has happened to James,” Mary said.
Apparently James was going to the clinic early and Mary was accompanying him. One of the tea garden workers had been bitten by a snake and was being rushed to the hospital, and that was the scream they had heard. His wife was distraught as she assumed there was no hope for him to survive. Mary had rung to apologize as she could not meet Miranda that morning, she had to assist James. It was a wonder that the man was alive; thank God they’d had the presence of mind to tie a tourniquet to prevent the poison from traveling up. But how extensive his injury was they did not know. She was in a rush and would speak to Mira later, and with that, the line went dead. She had hung up.
Miranda looked at Aunt, and Aunt, replacing the receiver, looked at Miranda. She could see the disappointment etched across Miranda’s face. Miranda looked absolutely and utterly crestfallen. She had been so looking forward to this meet with Mary—well, it was not
to be. Dolly’s heart went out to this lovely young girl. Dolly knew why Miranda was going to meet Mary; she didn’t have to be told. It was obvious. Slowly and with a little difficulty, as her arthritis was acting up again, Dolly went across to where Miranda was sitting at the big mahogany dining table with her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. Dolly put her arm around the girl’s shoulder, and Miranda burst into tears. Uncle Tom was absolutely nonplussed. He didn’t have the foggiest.
Why was Miranda crying? Had the snake episode moved her that much? He looked questioningly at his wife, rummaging in his pocket for his pipe, which unfortunately he had left in his bedroom. Dolly shook her head, and raising an eyebrow she asked him to leave the room, a silent command that Tom obeyed very reluctantly. After all, he was waiting for the servant to bring in the tea! Women, he mused. God only could read them. Crying over the snake incident! Really. These city women, slightest thing, they went off the handle. She had so much to learn! But now the first and foremost was his pipe. A smoke would do him a world of good, although Dolly kept on nagging him. “Give it up,” she would say, “Give it up,” but who listened? Not he! He grinned to himself mischievously. A single puff would open up his gray cells, to quote the famous detective Mr Hercule Poirot, the fictional Belgian detective created by Agatha Christie.
7
THE PART Y. THAT
was the topic of conversation everywhere, anywhere, wherever one went.
“Have you heard…” and so on and so forth. The Planters Club, the center of local gossips, was full of it. People telephoned each other with the latest. Apparently fresh flowers were being flown by private plane from Calcutta. Two master chefs were being flown in from Calcutta too. They would be staying for a week to organize the food. The ingredients were being brought in from somewhere. A band was coming over from Goa, and a huge marquee was being erected in the garden. Thank God the monsoon season was over, and now it was a rather fresh and cool October.
All this sounded extremely grand and expensive, but when you were Derek Chowdhury all was possible. This very chic, expensive party was being thrown by Derek in honor of his friends Charles and Charu who were visiting him for a few days. He was organizing the event for the newlyweds. It was the talk of the town. Miranda heard about it, and her uncle and aunt heard about it. A special invitation had been hand delivered, though not by Derek himself. Miranda was a bit hurt and surprised. The friends were not only his but they were hers too. Why was she being ignored? Was she being ignored? Or was it a figment of her imagination? Her name was included on the invitation card; what more did she expect? In a very small way, she had hoped and wished that Derek himself had personally come to invite them.
Charu telephoned Miranda from Singapore and informed her that they were on their way to India and were looking forward to seeing Miranda; she was so looking forward to it that she did not have the words to express herself! And that same evening brought her another surprise! Derek dropped in, unannounced. They had not seen each other in the last three weeks. Miranda could count the time up to the last minute. The handsome Derek, looking ever so tanned and muscular. She had forgotten how good-looking he was. He sauntered in with his usual confident and casual gait.
Seeing him in the drawing room, Miranda’s heart gave a lurch. She stifled a cry. They were not expecting him, and seeing him there in person was a big surprise. Derek had even missed the club nights these last few weeks, where usually everybody who was anybody congregated. Miranda had felt slighted, as if he had purposely not turned up just to avoid her.
It was evening and they were having a few drinks when Derek arrived. Uncle Tom immediately offered him a drink, but Aunt Dolly was slightly, ever so slightly, cold in her greeting. “Hello, Derek,” she said with a frosty smile. “Haven’t seen you around for a while. Everything working out all right? For the party, I mean,” she added hastily.
Uncle Tom offered Derek a whisky, which he politely declined. But Tom would not have it. “A small whisky, a chota?” he inquired, coaxing Derek to have a small one.
Derek gave in and sat down. He crossed his long legs at the ankles and stretched out in the comfortable chair. He felt very comfortable in their drawing room, in their presence. Having known Dolly and Tom for years he was at ease. He knew that he did not have to stand on any ceremony with them, and also they were not in awe of him and took him for what he was, another planter, one of them, not as the scion of a very rich family.
He was so tired that evening. Mira was sitting opposite him in the big airy sitting room, very demure and concentrating very hard on the intricate pattern of the carpet. Derek glanced at her.
The lovely pale-yellow silk curtains were moving slowly in unison in the soft evening breeze. It was the tail end of the monsoon, Derek
felt relaxed. He was deep in thought. He didn’t say much but replied to Tom’s irrelevant questions about the garden, and had he heard about the chap who was bitten by a snake, small talk. He had something on his mind, which was noticeable. Thank God Tom and his wife left them alone for a while. It had all been engineered by Dolly! She suddenly stood up and beckoned poor Tom to follow her as if there were something very urgent he had to see no doubt Dolly was instrumental in instigating this sudden disappearance. Tom followed her with a bewildered look, but follow he did, surprise written all over his face!
He was at a loss, poor Tom. The poor girl bursting into tears for the man who was bitten by a snake a few days ago, now Dolly making eyes at him, silently beckoning him to follow her? What was the matter with everybody? All whispers and tears! He wished someone would enlighten him!
However, in the meantime, Derek could not bring himself to utter one word. He was usually not tongue-tied, far from it. Glancing at Miranda, seeing her sitting there, so lovable and sweet, helpless and disarming, he wanted to go over and hold her in his arms and never let her go. He wanted them to be an item, wanted to tell the world that she belonged to him. But circumstances were holding him back. But was it circumstances or was it his own foolhardiness? What could he do? Would he make a clean breast of the whole damn thing or hold his tongue?