she had only the haziest notion what prompted her. ‘On the contrary, it sounds a very bad idea to me.’
‘That’s because you don’t know India. European women have to have guts to live here. They need that extra to stick it out and the mems are first class on fortitude. They have to be. To keep their children safe, they’re forced to send them home to England at an early age. There are thousands of child graves scattered across this country, you’ll find. But when parents and children meet years on, they hardly know each other. It’s a rotten choice, don’t you think? Return home with your offspring or slug it out by your husband’s side.’
Daisy acknowledged the truth of this but she was still smarting. ‘And what happens if you disagree and don’t follow their rules?’
‘You must, my dear, you must fit in. When you married, this is the life you chose. Attitudes may be changing. A few mems have taken up nursing or teaching, usually as voluntary work, but most are still stuck in the old ways. So be charming but vapid, that’s the ticket. Remember, women who are difficult or cause a scandal, damage their husbands’ prospects, and you wouldn’t want to do that, I’m sure.’
She wouldn’t, Daisy thought, but her new future was looking less than promising in all kinds of ways and by the time Sister Macdonald had pumped her hand in a hearty goodbye, she’d lost much of her enthusiasm for buying materials. But Sanjay was not going to allow a likely customer to escape so easily and she found herself spending the next thirty minutes in a daze, wandering back and forth with him among the rows of crowded trestles. The building was long and narrow, stretching far back, and with every counter they came upon, her memory of the nurse’s conversation faded a little, while her delight in the shop grew. So did painful indecision: cottons, fine lawns, embroidered materials and the most exquisite of silks all called to her. But the frugality she’d been forced to practise all her life prevented her losing her wits altogether, and she bought only cottons she thought would make into several frocks for the day and a length of silk for any formal occasion to which she was bidden. In the end she found she could not resist the splendid array of trimmings that Sanjay showed her, and squirrelled away several ribbons and a card of silver braid.
Flushed with success, she asked the shopkeeper for his pattern book. She would make a start this very day, once the sun’s warmth had begun to wane. Sanjay shook his head and instead showed her a picture from a magazine. She was repeating her request, thinking he’d not understood her, when a voice from the front of the shop called her name.
‘Miss Driscoll?’
She was taken aback to see Grayson Harte standing a few feet away. When they’d spoken on the ship, he’d told her little of his plans and she hadn’t realised that he, too, was headed for Jasirapur. If she’d thought about his destination at all, it would have been to imagine him many miles away by now. His tall, slim figure looked absurdly cool in linen slacks and a short-sleeved shirt, as though the punishing heat of the bazaar had decided not to take up his time but instead slide gently from his shoulders.
‘Mr Harte, how nice to see you. But I’m no longer Miss Driscoll. I’ve become Mrs Mortimer since we last met.’ If only in name, she thought, and blushed slightly.
‘Of course, forgive me. You were to be married immediately we docked, now I remember.’
‘Mr Harte …’
‘Grayson,’ he corrected.
‘I wonder if you could help me, Grayson? I can’t make this gentleman understand that I need paper patterns for the materials I’ve bought.’
He stepped forward and spoke in what Daisy imagined was fluent Hindi. ‘You don’t need a pattern apparently,’ he translated. ‘You choose a picture that you like, a dress you see illustrated in a magazine, for instance—like the one Sanjay was showing you—and the durzi will make it for you.’
Her mouth fell open at this news. ‘It is pretty amazing, isn’t it,’ he went on. ‘I knew you could get a suit made in that fashion, but I wondered whether ladies’ clothes might be a bit more tricky. Not so, though.’
She turned to the stallholder to say goodbye and Grayson translated for her. ‘He thanks you for your custom and he’ll deliver your purchases later today. What’s your address by the way? He probably has it, but better to check.’
She gave it and he looked surprised. ‘You’re not in the cantonment then? I would have thought you’d be living alongside the other military families. But perhaps your bungalow has its own attractions?’
She wouldn’t have described the cheerless house as having any attractions, but felt compelled to defend Gerald’s choice, though why if there were accommodation within the cantonment he’d not taken it, she was at a loss to think. ‘I believe Gerald—my husband—chose it for its tranquillity,’ she managed to say.
‘It will certainly have that,’ Grayson agreed. ‘It must be the last building on that side of Jasirapur.’ But he had a frown on his face as he spoke.
‘How is your job going?’ she asked abruptly, hoping she might deflect him from finding fault in Gerald.
‘I have the feeling that it will suit me very well, but thank you for asking—Daisy? I hope I may call you that.’
They were standing outside the bazaar and Sanjay had retreated into his small, airless office.
‘Yes, of course. I’m glad it’s working out for you. I expect you much prefer it to sugar cane.’ She remembered his telling her that one small personal detail, that he’d spent three years in a neighbouring region, working in the sugar business and hating every minute.
‘I was never cut out to be a businessman but the experience hasn’t been a complete waste of time. The languages I learnt eased me into the Foreign Office and then helped me land this job.’
‘I suppose you’ll use them when you start travelling. I don’t expect you’ll be staying in Jasirapur for long.’ From what Gerald had said, a District Officer spent most of his time on the road.
He seemed uncertain of how to answer. ‘At the moment I’m not sure of my movements. But even in town, it can be useful to speak the local language. As we’ve just discovered.’ He grinned and waved his hand towards the shop behind them. She was following his direction when a severe crash from a stall several yards to their left startled her. The crash was followed by a body hurling its way towards them. A bareheaded man in a dirty white kurta came rushing down the alley, knocking everything and everybody aside, a uniformed policeman in hot pursuit. Grayson grabbed her arm and pulled her out of harm’s way.
‘You seem fated to attract wrongdoers. But this time fortunately you’ve stayed on your feet.’ He was holding her in a loose clasp.
She felt herself trembling and when she attempted to reassure him with a smile, it didn’t quite make it to her face. The memories were too painful for her to do better.
He let go of her arm but his expression was anxious. ‘You don’t look at all well. You should make for home.’
‘I’m fine, really I am. Gerald is meeting me and he’ll be here very soon.’ She made herself say it with a conviction she didn’t feel.
Grayson looked relieved. ‘In that case, I hope you won’t mind if I leave you. Please forgive the sudden departure but I should go. Have fun with your dresses.’
And in an instant he’d disappeared in the wake of the fleeing man and his uniformed pursuer. It happened so quickly that Daisy could only blink. One minute he was standing beside her, shielding her with his arm, and the next he had melted into the crowd that had gathered to debate with great volubility the incident they’d just witnessed. Grayson Harte was in the civil service, a pen pusher, Gerald had said, but his conduct hardly seemed to match the job and raised all kinds of questions. What was he doing still in Jasirapur when rightly he should be miles away, dispensing justice to a clutch of outlying villages? And why had he taken off after the two running men? It seemed very odd and she could only conclude that somehow she’d got