Saturday, October 29, 2011
Saturday, October 22, 2011
The dining room was loud with revellers, well into their main courses. Tables were littered with the remnants of cracker papers and empty bottles. I peered through the kitchen door and couldn’t help notice how the Kingston Party took up most of the dining room. We’d pushed several tables together along the wall and every seat was occupied with stable staff. Eric, his paper crown set at a rakish angle, presided at the head of the table.
“Put your tongue away,” Becky whispered. “Mr. Kingston might want you to save it for later.”
“You dirty cow.”
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
We fell silent, me thinking of green grass and a sky full of familiar stars, Billington thinking of God-knows what. I stole a glance at him and didn’t envy him his uniform. Even his proximity to the window and the punkah-wallah couldn’t erase the sheen of perspiration from his face.
“You’ll do well to get out of here as soon as you can.” He murmured, without prompting.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If you think it’s hot now, in a few weeks’ time it’ll be unbearable. There’s this hot wind that blows dust into every bloody crevice. It’s miserable. You can’t do anything much between sunrise and late afternoon.”
“So I’ve heard. I’d planned on visiting Simla before heading down to Bombay.”
“That’s a very sensible notion.” He glanced towards the veranda. “As is escaping this room before I suffocate. Are you coming?”
It sounded more like an order than request. I followed Billington onto the veranda where several other gentlemen obviously shared the same idea. They greeted us with nods and carried on with their conversation. Billington leaned against the railing and stared out into the inky, airless dark. “I envy you escaping this place.”
“It’s not like you to be so blunt, sir.” I’d met Billington at one of my cousin’s parties not long after I’d arrived. We’d struck up an easy friendship united by our love of fine horses.
“There’s more than the weather to worry about.” He ran a careless hand through his hair. “There’s rumours of trouble with the sepoys. This isn’t going to be a safe place.”
“I’d heard there could be trouble. So it’s true?”
“It’s more likely to happen than not.” He turned around and stared back into the crowded party. “If I had my way I’d tell every civilian to get out but I’d be accused of scaremongering. If you can change your plans and leave sooner, then do it.”
“Jesus. Have you mentioned this to anyone else?”
“I’ve tried but I’ve been told that everything will be fine.” He looked at me, his eyes dark with a scarcely concealed fury. “I know my men, I’ve tried to do right by them and one or two of them have told me there’ll be trouble. I trust them, I believe them.”
The dark beyond the house was suddenly seething with unseen threats. Just when I’d become comfortable with the strangeness of the place, Billington reminded me that there’s nothing easy or familiar about India. A peacock called out somewhere in the grounds – a haunting counterpoint to the echoes of laughter and music coming from beyond the open doors of the house.
“I consider you a friend.” Billington folded his arms across his chest. “That’s why I’m telling you this. Get out and get to Simla while you can.”
“I’ll do what I can.” I tried to arrange everything in my mind, work out what needed to be done before I could leave. Even travelling in India was a logistical tangle.
“Good.” He offered me a smile. “I always thought you were a man of good sense. What say we find ourselves a decent drink and do our best to avoid the attentions of the ladies.”
“Sounds like an excellent notion.”
He grinned then, a sudden fierce warrior’s grin. I pitied anyone who crossed him and wished God hadn’t made me a man.
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Eric’s fingers trembled on my skin. He sighed into my mouth. Our jackets whispered against each other beneath the constant thrum of wind and waves. Eric’s tongue coiled around mine and I rested against him, finding shelter. Everything in me rushed towards him, our breaths meshed, fell into sync. We bruised each other, reaching for shared warmth, for what we’d both missed.
“Get a bloody room.” A disgruntled passerby broke the embrace. A pair of terriers yapped and ran in crazed circles around us. “This is a public beach.”
“Where’s the ‘No Kissing’ sign then?” Eric snapped.