December 1966 Watakälé
Shiro made her way to her special place, her book hugged to her chest. The rays of the morning sun slipped through the mist and teased the tea bushes with flickers of light. White butterflies flitted around her, a swarm on their way to Adam’s Peak.
Lakshmi, I miss you so. This is all no fun without you, my friend.
She looked up at the sky. It was her eagle again. He’d been flying around over this area every day for the two weeks that she had been at home. She watched as he swooped and settled on a high branch. She wished she could fly away with him – be free.
Shiro loved this place – and yet she longed to have a new and different life far away from the tea plantations. Maybe she could travel to some distant country like Africa or Australia. Maybe she could be a missionary doctor or maybe even a flying doctor in Australia.
The tea bushes reached to her waist. She remembered a time when she had to stand on tiptoe to see over them. That was a time when Lakshmi had been with her.
Reaching her place, she spread her purple blanket and flung herself down on her stomach. She opened up her book. Soon she was lost in reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
‘Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,
Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend
More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The lunatic, the lover and the poet
Are of imagination all compact.’
The image of the lovers’ behaviour made her laugh. So that’s what the stupid girls at school meant when they said they were madly in love. She would take her time. Study and hopefully university – then love and sex!
‘Princess Shiro, I presume.’ The voice was distinctly British.
Shiro swung her eyes up from her book. Brown leather shoes led up to a neatly creased pair of brown wool trousers. Tilting her head further revealed a brown leather belt then a white shirt open at the neck and tucked into the trousers.
She leapt to her feet, her hands on her cheeks, ready to scream.
‘Please don’t be frightened, Miss Rasiah.’ The words were soft spoken, soothing.
Shiro looked up at the tall Englishmen. He stood with his hands up in a mock gesture of surrender. The sun behind him turned his blonde hair into a golden halo. His cobalt blue eyes creased at the corners. A smile dimpled his cheek and lit up his angular face. ‘Please, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’ve been watching you for two weeks. I had to walk down and say hello.’
Shiro continued to stare at him. Who was this picture book perfect white man? ‘Watching me?’ She stammered, stepping back from him, tensed, ready to run. She must not get familiar with strange men, especially not white ones. She should leave. But the look in his deep blue eyes kept her rooted to the spot. Somewhere in the hidden recesses of her memory the angular face and blue eyes were familiar. Who? When?
Shiro screwed up her face, searching for the lost memory.
‘I’ve watched you through my binoculars on my daily rounds of the tea plantation. You seemed to be having a great time with your books. What are you reading?’
Shiro ignored his question. ‘I’m sorry. I have to go home. My parents won’t want me to talk to you.’
His smile widened. ‘You don’t recognise me, do you, princess? I’m Anthony Ashley-Cooper. We met when you were eight years old. I wasn’t very pleasant. May I proffer a belated apology for my boorish behaviour?’
Shiro gasped. The British bastard who stamped on the rose bush she planted over her cat’s grave! She put her hand to her mouth, remembering how she had insulted him that day. She pushed her knuckles into her mouth. Her body shook with suppressed laughter.
Anthony laughed with her. ‘Remember? The day your cat died. Did you get another cat?’
‘Oh, I remember you.’ Shiro dropped her hand, collecting herself as memories of the day flooded back. Puckering her lips she made a vain attempt to look stern. ‘You didn’t want to play with a native child, remember?’ Surely, this was not the churlish spoiled brat who had come with the Irvine girls for tea all those years ago? The grown up Anthony was actually quite cute. Keeping serious was impossible. Amusement tweaked at the corners of her lips.
‘I apologise for my crass manner. What are you staring at? Have I a smudge on my face?’
‘No. It’s just that you’ve changed. You aren’t -’
‘Obnoxious? Pompous? Pig headed? I can think of a string of adjectives to describe what I was. It’s called growing up.’ He looked down at her. ‘And you? What are you up to, princess? Finished school yet?’
‘No, I’m still in school. And please, not princess!’
‘In case you’ve forgotten, you asked me to call you princess.’
‘That was a long time ago. Like you said, before we grew up.’ She stood up straight. ‘I believe it is proper that you call me Miss Rasiah, Mr Ashley-Cooper.’ She picked up her blanket and turned away. ‘Anyway, we shouldn’t be talking like this.’
‘Why?’ his voice called her back.
Shiro stopped and hugged her blanket and book to her chest.
‘Because you are the white superintendent and I am the Tea-maker’s daughter.’
Anthony stepped closer to her. He smelt of lemon and something else. Shiro couldn’t recognise it, but it was nice. Shiro swung round and looked into his eyes, expecting anger, exasperation. To her surprise his eyes twinkled with laughter.
‘Come on, Miss Rasiah – relax. You don’t honestly believe those archaic rules, do you? The girl I remember would have stuck her tongue out at anyone who dared tell her what to do.’
Shiro chuckled. He was right. She shook her head, sending her hair tumbling around her face, blowing in the breeze. ‘I was incorrigible, wasn’t I? Now I realise that nothing’s quite that simple in the tea plantation.’ She shrugged turning to the path leading up to the house. ‘Some things you can’t fight.’
‘We were children, Miss Rasiah. It’s been eight years. Could we start again? Be friends?’
Shiro stopped. She turned. Their eyes locked. His eyes dared her.
When could Shiro ever refuse a challenge?