‘I signed the papers,’ he said, trying to lift his head. ‘We did it.’
She looked at him and couldn’t help smiling. ‘You almost get killed and the first thing you say to me is that you signed the papers?’
He almost smiled back, but then he seemed to shrink back into the ground and was gone again. She had been holding back tears but now they began to spill.
‘He’s still breathing?’ the doctor asked as he knelt beside Eliza.
‘He hasn’t stopped breathing at all,’ she said, clutching at any chance of hope in the midst of this. ‘What’s the matter with him? He will be all right, won’t he?’
‘I can’t tell yet.’ He listened to Jay’s chest, then glanced up at her. ‘Breathing a little weak and heart racing. You know this man?’
‘He’s Jayant Singh Rathore, a Raja from Juraipore.’
‘And you are?’
‘A friend,’ she said, but she wanted to sayI am the one who loves him.
‘Well, it’s a hospital bed for him.’
‘Can I come?’ She paused. ‘Please?’
‘It’s a little irregular, as you’re not family, but as you seem to know him, then very well.’
At the hospital Eliza did not leave Jay’s side. For the rest of that day and overnight she sat alone on a wooden straight-backed chair, trying very hard not to weep in front of anyone.You have to live, she whispered, as time distilled into this one moment.You have to live. You cannot die.That this strong, wonderful man could have been felled like this was unbearable, and she held on to the fact that he was young and healthy. If anyone could pull through surely it was he. But every hour that went by brought no sign of improvement. She watched for his grey cheeks to change in colour, or for the sign of blood returning to his whitened lips, or the slightest, just the very slightest, flutter of his eyelashes. But still there was nothing. He remained pale and barely alive.
As she sat she thought of Clifford. And then she thought of her mother, also lying ill in a hospital bed. Until that moment her mother had completely gone out of her mind. Whatever happened, she would still have to leave.
The next day she asked a nurse to organize a telegram to be sent to Laxmi and then the doctor sent her back to the hotel. She still had to eat and sleep, he said. And she tried to do both. She really did. But the food turned her stomach, and when she attempted to sleep she woke, hot and sweaty, her disturbed mind exploding with anxiety. And it was only then that she realized her prints might have all been destroyed in the explosion and the plates with them.
After just a few hours of this hopeless attempt at resting, she washed, changed her clothes and went down to the hotel foyer to ask if the tickets had arrived, praying that they had not. When the receptionist handed Eliza an envelope she tore it open. The train tickets were for that evening. In just two hours’ time. She raced up the stairs, packed, and then a driver took her back to the hospital. She had to see Jay before she left. Had to know if he would be all right.
When she arrived the doctor took her aside. He led her into an office and indicated that she was to sit. ‘He has recovered consciousness.’
She drew in her breath sharply and her eyes began to fill.
‘He has sustained an internal injury but I have hopes he will recover.’
She covered her mouth to hide the trembling.
‘He’s very weak but he has been asking for you. Please don’t tire him. Although I have explained a little of what happened, at the moment he remembers nothing of the fire. Please don’t say anything that might upset him at this stage.’
She nodded, her heart swelling with a mixture of hope and fear.
‘I’ll let you have a few minutes and then I’ll come and get you. He’s still in a fragile state, you understand.’
She nodded and brushed her stupid tears away. He was alive. He would live. That was all that mattered. She wanted to run to his bedside but took several long deep breaths, got up from the chair and forced herself to walk calmly and with her head erect. She felt a lump develop in her throat but told herself to remain calm, as Laxmi would have been.
When she reached the bedside his eyes were closed and for an awful moment she feared the doctor had been wrong, and that he would not recover at all, but he must have heard her pull up a chair because he opened his eyes. His skin was a better colour now and so were his lips. She absorbed that quickly, all the time really only looking at his eyes for signs of recognition.
‘Eliza.’
She swallowed the lump in her throat and her eyes blurred. His voice had been soft and low and it made her want to wrap him in her arms and hold him tight until he was strong again.
‘Don’t speak if it tires you,’ she said.
‘I don’t know why it happened but suddenly Clifford Salter arranged my release.’
She reached out to him. He held her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. There was a long silence during which he closed his eyes and she continued to hold his hand.
