observation when I wish to appear wise before my counsellors. I am told
that your father is a highly regarded writer."
"Yes.
Did my uncle mention that?"
He
stopped and rubbed the tip of his nose with a forefinger. "No. It was told
to me by a friend who informs me that Calcutta is a village in which everything
becomes known to everyone sooner or later."
Olivia's
breath knotted. It was not difficult to guess to whom he referred. Her steps
too halted in their tracks. "I . . . see." Lightly, she asked,
"May I ask who that friend might be?"
"I
believe you have already met him. His name is Jai Raventhorne."
The
turn of the conversation was so unexpected that Olivia was again thrown off
balance. Raventhorne had actually spoken of her to the Maharaja? Why? In what
context? "Oh yes, so I have." She kept her gaze fixed steadily on the
river. Even though details of her uncle's argument with Arthur Ransome that
night now became clear in her memory, she asked, "Mr. Raventhorne is known
to Your Highness?"
He
did not answer at once. In fact, he took an inordinate amount of time over a
question that Olivia had asked with deliberate offhandedness. "Jai
Raventhorne is not known to anybody, Miss O'Rourke, maybe not even to himself.
But as far as it is possible to know him, yes, he is known to me."
That
made her smile. "But Mr. Raventhorne believes that nobody ever truly knows
anyone else!"
"In
the final analyses, I suppose he is right."
Unexpected
or not, the drift of the conversation was too tempting a prospect not to
explore further a man who had strangely dominated Olivia's thoughts over the
past weeks. Surprising herself with her forwardness, she asked, "Since Your
Highness does know him as a friend, does Mr. Raventhorne deserve the hideous
reputation he has with the European community?"
"Certainly.
He not only deserves it, he enjoys it. In fact, Jai is flattered by the list of
charges the Europeans prefer against him. Indeed, he works hard to extend it.
That his efforts are recognized is a matter of great satisfaction to him."
Whether
or not the Maharaja spoke in jest, Olivia was nonplussed. "But why?"
Nervously, she cast a glance over her shoulder to ensure that they were not
within listening distance of anyone. Even so, her pulse raced. "Why should
any man enjoy being known as a reprobate and a rogue?"
The
Maharaja shrugged, amused by her bewilderment. "Why is not a
question that can be asked of Jai Raventhorne, Miss O'Rourke. His motives are
as obscure as the man himself."
Olivia
frowned and shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't understand—"
"I
wonder if it is even worth trying to," he interrupted quietly. Some subtle
signal must have been made, because an aide emerged suddenly out of nowhere to
present the Maharaja with a prettily enamelled silver snuff-box held
deferentially in one palm balanced upon the other. Taking from it a delicate
pinch, the Maharaja dabbed each nostril with a red silk handkerchief into which
he then received a subdued sneeze. "You must forgive my little
indulgence," he apologised with a half smile. "It is an unfortunate
addiction but I choose to believe a harmless one." They continued their
stroll in silence for a while before the Maharaja picked up the thread of their
conversation. "Jai is my dearest friend. There is no man I admire quite as
much, for he has the courage to wage war on the gods themselves. But," his
footsteps halted as he shook his head sadly, "sometimes I am convinced
that Jai Raventhorne is utterly . . . insane."
Arthur
Ransome, Olivia recalled, had gone a step further— he had called him a mad dog!
"Insane?"
"In
some ways, yes. But then, on the other hand, one must concede that every man is
entitled to his obsessions. Jai Raventhorne too has his." They had arrived
back at the point from which they had started. The Maharaja held out a chair
for Olivia and then slipped into one opposite her. "Tell me, Miss
O'Rourke, why does this man interest you so much?"
Olivia
felt the heat
that your father is a highly regarded writer."
"Yes.
Did my uncle mention that?"
He
stopped and rubbed the tip of his nose with a forefinger. "No. It was told
to me by a friend who informs me that Calcutta is a village in which everything
becomes known to everyone sooner or later."
Olivia's
breath knotted. It was not difficult to guess to whom he referred. Her steps
too halted in their tracks. "I . . . see." Lightly, she asked,
"May I ask who that friend might be?"
"I
believe you have already met him. His name is Jai Raventhorne."
The
turn of the conversation was so unexpected that Olivia was again thrown off
balance. Raventhorne had actually spoken of her to the Maharaja? Why? In what
context? "Oh yes, so I have." She kept her gaze fixed steadily on the
river. Even though details of her uncle's argument with Arthur Ransome that
night now became clear in her memory, she asked, "Mr. Raventhorne is known
to Your Highness?"
He
did not answer at once. In fact, he took an inordinate amount of time over a
question that Olivia had asked with deliberate offhandedness. "Jai
Raventhorne is not known to anybody, Miss O'Rourke, maybe not even to himself.
But as far as it is possible to know him, yes, he is known to me."
That
made her smile. "But Mr. Raventhorne believes that nobody ever truly knows
anyone else!"
"In
the final analyses, I suppose he is right."
Unexpected
or not, the drift of the conversation was too tempting a prospect not to
explore further a man who had strangely dominated Olivia's thoughts over the
past weeks. Surprising herself with her forwardness, she asked, "Since Your
Highness does know him as a friend, does Mr. Raventhorne deserve the hideous
reputation he has with the European community?"
"Certainly.
He not only deserves it, he enjoys it. In fact, Jai is flattered by the list of
charges the Europeans prefer against him. Indeed, he works hard to extend it.
That his efforts are recognized is a matter of great satisfaction to him."
Whether
or not the Maharaja spoke in jest, Olivia was nonplussed. "But why?"
Nervously, she cast a glance over her shoulder to ensure that they were not
within listening distance of anyone. Even so, her pulse raced. "Why should
any man enjoy being known as a reprobate and a rogue?"
The
Maharaja shrugged, amused by her bewilderment. "Why is not a
question that can be asked of Jai Raventhorne, Miss O'Rourke. His motives are
as obscure as the man himself."
Olivia
frowned and shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't understand—"
"I
wonder if it is even worth trying to," he interrupted quietly. Some subtle
signal must have been made, because an aide emerged suddenly out of nowhere to
present the Maharaja with a prettily enamelled silver snuff-box held
deferentially in one palm balanced upon the other. Taking from it a delicate
pinch, the Maharaja dabbed each nostril with a red silk handkerchief into which
he then received a subdued sneeze. "You must forgive my little
indulgence," he apologised with a half smile. "It is an unfortunate
addiction but I choose to believe a harmless one." They continued their
stroll in silence for a while before the Maharaja picked up the thread of their
conversation. "Jai is my dearest friend. There is no man I admire quite as
much, for he has the courage to wage war on the gods themselves. But," his
footsteps halted as he shook his head sadly, "sometimes I am convinced
that Jai Raventhorne is utterly . . . insane."
Arthur
Ransome, Olivia recalled, had gone a step further— he had called him a mad dog!
"Insane?"
"In
some ways, yes. But then, on the other hand, one must concede that every man is
entitled to his obsessions. Jai Raventhorne too has his." They had arrived
back at the point from which they had started. The Maharaja held out a chair
for Olivia and then slipped into one opposite her. "Tell me, Miss
O'Rourke, why does this man interest you so much?"
Olivia
felt the heat
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