Page 132 of A Thousand Painted Hours

I heard him enter the room, feet shushing over the floor in his slippers. “What is this secret conversation?” he said, dropping to an ottoman.

I looked at him, my ears roaring. So many conflicting emotions swirled through me that I would have leapt to my feet and fled immediately if Channan had not increased her grip on my hand, holding me there. He looked back at me with a tilt of his head, and then to Channan. In the instant before she spoke, he seemed to sense the intensity of the moment. She held out her hand and he took it.

“I have just been telling Elsie that I read Urdu script. And I apologize for reading your ghazals, but they are enchanting.”

“You read my private papers?”

“I did,” she said without apology. “That is not the matter here.” She sandwiched our hands together between her tiny ones, his on top of mine, hers above and below. “The truth is that you share a deep love, and it deserves life.”

Tanveer met my eyes, and I had no sense of what he was thinking. My discomfort was so high I would have gladly slipped out of my skin to run away, but the weight of our entwined hands held me there.

And, too, what held me was a longing to slip into his flesh, find again that place where our souls met.

We stared at each other. Possibility rose like lavender smoke, wafting through me, between us, circling his head. He was as surprised as I, and after a moment, he said, “What exactly do you mean?”

She laughed. “You both know what I mean. Shall I say it? You should be lovers.”

He closed his eyes, as if steeling himself. For a long moment, he stayed in that posture, and the tension of the moment nearly squeezed the life from me.

And then he abruptly pulled our pile of hands forward and bent to kiss them. His lashes fell over his cheek, and I saw a single bright tear slide free. I looked back to Channan, and there was no conflict in her face at all. Only love.

My ears still roared, and I could not think clearly, and yet, the world felt wider, brighter, more beautiful. Our hands were tightly woven, a promise. I wanted to touch Tanveer’s head, to kiss Channan’s cheek, to bend as he’d bent, and kiss our laced fingers.

At that moment, the gatekeeper called, “Maharaja Sahib,Colonel Barrington has arrived to see you.”

“What?” Tanveer straightened, and our hands all flew apart.

A white man came into the room, calling out, “Hello, hello. I tried to get here for the durbar, but I see I was too late.” He gave a jovial chuckle. “I’ve been in India so long I’m developing Indian habits. Good to see you, Your Highness.”

Tanveer stood. “Colonel Barrington. Good to see you.” Recovering, he crossed the space to meet him with an outstretched hand. “What brings you to our little world?”

“Oh, this and that, this and that. I heard you had a spot of trouble last week.”

“It was nothing. We managed all right.”

“Of course, of course.”

Channan said smoothly, “We are about to enjoy luncheon, Colonel. Won’t you join us? Very simple, I’m afraid, only rotis and dal. Our cook has been making milder dishes for the palate of our English friend, so it may be to your liking.”

He gave me a sharp look, perhaps registering my presence for the first time. “I haven’t had the pleasure,” he said. He had ginger hair shot through with white, and a thin mustache. “Colonel Barrington.”

“Elsie Turner,” I said. “Old friend of the family. My father was in the ICS when I was a child.”

“Is that right? Good to meet you.” He held his hat, shifted, thought. “I believe I would love to join you, Maharani. Been a trek out here.”

“We would be honored,” Tanveer said. He gave me a glance over the man’s head. “All of us.”

“Of course,” I said. “Perhaps I should run upstairs and change.”

“Nonsense,” Tanveer said. “We stand on no ceremony for a simple lunch. You don’t mind, do you, Colonel?”

“No, no. As you are.”

We trooped into the courtyard with its deep shade, where a table had been set for three. “Another setting,” Channan said, and the girl scurried off.

The Englishman seemed off-kilter as he looked around, eyeing the cat sleeping in the corner and the splendid table setting. Tanveer made no move to make him comfortable, only gestured for him to take a seat. I wondered if it was deliberate that the view was of the crumbling tower, which put him opposite Tanveer, with Channan and me between the men.

The quarters were rather too close, and my knee brushed Tanveer’s thigh below the table. I looked up, then away, feeling as I had that long ago day when I’d come to the palace and discovered the new Tanveer stirred all manner of things—I was too much in my body, too deeply aware of his physical person. He nudged me and I looked up. His gaze was serious, direct, and I found myself nodding as if he’d spoken.