the deepening hunger of their lips.
He laid her back on the pillow and gently bared her breasts, tracing their outline with his fingertips. The movements of his hand sent a hot fire shooting through her body, making her breath come faster, and from then on she was his, to do with what he wanted, while no recollection or thought restrained the ecstasy of the night.
Next morning, a soft sunlight crept into the room, which faced east. The cane sunblind had been lifted on the window to let in the cool night air, and now without its shade, the room was brightening. All was silence and peace, the temperature sleepily warm, the scent of Persian roses floated through from the garden.
For the first time in years Lachlan had overslept. He stirred slowly, becoming conscious of the girl sleeping soundly beside him. He eased onto his elbow to look at her, remembering the night, ravished with love. He bent and kissed her softly on her mouth, then eased out of bed, careful not to wake her.
It had been almost dawn before they had finally slept, so it would be cruel to wake her now. She was not used to waking before nine she had told him, but he had always found it impossible to sleep after sunrise.
In the dressing room he washed and dressed, deciding to take an early morning ride. He looked into the small room next to the dressing-room where Jane's little Indian maid, Marianne, was also sleeping. The poor child was only ten years old, and probably exhausted from all the wedding preparations of the day before.
Through the skylight the sun streamed brightly down the long hall. The entire house seemed to be slumbering in a golden peacefulness. Lachlan whistled quietly to himself as he strode through the silence – totally unprepared when he turned into the drawing room and found a small crowd of people standing in readiness to greet him.
He was so startled he almost tripped over his own feet. ‘Where the hell did you all come from?’
In response, the line of native servants salaamed to him respectfully.
‘Where did you all come from?’ he asked again. ‘You were not here last night.’ He looked at them uncertainly. ‘Were you?’
Yes, they were, in the row of servants' quarters at the back of the house, but he had not known or noticed.
A small thin Indian in a turban stepped forward and spoke for the others in rather good English. ‘The Sahiba, she say for us to come at sunset.’
‘Which Sahiba? Memsahib Morley?’
‘No. Missy-Sahib Jarvis. She say we all needed to take care of the Sahib's house.’
Jane? … Jane had organised all these servants?
He stared at the regiment of servants McKenzie had predicted he would have. And the introductions began. There was a Chowkidar (Night Watchman) Mali (Gardener) Syce (Groom) Dhobi (Laundryman) Kansamah (Cook) Khidmatgar (Waiter at table) And so it went on ... By the time it came for him to be introduced to the servants ' servants, his head was whirling. An officer he may be, but off-duty and on home ground, it seemed he was to live the life of a gentleman of ease.
At last he was allowed to take his leave, declining the offer of morning tea. No, he insisted, he did not want chota hazri – not breakfast – not until the Memsahib had awoken from her sleep.
*
It was a long-held custom in British Bombay that in the days immediately following a wedding, the bride and groom were obliged to hold a period of ‘sitting up evenings’ when well-wishers could call upon them to express their congratulations, and be lavishly entertained in return.
The weeks that followed were sheer exhaustion for Lachlan and Jane as every lady and gentleman in the settlement, not to mention a battalion of officers and their wives, called to pay their respects, which – custom declared – must be repaid by an invitation to stay for dinner if they called before five o'clock, or supper if they called later.
Five weeks after his wedding Lachlan sat down to dinner one evening and
He laid her back on the pillow and gently bared her breasts, tracing their outline with his fingertips. The movements of his hand sent a hot fire shooting through her body, making her breath come faster, and from then on she was his, to do with what he wanted, while no recollection or thought restrained the ecstasy of the night.
Next morning, a soft sunlight crept into the room, which faced east. The cane sunblind had been lifted on the window to let in the cool night air, and now without its shade, the room was brightening. All was silence and peace, the temperature sleepily warm, the scent of Persian roses floated through from the garden.
For the first time in years Lachlan had overslept. He stirred slowly, becoming conscious of the girl sleeping soundly beside him. He eased onto his elbow to look at her, remembering the night, ravished with love. He bent and kissed her softly on her mouth, then eased out of bed, careful not to wake her.
It had been almost dawn before they had finally slept, so it would be cruel to wake her now. She was not used to waking before nine she had told him, but he had always found it impossible to sleep after sunrise.
In the dressing room he washed and dressed, deciding to take an early morning ride. He looked into the small room next to the dressing-room where Jane's little Indian maid, Marianne, was also sleeping. The poor child was only ten years old, and probably exhausted from all the wedding preparations of the day before.
Through the skylight the sun streamed brightly down the long hall. The entire house seemed to be slumbering in a golden peacefulness. Lachlan whistled quietly to himself as he strode through the silence – totally unprepared when he turned into the drawing room and found a small crowd of people standing in readiness to greet him.
He was so startled he almost tripped over his own feet. ‘Where the hell did you all come from?’
In response, the line of native servants salaamed to him respectfully.
‘Where did you all come from?’ he asked again. ‘You were not here last night.’ He looked at them uncertainly. ‘Were you?’
Yes, they were, in the row of servants' quarters at the back of the house, but he had not known or noticed.
A small thin Indian in a turban stepped forward and spoke for the others in rather good English. ‘The Sahiba, she say for us to come at sunset.’
‘Which Sahiba? Memsahib Morley?’
‘No. Missy-Sahib Jarvis. She say we all needed to take care of the Sahib's house.’
Jane? … Jane had organised all these servants?
He stared at the regiment of servants McKenzie had predicted he would have. And the introductions began. There was a Chowkidar (Night Watchman) Mali (Gardener) Syce (Groom) Dhobi (Laundryman) Kansamah (Cook) Khidmatgar (Waiter at table) And so it went on ... By the time it came for him to be introduced to the servants ' servants, his head was whirling. An officer he may be, but off-duty and on home ground, it seemed he was to live the life of a gentleman of ease.
At last he was allowed to take his leave, declining the offer of morning tea. No, he insisted, he did not want chota hazri – not breakfast – not until the Memsahib had awoken from her sleep.
*
It was a long-held custom in British Bombay that in the days immediately following a wedding, the bride and groom were obliged to hold a period of ‘sitting up evenings’ when well-wishers could call upon them to express their congratulations, and be lavishly entertained in return.
The weeks that followed were sheer exhaustion for Lachlan and Jane as every lady and gentleman in the settlement, not to mention a battalion of officers and their wives, called to pay their respects, which – custom declared – must be repaid by an invitation to stay for dinner if they called before five o'clock, or supper if they called later.
Five weeks after his wedding Lachlan sat down to dinner one evening and
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