As he showed her around the predominantly blue and dusty arched hallways she gazed with genuine astonishment at beautifully crafted latticed screens with a design of foliage rising from a tall vase.
‘Thejali,’ he said. ‘These were the women’s quarters. The openwork screens allowed the women to see out without being seen themselves.’
Eliza’s first thought was that far from being kept behind a screen, Indira seemed keen to lead the way, occasionally placing a proprietorial hand on Jay’s arm. Nothing demure about Indira, she decided. Was the girl signalling her prior claim on the man? She certainly had no shame about touching him occasionally and Eliza wondered if the two might be lovers, or if Indira was some kind of concubine. Or maybe they were just behaving as if they were siblings? Then she remembered Laxmi had said the girl was a miniaturist, an artist of great talent.
‘We rarely use this place,’ he said. ‘So I am meeting a potential buyer while we’re here to raise funds. On my brother’s behalf. He doesn’t like to travel.’
‘You seem to have palaces everywhere.’
‘My family does, but I have just the one. You will love the arcaded loggia there, or perhaps I’m exaggerating and should call it a porch. The floors are white marble, but are now sadly crumbling.’ He sighed. ‘The whole place needs much restoration.’
‘It sounds beautiful.’
‘I need light and air with room to breathe, which our main castle with its maze of corridors and dark staircases doesn’t allow. On this point I fully agree with the British.’
On the terraced roof someone had laid out large cushions surrounded by flaming torches and on one side a screen of diaphanous curtains. The three made themselves comfortable and a feast of fruits, dahl, rice and meats was carried up by two young girls. Beneath the scattering of stars the scents of night drifted over and mingled with the aroma of food and their warm bodies. Touched by a disquieting sense of magic that surely had no place in the real world, Eliza gazed up. If anything the night shone brighter than the day, and, as the breeze gently blew, the screen of curtains fluttered. At risk of wanting to linger for ever, she had to remind herself she was not here to be seduced by the enchantment of India, but rather to capture it, and that the romance of the desert could, at a moment’s notice, be blackened by harsh sandstorms: that it could become the desert of death in the blink of an eye. And although the pulse of life beat strongly, if death lived on your doorstep it was little wonder you’d want to believe, as the Hindus did, that your life simply completed one leg of a journey towards oneness with the universe. At that moment Indira began to sing a sad lyrical-sounding song that touched Eliza so deeply, she couldn’t prevent a rising sense of envy at yet another of this girl’s talents.
4
‘I’m sorry we didn’t get to say hello at the polo match but I am so pleased to meet you,’ the tall, dark-haired woman was saying as she held out a hand, her bright blue eyes shining with pleasure. ‘Anyway, I’m Dottie. Dottie Hopkins.’
Eliza had arrived at a cocktail party consisting of a small gathering of British people, held at Clifford’s villa on the smarter side of town. The interior, as she had expected, was elegant and filled with sunlight. The large French windows had been thrown open, the scent of freshly mown grass drifting in and mingling with cigar smoke. But for the heat she could have been in a British country house on a summer’s day.
‘Your husband did a good job with that poor woman,’ Eliza said.
‘Yes, it was all a bit awful really. She was incredibly lucky it wasn’t worse. Did you stay to the end?’
‘Yes, but because Clifford had to rush off when it finished, so did I.’
‘He needed to investigate foul play, I imagine. My husband tells me there had been. Though it’s all blown over now. They think it was something to do with those British hangers-on. Anyway, Clifford won’t want a fuss made if it was down to one of us.’
Eliza remembered what she had thought she’d seen. It was probably nothing, but she would certainly keep her wits about her at the castle.
‘Now, I hope we will become great friends. We live next door.’ Dottie gave a little smile. ‘So you know where to come, you know, if …’
‘Indeed,’ Eliza said, and returned Dottie’s warm smile. The woman was possibly in her late thirties, had kind eyes, and a firm handshake.
‘Clifford has told us so much about you.’
‘Has he?’ Eliza said and felt surprised.
‘I do admire you. I’d be terrified to go off on my own as you have. I didn’t even know women could be photographers. How did you get into it?’
Eliza smiled. ‘We were on our honeymoon in Paris, my late husband, Oliver, and I, when we went to two or three exhibitions.’
‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you … One of the exhibitions was photography. Something just clicked inside my head when I heard a woman photographer talking about her work, and when Oliver saw how enamoured I was he bought me my first camera as a wedding present. I owe it to him really, though I still have a lot to learn. Anyway, I hope to make a decent fist of it here.’
Dottie smiled. ‘I’m sure you will.’
Eliza didn’t speak but gave a little nod to acknowledge Dottie’s comment.
‘Well, you’re brave. I can see that. What’s it like? I’m positively itching to know.’
‘The castle?’
‘We haven’t lived here that long but I’ve been there, of course, though just as a visitor, usually when there’s adurbaror something like that. It must be utterly fascinating to live there.’
