A slicing pain in Eliza’s chest almost stopped her breath, the guilt over her father and Oliver now compounded by this. She had been a terrible daughter, abandoning her mother at the worst possible moment, and she felt utterly wretched. Her poor mother must be feeling terribly frightened, so of course she must return to look after Anna in her final days. There was no choice, and yet she couldn’t help remembering how she had tried to persuade her mother to reduce her drinking. Had hidden the bottles, had watched over her, had stayed awake at night listening for the sound of her mother’s frantic search for alcohol. Nothing had helped. Anna Fraser had been hell-bent on self-destruction, and how could she ever find the strength to give up the gin when she had nothing to take its place? Eliza had seen the way her mother used alcohol to block out her loneliness and the inner demons that had haunted her life. In her darkest moments Eliza also knew that her mother’s alcoholism was an illness of mind, body and emotion. There was no medical help to be had, no organization to help; her mother had been left to drown in her own addiction while the rest of the world looked on and called her spineless. Eliza had thought her weak too – a mercurial alcoholic, impossible to manage. But maybe Eliza’s father had not been blameless. Perhaps Anna hadn’t lied and it wasn’t his death that had triggered Anna’s descent but his infidelity? Andmore. Whatever themorehad been.
She went to her wardrobe and glanced inside, sniffing the scent of mothballs. She touched the silk dress Clifford had given her. So beautiful. So perfect. As she read the letter again, it occurred to her that she’d been living in a fool’s paradise. Jay came into her mind and she shook her head. Though torn between helping the man she loved and her poor mother, dying alone and unloved, she knew where her duty lay. With one last look at the view from her window, Eliza began to cry.
27
Eliza had barely slept and in the morning her decision loomed large. In the end there really was just this one last thing she could do for Jay before she left for England. With a terribly heavy heart she would do what Laxmi had asked of her. First she dressed in a conventional European dress with a nipped-in waist and little collar, then she tied up her hair. After that she stepped into her best pair of high heels, dabbed on some rouge and a light lipstick, sprayed the last of her Chanel No. 5 behind her ears, and gathered her courage.
She had requested a car, and as she waited at the castle gates she thought of her time there, from the moment she had arrived, nervous and uncertain about what the future might hold, right up to the awful sight of Jay being taken away. The months had been filled with ups and downs, but more than anything she would always remember the joy that she could never have imagined possible. And yet here she was now and nothing had really changed.
The car arrived, and sooner than she might have wished she was deposited at the entrance to the Residency. Before she knocked at the door she glanced back at the town. This was an elegant area of smarthaveliswhere the rich merchants lived and where a few British buildings stood resolute, surrounded by lush gardens heavy with the scent of flowers. She took a deep breath. If she tapped quietly the butler wouldn’t hear and she would not have to go through with it. She wanted to turn back the clock: to return to the days she’d spent with Jay at his palace – the happiest days of her life – but there was no going back. There never was, no matter how much you railed or pleaded against the march of your own fate. And it was her fate that, after everything, she must do this. She didn’t tap quietly but rapped on the door with her knuckles. What was the point of delaying the inevitable?
After the butler had shown her to the shade under the veranda at the back of the house, she arranged herself carefully and, sitting up stiffly, managed to control her emotions. She watched the birds pecking at the gravel path and looked up at the patches of blue between the branches of the frangipani tree. The place was a riot of flowers, and Eliza wondered how Clifford managed to use enough water to keep them so fresh. There was very little breeze and she was already feeling the heat. She glanced around, wondering if she could just get up and walk indoors. There would be a fan inside if nothing else.
The butler brought out a jug of iced lime soda and two crystal glasses on a silver tray.
‘Master is coming,’ he said, and gave Eliza a little bow.
She heard footsteps and twisted back to see Clifford, looking rather red in the face.
‘Damn heat,’ he said, as he sat opposite her. ‘We’ll drink this and then go in, if it’s all right with you.’
‘Absolutely.’
They didn’t speak for a few minutes and Eliza enjoyed the feel of the cold glass against her overheated palm. She wanted to roll it across her forehead, where she could already feel the beginning of a heat-induced headache, but did not. It wasn’t just the heat: Eliza’s neck and shoulders were rigid with tension. Could she go through with this? Every cell in her body was telling her to leave, but she remained calmly seated, hoping none of the inner turmoil was showing.
‘So, indoors now?’ he said, and held out a hand to her.
She nodded and allowed him to escort her inside to the small sitting room where she had waited once before.
He indicated that she was to sit, so she sank back into a deeply overstuffed armchair with cushions that swallowed her. A mistake, she thought, and pulled herself up to perch on the chair’s edge instead. It was essential to remain upright and in control.
‘The summer will be hell, won’t it?’ she said.
‘Well, I did offer you Shimla,’ he said, his face impassive.
‘I know.’
There was a long uncomfortable silence during which Eliza thought of ways to frame her speech. In the end she decided to just come out with it.
‘Clifford.’ She swallowed rapidly before continuing. This was it. No going back. ‘I would like to take you up on your other offer, if it still stands.’
He frowned.
‘What I mean is –’
‘I think I know what you mean.’
‘So?’
He looked completely taken aback, and for a moment Eliza thought she might be too late. She looked at him, hoping for some response, but couldn’t read the expression on his face.
‘Clifford, I’m saying I accept your offer of marriage.’ She paused. ‘If you will have me.’
He was still looking at her without speaking, but then he smiled. ‘I knew you’d come round, old girl.’
Internally she winced at the expression but tried not to show how much she disliked it.
He got to his feet and then came across to where she still perched stiff, strained and sad. He seemed not to notice any of that.
