Ruth Prawer Jhabvala - Heat and Dust

He laughed: "Don't they? It's very misleading. But once you know them — and they know that you know — well, you can have a good time with them. Just as long as you're not fooled. It's rather fun really."

He looked at her golden head bent gracefully from her white neck: he loved to have her sitting there like that opposite him, sewing. She was wearing something soft and beige. He was vague about women's clothes and only knew what he liked and he liked this. "Is that new?" he asked.

"Oh goodness, darling, you've seen it hundreds of times…. Why were they laughing? What did you say?"

"I just told them, in a roundabout way, that they were a pack of rogues."

"And they like being told that?"

"If you say it in Hindustani, yes."

"I must learn! "

"Yes you must," he said without enthusiasm. "It's the only language in which you can deliver deadly insults with the most flowery courtesy… I don't mean you, of course." He laughed at the idea. "What a shock they'd have!"

"Why? Mrs. Crawford speaks Hindustani; and Mrs. Minnies. "

"Yes but not with men. And they don't deliver deadly insults. It's a man's game, strictly. "

"What isn't?" Olivia said.

He sucked at his pipe in rather a pleased way which made her cry out sharply: "Don't do that!" He took it out of his mouth and stared in surprise. "I hate you with that thing, Douglas, " she explained.

Although he didn't understand why, he saw that she was upset so he laid it aside. "I don't like it much myself," he said frankly. There was a pause. She stopped sewing, stared into space; her pretty lower lip was sulky.

He said "It'll be all right once you get to the hills. It's the heat, darling, that's getting you,"

"I know it is… but when will you be able to get away?"

"Never mind about me. It's you we have to take care of. I was talking to Beth today. They're thinking of leaving on the 17th, and I said kindly to book a berth for you at the same time. It's the Kalka Mail — an overnight journey, but it won't be too bad, I promise you." He was so pleased with his arrangement that it did not occur to him she could be anything else. "It's another four hours up the mountains but what a journey! You'll love it. The scenery, not to speak of the change of climate — "

"You don't for one moment think that I would go without you!"

"Beth Crawford will be there, and Mary Minnies. They'll take care of you." He gave one look at her face and said "That's just silly, Olivia. Mother spent four months away from Father every year for years on end. From April to September. She didn't like it either, but when you're in a district, that's the way it has to be. "

"I’m not going," Olivia said, sitting up very straight and looking at him very straight too. Then she said "The Nawab wants to give a party for us."

"Very kind of him," Douglas said drily. He picked up his pipe again to knock it against the fender.

"Yes it is rather," Olivia said. "He sent Harry over specially to ask us."

"It's not every day that royalty throws parties for junior officers."

"No but I expect he's as bored as we are with our seniors."

" We are?"

"I am."

She was still looking at him straight but was weakened not with fear but with love — by the way he was looking back at her. She had always loved his eyes. They were completely clear and unflinching — the eyes of a boy who read adventure stories and had dedicated himself to live up to their code of courage and honour.

"Why are we quarrelling?" she asked.

He considered her question for a moment and then came up with his reasoned reply: "Because the climate is making you irritable. That's only natural, it happens to all of us. And of course it's much worse for you having to stay home all day with nothing to do. That's why I want you to go away." After a moment he added "You don't think I like it any better than you, do you."

Then she collapsed completely and could only be held up by his strong arms. She said she'd be bored, she'd be irritable, she'd be hot, she'd quarrel with him — all right! But please not to send her away from him.

The Nawab said "When the guest will not grace the house of the host, then that house ceases to be a happy place." Although this probably sounded better in Urdu, Olivia understood what he meant and felt both flattered and embarrassed.

"So I have come," the Nawab said and spread his arms wide to show how much he was there.

He had come as before, with a whole retinue. But this time he refused to stay: he said no, it was his turn and he could not accept her hospitality again before she had accepted his. This embarrassed her more, for what could she tell him to explain her neglect of his invitations? But, like a man who understands every situation perfectly, he saw to it that she didn't have to explain anything. He told her that he had come all this way to invite her to a little drive and perhaps, if she felt like it, a little picnic somewhere in some shady spot? No, he could not — would not — be refused. The whole expedition need take only half an hour, fifteen minutes — let her look upon it only as a sort of tokem gesture, by way of reparation to him. He made it sound as if all sorts of intricate Indian codes of honour were involved — and perhaps they were, how was she to know? And she wanted to go so terribly!

He had come with two cars, a Rolls and an Alfa Romeo.

All the young men with him piled into the Alfa Romeo while he himself, Olivia, and Harry sat in the Rolls. Harry was in front with the chauffeur. They drove past the Crawfords' house, past the Saunders', past the church and cemetery. Then they were out in open country. They drove on and on. The Nawab was sprawled next to her on the pearl-grey upholstery, one leg laid over the other, his arm flung carelessly along the back. He didn't say one word but smoked a great number of cigarettes. The country they drove through lay broiling in the sun. It glittered like glass and seemed to stretch out endlessly. At one point the Nawab reached across Olivia to pull down the blind on her window, as if wanting to spare her the sight of all that parched land. But it was all his land now: they had passed out of Satipur into his state of Khatm. No one said where they were going and Olivia felt foolish to ask. The Nawab's silence disturbed her. Was he bored, or in a bad mood? But in that case why had he insisted that she come? And now, having come, she felt as if she were in his power and had to submit to whatever mood he was in. Her dress stuck to the back of her legs with perspiration and she was afraid that, when she got out, it would be all wrinkled over the seat and look awful.

The car turned from the road and into a narrow track. It was difficult to drive here: they were shaken — to and fro and Olivia hung on to the strap rather desperately so that she might not be flung against the Nawab. She was really very much afraid of this, for various mixed reasons. After a while the car couldn't go any further and they all had to get out and walk. The path got more and more narrow and climbed steeply upwards. The Nawab still didn't say anything though sometimes he held some branches aside to make it easier for Olivia to walk. But she still got scratched by thorns and also some insects were biting her; her straw hat had slipped to one side and she was very hot and near to tears. When she looked back, she saw Harry, 'also very hot, panting painfully behind them. The rest of their party was following them but at a respectful distance. The Nawab led the way, spotless in his white ducks and white-and-tan shoes.

He held aside some brambles and invited Olivia to walk ahead of him. They had arrived in a shady grove around a small stone shrine. It was cool and green here; there was even the sound of water. There was also a retinue of Palace servants who had already prepared the place for their entertainment. The ground had been spread with carpets and cushions on which Olivia was invited to recline. The Nawab and Harry joined her while the young men were sent off to amuse themselves elsewhere. The servants were busy unpacking hampers and cooling bottles of wine.