The Viscounts Daughter
Copyright© 2014 by Texrep
Chapter 6: Richard
The last two months of the year passed so quickly. It seemed as if after leaving the cottage with Andrea, the days flew. The BBC series was filmed back-to-back, and by the middle of December, there were six episodes in the can. Then Christmas was upon us. I spent the festive season in Broughley. The actual day was with Andrea, Charlie, and the Viscount, then on Boxing Day, Andrea, Charlie, and I went down to my mum and dad’s place. New Year’s Eve was almost an anti-climax. We saw the New Year in at Andrea’s home. It was a quiet evening without festivity, staying up just long enough to raise a glass to the New Year and then to bed. Andrea and I made love quietly and slowly, re-affirming our connection.
Shortly after the New Year, the Viscount announced he was going to town for a couple of days. Town in aristo-speak means London. Andrea raised her eyebrows at this announcement, and later I asked her why. “Daddy usually says he has a niece he needs to visit,” she told me. I must have looked puzzled, so Andrea explained. “He books into a top-class hotel and is joined by a lovely young lady for a meal and the night.”
I understood now. “So it isn’t always the same ‘niece’?” I suggested.
Andrea shook her head. “No. I believe there is a man at the hotel that organises his ‘niece’.”
“That will be the Concierge. I believe they are well known for arranging company for lonely men.”
“Oh. So you know all about it?” She challenged me.
“Knowing about it doesn’t mean using their services, my darling. In my business, there are always many very lovely young ladies who would be willing to provide if I would help them get a part. However, I always had this picture of the loveliest young lady in my mind, and she was all I wanted. Her name was Andrea.”
“Good answer.” Andrea replied with a smile. “That gets you a special treat tonight.”
We took Charlie back to school, and I assured her that she and her mother would be coming out to India to spend a couple of weeks during her half-term break, which would be early in March. Later that January, I was making plans to fly out to India. Andrea insisted on packing for me, although I didn’t need to take that much. Most days, I would be wearing the costume provided by the production. Andrea was almost as excited as Charlie had been about joining me in Jaipur. When I mentioned where the film was being shot, Andrea immediately presumed that was the famed Bollywood. I had to set her right. “Bollywood is not a place, Andrea. It’s a word coined to describe the studios that specialize in the production of the light-hearted musical dramas that the Indians love. Most of them are shot in and around Mumbai. They have been making films in India since the nineteen thirties. The Bollywood extravaganzas are quite a recent addition. I would imagine that we are shooting in Jaipur because there are many locations there which reflect British India.”
I was flying out on Air India and was going to book for Andrea and Charlie with the same carrier when the Viscount stopped me. “Let me book for Andrea and Charlie. Being a Viscount doesn’t really get you favours, but I do get a good deal out of B.A.” He did. My flight was booked by the production; otherwise, I would not be flying first class. Andrea and Charlie would be flying first class for the price of Business Class with an automatic upgrade.
Andrea took me to Heathrow, and we said our farewells with a close cuddle and many kisses. The girl at check-in wore a big smile upon seeing our display. I arrived at Sanganer Airport to be met by the car sent by the production. It was thirteen kilometres from Sanganer to Jaipur, thirteen kilometres that almost turned my hair white. The Indians, due to the heritage of the British Raj, drove as we do in the UK, on the left. That was a rule given lip service only. Ostensibly, my driver drove on the left; in practice, he would use any space wherever on the road. He wasn’t alone in this practice as every other driver used the same tactic; they had to! The road was clogged by every kind of transport possible, from large trucks and coaches through to the overloaded vans and cars of the populace and down to carts hauled by mules, bullocks, or even men. Consequently, we would be overtaking the slower vehicles and heading directly at vehicles coming the other way, only avoiding an accident at the very last minute by squeezing into a gap accompanied by horns from all and sundry. Indian drivers are of the opinion that using the horn automatically cleared the road for their personal use. Consequently, all road trips are accompanied by a cacophony of horns, hooters, and bleating animals. If I were a religious man, I would have been on my knees praying for the whole of that journey.
The hotel I was booked into was more of a palace than I had imagined. I was given a suite comprising a large day room, high-ceilinged with huge fans revolving slowly to keep the air moving. Large windows led out to a balcony that overlooked the extensive gardens. The bedroom was only a little smaller than the day room with windows that also accessed the balcony. The bathroom was a symphony of marble with every facility you could expect. After the flight and that terror drive, I needed a shower. This was India, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise that the shower didn’t work. I left it on and went out to the balcony. The smell of India assailed my nostrils; it was a fragrance, a mixture of everything that is India, dung, dust, spice, jasmine, and a soupçon of curry. I breathed it deeply. The sound of India could be heard also. From afar, I could hear a susurration of many voices, the noise of traffic, the unforgettable putt-putt of the tuk-tuks, the three-wheeled town taxis, and the tinkling of bells. I relaxed, leaning on the balustrade of the balcony. It may have been ten minutes later that I was disturbed by another sound, that of water splashing. The shower had decided to work! I had left it on cold, and I was rewarded with a reasonable stream of tepid water. That was fine for me. I showered and then lay down. I had little sleep on the plane, so it wasn’t long before I drifted off.
Later, I went down to find some food. The restaurant was more of a lounge. With big chairs and sofas settled in groups around knee-high tables. I looked around and from the corner of my eye noticed someone waving. I looked and was very surprised to see Ashley waving at me. Her lovely smile was unmistakable. I threaded my way through other groups, and she welcomed me with a hug and then a kiss. “Am I a surprise, darling? I would bet that you didn’t expect to see me here?”
“You are a surprise, Ashley. Don’t tell me you are part of this production as well?”
“Yes, Richard. A little bit last minute, I know. Guess who I am playing.”
I stood back a little and put my brain in gear. “Mrs. Anderson?” I ventured.
“You are so clever, darling. That’s me.” Mrs. Anderson was the only one of the British who would accept my characters’ choice of wife. Ashley came close and whispered, “Perhaps for a while we could re-visit our close friendship?”
I shook my head. “Much as that would thrill me, we shouldn’t, Ashley. I am in a very good relationship, and my lover and our daughter will be here later this month.”
“Don’t tell me, Richard, that you have finally found someone?”
“To tell the truth, Ashley, I found her years ago, but at that time, we couldn’t be together.”
“I knew it.” She exclaimed. “I knew that your heart was given years ago. Oh, Richard, I am so happy for you. And you have a daughter, you said?”
“Yes. Charlie is coming up to thirteen now.”
The information startled Ashley; however, she was unable to reply as that moment Gupta Rahni, the director of the film, joined us. He was accompanied by a beautiful Indian woman wearing hip-hugger jeans and a brilliantly turquoise blouse. My memory recognized her yet couldn’t place her from where and when. “Richard! I am so very pleased to see you well. Have you recovered from that flight?” Gupta enquired politely.
“Thank you, Gupta. Yes, I am very much recovered.”
“I would like you to meet Meera Jalali, who will be playing your wife in this drama.”
I put my palms together, fingers pointing up in front of my chest. “Namaste, Meera.”
Meera smiled widely, acknowledging my action. She did the same. “Namaste Richard Sahib.” She gave a little bow. This was a remnant of a traditional courtesy in India known as ‘touching feet.’ They didn’t actually touch feet; it was symbolic. The bow demonstrated that she acknowledged me as of superior caste. I didn’t see myself that way, but caste is ingrained in Indian society.
“It’s good to see you again after all these years.” Her name had kicked my memory. Meera had taken a small part of a film I had made here some ten years ago. She had been just sixteen then.
“You compliment me, Richard. I didn’t think you would remember me.”
“How could I not, Meera? You played that part very well; your acting made it easier for the others to play their own part. In addition, I do remember beautiful ladies.” Meera gave me a lovely smile in thanks.
Gupta was not here for social reasons; he was in business mode. “Richard, I need you in the wardrobe tomorrow. I will have a car here at eight o’clock prompt, you as well, Miss Marne. In one week, we will be going up to Shimla to do the scenes at the school and those on the train. We will be doing run-throughs all this week. I will see you tomorrow. Come, Meera!”
Meera gave me a light smile and went off with the director. Ashley watched them go and then turned to me. “Do you remember what I said all those years ago? I said my fame would fade and that, my darling, illustrates how right I was. You have a leading part, whilst I have a bit-part.” She smiled bravely, although I could hear the hurt in her voice. She brightened up. “Another woman has just fallen for you, Richard.”
“Now what does that mean, Ashley?”
“Meera. You remembered her and complimented her acting. She was delighted to be remembered. You could have coffee and cream in bed if you played your hand well.”
“Coffee and cream?”
“Yes. Meera on one side and me on the other.”
I sighed. “Ashley, I am a one-woman man now.”
Ashley laughed. “I really must meet this paragon when she arrives here. The one who has tamed Richard Leigh.”
“You have met her.” Ashley looked at me with surprise written all over her face. I went on. “When you meet her, you’ll remember.”
The next week was hectic. First, I was fitted for the costumes I would wear; they were perfect replicas of the real thing, as there are plenty of details of the army uniforms of that period. The uniforms fitted snugly and were made of sturdy cotton. This was the British army’s answer to hot weather. I would be sweltering in this costume. As my character resigns his commission, I would also need civilian clothes. They were almost as bad. It appeared that the British in India believed it impressed the natives by denying it was hot. Hence, I was outfitted with three-piece suits, high wing-tip collars, and ties. The only concession to the heat was that white suits were acceptable for daytime wear.
It was lucky that around Jaipur, there were many bungalows, built by the British but now owned by Indians who had ridden the economic boom in India to become very wealthy. As the owners were very happy to let them stay for a week or two, we had a good choice of sets and some very well-kept gardens. Gupta had scoped all possible locations and chosen those he would use. We spent much time with run-throughs. It gave the lighting and camera director’s opportunity to decide how much light and camera angles they wanted and the actors to see how the dialogue they had learned worked with the other players’ parts. Gradually, it came together. After much argument and trying options, Gupta was satisfied with the lighting and camera positions. Then we, the actors, took our place and read through our lines, matching action to the dialogue. Many photos were taken for continuity. This was where all the hard work was expended. If this was done properly, then the actual shooting could go easily.
Wardrobe had finished all the costumes within forty-eight hours, so by the end of the week, we were actually able to get some footage in the can. This footage did not have dialogue. These were long shots. Couples wandering around the gardens as Meera and I made our way from the house to the garden. Because of Basil and Deeta’s (my and Meera’s characters) association, they were shunned, and the long shots showed the other guests moving away or turning their backs so as not to converse with Basil and Deeta. Such was the gulf placed between them and the society of the time. Meera, as Deeta, wore a startling blue saree. I had to admit that a woman wearing a saree took on elegance at the same time as the dress.
The next week, we decamped and travelled up to Shimla. Shimla was in the foothills of the Himalayas and was a popular place for the British to stay when the summer heat would make the plains almost unbearable. Having resigned his commission, Basil had found a teaching position with a school there. He and Deeta had decided to stay in India, as Basil was wary of the coldness and vituperation that would come Deeta’s way in England. They also hoped that they could be married in Shimla. There is a narrow-gauge railway that runs from Kalka up to Shimla. Nowadays, they use diesel locomotives, but for the filming, which would take place during the journey, the staff had proudly cleaned and polished one of the preserved steam engines. This was actually the first filming. The scene shows Basil and Deeta standing in the end vestibule of the carriage looking out at the fantastic Himalayan scenery. The line winds around as it climbs and in many places as it curves, the view out of the window was of a ravine hundreds of feet deep and nothing to stop the train from toppling. The camera caught the stupendous views as Deeta thanks Basil for giving up so much to be with her. He replies that giving up her would have been giving up everything. Deeta takes his hand and places it on her breast, and they kiss. We then shot the whole scene again because Indian audiences would be offended by a public display of affection. Gupta was delighted as we got it all in one shot. “Richard, Meera, I knew that I had picked the right people for these parts.” The cinematographer and the lighting man were relieved that we didn’t have to do it again; they had been cramped into the other side of the vestibule. Happily, they packed up their equipment and left.
Meera turned to me. “Ashley tells me that I must not try to seduce you, Richard. Is she the one who will enjoy nights with you?”
“No. Ashley knows that my lover and our daughter are coming out from England in early March. It seems that fate intended us to be together, and finally we have got together. If the case were different, you would not have to try hard to seduce me. You are a lovely woman, and resisting you would be extremely difficult. However, I have promised myself to Andrea, and I wouldn’t be worthy of her if I slipped even a little.”
Meera nodded sadly. “That means that I am going to be celibate as well. As soon as I knew you were taking this part, I had hopes that we might become lovers. Gupta has hopes about me, but like my hopes, they too will be dashed.”
The school that employed the fictional Basil actually exists, and they welcomed our invasion. A number of the boys had been asked to play parts, and more than the actual number Gupta wanted volunteered for the task even though it was their half-term holiday. I was impressed by the boys’ attitude, very different to pupils that I have seen in the UK. In conversation with one of the actual teachers, this attitude was explained. Getting an education was the way to having a good life. India had no safety net or social security as we had in the UK. If you didn’t work, you would probably starve and live on the streets. A boy may not be the most intelligent, but having some education meant that he would get a job of some description. I wondered why it was only boys who came to this school; Meera told me that only the daughters of the rich were educated. “The birth of a daughter is not particularly welcome for many families. Especially for the poor. Getting a dowry together to find a husband for her is quite a problem for a family that lives hand to mouth. They probably go to a moneylender and then struggle the rest of their lives to repay the loan.”
We stayed in Shimla for three weeks, finally getting all the scenes Gupta wanted. One of the scenes was the last scene in the film. In nineteen forty-two, Basil was recalled to the colours and was killed in action in Burma. The penultimate scene was of Deeta, who had been denied a war widow’s pension because they were not legally married. This reduced Deeta to penury, and as such, she became a suttee. She poured petrol over herself and set herself alight sitting on Basil’s grave. The actual last scene was Mrs. Anderson pouring scorn on the Church of England priest who had refused to marry the lovers in the first place and was now refusing to bury Deeta. She browbeat the hapless cleric into allowing Deeta’s remains to be buried with Basil. It gave Ashley the opportunity to show how good an actress she was. The anger and the tears were not faked as she had absorbed her character thoroughly. For that moment, it was real for her. Gupta delighted with her performance, singing her praises so long it became embarrassing.
I was saddened to leave Shimla, for the simple reason that it was one of the few places in India where you could have a snowball fight. It snowed when we were there! Jaipur was some six hundred miles further south and six thousand two hundred feet lower. Despite this being euphemistically called the cool season, the average daily temperature in Jaipur at this time of year was thirty degrees Celsius. It was no wonder that during the hot season the British would escape to places like Shimla.
Shortly after our return to Jaipur, Andrea and Charlie were expected. I hired a car and driver to take me to the airport to meet them. I was becoming used to the Indian style of driving but thought that I needed to be with them to calm them at the first exposure to Indian drivers.
You cannot hide your pleasure in seeing your loved ones after a few weeks. Our smiles said everything, as did Andrea running into my arms and joining her lips to mine. The kiss went on and on. Charlie broke us up with the comment, “Ugh! PDA, mum and dad, PDA.” I knew she was joking as I turned to her, and she jumped into my arms. “Hello, daddy.” Her hug was tight, and she kissed me on the corner of my mouth.
Our driver exceeded himself on the trip back to Jaipur. Is there an unspoken agreement amongst them to scare the living daylights out of visitors to India? Andrea clasped my arm so tightly I thought I well might have bruises. Charlie got into it, sitting forward on the seat and getting a vicarious thrill from every suicidal manoeuvre the driver attempted, yelling, “Yeah, go for it.” The driver appreciated her encouragement and, if anything, drove even faster. As soon as Andrea got out of the car on unsteady legs, she declared, “I need a large drink after that.” She turned to me. “Are they all like that in India?”
I nodded. “It would appear so. India has the largest number of road fatalities in the world. This driver was quite safe in comparison to some I have experienced so far.”
We presented ourselves at the reception desk. Charlie needed a room; obviously, Andrea would be with me. It seemed a simple request; in fact, I had checked when I arrived if a single would be available for Charlie. I hadn’t thought for a moment that it would cause so much trouble. Andrea handed over her and Charlie’s passports. The receptionist blanched and looked worried. With the words, “One moment, Memsahib,” he disappeared into the office behind. Then ensued hubbub and raised voices in the office. The door opened, and a face peered out and then vanished. Then another face until finally the Manager appeared and approached Andrea. “Lady Seddon,” he bowed slightly. “Honourable Lady. It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to our esteemed and luxurious hotel. If you had let us know you were coming, I could have arranged suitable accommodation for your status. However, if you could wait for just a few minutes, we can make arrangements to accommodate you.”
“That’s not required. Mr. Chowdry,” I interrupted him. “Mrs. Seddon will be staying with me.”
He looked perplexed. “I don’t understand. Your names...”
Andrea put her hand on my arm to stop my response. “I am the daughter of Viscount Seddon. To honour my father, I have kept his name.” Mr. Chowdry smiled and nodded. Indians know all about honouring their fathers. “Mr. Leigh and I are husband and wife. My passport has my title, but when I am on a private visit as now, I prefer to be known as Mrs. Leigh. I appeal to you to keep my confidence.”
If there is anything the Indians love, it is a little intrigue. Mr. Chowdry was beaming. “Please do not worry, Mrs. Leigh,” he emphasised the name. “Apart from the reception staff and myself, no one will know. You have my word on that.” I asked him for a single room for Charlie. He looked flustered as he went through the reservations. Eventually, he looked up exasperated. “I am so sorry, Mr. Leigh. We are fully booked. I can have a bed put in your suite if that is satisfactory?”
Charlie made a face and muttered, “Yeh, and you two will keep me awake all night with your moans and mums’ screaming.”
“I’ll come and discuss that with you, Mr. Chowdry, once I have words with my daughter.”
We made our way into the lounge, and I ordered coffee. I didn’t get the words with Charlie because Ashley appeared from the terrace and sat down with us. She addressed Andrea. “I have a bone to pick with you. You sat there at that Gala, as cool as a cucumber, and let me go on and on about Richard and didn’t say a word. Now I know why, but you at least could have given me a clue.”
“I am sorry, Ashley, but I couldn’t. Apart from being married, I didn’t know how Richard felt about me.”
“Well, you know now. If I had realised it was you he was in love with, I would have said a lot more.”
“Even so, would it have made a difference? Charles was not a bad man; by most standards, he was a perfect husband and would have continued to be so if he hadn’t realized that Charlie wasn’t his daughter.”
“And Richard?” Ashley raised her eyebrows, asking that question.
“Richard is the husband my heart would have chosen. He is my lover, my best friend, the one who understands my moods, and the one to whom I turn.”
Charlie muttered something about more moans and screaming. That reminded me. “I’ll go and talk to Mr. Chowdry. I’m sorry, Charlie; they told me that they had a room for you, but it seems to have disappeared. If all we can get is a portable bed, then that’s it.”
Ashley called me as I got up. “Stop, Richard.” She turned to Charlie. “You need somewhere to sleep?”
“They say that I will have to sleep in their suite on a poxie camp bed.” Typically, as a teenager, she painted in broad strokes.
“I have two double beds in my suite. I can’t sleep in both at the same time, so if you wish, you are welcome to the other bed.”
“Could I?”
“Of course. Your mum and dad will have lots to talk about.” She made the universal sign for parentheses with her fingers as she said, ‘talk’.” We can have a nice girly chat before going to sleep, and you can tell me all about what your mum and dad get up to.” Charlie giggled.
I needed to advise my daughter. “You ought to know, Charlie, that Ashley doesn’t wear anything to bed.”
If I thought that would shock Charlie, I was very wrong, and Andrea didn’t turn a hair as Charlie replied nonchalantly. “Dad. You have never been to a girl’s school?”
“Of course not.”
“Now think of this. Six girls sleeping in one room. Communal showers and late-night chats about boys, comparing busts and how they have grown, counting the hairs down there, and then deciding if a Brazilian or completely bald look would look better. Get the idea?”
Andrea was quietly laughing, and I could say little. She leaned over. “Just think, my darling. All those nymphets who lust after you, naked in the showers and counting their curlies.”
“I’m trying not to think about it.”
ANDREA
I had always thought that if I met Ashley, I would be curt and treat her icily. The brief conversation at that gala mellowed me a little; now I thawed completely. She was a good friend, and although I could see the remnants of the love she had for Richard, it demonstrated itself more as good friendship than passion. It was very good of her to accommodate Charlie, as it gave Rich and me privacy to celebrate being together again. We had the wonderful bathroom to use, the fantastic bedroom, the dayroom, and the balcony. We made love in a sort of travelogue of the suite. Our journey started in the bathroom, and the second port of call was the bed. Then Rich picked me up, and as we explored each other, we explored wherever he thought we could find a new experience. Being bent over a table or the back of a settee was new to me, and when he carried me outside and took me from behind as I leaned over the balcony, I was introduced to very nearly public sex, as there were people on the terrace six floors below; something I had never thought I would experience. The illicit thrill of that exposure was enticing. That, I thought, would be something to explore again at some time. Comfortably ensconced in Rich’s arms, it was the right moment to tell Rich my news. “If I wasn’t already up the duff, that would have done it anyway.”
There was a moment of silence as he digested my words. Suddenly, he sat up. “You’re pregnant?” It sometimes takes men some time to understand.
“Yes.” I awaited his further reaction. Would this be good news or bad? The gradually widening smile on his face told me all I needed to know.
“How far along are you?”
“I’ve missed twice, so probably two months.”
“Have you seen your doctor?”
I laughed. “Darling, I am pregnant, not ill.”
“Hmm. When we get back, make an appointment.”
“Yes, Master.”
He grinned. “I suppose you would like me to make an honest woman of you?”
“I am an honest woman. If you mean us getting married, that’s up to you.”
“I will happily say yes, but will you say yes as well?”
“I suppose I will have to. If it’s a boy, then he will have to be legitimate to inherit the title after Daddy.”
“Andrea, Lady Andrea. Will you marry this poor strolling player you see before you?”
“Oh, go on then. Your honeyed words got me into bed, so I suppose I shall have to marry you now.”
The next morning, we came down to take breakfast. I found it difficult to take the smile off my face. Ashley and Charlie had beaten us down to breakfast and giggled upon seeing my smiling face. “Told you,” Charlie said to Ashley.
“Yeah, yeah,” replied Ashley, flapping her hands. Rich and I had barely sat down when a beautiful Indian girl came over to us bearing bad news. It would appear that Gupta had been rushed to the hospital during the night with appendicitis. I asked Ashley what this would mean. “Usually not too much, as there is always an assistant director. However, as our assistant director is so browbeaten by Gupta, I doubt if he will shoot a single scene, fearful of Gupta erupting in one of his tantrums. So I think we have two or three days of doing little.”
I was introduced to the girl who brought this news. She was Rich’s co-star, Meera, who I liked immediately. My opinion was not even affected when Ashley whispered to me that Meera had plans to seduce Richard. She had good taste, I thought, knowing that she would not be successful. Ashley confirmed my thought, telling me that Rich had not taken up her suggestion of both Meera and herself either side of him in bed. Meera didn’t seem averse to that idea. “That could have been very interesting.”
Ashley smiled and added. “I would like to know what you have got, Andrea, that Richard would decline both of us?”
I gave her a small smile. “I wouldn’t have blamed him for accepting, but he would pay the price when I found out.”
We took our coffee out onto the shaded terrace. As we walked, I spoke softly to Meera. “I am sorry that Richard was unavailable for you.”
Even with her coffee complexion, I could see her blush. “I didn’t know about you. I am sorry also. He’s a lovely man. I did have an ulterior motive though.”
“Oh? What was that?”
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