December 1967 Nuwara-Eliya
The beige Savile Row wool suit and white linen shirt were more suited to a business meeting in the City of London than a drive to the hill capital of Nuwara-Eliya. Anthony was taking no chances. He planned to impress. He rummaged through his drawer of ties. ‘Something with purple,’ he mumbled.
Appu placed Anthony’s brown leather shoes polished and ready at the foot of the bed and then stepped back. ‘Sir, the car is at the front. Are you sure you don’t want the chauffeur, sir?’
‘I’ll be fine.’ Slipping on his coat, Anthony jumped in the Wolseley and drove out. He noticed that the Tea-maker’s car was not in the garden. They must have left early.
The swirling wind and rain made for heavy going. It took Anthony an hour to negotiate the winding roads to Nuwara-Eliya. He ripped into the car park of the River View Hotel in a shower of gravel and parked some distance from the Rasiah’s old Morris Minor. Slipping his jacket on, he picked up his briefcase and sauntered to the hotel. He tried to look casual, like he had decided to stop there for lunch on an impulse.
He pretended not to notice the minor kerfuffle as the staff at the front desk saw him climb the steps. A man in a black suit with the badge ‘Anton Perera – Manager’ emerged from the side room and approached Anthony. ‘Sir, welcome to River View Hotel, sir. It is good for you to come here, sir.’ His voice and demeanour were both delighted and surprised. Few British came to River View Hotel. It was obviously a coup to have the heir apparent of Oriental Produce visit.
‘Mr Perera, you have a family from Watakälé dining here, the Rasiahs.’
‘Yes, sir. They are with a family from Colombo who are holidaying here.’
‘Well, give me a table close to them. But,’ his eyes bored into the managers, ‘I don’t want them to know I am here.’
The manager’s eyes glazed like a deer in the spotlight of the hunter. ‘Yes, sir, at once sir.’ He recovered and gestured to the dining room. ‘There are lot of families here today, sir. But we got a really nice table by the window in the dining room, sir.’ He bowed as he ushered Anthony towards a table for two by the window.
The chatter in English and Tamil indicated that the meal was well under way. Anthony adjusted his seat so he had a clear view of Shiro. He was close enough to hear the conversation at the Rasiahs’ table.
‘Yogan is very musical, Shiro,’ said a large lady in a red silk sari on Shiro’s left. ‘And he has a lot of opportunities for travel also in his job. He will go up in the company fast. You will be well looked after.’ She had a flabby paw with a multitude of rings clasped on Shiro’s arm.
Dismissing her, Anthony concentrated on the young man sitting on Shiro’s right. Yogan Chelliah was dressed in a white cotton shirt and dark blue pair of trousers. Damn the man. Yogan was younger than Anthony and very good looking.
Yogan’s eyes lit up and crinkled at the edges as he gazed at Shiro.
Shiro fluttered her eyelids at him. The little witch, she’s playing with this man. Even as Anthony watched, she lowered her eyelids, opened her mouth and licked her lower lip.
Yogan’s expression went into an overdrive of adoration.
Anthony nibbled on his smoked salmon and salad, all the while watching Shiro across the room. Suddenly, Shiro’s back stiffened. She swung around in her seat and looked across the room. Her eyes widened as they met his. Anthony put his folk down and raised a finger to his lips. A smile crept across her face. She turned back and looked up at Yogan, fluttered her lashes and touched his sleeve with her fingertips.
The young man looked like he would faint with pleasure.
The brat. He’s already in love with her. A shaft of jealousy pierced Anthony’s heart. His every impulse was to stride across the room and drag her away from the man and her family. His fingers tightened on the arms of the mahogany chair.
Shiro flashed a look at Anthony. Her eyes shone bright with mischief. She’s enjoying this. She has no idea what it’s doing to me.
There was a buzz of conversation around the Rasiahs’ table and seats were pushed back. The lunch plates were cleared by the waiters. Mrs Rasiah walked over to Shiro and spoke to her. Shiro shrugged and stood up. With a side glance at Anthony she followed her mother and Yogan out of the dining room.
‘Sir, more coffee, sir? Would you like to see the dessert menu, sir?’ Anthony ignored the waiters pleading tone. He waited till Mrs Rasiah came back to the dining room.
‘Coffee in the lounge please, waiter.’ Anthony dropped a five hundred rupee note on the table and strolled out of the dining room. He avoided looking at the Rasiahs.
A log fire glowed in an ornate old brick fireplace of the lounge. This, along with two hidden wall sconces, provided the only light in the room. Deep two and three-seater velvet upholstered sofas and single armchairs with carved arms were placed in groups around the room. Large tapestries in muted oranges and reds covered the walls. The firelight threw flickering shadows on the burnt orange carpets and clotted cream walls. It was small and intimate.
Shiro and Yogan sat at either end of a three-seater sofa. Anthony walked in front of them and sat on a sofa with his back to them.
Pulling out a book from his briefcase, Anthony snapped his fingers at the uniformed waiter standing at the door. He pointed to the ceiling lights. He cleared his throat and put on his best colonial accent. ‘Switch these lights on, man. This place is like a bloody mausoleum. How the hell am I supposed to get any work done in this darkness?’
The waiter leapt to obey and the lounge was flooded with bright yellow light.
Anthony ignored the giggle from the sofa behind him.
Yogan Chelliah spoke with an almost delicate intonation, a cultured Sri Lankan voice with a missionary school accent. ‘Shiro, what do you want to do now that you have finished school?’
Tell him you want to be a flying doctor in the Australian outback, Anthony prompted silently.
Shiro’s voice was louder than necessary for someone sitting across her on the sofa. ‘I’m going to medical school and will specialise in something. Paediatrics, obstetrics –something crazily exciting.’
The tone of the response was anxious. ‘But that will take a lot of years.’
‘Perfectly true, Yogan. What did you expect? Did your parents tell you I was ready for marriage immediately?’
That’s my girl – go for the jugular. Anthony punched his closed fist on the open book on his lap.
‘No, no,’ Yogan said. ‘I thought maybe next year? When you are finished the first year exams?’
Shiro spoke slowly. Her voice dripped condescension. ‘Yogan, I haven’t even said I want to marry you. But talking about marriage, why do you want to marry me?’
Oh no, Anthony groaned. He’s going to tell her how wonderful she is. That he loves her and will give her the world.
‘Well, Shiro, our parents have known each other for a long time. You will be safe with me. We can have a good life together.’
Anthony barely contained a laugh, but Shiro didn’t. She laughed loud and long. ‘But Yogan, surely marriage is more than safety and a good life? What about love and romance?’
Yogan coughed. ‘That will come later, Shiro,’ he stammered. ‘Like for your parents and mine. You are young –…’
Shiro’s voice was rose in pitch. ‘No. Don’t hold my hand.’
Anthony clenched his fists, amazed at the intensity of emotion that ripped through him. He wanted to yank her away from this man. Tell her that he was the only one who had the right to touch her. Instead, he stood and picked up his briefcase. He walked halfway to the door, then stopped and looked back at Yogan and Shiro.
‘Well, Miss Rasiah, fancy meeting you here. I thought I recognised your family in the dining room.’ He walked over to the couple on the sofa. Yogan stood up as he approached. Anthony gazed down at Yogan, pleased to note that he was a good four inches taller than the Sri Lankan. ‘And this would be one of your brothers?’
‘No, Mr Ashley-Cooper.’ Shiro’s face was a picture of innocent virtue. ‘This is a family friend, Yogan Chelliah.’ She turned to Yogan. ‘Mr Ashley-Cooper is the superintendent in Watakälé.’
Anthony smiled down at Yogan. ‘I see. You must all be very proud that Miss Rasiah is going to medical school?’
‘Y-yes,’ Yogan stammered.
‘And yourself, Mr - eh - Mr Chelliah, do you work around here?’
‘I’m an accountant in Colombo.’ Yogan Chelliah visibly withered under the cold, blue gaze.
Anthony put on his best British colonial persona. ‘Ah, accountants. Boring but necessary.’ He flicked back his cuff to glance at his gold Omega watch. ‘Well, I have to go. Running a tea plantation doesn’t allow for lazy afternoons by the fire, I’m afraid. It was good to see you again, Miss Rasiah.’ He turned on his heel and walked out. He heard Shiro giggle.
He didn’t look back.