Page 114 of A Thousand Painted Hours

“I don’t know how.”

I sat, took his hand, drawing him down beside me. “Perhaps you could write me letters, as if the experiences were happening now.”

He closed his eyes tight. “No.”

“Perhaps not to me, then. Someone else. Someone who will listen and not judge.”

He growled, yanking his hand away. “There is no one who will not judge. You think you know, but you do not.”

“I don’t think—”

“I’m not your precious prince, to be patched up and sent on my way.” He reeled way, pushing his hands though his wild hair. “It’s this wind. It’s this place.”

“Perhaps you could ask to return to England? We were all right there, weren’t we?”

He swung back. “We were. It’s early, but considering all, perhaps they’ll send me back.”

“It’s worth asking.”

With sudden drama, he fell to his knees and buried his head in my lap. “Elsie, you are the dearest thing in my world. I can’t bear hurting you.”

I hesitated for a moment, blood still on my lip. But I had married him, and he deserved the ministrations of a wife. In truth, I was fond of him, even if it wasn’t quite what he hoped. “Dear Peter. I’m sorry for your suffering. I truly am. But we must take action.”

He lifted his head. “I shall go to the desert this week, and speak to headquarters about a transfer before I go.” He kissed my fingers. “It will be all right. You’ll see.”

—60—

Fate conspired to bring Gurdaya to Cairo not five days later. She was accompanying her husband, who had some business to attend, and she intended to shop. I’d been looking forward to seeing her for months, but on the morning we were to meet for lunch, I very nearly canceled. My lip was no longer swollen, but the cut still marked it, and a quadrant of finger bruises showed on my jaw. I covered them with powder and foundation, and wore long sleeves to cover the bruises on my arms. I couldn’t bear not to see her.

We were to meet at her lodgings, Shepheard’s Hotel, a glamorous place known for its international visitors, and a terrace overlooking the Ezbekieh Gardens. It was bustling in the bright late morning, waiters in uniform discreetly serving and whisking away dishes and pouring coffee from silver carafes. I paused at the doorway to see if I could spot her, but there was no one who matched the girl who was in my mind.

A woman stood and raised a hand. She was clad in a western dress of yellow silk, and her thick, black hair was swirled into a fashionable twist, showing off the face that had matured even more beautifully than I remembered.

My mouth opened, and I hurried over, taking her hands. Her childhood nickname slipped out: “Guriya!” She was taller than I, and regal in her bearing, which I supposed fitted the wife and daughter of a raja. Ropes of pearls circled her neck and fell in cascades over her chest, and her wrists were adorned with bracelets.

“Elsie!” she cried, kissing my cheeks in continental fashion. “You are stunning!”

“And you!” I laughed. “I did not expect you to be the last word in modern girls!”

We sat, and the waiter poured coffee and brought cream, and then bread and olives and tomatoes for us to graze. “I hardly know where to begin,” I said, a little breathless. Of course I could see Tanveer in her face, in the same high-bridged nose, the full lips. “Or, I suppose I do—I am so delighted by your writing career!”

“It is so wonderfully surprising, and so very enjoyable. I love the writing, and the publishing. I am a tiny bit famous in Bombay.” She mimed a movie-star pose with hands below her face. “Not as famous as you! I saw your paintings in the gallery.”

“You did?”

“Of course. I made a particular trip. Baldev also found them striking. He said you must come to India and paint our world.”

I laughed. “How kind! But I spent my first years in school unlearning all my India styles.”

“That’s terrible! Why?”

“Not at all. I had to find my own voice.”

“India must be part of that, surely.”

A wash of late summer evenings moved through me, the sound of cicadas loud in the trees. “It seems far away now. Long ago.”

“We were fortunate children. What a gift it was when my mother moved in next door to yours!”