‘Not much to say, is there?’ she said, wanting to avoid spending time with him. While she had not enjoyed his contempt for the British when they’d met before, she did understand it, but this was not the time to argue the case for colonial departure or otherwise. In any case she pretty much agreed with him now.
He held up a hand. ‘I’m afraid there is.’
‘Oh?’
‘Let’s get some coffee and go on the terrace.’ She thought for a moment. With her emotions in turmoil, sharing a coffee with Dev did not appeal, yet she found herself agreeing. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what she saw in his eyes as he stood watching, but as she batted away a fly buzzing at her hairline, she wondered if it might be guilt.
They made their way to the terrace and, after a servant had brought out their coffee, she could see that something in Dev had changed. He looked smaller somehow and a little lost.
‘You have never liked me,’ she said.
‘It wasn’t you. I …’ He paused.
‘Then what?’
He hung his head for a moment or two and when he gazed up at her she saw his eyes were ringed with fatigue. ‘I really don’t know how to say this,’ he said in a terribly miserable tone of voice.
She smiled. ‘I have found that it is best to just come out with difficult things, whatever they are.’
As he inclined his head she wondered what could be so difficult.
‘I may have told you my father died,’ he said. ‘Well …’ He paused.
‘You said he wasn’t around,’ she prompted. ‘That it was just you and your mother.’
‘He did something, but for years and years I could never really face it. Then you arrived on the scene and, when I had to face you, it brought everything back.’
‘You’re not making any sense. I know Jay told me your father had been in trouble.’
Dev shook his head, then glanced across at the overgrown garden. ‘He ran away. We never knew where. Still don’t.’
‘But how is that anything to do with me?’
There was a long silence, during which Eliza fidgeted and Dev stared morosely at his fingers.
‘So?’ she eventually said.
Still nothing. She began to get to her feet.
‘No, wait,’ he said.
She looked at him. ‘For goodness’ sake, spit it out.’
‘Where will you go?’ he asked, indicating her packed bag.
‘I thought maybe Jaipore, take a few photographs of the pink city. I also have to go back to retrieve as much of my equipment as I can.’
He stared at her as if he hadn’t heard a word and then he spoke again. ‘It was my father who threw the bomb that killed your father.’
She sat down with a thud. ‘Say that again.’
‘My father killed your father. I’m so sorry, Eliza.’ He had spoken tonelessly, so much so that she had struggled to make sense of his words.
‘Are you sure?’
This was the strangest conversation she’d ever experienced, and with her heartbeat wildly fluctuating she pressed her palm against her chest. What was this? What did he mean? Her mind went shooting off, so that she hardly knew what to think or how to feel. The desert spun around her and though the clarity was missing, a chilly sensation on her skin told her that there was truth at the heart of this.
Still. ‘That can’t be right,’ she said.
