Daisy's Long Road Home. Merryn Allingham
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into the situation. He really needn’t worry on that score; it was the last thing she intended.
What she did intend was very different and, when the sun began its slow fade to the horizon, she roused herself to wash her face, brush her hair and don a fresh dress. Her wardrobe was severely limited, as much by money as by space, but a plain linen button-through seemed ideal for the lady she was about to visit. If Edith Forester still espoused the exotic flowing robes she used to love, it would be the perfect foil. The Foresters would be starting on their journey back to England any day now, but she had discovered from Ahmed, who seemed to know the ins and outs of every military deployment, that at the moment at least, they were still at the civil station.
The cantonment was subtly changed from the first time she’d seen it. Most of the army had moved out only months before but already she could see the signs of neglect. The clipped lawns were no longer quite so neat, the whitewashed walls of the bungalows not quite so white, and the road which ran a straight course through the spread of houses arranged in military precision had fractured into potholes every few yards.
The tonga had barely pulled to a halt outside the Foresters’ official bungalow, when Edith came running out onto the veranda. As soon as she realised who her visitor was, she ran down the wooden steps and greeted Daisy ecstatically. As though she were a long lost sheep, Daisy thought. A black sheep, perhaps.
‘It’s so lovely to see you, my dear. After all this time, too. Of course, Jocelyn has kept us up to date with all your doings but it’s not the same, is it? To actually meet again, face to face, is quite wonderful.’
Over the intervening years both she and Jocelyn had proved poor correspondents and Daisy thought it unlikely that Edith knew much about her life, but she smiled sweetly and returned the compliment. ‘Thank you, Mrs Forester. It’s very good to see you too.’
‘Edith, my dear. Surely we know each other well enough not to stand on ceremony. And you’re back in Jasirapur?’ It was a question that answered itself. Daisy could see the older woman was agog with interest. And why wouldn’t she be? After what had happened here, Jasirapur would be the last place anyone would expect her to return to.
‘A friend of mine, Grayson Harte—you’ll remember him, I’m sure—kept in touch when we got back to England. He mentioned he had to make a short trip here. Something to do with his work, I’m not sure what.’ She had better give nothing away, she thought, though Edith was unlikely to pose a danger to the security service. ‘At the time I’d just resigned from my job and thought that for old times’ sake I’d like to come back. Just once more.’
The ‘old times’ stuck in her throat but she tried to sound indifferent. Mrs Forester was unlikely to believe such a feeble explanation, but she had no intention of disclosing why she was really here.
‘The Colonel will be so sorry to have missed you. He’s just this minute gone back to barracks. Goodness knows what the problem is now. There’s always something. But come in, my dear, and Salim will fix you a drink.’
She led the way into a large but bare sitting room, her dress streaming behind her. It was the same floating, exotic garment that Daisy remembered, but this time a little faded, a little limp.
‘You see what a state we’re in. Most of the house has been packed up, but there’s still so much unfinished business left for the regiment that I’m beginning to doubt the Colonel will ever be through. The boat will most likely go without us.’
She smiled as she made the little jest but Daisy could see the sadness behind the smile. India had been Edith Forester’s world and her husband’s. Daisy had never herself known a settled life, but she was sensitive enough to imagine how frightening this new experience must be for them.
‘He’ll be sorry to have missed you,’ Edith repeated, ‘but we must have that drink. We must drink to your return.’ She clapped her hands and a white-coated servant obediently appeared at her elbow. ‘A gin and lime, my dear?’
She remembered Edith’s fondness for gimlets. She had never grown to like the drink, but at least she’d learned to swallow it without grimacing, and she accepted the glass that Salim held out to her. She’d made this call for a very particular reason and she would need to be patient and allow Edith time to tell her sorrowful tale. And she did, at length. Of how dreadful it had been seeing the Indian Army divided in such a cavalier fashion, how bitterly sad its dismemberment was after two hundred proud years of service.
‘Two hundred years to build, my dear Daisy, and three months to destroy. And these are men who fought side by side in two world wars.’ The older woman’s voice shook very slightly. ‘Every caste, every creed and colour—all united in a common cause. Countless numbers of them have died for Britain, yet with just one stroke of a pen, they’ve been divided forever.’
‘I heard,’ was all Daisy could say.
‘Everyone’s heard,’ Edith said a trifle scornfully, ‘but they don’t know how it’s been. Soldiers, tough men—Moslems, Hindus, Sikhs—wept on each other’s shoulders when it happened. Can you imagine? And look how it has left us.’ Edith waved her hand at the nearly bare room. Daisy saw the marks on the walls where their treasured pictures had hung.
‘Jocelyn came home to help you pack, I believe.’ She needed to interrupt this flow of gentle complaint and get to what she wanted to know.
‘Yes, she’s a wonderful daughter. She travelled across, all the way from Assam. It’s not an easy journey, but she was such a help. So quick, too. I’ve become a little slow these days.’
For the first time Daisy looked at her hostess closely. Edith was showing signs of age that she hadn’t noticed before. Her skin had always appeared toughened from years in the sun, but it was more papery now, and the luxuriant hair she’d always worn in a disorderly bun was sparser and showed more grey than brown.
‘Jocelyn sent me a keepsake from among the things she sorted,’ Daisy began.
‘Did she? She was always a kind, thoughtful girl. It was something nice, I hope.’
‘A purse, a very pretty little purse. It was among Anish Rana’s possessions, I think she said. It must have belonged to his mother.’
‘Ah.’ There was a pause while Edith decided how best to approach the difficult subject. Daisy helped her out. ‘The regiment was still holding Lieutentant Rana’s belongings?’
‘Yes, indeed. Dreadful business. The Colonel didn’t know what to do with the stuff after the poor man died. There wasn’t a great deal of it, of course. He was a single officer living in barracks. But it was still right to return his personal possessions to his family.’
‘It doesn’t seem the regiment was able to.’
‘The adjutant tried. He tried very hard. He managed to trace the family, I believe, well, part of the family. I think it was the relatives on the mother’s side. But the man he spoke to simply didn’t want to know. He was quite rude, Dennis said.’
‘So the family was local?’ Daisy asked carefully, holding her breath a fraction.
‘I imagine so. Dennis did tell me where he found the man—I think he was Lieutenant Rana’s uncle—but I can’t remember the name of the place. I doubt you’d know it anyway.’
‘But quite near Jasirapur?’ Daisy persisted.
Her hostess was looking at her oddly. She supposed her questions had become a little too particular. ‘Yes. It wasn’t far. In fact, the adjutant even thought of driving there and pushing the stuff through the gate. But, in the end, he decided it wouldn’t look very dignified.’
Her companion said nothing for several minutes and seemed lost in thought. Daisy felt disappointment seeping through her. The Foresters had been her most certain hope, but it appeared she would discover little here. She felt flustered and unsure of what to do next and the heat of the room began to overpower her. A small electric fan was churning in one corner but it succeeded only in stirring the heavy air anew.