Monsoon Summer by Julia Gregson Read Free Book Online

Ci.
    â€œHe is a lawyer. He was called to the bar at Lincoln’s Inn.”
    â€œAm I correct in thinking Gandhi practiced law in England too?” Tudor asked. “Before he took up spinning and good works?”
    Stop peppering the poor man with questions, I thought.
    â€œGandhi was called to the bar at Grey’s Inn,” Daisy jumped in. “But he never practiced here. I met him once, you know, in Bombay, where we ran a children’s home. He was a great man.”
    â€œA great man,” the Indian doctor confirmed quietly. “I’ve been reading about him in the papers.” I noticed the cuffs on his jacket were frayed.
    â€œWould you like some more rice?” I asked.
    â€œI would.” He looked at me across the table. “Thank you.”
    I walked to the sideboard, where the food was kept warm on a small steel tray with three candles underneath it.
    â€œSit down.” My mother spoke for the first time. “I’ll do it. Our maid has the flu,” she explained briefly to Anto. “It’s a real bore.”
    â€œThe food is very good,” he told her. “Thank you.”
    I saw her considering whether to tell him about her job in India now or later. The governor, the picnics, the polo games.
    But Flora said, “So did you get stuck here during the war?”
    â€œSort of,” he replied.
    â€œStuck here!” Ci Ci’s voice held a note of muted outrage. It was all right for her to hate England, but it was cheek for an Indian.
    â€œMy father was keen for me to do my medical training at Bart’s Hospital, and then the war came. I haven’t been home for nine years.”
    â€œSo you’re practically one of us,” said Daisy.
    He didn’t answer, just a little smile.
    â€œDid you mind?” Flora asked. She was wide-eyed like a child.
    He put down his fork and stopped eating. “That’s a big question,” he said. “None of us expected the war.”
    â€œWill you go home soon?” Daisy asked.
    â€œThat is the plan.” He looked at her directly with his long-lashed green eyes and gave an almost smile. “I’m worried they won’t recognize me. And may I ask about you?” He addressed the table generally.
    â€œOh, us.” Ci Ci’s lip furled backwards, showing her sharp little teeth. “Oh, we’re Empire flotsam and jetsam.” She laughed to show this was a charming and self-deprecating joke. “We’re renting here while we catch our breath.” After a sip of Daisy’s surprisingly potent elderflower wine, she rambled on at length about the Daimler and Godfrey’s factory. How India had taken years off Godfrey’s life, and how Gandhi had spoiled things by stirring people up.
    â€œSorry about this,”—she flung a defiant look around the table—“but I personally thought he was a ghastly little man, sitting there spinning in his nappy.”
    Daisy was shaking her head as if to say, Stop stop, stop! but saidnothing, not wanting, I imagine, to stir up any storm clouds on his first day.
    â€œJust a tiny bit more, dear.” When Ci Ci held her glass towards Tudor, I stood up.
    â€œWould you like me to show you your room?” I said to the doctor. “It’s on the first floor.”
    My mother shot me a look of pure venom.
    â€œWhat a splendid idea.” Daisy looked relieved. “There was only time for a bath before dinner.”
    â€œThank you,” he said, “I’d like that.” And to Daisy, and my mother: “A delicious meal. I can’t thank you enough. I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow.”
    As we left the room, the door releasing an icy draft, Ci Ci Mallinson said quite audibly, “Well, he’s got quite good table manners: that’s something, I suppose.”

- CHAPTER 4 -
    T he girl, whose name was Kit, stood up with a forwardness that startled him. She must have thought he