Ragtime in Simla

‘Maisie! Maisie!’ Joe had been the only one to notice that Alice had visibly winced when Maisie used the word ‘tart’. He was right then. Alice had not told Marie-Jea

In a wash of comprehension Joe began to understand the relationship between these two women. So different and yet so closely linked. He saw that to Marie-Jea

He looked steadily into the blue eyes and thought that this was perhaps the first time he had seen the real girl. The nun’s habit, the spectacles were no longer even a distraction. The eyes were pleading with him, fearful, trying to convey her message. Maisie had foreseen this moment. What had she said? – ‘You owe her one, Joe. She knows that. You know that.’ And now, wordlessly, she was reminding him. Suddenly Joe was weary. Weary of the blackmail, the deceptions, the heat. He wanted to be finally free of this woman, owing her nothing, all contact severed. He resented the emotional and professional demands India had made on him and in that moment Alice represented for him the writhing layers of Indian intrigue and he wanted to be rid of it. He wanted his London life with a cold wind blowing off the Thames, the Lots Road power station puthering out smoke, the bells of St Luke’s, Chelsea, waking him. He wanted to be back in bed with Maisie.

He got to his feet. ‘I can’t forgive you, Alice Conyers.’ The slight stress on his use of her adopted name told her what she needed to know. Joe was acknowledging and cancelling his debt. ‘London bobbies aren’t in the absolving business and you’ll have to look to a higher authority for that. You’ve got away with it as far as I’m concerned. For now. For here.’ He took Maisie’s arm and with a nod to each woman he walked away.

At the door Maisie, whose disapproval had been conveyed by the tension in her arm and the tight line of her lips, finally rounded on him. ‘I see what you’re at, Joe, and – all right – there’s not a lot you can do,’ she hissed in his ear, ‘but it riles me that they can get away with murder. I can’t leave it like that.’

She shook off his restraining arm and walked with dignity back to the table to confront the silent pair. They waited, wide-eyed, for her to speak. Maisie paused, head slightly on one side, eyes unfocused as she listened with attention to i

‘I never did get the chance in Simla to pass on messages which came to me from someone who was desperate to communicate with you, Mrs Sharpe, because of an identity mix-up – you’ll know what I mean, I think. Ha

Back in Maisie’s cabin Joe asked, ‘Ha

‘Trade secret, Joe! Don’t ask!’

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[A 3S Release— v1, html]

[October 20, 2006]