Page 68 of The Henna Artist

“No, no, no, no, no!” He stood, shook his head and pointed his lit cigarette at me. “We’ve had trouble with servant girls before.”

Servant girls.The words hung in the air. Is this how Samir thought of Radha? Of me?

We’ve had trouble with servant girls before.This wasn’t the first time?

I felt the words in my mouth before I could give them a voice. “Is that why Parvati got rid of Lala’s niece?AndLala?”

He shot me a furtive glance before looking away.

Hai Ram!My body shook with anger. “Is this how you take care of your problems? Remove them from sight? While your son continues to—to—I didn’t believe Radha at first! But she was telling the truth. I—”

“You’rethe one who let ithappen.” He frowned. “She’syoursister.”

“And your son? Who’s responsible for him?”

He turned away, studied the carpet, smoked. “Can’t you get rid of it? I mean, isn’t that what we pay you for? To take care of this kind of thing?”

Just an hour ago I’d imagined Samir coming to my aid. I’d pictured us working through this together. More fool, me! Of course I’d already suggested terminating the pregnancy. But coming from Samir, it sounded heartless. Is this how I’d sounded to my sister?

I looked down at my hands, rubbed them together. “I offered my sachets, but she said no. She thinks Ravi is going to marry her.”

“Rubbish! He knows better than that.”

“Does he?” I frowned at him.“As is the king so are his subjects?”As soon as I said the proverb, I knew it was true. There had been servant girls in Samir’s past, too.

He avoided my eyes. Ash from his cigarette fell on his shirt, but he didn’t notice. He pointed to the bed. “So that’s what all this was about?”

“This?”

“What we just did!”

“No!” I massaged my temples. “You think I’d come to the home of your mistress to—for this...so you would—what? Make Ravi marry my sister? Give me money to keep quiet?”

He dropped his eyes and released a strangled breath. “Lakshmi, this is all such a shock. I... Marriage is out of the question.”

That’s what I’d said to Radha. I lowered myself, slowly, on the stool in front of the dressing table.

“Have you talked to Ravi?”

I looked up at him. “I think that’s for you to do.”

Samir scratched his neck. “Where’s your sister now?”

“With friends.”

Some of the tension drained from his face. He stabbed his cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the bedside table. “The Sharmas...”

“The Sharmas.” How ironic. I’d finalized the match between Sheela and Ravi by suggesting a solution everyone found agreeable: Samir would design a house, separate from the main residence, on the Singh estate for Sheela and Ravi. Mr. Sharma would build it. Yet, all the while I was plotting and planning, Ravi and my sister had been—How could I fault Samir for blaming me when I blamed myself?

Samir lit another cigarette and inhaled deeply. He sat on the bed once more, facing me. “All right. What do you suggest we do now?”

“Radha won’t agree to an abortion, but she might agree to an adoption. An orphanage is out of the question. You and I know those places are little better than a prison.”

Few Indian families ever adopted; the majority of children stayed in care homes until they came of age. It might have been different if couples didn’t think it was so shameful to admit they couldn’t conceive. “But there isonefamily for whom adoption is a way of saving face, not losing it.” I pressed my hands together, brought them to my lips. “The palace is looking for a new crown prince to adopt.”

“You mean—”

“The maharaja banished his natural son to England because his astrologer told him toadoptthe future ruler. Radha’s baby will be a perfect candidate for adoption because Ravi’s son will have royal blood from Parvati’s side. He’ll be cared for, sent to the best schools, given everything. An orphanage can give him nothing. Don’t you want that life, and not the other, for your son’s child?”

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