Brit Party (28 page)

If only they could try again ... but Jon hardly touched her now. She could easily remember the last time, on the steamer a few days out of Portsmouth, when she had been seasick and Jon was trying to comfort her. She hadn't been in much of a condition to enjoy herself, but still his attentions had been welcome.

Nearly two months ago! Priscilla was frustrated beyond belief. Being here in India made it worse. Assam was much cooler than Delhi or Calcutta, but inevitably, in this climate, they wore fewer clothes. The native food, with its spices and chillies, tended to stir the blood. And the native people were far less circumspect than the English about their bodily functions.

Once, walking past the village on an errand, she had come across a man and woman coupling in the shade of a huge
bo
tree. Hidden behind a brake of bamboo, embarrassed but unable to look away, Priscilla had watched their mating. The man pulled the woman's sari aside and bared her lower half. She spread her thighs wide, wrapping her legs around his waist as he drove his organ into her sex. He shrugged off his simple cotton garment as he churned on top of her, each thrust eliciting a deep moan of pleasure from his partner.

Priscilla could see sweat glistening on his mahogany skin. She was close enough that she could smell them, sweat and musk, garlic and palm oil. Gold bangles gleamed on the woman's ankles, which were hooked around the man's hips. She rocked back and forth seeking her pleasure. The man finally growled and ground his pelvis savagely into the woman's depths. She answered with a keening cry that certainly must have been audible in the village a hundred yards away.

Priscilla hurried back to the bungalow, locked herself in the bedroom, and plunged both hands into her knickers, desperately trying to assuage the hunger between her legs.

In fact, that was one way she had been passing the time over the past weeks, in frantic self-pleasuring. No matter how often she brought herself to climax, though, it did not relieve her need. Her own touch left her empty and cold. It was Jon's touch that she craved, his skin and his scent, his gentle hands and his fierce penis.

Relentless rain still pounded the earth. Priscilla felt a sudden wild desire to tear off her clothes and run off the veranda into the rain. She didn't move, of course. But she saw herself in her mind's eye, dancing naked in the deluge. She could almost feel the cool rivulets sluicing down over her bare skin, tickling her nipples, flowing into the crevice between her thighs to quench the constant fever there.

All at once, through the hazy curtains of rain, she saw something move. Down below, on the path that led up to the bungalow from the government road, there was a dark shape. As it came closer, it resolved itself into a huge black umbrella. By the time it reached the steps, Priscilla could see that the umbrella was carried by a tall, formally dressed, extremely wet native.

"Good morning, Madam,” he called. “Are you Mrs. Archer?” His English was near-perfect. The lilt of his accent just made his speech more melodious.

"Yes, I'm Priscilla Archer. Can I help you? Please, come up out of the rain. You're drenched."

The Indian scrambled up the steps with his portmanteau, struggling to shut his umbrella on the way. He smiled, his teeth even and brilliantly white against skin the colour of milk tea. “Thank you, Madam. I am indeed wet. The carriage from the station left me at the foot of the hill. I had no alternative but to walk to your door, and in this wind my umbrella is hardly effective.” He leaned the umbrella against the railing and reached into his jacket pocket for his visiting card. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Anil Kumar. I am—that is, I was—your father-in-law's solicitor."

Priscilla took the card, noting the Calcutta address. “You've come a long way, Mr. Kumar. Please, sit. I'll ring for some tea."

The man beamed and grasped her hand, “Thank you so much, Mrs Archer. Tea would be very welcome. But perhaps I should change my clothing, rather than causing your furniture to become as wet as I am."

"Of course, how inconsiderate of me. Lalida, show Mr. Kumar to the guest bedroom and bring him some hot water for washing."

"Right away, Madam. Sir, please follow me.” The two natives disappeared into the house, leaving Priscilla alone again on the porch.

She sank down into one of the chairs, staring blankly at the card, seeing its owner in her mind's eye. Anil Kumar was a native, true, but clearly a gentleman. His clothing, even when wet, showed signs of custom tailoring. His bearing was regal, his face both comely and intelligent. Heavy eyebrows arched over deep eyes the colour of teakwood. His high forehead was crowned by lush black hair, cut neatly but with a tendency to curl. His long, straight nose and square chin were balanced by a set of lips full enough to belong to a woman.

A handsome man, yes, but more than the sum of his parts. Even in their brief interaction, Priscilla had sensed something, some energy or life in him that made him doubly appealing. He exuded confidence but without a trace of arrogance. The English had learned the hard way to be wary of the natives. Nevertheless, Priscilla could not help trusting Anil Kumar.

She heard the squeak of the door, looked up and caught her breath. It was Kumar returning. He was dressed all in white, in loose cotton trousers and a gauzy kurta that bared his throat. A gold amulet hung around his neck. His skin seemed darker, his face more exotic. Priscilla was reminded of the statues of Krishna she and Jonathan had seen in Calcutta, on their way to the plantation. Her heartbeat surged. Wet heat gathered between her legs. Before, he had looked like a gentleman. Now, he seemed a god.

"Please forgive my state of undress, Mrs. Archer, but I'm afraid that these are the only garments I have with me that are not soaked through. Your maid has kindly taken my suit for cleaning. As soon as it is dry, I will dress myself more appropriately. Meanwhile, I hope that I do not offend your sensibilities."

"Not at all,” Priscilla waved off the concern with a smile. He certainly affected her sensibilities, but she was far from offended. “We all have to muddle along during this infernal rainy season. It's difficult to imagine being completely dry."

"Ah, but the monsoon is a blessing from the Mother Goddess. Without it, all India would starve."

"Yes, I'm sure that you are right. It's just hard for me to imagine living with this for another three months."

Anil leaned toward her, his face earnest. Priscilla caught a hint of sandalwood essence wafting from his warm skin. A wave of dizziness swept over her. “It must be difficult for you, being so far from your home. I think, though, that if you allow yourself, you will come to love India."

Priscilla struggled to control her physical reactions, “Perhaps. Certainly, the rain is very beautiful. It softens the rough edges and makes everything seem dreamlike, insubstantial. Sometimes you can see the hills. Sometimes it's as though they are not there."

"Yes, exactly. The monsoon reveals the truth, that all is Maya, illusion. Our bodies, this world, pleasure and pain, it is all a dream of the gods."

For Priscilla at that moment, nothing seemed more real than the demands of her body. Anil's closeness stirred her to extremes of desire she hadn't experienced since her first weeks with Jonathan. Her nipples were aching knots pressed against the muslin of her shirtwaist. She could feel the juices leaking from her sex and soaking her skirts. She thought of Jonathan, tried to smother her lust in guilt, but failed utterly. Jonathan had neglected her. He had left her alone to suffer this awful, delicious temptation.

She called on her reserves of British propriety to help her through the moment, “So, Mr. Kumar, what has induced you to undertake the long journey to this remote place?"

Kumar sat back in his chair, “Business, of course. Your husband's father made a variety of investments in India in addition to this tea plantation. I have been gathering information on their status. Now I have come to give your husband a report and to execute the various documents necessary to transfer ownership."

Priscilla couldn't bear it any longer. She had to get out of this man's intoxicating presence, back to the safety of her room. She rose, careful not to reveal the damp patch at the rear of her dress.

"Well, Jonathan is currently out in the fields supervising the workers, but I expect him for lunch, around one. I hope that you'll join us."

"That's very gracious of you, Mrs. Archer."

"Not at all. It's a pleasure for us to have company in this isolated spot. Meanwhile, I hope you'll excuse me while I retire. The humidity often gives me terrible headaches. Make yourself comfortable; I'll have Lalida bring out the tea."

"Thank you, Mrs. Archer. I hope that you feel better. I will see you at lunch."

Priscilla choked out some response and fled to the bedroom. She threw herself face down on the bed, hands between her thighs. A single touch, through the soaked fabric of her knickers, was all it took. She screamed her release into her pillow, surrounded by the fragrance of sandalwood.

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Jonathan leaned back in his chair and looked around the table, highly satisfied. The curry had been delicious—he'd begun to realise that skipping breakfast was a mistake sometime around ten thirty—and he'd enjoyed two hearty helpings. The workers were nearly done with the north slope, and his overseer Suresh estimated that the entire harvest would be complete by the end of the week. Then perhaps he could spend a bit more time with Pru.

Poor woman, she was looking paler than usual, in her place at the foot of the table. She hadn't spoken much at lunch either, leaving him and their guest to carry the conversation. Perhaps she was angry with him for resisting her advances this morning.
I haven't been the best husband
, he thought.
First I drag her out here to the wilderness, and then I reject her.

He didn't completely understand why their private life had become so dismal. He still found her attractive. With her red-gold ringlets, creamy complexion and lithe figure, she was highly desirable, even if she was no longer the innocent young creature for whom he'd fallen. She was still the woman he imagined on the rare occasions when he masturbated. Yet when she sought physical affection from him, he froze up and lost all interest.

Part of it was guilt. He knew that he was responsible for failing to give her children. The physicians had certified that she was completely healthy, that her cycles were normal and she should be able to conceive. It had to be him. He'd been with some whores before he met Priscilla; perhaps, unknown to him, he'd contracted some disease that left him sterile. Or maybe it was hereditary. After all, in the twenty-two years of marriage they'd shared before his mother died, his father had sired only a single child.

Jonathan pushed the thought of his father away. He didn't want to ruin his good mood. Instead, he tried to pick up the thread of Kumar's conversation.

"There are rumours that Montagu and Chelmsford will introduce a bill that offers far more self-government to the provinces and repeals the ‘official majority’ provision. Have you heard anything about this, Mr. Archer?"

"Nothing at all, but you must remember that we're very isolated here. We don't even have a working wireless. Being in Calcutta, I'm sure that you're much better informed than we are."

Kumar smiled. He really did seem like a decent chap, quite charming in fact. Jonathan was glad for his company. “I cannot evaluate the truth of the many rumours that I hear. However, I think that the Crown is finally coming to understand that India is not a country of savages, and that we have the ability, and the right, to govern ourselves."

"Be careful where you voice those sentiments, Mr. Kumar. Some people would label them as seditious."

"I understand your point. However, I feel that I can trust you with my honest feelings. Your father was my close friend for nearly a decade. I look forward to having the same sort of relationship with his son."

"Of course,” said Jonathan, finding himself for some reason embarrassed. How like his father, to take a native as his bosom comrade! His father, who fled to India after his mother's death, leaving his ten year old son in the care of his spinster sister. Who became so attached to his adopted country that he'd been cremated there, instead of having his body sent home to be buried in England! His father had no sense of propriety; based on her hints, Jonathan suspected that the old man had actually taken swarthy Lalida as his mistress.

On the other hand, it wasn't fair to take all this out on Kumar. He was an innocent bystander. “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Kumar."

"Please call me Anil, as your father did."

"Very well, Anil. We can review the papers this afternoon, if that would be convenient for you."

The handsome solicitor gave one of his dazzling smiles. “That would be perfect, Jonathan. However, what about our fair hostess? What will she do while we're working?"

"Don't worry about me, Mr. Kumar—” Priscilla appeared uncomfortable for some reason. A red flush crept into her pale cheeks.

"Anil."

"Um—Anil. I manage to keep myself occupied. Fortunately we brought a whole trunk of novels with us on this trip."

"Reading is an excellent pastime. But have you visited any of the famous sites in the province?"

"No, not really. There's a local shrine above the tea fields that Lalida showed me, but that's about all."

"Ah, you must take advantage of your leisure and see some of our wonders. For example, you might visit the ruins of the temple/city of Madan Kamdeva, world famous for its graceful erotic sculptures."

Priscilla's blush deepened.

"Unfortunately, Madan Kamdeva is quite a distance,” Anil continued, seeming not to notice Pru's discomfort. “However, I could take you to Kamakhya Temple. It is one of the holiest places in eastern India, and extremely interesting. The temple is set high above Gauhati city on Neelachal Parbat. Only a few hours drive, if we can secure an automobile ."

"The Resident at Cachor has a brand new Bentley,” said Jonathan .” But I don't know how you'll persuade him to part with it, even for a day."