Jessie's Will

By Virginia Wells

Myra Stevenson, an Anglo Indian teacher and single mother to Thomas, faces her worst nightmare when she discovers Thomas’s father has visited him without her knowledge. As he belongs to the echelons of British society in India, she fears he will claim their son who looks European.

Giles Cottrell, owner of a tea plantation and an officer in the Indian Army reserves, had no idea he fathered a son until his grandmother (Jessie) informed him of the fact in a letter after her death. He informs Myra that his grandmother left them each a letter. His letter sets out directives, one being that they must marry for Thomas to bear his name in accordance to the Legitimacy Act, 1926.

Myra refuses to allow Giles to read her letter. Conflicts arise between the pair as a result, especially as Jessie left her property in Delhi to Myra. The couple marry and embark on a train journey to Darjeeling to await the decree that makes Thomas legally a Cottrell. However, their married life is fraught with issues of mistrust and outside interferences. Myra once again faces her past fears of ostracism. How she wins her husband’s love and stands tall amidst racial misconceptions and discrimination is the story she relates.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jan 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664102552

Book preview

Copyright © 2021 by Virginia Wells.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 02/11/2021

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Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Epilogue

to my parents, in loving memory

Special thanks to my husband Mark, daughter, Tania Pritchard, brother, Colin Gomes and friends, Jan Hashman and Delilah Saldanha. Your encouragement and support was invaluable.

CHAPTER 1

Bombay, 26 January 1933

Myra Stevenson joined the school children crossing a busy intersection while the worrisome thought, plaguing her all morning, returned to torment her. Thomas’s ayah was withholding information about him from her. The girl’s behaviour of late was totally out of character.

‘I must have it out with Shanti,’ she muttered, as she stepped back to avoid colliding into a water coolie’s bicycle.

The boy brought his bicycle to a halt and although she apologised, he pierced her with a glare before pedalling off to sell his precious commodity. She continued on, bypassing the bazaar.

Myra entered the courtyard of the tenement she lived in and climbed the squeaky steps to reach her quarters. Although she knocked on the door several times, it remained shut. She rummaged through her handbag for the key and opened it, feeling annoyed. She dropped her bag on the lone armchair in the room as she headed for the large earthenware water pot on the kitchen benchtop and ladled water into a glass. While drinking the cool liquid, Shanti walked in with Thomas asleep in her arms.

‘Where have you been, Shanti?’ Myra queried in Marathi, quelling the urge to raise her voice, ‘and why is Thomas still asleep?’ Shanti handed Thomas to her and drew the curtain to her makeshift bedroom aside to let Myra enter the confined space. Vexed at the thought of another evening with Thomas in a mood while she tackled tutorials with resident children, Myra placed him on the single bed to sleep.

‘I’m sorry to be so hard on you but this can’t go on,’ she said to Shanti when she stepped out of the makeshift bedroom. ‘I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep for two weeks and I’m tired. What’s going on? Why are you behaving so strangely?’

‘I could not tell you before today, Missy, but that giant man with henna in his hair comes to visit Thomas every day,’ she said in a voice barely audible. ‘My father says it is all right to mention that to you now.’

Myra caught her breath as fear gripped her. She stared at the girl, unable to speak, until she found her voice.

‘Did you say your father allowed a complete stranger to visit my son?’

‘He is not a stranger, Missy. I told you about him two weeks ago.’

‘What has this giant got to do with Thomas?’

‘I don’t know,’ she squeaked. ‘My father says we have nothing to fear from him.’

Myra’s heartbeats quickened. Was the man a Moslem? She had seen many of them with their hair dyed with henna in Delhi. But what would he want with Thomas? She entered the curtained partition to look at Thomas. His head was covered with sweat, and his cheeks were flushed but there was nothing to show he had been harmed in any way.

‘Do you know who the man is?’ she rasped.

‘No, Missy! My father only speaks to him. My father told me not to tell you about him until now.’

Nevertheless, the man was a stranger! Myra wanted to shake the girl for more answers but knew it would be pointless. Her father’s word was law.

She had to remain calm. Mr Natarajan must have a good reason for keeping her in the dark about Shanti’s henna-haired giant. He was by all accounts a sensible man.

‘I’m going down to see your father and I shan’t be long,’ she said. ‘Please lock the door and don’t let anyone in.’

She waited for the girl to bolt the door before hurrying across the squeaky floorboards, dodging clothes hanging on lines and women in saris sitting cross-legged along the balcony. As she took a couple of steps down the communal building, a flash of the conversation she had with Shanti two weeks ago came to mind. Shanti said the man approached her in the courtyard after her visit to her grandparents and kept starring at Thomas. He reached out to ruffle Thomas’s hair while asking her if he could speak to her father.

‘I had to look up high to see him, Missy,’ Shanti revealed. ‘He was very ugly. I was so frightened I ran away with Thomas, but he followed me.’

At that time Myra found it amusing, thinking nothing more of it as Shanti never brought up the subject of the man again. She assumed the man found it strange seeing a European child in that part of town. A small gathering of residents was in the courtyard watching the Ganesan twin’s practising a Southern Indian Carnatic dance routine, accompanied by their brothers on tablas. The flawless movements of the girls had their audience captivated while their beaming parents watched on with pride. Myra went past them.

A pungent aroma of curry on the boil filled her nostrils when she reached her destination. She rapped on the door until the irate owner yelled out he was coming. The short slim Tamil dressed in a singlet and lungi opened the door. His expression changed from annoyance to delight.

‘Mr Natarajan,’ she said before he could greet her. ‘Shanti tells me you’ve allowed a complete stranger to spend time with my son. Might I ask why?’

The smile dropped. The contemptuous look he gave her riled her. She suspected no woman had ever addressed him in such a bold manner. He looked at her with haughty disdain.

‘Madam,’ he said, ‘there is no reason for you to be harried. It is an offence to me that you say I allowed a stranger to see Thomas. The man is none other than the boy’s father.’

She gaped at the Indian. ‘Did he give you his name?’

‘But of course,’ came the reply. ‘It is none other than Cottrell sahib. ‘He told me to tell you he will pay you a visit tomorrow noontime at your quarters. I was going to give you his message this evening but no matter. Shanti has done it for me.’

Noticing how pale she became he opened the door wide and began to gesticulate to his wife before returning his gaze to her.

‘You don’t look well, madam,’ he said. ‘Please come in. My wife will fetch a glass of water.’

‘No,’ she exclaimed, annoyed that he now addressed her with the title of a married woman. ‘Thank you, Mr Natarajan.’

He swayed his head, adding, ‘Thomas looks like his father, yes? But that was not the reason I allowed the sahib to see his son. He mentioned his grandmother, the kind lady in Delhi who writes to you.’

‘I see. Good afternoon, Mr Natarajan.’

He peered at her disconcerted countenance. ‘Is this not good news, madam?’ he asked. ‘I can tell the sahib is a good man. He will take care of his family.’

Doing her best to stay calm, she plastered a smile on her face before turning her back on the man. She had no doubt what impressed Mr Natarajan most about the Englishman was his ability to converse so fluently to him in his dialect.

On returning to her quarters, she called out to Shanti, and the girl let her in while trying to hide her tear-stained face. Myra thanked her for giving her timely warning of Jessie’s grandson’s arrival as she suspected Mr Natarajan would not have divulged that information to her until the last minute.

She bolted the door after Shanti left and made her way to the curtained partition to take a look at Thomas. She noticed how plump his cheeks were and that he had a healthy glow to his face. In the excitement of acquiring her first full-time teaching position at one of Delhi’s prestigious schools, she had missed noticing the little changes to him.

Myra reached for her canvas bag from under the bed and placed a few overnight essentials into it along with a set of day clothes for them. She had no intention of seeing Giles Cottrell in her quarters where she would be at her most vulnerable.

A knock on her door alerted her that her pupils for tutorials had arrived. She let Thomas sleep through the lessons to give them her full attention. When they left, she slipped the canvas bag over her shoulder and lifted Thomas in her arms.

‘Mama,’ he murmured, raising grey irises to her, his blond curls damp from lying for too long on one side.

She locked the door to her quarters and was surprised to find the corridor devoid of residents. She made a hasty retreat for the stairwell only to run into Mrs Mehta who had arrived home late from work. They greeted each other, but when Myra tried to go past her, the Marathi woman stretched her plump arm across the bannister rail to detain her.

‘Where are you off to at this hour, Myra,’ she asked.

‘The convent, Mrs Mehta,’ she replied and knowing the woman would not let her off without learning more, she added, ‘I have last-minute preparations to make on the project I’m heading tomorrow.’

‘Is it on the mills?’ she asked. ‘Most of the mothers here are sending their sons to attend it tomorrow. The police are happy with you. Constable Jaykar said only this morning they have you to thank for with these projects as crime has fallen.’

‘I’d like to take all the credit, but there are those who work hard to support them. I will let them know what the constable said.’

‘It is better for you not to go out this evening.’ Mrs Mehta warned as she withdrew her hand from the bannister and patted Thomas on the back. ‘Those fellows are in the courtyard having another meeting. There will be trouble again soon. That is why everyone went inside.’

Myra reached the bottom step and looked at the spot where Mrs Mehta indicated the men were. They were huddled together, too absorbed in their discussion to pay her any heed. She crossed the courtyard and stepped out onto the street.

The bazaar teemed with life and energy from the activity around her. Gas and kerosene lamps popped on as it grew dark. She dodged bicycles and vendors who called attention to their wares. The scent of spicy food filled the air around her making her stomach gnaw. Thomas was fully awake when they arrived at the baroque convent building.

The groundkeeper unlocked the side gate for her to enter. She went past a grotto of the Virgin Mary before proceeding to the nuns living quarters. Sister Bernadette spotted her and came to her. The petite elderly Portuguese nun in a black tunic took one look at her and frowned.

‘Aren’t you well?’ she asked.

‘Can I speak to Mother Superior? It’s rather urgent.’

‘Follow me,’ she replied as she reached for Thomas. She went ahead with him.

Myra wondered how to broach the subject of them spending a few nights at the convent. She was aware the nuns were hosting vocational studies for a group of novices from the South, and there may be no room. She entered the nun’s living quarters and waited for Mother Superior. The nun emerged from a dark corridor.

‘Join me in my office, Myra,’ she said and walked back in the direction she had emerged. A couple of oil lamps lit up the room to a soft glow. She ushered Myra to the chair opposite her and took her seat behind the desk.

Myra looked at hazel eyes waiting for her to speak.

‘Jessie’s grandson is in Bombay,’ she said. ‘Shanti told me he’s been seeing Thomas on the sly for two weeks.’

‘So he knows he has a son,’ the nun replied.

‘I can’t believe he would stoop that low,’ Myra exclaimed. ‘The man had the cheek to worm his way into Mr Natarajan’s favour to see Thomas. Mr Natarajan informed me Mr Cottrell would call on me tomorrow afternoon to discuss Thomas. What if he wants to take him from me? Do I have rights to stop him doing that?’

‘I don’t see how you can stop him,’ she said after digesting the news. ‘He doesn’t have to prove paternity as anyone seeing them together will know he is Thomas’s father. Have you come here to seek refuge, Myra? You must know we can’t allow it. You had an opportunity to let him know you were expecting his child the last time you stayed here, but you refused to do that. Now that he is aware he has a son it will do you no good to avoid him. If he wanted to abduct Thomas, he would have done it.’

Myra froze. ‘I can’t speak to him,’ she said. ‘He makes me feel unworthy to stand on the same ground he does. I’m sure it’s because I have Indian blood running through my veins. I should take the next train to Delhi with Thomas and go to Jess. She knows how to handle her grandson.’ But no sooner were the words out she realised the futility of them. ‘I don’t have a choice, do I? Jess must have told him about Thomas. She promised me she wouldn’t.’

Mother Superior smiled. ‘I’m sure his grandmother trusts him to do the right thing,’ she said.

Myra rubbed her forehead. ‘I’m sure she does. They want Thomas because he looks more like them than he does me. I can’t stop thinking about that. I’ve come to ask a favour,’ she said. ‘Can we stay the night? I’m sure I’ll cope better talking to Jessie’s grandson here without Thomas between us.’

The nun’s face softened. ‘Sister Bernadette tells me you’ve brought an overnight bag. You are welcome to stay the night.’ She leaned forward linking fingers on the desk. ‘Why don’t you return to your quarters in the morning and let Mr Natarajan know you will see Mr Cottrell here tomorrow afternoon. I will stand outside the door if you need me.’

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘It’s the least I can do having met the man,’ the nun replied. ‘Sister Lucia will stand in for you to greet those representatives from the mills in the morning. Perhaps you could fill her in on your plans for the project tonight. We want the session to run smoothly.’

Myra nodded but the thought of speaking to Giles Cottrell, knowing her future with Thomas would be affected, gripped her with fear. Her eyes began to water.

‘I know he’s come for Thomas,’ she said as she sniffled. ‘I won’t be able to see my son as Mr Cottrell lives in Darjeeling.’

‘Now, Myra, let us hear what he has to say,’ Mother Superior consoled her. ‘Why don’t you pack a bag tomorrow and bring it over if it makes you feel better. However, you must know how important this is for Thomas. He has a right to his father’s name. If the man showed no interest in you as his son’s mother, he would not have taken the trouble to come all the way here to see you. His mission could have been accomplished by his sending others to do the job for him. He is in the military after all. The fact that he came to see you two years ago tells me he was concerned for your welfare. You should have let him know then you were expecting his child.’

‘I would have if he hadn’t said he had no intention of marrying me as if I was of little worth. Had he known I was expecting his child he would have wanted me to get rid of my baby. The woman he was with had his family’s approval.’

‘Yet he didn’t marry her. Think of Thomas, Myra,’ she urged. ‘What sort of future will your son have being illegitimate? Try putting yourself in his place.’

‘I do that all the time,’ she replied with shoulders slumped. ‘If only Jess would write. It isn’t like her not to do that.’

Mother Superior left her seat and came to stand beside her. ‘Come,’ she said as she placed a hand on her shoulder, ‘it’s getting late and you must be hungry. All will be well tomorrow. I have a feeling tomorrow will bring a good outcome for Thomas.’

CHAPTER 2

The convent bell pealed in the early hours of the morning, drawing Myra out of a sporadic sleep. She sat up in the single bed she shared with Thomas when she heard the soft patter of feet go silently past the door to the chapel for prayers. As Thomas was fast asleep, she slipped out of bed and dashed across the hall to the bathroom.

Her eyes were puffy and the green irises darker than usual. She clicked shut the compact mirror she held and changed into her teaching garbs before returning to the cell. He woke up when a bell peeled through the building sounding the call for breakfast.

The dining hall buzzed with the sound of quiet movements from nuns and novices as they sat down for their morning meal. A novice came to her after breakfast and put her arms out for Thomas. Myra left the quiet nunnery for the noise and bustle outside the convent gate. On arriving at the courtyard of the tenement, she headed for the Natarajan’s quarters and knocked on the door. Mr Natarajan opened the door and with a wide smile greeted her with palms clasped before his face.

‘Please inform Mr Cottrell I am free to see him at the convent around two? He’ll know where to find me,’ she said.

His face fell. ‘As you wish, madam. I will inform the sahib of the change of venue.’

She thanked him and climbed the stairs, dismayed to find Mrs Mehta at her door.

‘There you are, Myra,’ the woman greeted her, carrying her infant son. ‘I came to see you earlier, but you were out. You had a visitor earlier, an English fellow, very tall he was. It is the first time I spoke to one of them.’

‘Did he mention when he would return?’

‘He did not tell me and neither did I ask him,’ she replied. ‘Do you have some eggs I could borrow?’

Myra sighed. Mrs Mehta often borrowed her supplies and seldom returned them. She found it difficult to say no to her as she had five young children and a semi-invalid husband to support.

‘Please come in,’ she said as she unlocked the door to her quarters.

Mrs Mehta would have followed her in, but her husband called out to her. She screeched at him in Marathi from over her shoulder before returning her gaze to Myra. ‘It is better I go and see what that fellow wants otherwise he will shout and everyone will know our business. I will send my son to fetch the eggs.’

Myra closed the door to her quarters and headed straight for the curtained partition. She pulled out a suitcase from under the bed and piled clothes into it when she heard a knock on the door. She picked up the basket of eggs on the kitchen benchtop as she moved to the door and opened it. Gazing down with a warm smile to where Mrs Mehta’s son ought to be, she threw her head back with eyes wide and mouth opened at the man standing outside her door.

‘How do you do, Miss Stevenson,’ he said, amused. ‘It’s been a while.’

She pulled herself together, noticing Mrs Mehta’s son standing to one side, looking at the man with something akin to awe and fear. Jessie’s grandson turned to see what had caught her attention.

‘Are they for him,’ he asked, switching his gaze to the basket of eggs in her hand.

She nodded, handing him the basket while appraising him with a swift glance. He looked fresh after a shower, his damp golden hair cut short and sleek. The smile and sparkling grey eyes looked friendly enough. He wore khaki trousers and a white cotton shirt rolled up at the sleeves, revealing taut muscles.

As he handed the basket to the boy, she felt anxious and swung the door, but a heavy thud against it stopped it from clicking shut. Mrs Mehta’s son cried out for his mother. The sound of the boy’s cry echoed across the landing and realising she behaved badly, she was about to open the door when it was thrust inwards. She found herself tottering backwards into the room and glared at the man.

‘You have a fine way of greeting your son’s father, Miss Stevenson,’ he said. ‘I prefer our last meeting. You were most accommodating then.’

She chose to ignore the sarcasm. ‘You’re here early, Mr Cottrell. I was told you would be calling this afternoon.’

‘I changed my mind. I was here earlier, but as you were out, I waited at the teashop across the road with a cup of tea and a newspaper knowing you would return sooner or later. Where is Thomas?’

‘Thomas is safe. If you have anything to say to me, I’d pre—’

‘Safe? From whom?’

‘I should think that’s fairly obvious. I don’t care for the way you sneaked behind my back to see my son. How dare you involve Shanti’s family in what is clearly none of their business.’

His gaze on her turned to ice. Turning away, he reached for the doorknob and shut the door against the sea of faces gathered there. The room shrank. He took a few steps towards her, making her feel like a defenceless bug under a microscope. Refusing to feel intimidated, she returned his hard gaze with one of defiance.

‘Where is Thomas?

‘He’s at the convent.

‘The convent,’ he quipped, ‘and you wonder why I sneak behind your back. Tell me, Miss Stevenson, had I approached you in a customary manner to see my son, would you have allowed me the opportunity to get to know him?’

She paused, perhaps a fraction too long.

‘I thought not,’ he sneered. ‘The minute you knew of my presence, you moved him to that mausoleum. Do you think I would let a bunch of old hags stop me from seeing my son?’

‘I don’t know what your intentions are for him. You must see this is not the best place for us to discuss Thomas. I informed Mr Natarajan to let you know we should do it at the convent this afternoon.’

‘So he said. You will excuse me if I decline the offer. The thought of having those women hovering like vultures outside the door is not my idea of a sane discussion.’

She moved away from him and stood behind the armchair. ‘How did you find out about Thomas? Did Jess tell you?’

‘You could say that. I’m puzzled as to why she kept that information from me. It’s not like her to let me shirk my duty. Perhaps you could enlighten me.’

‘What does it matter now? You know he is your son.’

She noticed the nerve at the corner of his right temple ticking.

‘It’s obvious you have some power over my grandmother, Miss Stevenson. She would never have let me shirk my duty towards a child of mine, no matter what the circumstance.’

‘Power over Jess?’ she exclaimed. ‘No one has power over her. I won’t deny we were close. As neighbours, we saw each other almost every day. She was the grandmother I wish I had.’

‘Indeed!’ he sneered. He looked at her with that cold disapproving gaze she knew so well from having engaged him in a previous encounter. Reaching into his shirt pocket he withdrew an envelope. ‘A letter from Gran,’ he said, handing it to her. ‘I believe she planned to mail it to you a couple of months back. You will excuse me for having read it. I had no way of telling who it was for as the envelope had no address.’

Myra withdrew the letter from the envelope along with the usual currency Jessie sent her for Thomas’s upkeep. ‘I’ve been worrying about her,’ she said. ‘She looked terribly frail the last time I saw her.’

He inclined his head.

She moved away from him, sensing his disapproval when she pocketed the currency. Having read the letter, she looked up feeling concerned.

‘Jess writes she isn’t well, Mr Cottrell. She believes she hasn’t long to live and wants to see us. Has she sent you to bring us to her?’

‘She had a heart condition. I’m afraid there’s no better way to say it. My grandmother passed away two months ago.’

Myra stared at him. ‘Jess is dead? But why wasn’t I told of her passing sooner?’

‘It never crossed my mind to tell you. I became aware of her interest in you only after her funeral.’

‘But surely Sonia could have done that.’

‘Sonia wasn’t at the funeral,’ he revealed. ‘I believe she had a falling out with my grandmother over you.’

As the knowledge of Jessie’s death washed over her, she found it difficult to speak to the cold man. She excused herself and entered the curtained partition before drawing the curtain shut. She pushed the suitcase to one side of the bed and sat down. Closing her eyes, she glimpsed a bleak future without Jessie. Tears fell. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her bottom lip to stop crying in case the prowling creature on the other side made nonsense of her grief.

The curtain drew slightly apart. She lurched upright when he made a partial entry into her private space, looking uneasy. He handed her a glass of water.

‘If you’re quite yourself, Miss Stevenson, we must talk.’

He let the curtain drop and moments later she heard the only armchair in the room groan under his weight. She drank the cool liquid and wiped the tears away before rising to her feet. Taking a deep breath, she emerged from the partition to find him surveying her quarters. Dismayed with the way his gaze travelled the room she began to worry, thinking that he found her wanting as a parent as they lived so close to slums.

Shame accompanied dismay as she continued to follow his gaze. The ceiling and walls of her quarters were fissured with cracks and loose paint and the two windows in the room were barred to stop thieves from entering. Myra cringed when he looked down at the dank and dirt-stained floorboards left there by the previous tenants. She wondered what he would say if he knew she shared a communal bathroom with the resident families on her floor. Her embarrassment gave way to anger when he began to shake his head.

He became aware of her and turned in his seat.

‘Good god, girl,’ he said. ‘Is this what you call a home for the boy? Why, it’s nothing but a dilapidated hellhole, not big enough to swing a cat in. Have you lost your mind?’

‘I’ll thank you not to swear in my quarters, Mr Cottrell,’ she retorted. ‘Everything I do is for Thomas. I love him and as far as I am concerned, that’s all that matters.’

‘Ah yes,’ he replied, ‘if I recall you used that same line on me when we unwittingly won him passage to this world. Look where it’s got him.’

Myra saw red. She flew at him but struck his shoulder, missing his face when he shifted to evade the blow. He sprang to his feet and reached for her wrist.

‘Steady now,’ he said, fanning her forehead with his breath.

She began to cry, doing her utmost not to lean into him, having noticed how stiff he became.

‘I . . . I’m sorry,’ she stammered, feeling embarrassed at the way she had lashed out at him, knowing it was a reaction from worrying about Thomas and hearing the news of Jessie’s death. ‘You said you wanted to talk.’

He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to her. She wiped her face and returned it, taking the chair opposite him.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ he asked.

‘I’d rather we get this over with so we can get on with our lives.’

‘I believe this is only the beginning of things to come for us. Can you tell me why you chose not to inform me you were in the family way?’

‘I didn’t want to burden you with a child as it was never our intention to marry.’

‘Yet you thought nothing of burdening my grandmother with that information? Why?’

‘I beg your pardon. You sound as if I plotted to win her favour.’

‘Now, what made you say that?’

‘I assure you I did not! Jessie came upon it by accident.’

‘I don’t believe in accidents, Miss Stevenson. There’s always a reason why so-called accidents happen. Let me get this right. If I agreed to marry you, I would have had the privilege of knowing my son but not otherwise?’

She squirmed in her seat. ‘I never thought for one moment you’d want to know him.’

‘I see. So you went to my grandmother to make sure she paid for my indiscretion.’

She drew in a sharp breath. ‘It was never my intention to let Jess know I had Thomas. Please believe me when I say I did not want anything from her.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ came the curt reply. ‘From the first moment I heard mention of your name, there’s been nothing but slurs against you. My grandmother was miserable in the last year of her life. I never could work out what was upsetting her until recently. You used Thomas to make her pay for my refusal to marry you, and it upset her right to the end. Well! It seems you’ve got your way. Granny wants us to marry. I hope you’re satisfied because I am not.’

Myra gasped. ‘I can’t imagine your grandmother making you do anything you didn’t want,’ she retorted. ‘You are solely mistaken for accusing me of acting against her better judgement of my character as she knew me well. I would never do anything to hurt her. Why! I loved—’

‘Spare me your sanctimonious drivel,’ he said as he got to his feet. ‘I am only marrying you to gain full legal rights to my son.’

‘But I have no intention of marrying you!’ she exclaimed, rising to her feet. ‘I’ve been appointed a teaching position in Delhi. Thomas and I will be leaving Bombay for Delhi in the next term break. I’m sure Jess meant well when she asked you to marry me, but I have no wish to marry a man who finds me wanting in character.’

He looked at her with a cold smile. ‘Delhi, is it?’ he quipped. ‘That’s the last place I want you to be. Know this, Miss Stevenson, when I leave Bombay for Darjeeling with or without you, it will be with Thomas.’

Myra felt the blood drain from her face.

‘I have letters for both of us from Granny’s solicitor explaining why she made her new will,’ he continued. ‘I’m sure the letter she wrote you won’t carry as many surprises as the one she wrote to me.’ He turned his gaze to the door, revealing her noisy inquisitive neighbours on the other side. ‘I’d like to continue this discussion in my room at the Taj Mahal Hotel. But first, let’s stop by the convent. I want my son.’

CHAPTER 3

Myra gazed up at the Moorish Florentine building with a mixture of awe and apprehension. On entering the Taj Mahal Hotel, she was transported to a world of grandeur and opulence. She felt totally out of place.

She followed Giles to the reception desk where he collected his key before taking Thomas from her as he guided her past the famous lift powered by steam. They took the stairs to his room.

He placed Thomas down on the four-poster bed and reaching for a bottle of whiskey on a sideboard cupboard, asked her if she wanted a drink. She declined the offer, and he poured himself a glass. She went to sit down in one of the plush armchairs by the window and took an inventory of the bedroom, admiring