Dishonored by Maria Barrett Read Free Book Online Page B

you to have it.” He removed the cloth and held a small jeweled bird in the balm of his hand, one of a pair and probably
     the most beautiful thing Indrajit Rai had ever made. Jagat took it. “The other one had gone, but this was…”
    “This was all that they left me!” Jagat suddenly spat. This!” He closed his hand over the bird and clenched his list. “This…” He looked up at Nanda. “This is the British justice that my father believed in,” he said quietly. Nanda heard the icy
     anger in his voice and his heart leaped. The boy would need that anger.
    “Yes,” he whispered urgently, “this is the British justice that he died for!” He gripped Jagat’s arm. “Remember that,” he
     urged, “every time you look at the bird remember that!” Nanda released him. “Now go! Hurry, before any more time is lost!”
     He helped Jagat mount, looking up at his figure as he pulled the headdress around his mouth and covered his face. He slapped
     the horse’s flank and Jagat moved off.
    “Ride like the wind!” he called out, and the boy looked back at him, a look so like his father’s that Nanda’s heart ached.
     “Go on! Go!” he shouted. “Go!” And, straining his eyes in the darkness, he watched the horse and rider until they were just
     a tiny dot on the horizon and the sound of them had blurred into the muffled noises of the night.

6
    London
    March 1965
    M ITCHELL H ARVEY’S LONG BLACK B ENTLEY PULLED UP AT THE entrance to the departures terminal at Heathrow airport and parked on a double yellow line. The driver climbed out, beckoned
     to a porter and went around the back to open up the trunk. The two pieces of luggage were loaded on to the trolley, the porter
     directed to the check-in desk and the driver climbed back in. He glanced in the rearview mirror, saw that the glass screen
     was up, and, staring straight ahead, waited for further instructions.
    In the back of the car, Mitchell Harvey sat with his wife. He took her left hand, briefly glanced down at the three-carat
     diamond on her fourth finger and held her hand loosely in his own.
    “Suzanna?”
    She turned to him, her face cold and impassive.
    “I will be arriving at the villa in five days’ time,” he said. “Margaret has my flight details and my itinerary; she will
     be in touch.”
    Suzy nodded.
    “I expect you’ll want to do a bit of shopping,” he remarked. “With the season fast approaching.” Again she nodded without
     speaking. Mitchell reached into the breast pocket of his suit and took out a thick roll of fifty-pound notes; he laid them
     carefully in Suzanna’s lap.
    “Suzanna?”
    She looked down at the money and then turned away from him, her nostrils flaring with distaste. Mitchell squeezed her fingers,
     knowing the diamond cut into her flesh.
    “Thank you, Mitchell,” she said after a few moments.
    He nodded, keeping up the pressure, then he said quietly, “You will remember what we discussed won’t you, Suzy?”
    He waited for her to answer, slowly crushing her fingers as she took her time to reply. She winced at the pain but remained
     silent.
    “I asked you a question, Suzanna!” he suddenly snapped, wrenching her hand toward him and making her cry out with the pain.
     He held his fist up, her long thin fingers white and bloodless in his hand. “I won’t have it,” he snarled. “Not now, not any
     more!” With his other hand he pulled her face around, pressing his nails into her cheeks. “I have been very patient, but people
     are talking, they are talking about a kept man, a gigolo and they are laughing at me, Suzanna! I don’t like to be laughed
     at!” He let go of her face and she dropped her head, forcing back the tears. “Do you understand me?”
    Swallowing down the urge to scream at the pain in her hand she managed to nod. Then Mitchell suddenly released her fingers
     and a sharp pain shot up her wrist as the blood flowed back.
    “I will not tolerate the situation anymore,” Mitchell