Page 87 of A Thousand Painted Hours

I do love you, Tanveer.

In the meantime, I have reason to offer some hope for our dilemma. We may not marry, but perhaps we can find some other arrangement.

I am going to marry Rocky. It is, of course, a marriage in name only, since he has no taste for women and I have no taste for anyone but you, but this will appease our families. He’s gone to recruit training, but the banns have been posted. It’s official, and truly, it’s remarkable how happy my brother is.

This may feel a blow, but I hope you will see what a good solution it is. We can be a modern couple, creating our own sort of union.

I say to you, as you said to me, that you are the axis of the world to me, Tanveer. I invite you to meet me in our dreams, where we are free to love as we wish, where we might spend our lives, living one world in sleep, another in the day. Shall I meet you there?

In deepest love,

Elsie

[Enclosed drawing of their hands, linked]

October 20, 1914

Talwarpur

[In English]

Dear Elsie,

It does feel a blow, though it should not. I am a fool to want both things at once, to protect you and to claim you. Rocky is a good choice, which I understand logically. My heart will need more time.

I have joined the army, which I have been trained to do since boyhood. I feel it is my duty to lead the men of our state, and perhaps it will carry weight later. When I know where I shall be posted, I shall let you know.

Your friend,

Tanveer

November 13, 1914

Clystmere Hall

[In Urdu]

Dear Tanveer,

I am heartsick at the thought of you in the army. In danger, constantly, and for what? Fighting for a country you don’t believe in? Why did you do such a thing?

Write to me often, so that I know you are safe.

Elsie

Beware a Redheaded Woman

Autumn 1940

London

—44—

A spate of bad weather gave us a respite from raids. Mother rested more than she had been able to do, and it improved her spirits significantly, although she continued to decline physically. Nina visited, which cheered me, and we agreed to meet in a week to transport the paintings to her wine cellar, which Jonathan promised would hold up against anything except a direct hit.

Better than I could expect here.

Peter arrived one afternoon and called out from the base of the stairs. I was in my studio, taking paintings from their stretchers, and looked over my shoulder to see what might be visible to his casual eye. Nothing but a painting of a chair with a length of fabric over it. He would not know what that fabric was.