Part 8 (1/2)

The Swami brought his friend to Keen's Hotel punctually at half past seven in the evening, apparently deeming it necessary to allow them half an hour for the social niceties before the stroke of eight, when they would all, almost certainly, freeze into strained silence, waiting for the still hypothetical telephone call. Felder, in fact, was the last of the party to arrive, and came in a great hurry from the Connaught Circus office, with a much-handled script under his arm.

'Not that I'm thinking of leaving,' he a.s.sured them all, with a tired and rueful smile, 'not until this business of Anjli is cleared up. But I must do a little work sometimes. I hope and pray I'm going to be able to fly back to Benares soon with a clear conscience.' It was easy to see that in spite of his poise the strain was telling on him. He turned to the stranger and held out his hand, not waiting to be formally introduced. 'Mr k.u.mar, I'm Felder. I expect you know the score about all of us already from the Swami here. I needn't tell you that you have the sympathy of every one of us, and we'll do absolutely everything we can to help you and Anjli out of this mess.'

'I understand from my friend,' said k.u.mar quietly, 'that you have already done all and more than I could possibly have asked of you. I'm very grateful, believe me. We must set that account straight as soon as possible. But you'll forgive me if my mind can accommodate only one thought at this moment.'

He stood in the middle of Dominic's extravagant hotel sitting-room, immaculate in his plutocratic tailoring, a curiously clear-cut and solitary figure, as if spot-lighted by his deprivation and loneliness on a stage where everyone else was a supernumerary. He was not so tall as they had thought him to be, but his withdrawn and erect bearing accounted for the discrepancy. The patina of wealth was on his complexion, his clothes, his speech, his manner; but that was neither his virtue nor his fault, it was something that had happened to him from birth, and if it had one positive effect, it was to add to his isolation. He was a very handsome man, no doubt of that; the gold of his skin, smoother than silk, devalued whiteness beyond belief. Maybe some day they would get used to that re-estimation of colour, and realise how crude the normal English pink can be.

The Swami, a benevolent stage-manager, set them all an example by seating himself calmly, and composing himself for as long as need be of nerveless waiting. 'We are all of one mind, and all informed about what we have to expect. We have taken all possible steps to deserve success, let us then wait decorously and expect it. We are contemplating an exchange which will be to the advantage and convenience of both parties, there is therefore no need to antic.i.p.ate double-dealing. It would be worth no one's while.' His practicality sounded, as always, unanswerable; but k.u.mar, even when he consented to follow his friend's example and sit with folded hands, was tense from crown to heels.

'If the call does come,' ventured Dominic, 'should I answer? And hand it over to you, sir, if it's the same man?'

The Swami approved. 'The number is your number. And there could, of course, be some quite innocent call. Yes, please answer in the first instance.'

It was barely twenty minutes to eight, and the scene was set already. There was nothing now to look forward to but the gradually mounting tension that was going to stretch them all on the same rack until the bell finally rang. Except that they had barely set their teeth to endure the waiting when they were all set jangling like broken puppets, as the innocent white handset emitted its first strident peal of the evening. Never, thought Tossa, huddled in her corner, never, never will I live with a telephone again. Better the telegraph boy at the door every time.

Dominic picked up the receiver. There was sweat trickling down into his eyebrows, p.r.i.c.kly as thistles. A voice he hardly knew said distantly: 'Hullo, Dominic Felse here!'

He should have known it was too early, he should have known the d.a.m.ned instrument was going to play with them for the rest of the night. A gentle, courteous, low-pitched voice said in his ear: 'Good, I was afraid you might all be out on the town. I looked in the dining-room, but not a sign of you there. This is Ashok Kabir, I'm down in the foyer. May I come up? I brought a little present for Anjli.'

Distantly Dominic heard himself saying, like an actor reading from a script: 'I wondered why we hadn't heard anything from you. Have you been out of Delhi?'

'Ever since the unit left for Benares. I had three concerts in Trivandrum and Cochin. I'm only just back. Am I inconvenient just now? Maybe you were getting ready to go out. I should have called you from Safdarjung.'

'Anjli...' Dominic swallowed whatever he might have said, looking round all the intent faces that willed him to discretion, and unhappily giving way to their influence. There was only one thing to be done. 'Wait just a moment for me,' he said, 'And I'll come down to you.'

He hung up the telephone, and they could all breathe again. 'It's Ashok,' he said flatly. 'He's just back in town after a concert tour in the south, and it looks as if he doesn't know anything about Anjli being missing. He's brought a present for her, he's expecting to see her. I said I'd go down to him. Now what do I do? Tell him the truth and bring him up here to join us?'

Very placidly, very gently, very smoothly, but with absolute and instant decision, the Swami Premanathanand said: 'No! ' It was impossible to imagine him ever speaking in haste, and yet he had got that 'No!' out before anyone else could even draw breath.

'We are five people here already,' he pointed out regretfully, as all eyes turned upon him, 'who know the facts. Five people with whom the vendors have to reckon. I think to let in even one more is to jeopardise our chances of success.'

'I am absolutely sure,' said Tossa, 'that Ashok is to be trusted. He is very fond of Anjli. I know!'

'And I feel sure you are right, but unfortunately that is not the point. He could be the most trustworthy person in the world, and still be enough to frighten off the criminals from dealing with us.'

'He is right,' said k.u.mar heavily. 'We are already too many, but that cannot be helped. We can can help adding to the number and increasing the risk.' help adding to the number and increasing the risk.'

Anjli was his daughter, and he was proposing to pay out for her whatever might be needed to bring her back to him safely. There was nothing to be done but respect his wishes.

'Then what do I do? Go down and get rid of Ashok? Tell him Anjli's out? Supposing he's already questioned the clerk on the desk?'

'He would not,' said the Swami absently but with certainty. 'He would question only you, who had the child in charge. Yes, go and talk to him. Tell him Anjli is not here this evening.' He adjusted his gla.s.ses, and the great eye from behind the thick lens beamed dauntingly upon the unhappy young face before him. 'Listen,' he said, 'and I will tell you what you shall say to him, if you require from me an act of faith. Put him off for tonight, but invite him to come for coffee tomorrow evening, after dinner... with you, and Miss Barber here, and Anjli.'

Dominic staring at him steadily for a long moment, considering how deeply he meant it, and realising slowly that the Swami never said anything without deliberate intent. It might not, of course, be the obvious intent, but serious, final and responsible it would certainly be. The only way to find out what lay behind was to go along with him and take the risk.

'All right!' he said. 'That's what I'll tell him.' And he turned and walked out of the room and down the stairs to the foyer where Ashok waited.

It was then just twelve minutes to eight.

Ashok unwrapped the little ivory figure from the piece of grey raw silk in which the carver had swathed it, and set it upright in Dominic's palm. She stood perhaps four inches high, a slender, graceful woman latticed about with lotus shoots and airy curves of drapery, her naked feet in a lotus flower, and a stringed instrument held lovingly in two of her four beautiful arms. Ashok's expressive, long-lashed eyes and deeply-lined gargoyle face brooded over her tenderly.

'It is a veena, not a sitar, but Anjli will not mind. This is Saraswati, the mother of the vedas, the G.o.ddess of the word, of learning, of all the arts. Perhaps a good person for her to consult, when she finally faces her problem. I found her in a little shop I know in Trivandrum, and I thought Anjli would like her. I am sorry to have missed her, but of course I gave you no notice.'

'I'm sorry about that, too. But if you're free, could you join us here tomorrow night for coffee? About eight o'clock or soon after? We shall all three be very happy to see you then,' he said, setting light to his boats with a flourish; and he did not know whether he was uttering a heartless lie which must find him out in one more day, or committing himself to an act of faith to which he was now bound for life or death. At that moment he did not know whom he trusted or whom he distrusted, he was blind and in the dark, in a landscape totally unfamiliar to him, in which he could find no landmarks. Yet there must, for want of any other beacon, be a certain value in setting a course and holding by it, right or wrong; thus at least you may, by luck rather than judgement, set foot on firm ground at last and find something to hold by.

'Gladly,' said Ashok, 'I shall look forward to it.' He had asked no questions, and even now he asked only one: 'Her father has not yet come to take charge of her?'

'We've heard from him, indirectly,' said Dominic, picking his way among thorns. 'I hope he'll be with her very soon.'

'Good, so it was worth waiting a little.' Ashok nodded his splendid Epstein head in contentment, and picked up his light overcoat, draping it over one shoulder of his grey achkan like a hussar cloak. 'Until tomorrow, then! And my reverences to Miss Barber and Anjli.'

He had a taxi waiting for him in the courtyard, one of the biggest Dominic had ever seen; and at the first step he took into the open air the car came smoothly alongside, placing its rear door-handle confidingly in his hand. That was the kind of service Ashok, for all his reticence and modesty, commanded in Delhi, and probably throughout India, for that matter.

The Swami's Rolls stood in tattered majesty at the end of the ground-floor arcade. The taxi driver gave it a long, respectful look as he turned his own car to drive away, and Ashok, from the rear seat, eyed it even more thoughtfully. Dominic noted, before he turned to go back upstairs in haste, that for once Girish was nowhere in evidence.

The second telephone call came on the stroke of eight, and thereby held up the one for which they were waiting. But the voice that demanded briskly and cheerfully: 'Have you got my co-director there?' was merely that of Ganesh Rao, back from Sarnath a couple of days ahead of schedule with the Deer Park scenes in the can, and anxious to get some early co-operation over the rushes.

'Let me talk to him! ' Felder took over the receiver. 'Yes, Felder here! Sure, I'll be out at Hauz Khas in an hour or two, if all goes well. Have you got the whole bunch back safely at the villas? You must have made good time.' In the background he could hear the usual exuberant babel of voices, the girls shrilling and laughing, Channa the charioteer fluting mellifluously, the young American technicians deploying their large, easy drawls, the clinking of gla.s.ses, the usual party atmosphere. When he hung up his face was grey with strain; and as soon as the receiver hung in the cradle it pealed again, viciously.

Dominic s.n.a.t.c.hed it from under Felder's hand. This time it must be, this time it had to be, no one could stand much more of this.

'I am calling,' said the unpleasant, clacking old voice, rattling consonants like bones, 'in answer to your advertis.e.m.e.nt.'

Without a word Dominic held out the receiver to k.u.mar, who was already stretching out his hand for it. For a moment they could clearly hear the juiceless tones continuing, then k.u.mar cut them off sharply.

'Listen to me, and let us be clear. I am k.u.mar. You have what I want, and I am prepared to pay for it. But there will be no deal, there will be no discussion, even, until I have seen for myself that my daughter still lives. Not one rupee until then. No, I will not even speak of money until I am satisfied. You have my word that I have taken no steps to try and trace this call, or to find you, nor shall I do so. If you restore me what I want, neither I nor any of the people here with me will take any action against you. It is my word, it will have to be enough for you. If you cannot trust me far, you must know I cannot trust you at all. You will show my daughter to me, and to these friends of mine who have seen her more recently than I have. You will show her to us in good condition, or you will get nothing. I am a business man, I do not buy pigs in pokes. Then we will talk terms, and arrange an exchange which will protect both of us. You understand me?'

The old voice hectored, rising, growing angry.

'You hold just one saleable article, my friend,' snapped k.u.mar, 'and I am offering to buy it... when I have satisfied myself that it is exactly what you are representing it to be. I have promised you we will do no more than that. I have promised you a high price. If you do not want to deal on those terms, where do you think you will find a higher bidder? The circ.u.mstances are your problem, not mine. Make up your mind.'

There were brief, acrimonious questions, a note of something like anxiety now in the tone.

'Certainly. If you make it possible, the exchange can take place tomorrow. First let us see her. Then call me here, and I shall make no more difficulties than I must to ensure that she remains remains as we have seen her. There is no question of trust. Each of us must formulate his own safeguards. But do you question that my word is worth more than yours? Make your dispositions, then, we are waiting.' as we have seen her. There is no question of trust. Each of us must formulate his own safeguards. But do you question that my word is worth more than yours? Make your dispositions, then, we are waiting.'

After that he sat quite silent, listening with admirable concentration and patience for some minutes, the clapper vibrating viciously in his ear. He heaved a long, careful sigh. 'Very well! On behalf of all of us here, I agree.'

Very slowly, as if the smoothness and silence of the action mattered vitally, he cradled the receiver, and sat back in his chair with a s.h.i.+vering gasp, wiping his moist hands frenziedly on a vast silk handkerchief.