Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India) (31 page)

 
“I see.” Devora watched as he removed a suitcase from the closet. Her heart suddenly hurt with more than just fear. “You’re leaving now?”

 
“You suggest I wait until he wakes up?”

Devora swallowed hard and shook her head. “No, of course not. Where will you go?”

 
“I will find a temporary room in the village,” Rohan replied. “After that, I do not know.”

 
Devora wanted to ask him if she would ever see him again, but she knew that such a question would be foolish. They may have had an intense physical attraction towards each other, and she might even have fallen in love with him, but ultimately, Rohan was right. British-Indian relations would never reach a point in which a relationship between a British woman and an Indian man would be acceptable.

 
Rohan started to fold his clothes and put them in the suitcase. Devora watched the quick, smooth actions of his hands.

 
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

 
He straightened and turned towards her. For a moment, he merely looked at her, his dark eyes inscrutable. And then he reached for her, grasping her shoulders and pulling her against him in a movement so quick it was like the beat of a bird’s wings.

Devora closed her eyes, struggling against tears as she rested her forehead against his chest and breathed in the familiar scent of him. She could not imagine never seeing him again.

Rohan’s arms tightened around her as he pressed his lips against her temple, then moved to kiss her cheek. He whispered something in her ear, Hindi words that sounded as symphonic as falling rain.

 
Devora lifted her head to look at him. “What did you say?”

 
A gentle smile curved his lips. “Maybe someday you will know.”

 
He put his hands on her hips and urged her toward the door. “You must go now.”

 
“I’m sorry, Rohan. You know I never wanted this to happen.”

 
“There is no need for apology,” Rohan replied. “I am as much at fault. As I said, I have disgraced my position and your husband’s employment.”

 
“Yes, well, I’ve been rather a disgrace myself.” Devora opened the door. She paused and glanced back at him, unable to help herself from asking a burning question.

 
“Do you regret it?” she asked.

 
He straightened and returned her gaze, his expression as enigmatic as it had ever been. And then, his eyes softened.

 
“No,
memsahib
. I regret nothing.”

 
Devora smiled. “Neither do I. Must have something to do with that old soul you said I possess.”

 
“Having an old soul also means that the karma of your many previous lives conspired to create your destiny,” Rohan said. “Do not forget that.”

 
“No, I won’t. Goodbye, Rohan.”

 
With a deep ache in the pit of her soul, Devora left the room and went back to the house. She entered the sitting room from the veranda and was greeting with the noisy sound of snoring. Devora sighed and approached her husband, who lay on the sofa with one arm hanging to the floor and the empty gin bottle beside him. The room itself also bore signs of altercation, as two tables and a chair had been tipped over and the shards of a broken vase lay scattered on the floor.

 
Devora retrieved a broom and swept up the porcelain pieces, then righted the table and chairs. She threw the damaged painting of Rohan in the rubbish bin and arranged the rest of her drawings and sketches into a portfolio. She was grateful that Gerald hadn’t seen fit to tear up her other work, as he might well have done in his rage.

 
A loud snort from Gerald split the air like thunder. Devora glanced at him, noticing that his forehead was bleeding from a small cut. She found some antiseptic and dabbed the wound.

Luckily, Gerald was so gone that he didn’t awaken and only muttered some unintelligible words of protest. After bandaging the cut, Devora went into the bedroom and began to pack her things. She didn’t know what Gerald had in mind, but she had realized their marriage was stifling her. That he was stifling her. Why would she have sought excitement and stimulation elsewhere?

 
She thought about staying to talk things out with him. She didn’t even know where to go, let alone what to do next. In the end, she locked up two valises, picked up her portfolio, and headed out the door. Gerald would need time to recover and collect his own thoughts, and it was better that he do so without her there.

 
Devora walked to the road and hailed a
tonga
. She climbed into the back, thinking there was really only one place she could go.

 
“The Thompsons at the end of the road,” she told the
tonga wallah
.

 
He nodded and began to peddle. Devora knew she was in for serious punishment, but she didn’t think the Thompsons would deny her request to temporarily stay with them. As it turned out, they didn’t, although they made no attempt to hide their shock and disapproval.

 
“Really, Devora, this is a disgrace!” Mrs. Thompson gasped, pressing a hand to her abundant chest as if the news alone was a strain on her heart. “You and Gerald, separated? Does this have to do with the maharaja?”

 
Devora sank down into a chair and sighed. She suddenly felt very tired. “No, Mrs. Thompson. I’d rather not discuss it, but I expect the news will be all around town by tomorrow. It has to do with our head servant, Rohan.”

 
Mrs. Thompson’s eyes widened. “No.”

 
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

 
“My dear girl, you must be joking!” Mrs. Thompson’s eyebrows went up so high they nearly touched her hairline. “And Gerald is throwing you out of the house for that?”

 
Devora gave her a confused look, exhausted by the events of the past few hours. “Shouldn’t he?”

 
“Because a servant took advantage of you?” Mrs. Thompson replied. “Certainly not!”

 
Comprehension dawned. “Oh, Mrs. Thompson, you misunderstand me. Rohan didn’t take advantage of me. Not at all.”

 
“Then I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“We had an affair,” Devora explained. “Rohan and I.”

 
Mrs. Thompson gasped in horror. “No!”

 
Devora nodded. “Yes. If you’d rather I leave now, I’ll understand.”

 
“My god, Devora! What on earth were you thinking?”

 
“I really don’t want to discuss it,” Devora said. “Suffice it to say that Gerald found out. I expect he’ll want a divorce. Right now, he’s passed out drunk in the sitting room.”

 
Mrs. Thompson’s mouth hung open in a perfect O. She sat rooted to her spot in shock, as if Devora’s revelation was more than she could take.

“Devora, this is scandalous! I’ve always known you were a bit odd, but I never dreamed you would be capable of something like this! You’ll be the disgrace of the entire community! How could you do something like that? And with an Indian man, no less!”

 
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Devora said, her voice tight. “He’s an Indian man. If I’d been having an affair with…with John Fields, then everyone would simply turn a blind eye, is that it?”

 
“Well, for heaven’s sake, Devora, of course it’s disgusting that he’s an Indian man. I mean, how could you? They’re so dirty!”

 
Devora fought back a wave of anger. “Rohan is not dirty.”

 
“Well, whether he was Indian or not, women are simply not to be unfaithful to their husbands.”

 
“Oh no? You’d better start practicing what you preach, Mrs. Thompson.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

 
“I know you’re having an affair with Major Cuthbert.” Devora stood and reached for her bags. “You know, I think I should find another place to stay.”

 
Mrs. Thompson stared at her in shock for about the fourth time in the last hour. “Wh…how did…I’m not having an affair!”

“Oh, sod it, Mrs. Thompson. I saw him screwing you against a wall the day I first met you at your garden party.”

 
Mrs. Thompson gasped. Her face turned red with outrage as she sputtered, “How dare you speak to me like that, you little slut! You’ll be cast out of town with this scandal, you know that, don’t you?”

 
“Well, good,” Devora retorted. “I’m tired of living here anyway. I love Calipore, but the British make me sick.”

 
She started towards the door, only to be stopped by Mrs. Thompson’s voice.

 
“Wait! Wait, Devora.”

 
Devora turned to look at Mrs. Thompson. Regret fluttered through her as she realized she had truly shocked the older woman beyond all reason. Mrs. Thompson’s chest heaved as she began to hyperventilate, and her skin had taken on an odd, bluish tint. Devora set her bags down and went to pour a glass of water from the pitcher on the sideboard.

 
“Here, drink this,” she said.

 
Mrs. Thompson took the glass with trembling hands and drank down half the water. She leaned back in her chair and patted her damp neck with a handkerchief as she tried to breathe.

 
“Better?” Devora asked.

 
Mrs. Thompson took a deep breath and nodded.

 
“I apologize,” Devora said. “I spoke without thinking, and I was very rude.”

 
“Devora, I just can’t believe what you’re telling me,” Mrs. Thompson said. “You’re having an affair with an Indian man even after all the warnings we’ve given you!”

 
“I’m not having an affair with him any longer,” Devora said. “Gerald dismissed him, of course. I believe he’s left already.”

 
“My god.” Mrs. Thompson pressed the handkerchief against her forehead and closed her eyes. “This is all too much. What a disgrace.”

 
“I’m sorry for having burdened you with it,” Devora said. “As I said, I’ll find another place to stay.”

“No, no.” Mrs. Thompson took another drink of water and shook her head. “No one else will take you in once the news gets around, and you can’t possibly take a room in the village. Heaven knows what other Indian men will try to do once they hear you willingly gave yourself to one Indian man. For your own safety, you’ll have to stay here.”

 
“That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to cause problems for you. You have your own reputation to consider.”

 
“My husband is the chief officer in this district and has been so for ten years,” Mrs. Thompson said. “I dare say our reputation can withstand an illicit affair, even if it is such a reprehensible one. Really, Devora, the whole thing is so utterly disgusting.”

 
She stood and walked towards the back of the bungalow. “You can stay in our guest bedroom until you and Gerald work things out.”

 
Devora couldn’t deny the fact that in spite of Mrs. Thompson’s horror and contempt, she was being decent about allowing Devora to stay.

 
“Thank you. I do appreciate this.” She followed Mrs. Thompson into the bedroom and placed her valises next to the dressing table.

 
“Yes, well, we don’t have much of a choice. I certainly can’t turn you out onto the streets.” Mrs. Thompson waved towards the chiffarobe. “You can hang your dresses in there. You’d better stay in here until I explain the situation to my husband. He is not going to be happy about this.”

 
“No, I expect he won’t.”

“I’ll bring you some tea and biscuits, but I don’t want you to come out until I tell you that you can.” Mrs. Thompson headed for the door, but then stopped and turned. “And, Devora?”

 
Devora looked up from opening a valise. “Yes?”

 
“Please don’t bring up Major Cuthbert in front of my husband. He will not understand.”

 
“Of course not.”

 
Mrs. Thompson nodded, pursing her lips slightly as she left the room. Devora unpacked her dresses and hung them up, then sank down onto the bed with a sigh. She felt as if every last shred of energy had been drained from her body. Her entire life had changed in the course of a few hours, although for better or worse she could not say.

***

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 
Devora sat next to Mrs. Thompson on the sofa. Gerald sat across from her, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped between them. He was staring intently at the floor, as if it would help him formulate his sentences.