Fields of Gold Page 26

  Jack seemed to be looking for someone in particular.

  ‘I don’t understand why he’s here,’ she groaned, the memory of Jack’s deep kiss haunting her.

  ‘Ned Sinclair’s probably asked him along to join the Walkers.’ It was a new voice, edged with slight disdain.

  ‘Hello, Joyce,’ the girls said together. Joyce Kent was seven years older than they were, and hadn’t found a man to marry her yet. Daphne knew Joyce had also been out with Jack once or twice and felt her colour rise at the thought that Joyce had probably done a lot more than just dance cheek to cheek with him.

  Daphne sighed to herself. Did anyone get over Jack Bryant, she wondered?

  ‘He’s probably making a beeline for that Iris Walker, back from England and full of smiles and stories,’ Joyce said, moving on.

  Joyce was probably right. Well, perhaps it was Iris Walker’s turn to have the Bryant treatment, Daphne thought sourly, taking uncharitable pleasure in imagining Jack breaking the Walker girl’s heart too.

  ‘It’s only a matter of time,’ Joyce said conspiratorially over her shoulder, and then nodded towards Iris.

  The Auxiliary Indian Force band was doing a pretty good job with ‘I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles’. It was clearly a favourite with many of the youngsters who had come along with their families. A couple of them even had some soap suds and a wire wand and were blowing bubbles into the fray of dancers twirling around the room.

  The hall was decorated with paper bunting, giving it a festive air. Jack smiled, imagining how anything as glamorous as this event would even take off in Pendeen on a Saturday night. And yet here in a tiny community in southern India the girls were dressed to the hilt and the gents looked dashing in their tuxedos and waxed hair. By tomorrow morning a few would be working thousands of feet under the earth, but for now it was all glamour and merriment.

  Tables and chairs were pushed to the side of the room. Tomorrow they’d serve another purpose for the Jaldi Five Bingo Evening; in the meantime they were the domain of the elders – mostly the matriarchs and their minions – from various family groups, seated like sentinels, watching their young daughters and nieces drift around the dance floor. Their job was to ensure no gentleman’s hand strayed to the modestly bared flesh on shoulders and backs. As for a couple using an excuse to ‘step out for some air’, the alert gatekeepers would ensure no one left the hall unattended by ageing uncles or fathers, who casually tagged along to frustrate plans. The older women swapped news but mostly they commented on the dresses on display, the eligible bachelors, and especially they gossiped about each other.

  Jack didn’t receive many invitations to these dances, but he always enjoyed them when he did go along, usually at Ned’s behest and most often as a guest of the Walkers. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure quite how welcome he might be this evening. He knew Geraldine considered him well out of favour and he felt vaguely offended by this. He’d only taken her out twice. Once, Ned had cornered him into escorting her to one of the mine dances, and the second time was simply in a group outing to the movies. Geraldine had invited him casually enough and it would have sounded churlish to say no. Since then he’d refused all further interest. He liked and respected Harold Walker and had no intention of doing the wrong thing by any of his daughters.

  He sighed and searched for the Walker table. It would no doubt be one of the biggest. There it was. He moved around the edge of the dancers. He was desperate to move to one end of the hall where a lot of the older men had gathered to smoke, avoid the gossip of their women and admire the pretty young things skipping through the French chalk used to make the floor slippery enough for some of the more complex dance steps. Instead, he dutifully looked for Flora Walker to pay his respects.

  Iris and Ned had barely stopped dancing since they arrived.

  ‘I really should dance with Ivan,’ she groaned.

  ‘Please don’t encourage him,’ Ned replied, turning her around and away from where Ivan Chalmers stared at them. ‘Iris, I could dance with you all night.’

  She giggled. ‘You’ll draw attention to us.’

  ‘I don’t care. I want every man in the room to know that at the Friday night dance next week, they’ll have to queue in vain.’

  She laughed openly now. ‘Ned, you hardly know me.’

  ‘I know you, Iris. I know you’re the one —’ But her attention was suddenly elsewhere.

  ‘Who is that?’ she murmured, her gaze fixed around his shoulder.

  Ned turned and saw Jack’s unmistakeable outline. ‘Now, why can’t my tuxedo look like that on me?’ he groaned and then grinned.

  ‘His is white, for starters. You lot are all behind the times wearing black. Who is he?’

  ‘That’s Jack.’

  ‘Oh, let’s go meet him,’ she suggested.

  Ned wasn’t ready to let her go. Dancing innocently with Iris was the closest he was going to get to her until he could declare himself, he was sure, and Jack had already interrupted his first attempt. ‘After this tune, eh?’

  ‘Mmm?’ she said, not really listening. ‘They’re right. You two are an odd couple.’

  ‘We have a lot more in common than you could imagine,’ he said, wishing the image of Brent lying dead on the floor didn’t erupt in his mind.

  ‘So you keep saying.’

  He sighed theatrically. ‘We’re both great lovers,’ he said, surprising himself with his daring.

  She looked at him, eyes widening in mock horror. ‘Even though you say so yourself, Edward Sinclair!’

  The tune ended. Iris linked her arm through his. ‘Come on. Introduce me. I’m intrigued.’

  Ned dutifully led Iris towards Jack; his friend was talking to Harold, and Ned inwardly begged that he’d treat Iris with his usual offhand manner. In fact, he suddenly hoped that Jack was in one of his darker moods.

  Walker’s attention was suddenly diverted. ‘Ah, here they come,’ he said, and Jack turned, his breath catching in his throat as a ravishing dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty sauntered up, arm in arm with Ned. Harold Walker kissed the top of her head. ‘You shake a fine ankle, my dear.’

  ‘Thank you, Dad. We desperately need a drink before they strike up a Charleston. It’s so warm this evening.’

  Jack watched, mesmerised, as she fanned herself dramatically with her hands.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, her bright white smile startling him. For a moment he’d felt as though he’d disappeared and she wouldn’t notice him staring. ‘Isn’t anyone going to introduce us?’

  ‘Hello, Jack,’ Ned said. ‘Let me introduce you to Iris Walker. Iris, this is my very good friend, Jack Bryant.’

  ‘At last,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘I’ve heard so much about you, Mr Bryant. Enchantée.’

  Jack took her hand and stared at her rudely, he was sure. His breath felt ragged all of a sudden. It was as though everyone else had suddenly disappeared into a blur. Time stood still and within the bubble of this moment there was only himself and Iris; her heart-shaped face, punctuated by dimples and a dazzling smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief and flirtation.

  The bubble burst when Ned said, ‘That’s French, Jack. Iris learned that in London.’

  Jack gathered his wits swiftly. He cleared his throat and returned her smile, even bending to kiss her hand. ‘Likewise, Miss Walker. Frankly, Ned can’t stop talking about you.’

  Everyone around them laughed. Did anyone notice, though, Jack wondered, that her hand lingered in his and that he was in no hurry to let it go? He dare not look at Ned. ‘Perhaps you’d dance with me later?’

  ‘Why not now?’ she said.

  ‘Er, well, is that all right, Ned?’

  ‘Don’t ask Ned, ask me,’ Iris corrected.

  Jack flicked a glance at Ned, whose eyes had narrowed, and felt trapped. Either he allowed Iris to belittle him, or he risked Ned’s ire.

  He grinned. ‘Would you care to dance, Iris?’ he said, bowing theatrically to convince Ned and the Walker family
that he was simply being chivalrous.

  ‘Thank you, Jack. Lead the way. Sounds like a waltz striking up. My favourite.’

  Within moments she was in his arms, floating around the dance floor within his careful embrace. She was petite and slim; he felt like a bear holding a fairy doll, and while he tried not to stare, he found himself entranced by her. Her skin was so silky and unblemished. Many of the Anglo-Indian girls had swarthy complexions but Iris was just softly golden – not pale but not olive, not freckled, no moles, no birthmarks. She was perfect; light on her feet, gentle of voice and, he realised with dismay, awaiting an answer.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Jack, you’re not even paying attention. I was warned about you but I didn’t think you’d be distracted quite so fast.’

  ‘Forgive me. I was just marvelling at how attractive you are.’ He felt instantly cross with himself. He really hadn’t meant to say that aloud.

  She giggled. ‘Well, in that case, stay as silent and distracted as you wish.’

  He frowned.

  ‘Are you tongue-tied, Jack?’

  ‘I think I am. I’m not used to such directness.’

  ‘From what I hear you’re only used to adoration.’

  He shrugged, regaining some of his poise. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  ‘Plenty do.’

  He moved to safer territory. ‘How does it feel to be back?’

  ‘Strange, wonderful, tedious, joyful.’

  ‘All at once?’

  ‘Absolutely! KGF is a mystery to me. Bangalore I know, but not this place, so I suppose I’m a bit nervous but also excited to be here. I love being home with my family, of course, but London was thrilling.’

  ‘Was it really? I don’t remember London that way at all.’

  ‘You’ve been there?’

  ‘I’m from there,’ he said indignantly.

  ‘I was under the impression you were from Cornwall.’

  ‘I am. But I spent a long time in London before I sailed to India. I found it dirty, expensive, lonely, soulless.’

  For the first time, Jack saw her composure slip.

  ‘Did you?’ she asked, looking suddenly forlorn.

  ‘I was an outcast – a cousin Jack taking a Londoner’s job. My west-country accent singled me out. I just didn’t fit comfortably into any part of its society. I envy you fitting in so easily.’

  She bit her lip, studying his face. ‘I didn’t,’ she blurted quietly.

  He looked at her, surprised, but said nothing, waiting for more.

  She obliged, her eyes suddenly misty. ‘I was never made to feel fully welcome. I went as a governess but was treated like a servant. I sent home jolly letters because I didn’t want my parents to worry and I felt I was to blame, but, Jack, London was horrid to me. I couldn’t wait to get back, to be honest.’ Now she looked teary, her beautiful dark eyes glistening.

  Jack was shocked. He hadn’t meant to set off such a serious conversation. He glanced across the dance floor and noticed Ned politely dancing with Eleanor Jones. ‘Iris, would you like to get some air?’

  She nodded and he deliberately didn’t hurry her away but walked towards the bar, veering to the counter where they were handing out lemonade, and slipping her out of the side door. He was sure someone would notice – someone always did – so he deliberately stood apart from her, making a show of lighting a cigarette, handing her his handkerchief from his breast pocket.

  ‘Oh, no, don’t,’ she said, sniffing. ‘You’ll spoil your perfect look.’

  He gave a snort of derision, took a puff on the cigarette and leaned against the wall. ‘Are you all right?’

  She nodded, dabbed her eyes quickly with his handkerchief. ‘I’m sorry about that. No one knows.’

  ‘Not even Ned? I thought you were so close.’

  She sighed. ‘We are but I wanted them all to believe I was having the perfect time. You know, everyone in that hall just dreams of going to England. I couldn’t bear to shatter those visions.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve never quite understood it because they’re all born here and they say where you’re born is always in your heart. Me? I would love to see Cornwall again simply because it’s my home, but if I never clap eyes on London again, it won’t matter a hoot. I’d probably miss the life out here more than London.’ He was relieved to see that her tears had dried up.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Jack. It came out of nowhere. I am so happy to be home – that’s the truth of it. They can keep England.’ Her tone turned bitter. ‘I was given a top private-school education in Bangalore. I graduated with flying colours. I speak English better than many Londoners, my clothes are all hand-tailored, I had savings, and yet I was looked down upon like some sort of poor immigrant.’

  This was a surprise for him. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Neither did I. I applied for a job as a governess but the family I went to treated me with real disdain. My mother would never speak to our ayahs the way Mrs Fitzgibbon spoke to me. I heard her refer to me in front of her friends as “coloured” or “the Indian girl”. She made jokes about the way I spoke. Some people actually talked to me in a sort of pidgin English because they didn’t think I’d understand. And the final straw was when she asked me not to teach Louisa and Millie any rhymes because she didn’t want them speaking with my accent. Oh, it still makes me furious!’ she said, stamping her foot.

  ‘What about the society parties Ned told me about and … Paris?’

  ‘Fibs, I’m afraid. I did go to Paris but I had to sleep on the floor in the girls’ room – like a dog – while they slept on beds in satin sheets. It was so humiliating. Oh, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, Jack. You don’t deserve the privilege of my secrets when we hardly know one another.’

  ‘Then why are you telling me?’

  ‘Because you’re Ned’s best friend and he trusts you and I trust Ned completely.’

  ‘Not with the truth, though, obviously.’

  She looked instantly chastened. ‘Don’t be cruel. I will tell him. I just wanted to put that whole unpleasant time behind me.’

  ‘I don’t blame you. I’m glad you came home.’

  Her gaze snapped up to his. ‘Why?’

  He shrugged to cover his sudden self-consciousness. ‘Well, it makes Ned happy, for starters.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, and he thought she looked slightly disappointed. ‘That’s nice of you to say.’

  ‘Iris?’ a voice said softly into their silence, making Jack feel even more awkward.

  ‘Ned.’

  ‘Everything all right?’

  Jack could feel the thrum of their intimate conversation still buzzing in the air between them and he wondered whether Ned could too.

  ‘I just came out for a smoke,’ he said, thanking his lucky stars it was still smouldering in his hand.

  ‘We were talking about London,’ Iris said brightly. ‘Jack spent time there before coming out to India.’

  ‘I had to save for my passage out,’ he lied.

  Ned smiled. ‘You’ve never really told me much about that time, Jack. I suppose you won your passage gambling on cards, eh?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Jack drawled, flinging down his cigarette stub to crunch it underfoot. ‘Anyway, I might make a move.’

  ‘So soon?’ Iris said.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t expect him to even turn up, let alone stay for a dance,’ Ned said, knowingly. ‘Jack only came because I asked him to meet you,’ he said, shyly taking her hand.

  ‘Yes,’ Jack said, ‘to let you know how many hearts are breaking that you have whisked in from London and stolen one of the most eligible bachelors in KGF.’ He grinned to cover how awkward he felt but at least he’d kept his promise to Ned to help.

  Her eyes sparkled, amused. ‘I see,’ Iris replied, her gaze fixed on Jack now. ‘Don’t you enjoy putting on your dress suit and coming to these dances?’

  ‘They’re fun,’ he replied.

  ‘Don’t waste your brea
th, Iris. His looks are wasted on him.’

  She laughed. ‘How are you going to meet a nice girl, Jack, if you don’t come to the social gatherings?’

  Ned gave a snort.

  Iris must have noticed the expression Jack gave him. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Jack said. ‘Goodnight, Iris. Thank you for the dance. It was lovely to finally meet you. You and Ned make a very handsome couple.’ He took her hand, kissed it. And then he was gone, pushing his way through the crowded hall to slip out of the front door.

  Ned and Iris watched him leave. Neither could know how his heart was hammering.

  Kanakammal heard the door slam. She made a mental note to ask the bearer to get it fixed. Master Bryant had returned. She could hear him moving about in the main part of the house. She and Namathevi were accommodated at the very back of the dwelling in a small room and although she had nothing but two iron beds and a simple chest of drawers, it was a palace in comparison to what she’d left. She was used to sharing a very small space with a crowd of siblings, not to mention three grandparents plus her own parents.

  Here, with Namathevi sleeping on the other side of the room, Kanakammal could actually hear herself think. Silence was a marvellous new treat in her life, although going by the noise the master was making, perhaps the quiet was going to be transient. Leaving home so suddenly had been a shock, and being given over to this stranger as his servant was an even bigger one, but she had already been told by Gangai that the master would require very little of her other than a single cooked meal each day and some light cleaning duties. She knew her parents were counting on the money and retaining this job was very important.

  She got up from bed. She wasn’t sleepy anyway; her head was too full of the tension of finding herself in this new setting and she was determined to give a good impression and make her parents proud. She dressed quickly into her sari and splashed some water on her face from a bowl on the sideboard, before quickly plaiting and tying up her long hair.