Thursday's Child (8 page)

‘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immediately after the funeral, and there had certainly been a funeral the day before, a funeral during which love had been replaced by hate and then by pity – pity for Barney, pity for Angela, pity for myself.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 of his forehead.

‘Peggie, in one month's time I have to return to India.'

‘So soon?' I asked in astonishment.

‘Yes, my Queen, I have obtained a post at the new power station at Pandipura, near Shahpur – where Chundabhai
lives – and I must start work in two months' time.'

‘But, darling …' I expostulated. I got no further, the rest of what I was about to say being smothered in a kiss. It was the first time I had used an endearment when speaking to him, and he was delighted. I had to laugh. He had picked just the right second in which to kiss me – the barmaid had bent down beneath her counter to put away a glass.

‘Darling,' I protested, fighting my way free, ‘not in public.' I relieved him of the poker which he had been brandishing in the air.

He immediately let go of me. ‘I am sorry,' he said, looking very crestfallen.

I slipped my hand into his and said: ‘You are sweet – and don't be sorry – the kiss meant a great deal to me –' I stammered and could feel the colour mounting to my cheeks.

‘I understand,' he said. ‘It was naughty of me – in Bombay I would have been liable to a fine for such behaviour.'

‘It was a little naughty – but very nice,' I said. ‘Now, tell me about your return home.'

He did not immediately reply to my prompting about his journey home. After a moment or two, he said slowly: ‘I have not yet told my father about my marriage to you.'

‘How could you? You have only today asked me.'

‘I have had the intention for twelve months,' he said calmly.

I grinned. I could imagine it. Although his ideas erupted suddenly into words, it was obvious that much preparatory thought had been given to them. I was glad that he, at least, had given thought to our marriage; I was still bewildered at the change he had brought into my life and at my temerity in accepting his proposal.

‘Are you going to write to your father now?'

He did not answer the question directly, but said:

‘My father will not wish us to marry. He will wish me to have a bride of his own choice from our own caste. It is possible that he will be most angry.'

I knew that the old customs were dying out in India and I queried his remarks.

‘They are dying,' he said, ‘but still they linger in families. I love my parents and I do not wish their anger – but I love you more and am determined to marry you.' His face darkened as he said this and he put his arm round my waist. ‘Peggie,' he went on, his voice full of urgency, ‘marry me now, quickly. What has been done cannot be undone.'

I had heard of the power of Indian parents, and I asked him what his father was likely to do if he defied him, as he suggested.

‘I am fortunate,' said Ajit. ‘I have a post and do not have to depend on my family. I do not think Father will use his influence to have me dismissed – he will not wish to ruin me. We shall, therefore, be assured of our income.' He stirred uneasily and went on, ‘It must be hard for you to understand the tight bonds of an Indian family – here you leave your parents as a matter of course, but in India it is not so. It is the unity of our families which makes life bearable in a country where there is no other protection against catastrophe except the family.'

I thought this over. Then I asked: ‘Why don't you get a job in this country, where life is easier and a quarrel with your father would not affect you so much?'

‘Peggie, you have often told me of the difficulty of getting employment for coloured people in this city. You know the difficulties.'

I did know the difficulties. Although before the law all citizens had the same rights, when a man came before a prospective employer he had to balance his brown skin by being twice as good as the white man applying with him, even if they had been born and bred in the same district. It would be even more difficult for a foreigner. He might be lucky and obtain a post, but I writhed at the thought of the petty insults he might well have to endure from the men who served under him.

‘I do know,' I said, my mind made up. ‘We shall go to India, and we shall hope to win your parents' goodwill. You shall teach me carefully the customs of your caste, so that after a while people will half forget that I am English, and then perhaps your father will not be so angry and you can make peace with him.'

‘You are good,' he said. ‘You would not have to alter completely your way of life – you need only conform in public – perhaps wear a sari.'

His face cleared, and I said: ‘You are right about being married soon. We will put up the banns immediately and we can then be married a week before you go.'

‘What are banns?' he asked.

I explained about a registry office marriage. He was full of excitement. ‘I will go to the Registrar tomorrow,' he said. He squeezed me hard against him, and then got up abruptly, fumbling in his pocket for money to pay our bill.

We decided to go back to town by bus, and as we waited in the darkness at the bus stop near the inn, he came close to me and held me to him, and talked quietly about our future life together.

Our children could be Christians, he said, if I wished it, but he would prefer to bring them up as Hindus as they would have to live in India. This question had already occurred to me, and I said that they should be Hindus. I knew from previous conversations with Ajit that the rules of conduct laid down for Hindus were wise, and all I asked of Ajit was that what we taught our children should be free from corruption or bigotry.

He chuckled. ‘Don't be afraid,' he said, ‘and put out of your mind most missionary writings about us. You will find purity of thought in India as well as here.'

‘I shall be happy if our children are like you,' I said.

He trembled. ‘I am not good,' he said. ‘I … I want that we do not wait three weeks for our marriage.'

‘The time will go quickly,' I said, unclasping myself from him, as the lights of the bus swept us.

As the bus jogged back to town, I puzzled over the best way to break the news of my engagement at home. My head was heavy from lack of sleep and I could not think very well, so I decided to leave the question until the following day.

Knowing that Ajit's dragon did not provide supper, I insisted that he should come home for a meal.

As our shoes were dirty, we went in through the back
door. My heart was pattering and I think Ajit's must have been too, but Mother was too busy to notice any difference in us. She was just taking a pie out of the oven.

‘Come in, children,' she said. ‘I hoped you would come soon. I have made a pie for supper. Peggie, pass me that cloth. Ajit, I am glad you have come. Perhaps you would like a wash. Hang the rucksack on the door.' She flew round the kitchen like a plump robin.

Ajit smiled at her, his slow, sweet smile, and my heart leaped. I gave her the oven cloth and took the rucksack from Ajit and hung it on the hook which she had indicated.

Father came out of the living-room, the Sunday paper in his hand, his old leather slippers on his feet.

‘Hello,' he said. ‘Have a good day?'

Ajit assented. I looked at Father with new eyes while I said: ‘Yes, thank you, Daddy.' Father was getting on. Why, his hair was quite white; I had never noticed it before. It is going to hurt me to leave him, I thought, and a little pain nagged inside me when I realised that if I went to India it was possible that I would not see him again.

Mother did not give me much time to brood. ‘Wash your hands, Peggie,' she said, as she filled the kettle at the tap, ‘and lay the table for me.' To her, I was still a small girl, and I found myself thinking that I had been too long at home. It would be good for me to go away.

Ajit wiped his feet carefully on the mat by the kitchen door and went up the heavily carpeted staircase to the bathroom to wash, and then came down again to the living-room, where he sat down to chat with Father.

Father knew from experience that he would have to tell him to smoke before he would do so in front of an older man, so Father unscrewed his tobacco jar and passed it to Ajit. Ajit took out his old pipe and lovingly packed it with tobacco, while I laid the table and Father talked about the news in the paper.

‘I see Nehru has had another try at getting the Hindu Code Bill through parliament,' he said. ‘There is an article on how it would improve the status of women. What is the real status of a woman in India today?' he asked.

Ajit lit his pipe before answering.

‘It depends,' he said, ‘on the community to which they belong. They have equal rights with men before the law, they can vote and they can hold public office.' He leaned back in his easy chair and looked at the moulding on the ceiling. ‘The Code Bill would give them rights of divorce and inheritance – it will clarify their position generally.'

He went on slowly: ‘In our community, we are proud that our womenfolk are said to be the best taken care of in India. We do our best to see that they are nicely dressed and properly fed. We listen to them with respect, and in the home, of course, their rule is absolute.'

Father chuckled.

‘I am in the same boat,' he said, ‘ruled with a rod of iron by three women – they eat me out of house and home – and take all my clothing coupons into the bargain.'

I leaned over the back of his chair and pulled his hair, then fled to the kitchen as he rose in mock anger, brandishing his newspaper at me.

Ajit laughed, as I scuttled down the passage. I relieved Mother of our best silver teapot and carried it back into the living-room; Angela came in from church, looking wan and bored, and we all sat down to supper.

Afterwards, as we sat by the fire, I looked round the shabby comfortable room. Much of my life had been spent in it. I had done my homework on the oak table, cut out my first evening frock on the Axminster carpet, written up case histories as I sat by the fire while the guns outside roared and the shutters rattled, sewn two trousseaux under the light of the reading lamp; and now, in the same room, sat the man who was to take me away from it. What would he give me in its place? Would I, through days of heat, long for the steady warmth of our living-room fire, for the welcoming easy chair, for Father reading his endless history books and Mother doing her equally endless knitting? I must be mad, I thought, to want to leave such peace. But I did want to leave it – I felt stifled, penned in. I wanted to go out and know adventure, suffer hardship, be myself – not Mr and Mrs Delaney's elder daughter.

Angela had been talking about a conference she was to
attend in Manchester, and then we fell silent. I was feeling sleepy.

Suddenly I was roused to paralysed attention, when Ajit said: ‘Mr Delaney, Sir – Mrs Delaney, I want to ask you something of special importance.'

Mother looked up from her knitting pattern. ‘What is it, Ajit?' she asked.

Ajit took a long breath. ‘Today I asked Peggie to marry me and she accepted. I ask your blessing.'

‘Good heavens,' said Father, dropping his newspaper and clutching the arms of his chair. ‘Good heavens, boy.'

Mother and Angela turned to me and said in chorus: ‘Darling, how lovely.' Angela's face was lighted up with pleasure, and Mother took my hand and patted it: ‘I am so pleased.'

She beamed pointedly at Father, fearing that he would make a fuss.

Father looked at Mother furiously. There was a great fear in his expression. I am sure all the missionaries' appeals for funds, the whole text of ‘Mother India' and the contents of half a dozen books by British Army Colonels must have rushed into his mind at once, and he saw me facing all sorts of horrors, ranging from cholera epidemics to a sutti on Ajit's funeral pyre.