Page 67 of A Thousand Painted Hours

“Peas and carrots?”

“Never mind.” I gestured around us. “What do you think of England?”

“It is beautiful. Everything is softer here. The flowers, the clouds, the air.”

We came to a thicket of trees, some as wide as a cart. “What are these trees?” he asked.

“Rowan. They were sacred to the Druids and maybe to witches. Powerful, aren’t they?”

He pressed a palm to one, looking up, and I liked that he was a person who would think to do such a thing, befriend a tree another might simply walk by. He looked back at me, and then over his shoulder to the deserted path behind us. He held out his hand.

We dashed into the shadows, hidden by the great tree, and he backed me against it to kiss me. “I could not wait another moment,” he said, and then just as quickly pulled me back to the public side.

I clutched his hand tightly. “How have you been so far away all this time? I feel like the world has suddenly straightened itself.”

“It feels no time has passed, and too much.” He tucked our hands into my skirts as we walked the public path. “I do admire your park, Elsie, but I am quite keen to see your paintings. You speak of it so often in your letters that I long to see the work. Is that possible?”

A swell of happiness strained the confines of my skin. “Yes. Of course. Do you mind taking the Underground?”

“Not at all. It should be an adventure.”

We made the journey back to Slade, Tanveer admiring the carriage and the stations of the Tube. It somehow calmed my nerves to engage in a simple, ordinary task. “A very helpful invention in a city of such size,” he said. “It must be safe if women ride alone.”

“Yes. As safe as anything is for a woman on her own.”

“And yet you want to move about freely.”

“I wish for men to treat women with the respect they offer each other, so women needn’t worry.”

He raised a brow. “Will that ever be a truth?”

“It will be if we insist upon it.”

“Perhaps here. I do not know if that can be true in India.”

“Why not?”

He took a breath. “The Guru said we are all equals, men and women, and people of all castes. But many structures will need to bechanged and dismantled for that to be true in practice.” He glanced over his shoulder at a man pretending not to listen and switched to Hindustani. “We have other pressing struggles just now.”

“Why not restructure it all at once? Free women from their chains, abolish caste?”

He gave me a droll glance. “That should be simple enough.”

I laughed. Our stop arrived, and we disembarked, Tanveer offering a courtly hand as I stepped out. For a single moment, again I felt swamped at his presence. I shook my head to clear it.

Truly, would I spend all these days in a swoon? Ridiculous.

Briskly, then, I led the way to the school, which would likely be fairly empty on a late-spring Saturday as lovely as this one. As we crossed the courtyard, he looked around but said nothing, simply absorbing. I had forgotten this, too, his willingness to simply be quiet. Rocky and Nina chattered continually, and although I was not so much a talker as they, I had been drawn somewhat into the habit. It was cheering to remember there was more to me.

As we entered the building, cool shadows enveloped us. “This way.” I led the way up the stairs to the studios, and he walked behind me, then beside me in the hallway, taking my hand in the folds of my skirt. I gripped him back, feeling nerves return. What if when I saw my work through his eyes, I hated it? What if I could sense he was only being polite?

Outside the room, I halted, my hand on his chest. “I will only show you if you are completely honest in your opinions.”

He covered my hand. “Of course. Why would you expect anything else?”

“Very well.” I hauled open the door and led the way into the studio. It was, unsurprisingly, empty. “My place is over here.”

In the few months since that searing day I had lined up my paintings to see what I could learn about my voice, I’d been painting in a fury. “Sit here,” I said, pulling over a stool. “Beware of paint. It’s everywhere.”