Virginia Henley (3 page)

Over the candlelit supper-table Antonia described to Roz what they had seen that afternoon at Edenwood. “This Adam Savage must have a great deal of money. He’ll be able to hunt on his own property. There must be a thousand acres of woods. The outside of the house is almost finished, but not the interiors. Its grandeur is breathtaking, isn’t it, Tony?”

“The stables will hold fifty stalls,” Anthony added negligently, more interested in slicing off a pink slab of beef than describing a house. “I don’t think I’ll have any trouble getting this Savage fellow to increase my allowance. He spends money like water.”

“Mmm, must be one of these nabobs I’ve read about in the
Tattler.
They make fortunes in the Indies, then return to England with their houris and pet monkeys. They wear voluminous, brocaded pantaloons and turbans. They buy up all our treasures while royalty fetes them and society in general falls over itself to kiss their bottoms.”

“I wish Mother’s letter had told us more about him,” Antonia said wistfully.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t know much about him,” offered Anthony. “He was probably a business associate of Father’s.” Anthony could not yet speak of his father without choking up.

Antonia’s imagination had taken flight over the picture Roz had painted of the nabob, while Roz thought cynically,
If Savage is as wealthy as you surmise, Eve will make it her business to learn
everything
there is to know about him!

At Leopard’s Leap plantation in Ceylon, Adam Savage stood in the heavy shadows of the eucalypti and bamboo, absorbing the haunting beauty of the night. He often came to this spot, which gave him a clear view of the lake. In reality it was a holding tank for water, but it drew wild animals as if it were a natural watering hole.

He stood absolutely still, waiting with infinite patience, as the moonlight flooded down with blue-white intensity to reveal a leopard standing reflected in the oval pool. It was breathtaking in its beauty and grace. Leopards had a trick of appearing with no perceptible approach.

His strong brown hand went to the pistol tucked in his belt, but it was an unconscious gesture to reassure himself it was there if needed. To Adam Savage shooting animals who came to drink was murder. High leather boots reached to his well-muscled thighs to guard against scorpion, centipede, and snake.

A half-smile touched his lips as he recalled how wary
he’d been of snakes when he first arrived in the Indies. He’d worked his way on an East Indiaman to buy wood for his father, who was a cabinetmaker. He’d sent back satinwood, ebony, teak, mahogany, sandalwood, and he had discovered calamander, stronger and finer than any rosewood. In those early days he’d seen pythons on every trunk, cobras beneath every fern, but there was an Eastern saying, “Only he who fears snakes sees them,” and it was true. Now, he never saw them. They were there. He’d hear them slither through the rafters, hear them thrash about catching rats, and hear the rats squeal when they became a meal, but once he accepted snakes as necessary to keep down vermin, he never noticed them again.

One of the things he would truly miss when he returned to England was the fantastic wildlife. In the distance he heard the banshee wail of a pack of jackals. Every hour of the day and night was filled with the sights and sounds of Ceylon’s exotic fauna. Twilight was the hour of winged creatures. At sunset the caves disgorged their hordes of fruit bats. Some, called flying foxes, had four-foot wing-spans, others no bigger than a bumblebee would fly to his bungalow as if they were invited dinner guests to feed on the swarms of insects that were attracted to the glow of the oil lamps. Anything like the gekko or house lizard that dashed about everywhere and devoured flies and mosquitoes was devoutly welcomed.

Suddenly Adam’s nostrils were filled with the sweet, heavenly perfume of the iron tree. Hindus believed that the God of Love tipped his arrows with this blossom. Savage closed his eyes and thought of Eve. He finally admitted to himself that he wanted her. Now that she was a widow, no barrier prevented him from taking her. She liked to flirt, she liked to have men at her feet, but that was a game many pretty women played. It was Important to him that their attraction was mutual. His hand went to his face to finger the scar that marred him. Not that he’d had any claim to beauty before the knife had carved a
deep gash that ran from the side of his nose right through his top lip. But now his strong, masculine features had taken on a dark, sinister look that hinted at an unsavory past.

He knew Fate had marked him as a grim reminder of his sins, and as Omar Khayyam had written, not all his piety could cancel half a line. His looks frightened off young women, yet ironically, older women, especially married ones, were attracted to his saturnine face almost irresistibly.

Sometimes he thought Eve sent him subtle invitations, but he had never acted upon them. Not that it was against his code to seduce a married woman, it was only against his integrity to dishonor a trusted friend by sleeping with his wife. And Russell Lamb had been a trusted friend.

One more white devoured by the tropics. The Indies did that with relentless frequency, yet he had always thrived here. He respected the country and its climate, realizing from the beginning that large meals accompanied by flagons of wine at midday would kill off a white man quicker than disease.

Tomorrow, Lady Evelyn Lamb was coming to Leopard’s Leap to dine with him for the first time. Previously he had always dined with Lord and Lady Lamb at Government House, their palatial home on the next plantation. Though the house was imposing, the plantation was insignificant when compared with his twenty thousand acres, but the paperwork of the East India Company had kept Russell chained to his desk and allowed him no time to cultivate crops.

Eve was a fair English beauty as tempting as her namesake. She was in her early thirties, perhaps even a year or two older than himself, but this only added to her allure. There was a coolness about her beauty that made him wonder if she had ever been fully awakened sensually. Or ever been fully satisfied. Nevertheless, she was far from virginal and he hoped his sexual experience could teach
her to be rewarding in bed. Eve had that “look-but-don’t-touch” aura about her that challenged him.

Ordinarily she would have been far above his touch, if it had not been for that great equalizer, wealth. Anticipating their encounter tomorrow he could see her flawless white skin, feel her golden hair brush against his cheek, hear her cultured voice banter a sophisticated witticism, taste her— Adam’s balls tightened pleasurably and he stepped from the shadows toward his comfortably spacious bungalow, where his servants would be waiting with his bath and his evening meal. A bandicoot that looked like a cross between a small pig and a large rat scurried from his path.

Adam Savage dwarfed his manservant, who stood at the door with bootjack in one hand, slippers in the other.

“Good evening, John Bull,” Savage said, sitting on a stool while his servant removed his boots.

“Good evening, Excellency,” John Bull said, bowing his crimson turban until it almost touched his white pantaloons.

Savage’s dark brow cocked. “Excellency?” he questioned.

John Bull said solemnly, “When we are in England—”

Adam held up a protesting hand. “Must you preface every sentence with ‘When we are in England’?”

“Yes, Excellency, when we are in England, it will be a fitting title. You do not like it when I call you master, and sahib will sound too foreign, so I have ruminated long and think Excellency will be good … when we are in England,” he added unnecessarily.

Adam had learned to keep a straight face when conversing with John Bull, a nickname he had given him because the man worshiped everything English and lived for the day he would finally set foot in that haloed land.

“John Bull, we are not yet in England” Adam reminded him.

“Ah yes, Excellency, but tomorrow when the memsahib
Lady Lamb comes to dine, it is very, very important that she not think us uncivilized.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Give me strength,” he murmured.

“You are the Leopard, the strongest man in Ceylon. Why do you waste prayers asking for more strength, Excellency?”

Adam knew from experience it was better not to answer him. He crossed the hall and offered the mynah bird a piece of pawpaw fruit. “Hello, Rupee.”

“Sinner! Hellfire!” replied the flame-crested bird.

“When we are in England, I think it would be best not to take this accursed bird. His vocabulary is defaulted and could prove harmful.”

Adam thought wryly that if the English survived John Bull’s vocabulary, it would be a miracle. He picked up some charts from his desk then his eyes scanned a map of the plantation that covered the wall behind. Tomorrow morning he would have to arise at four to organize the tappers before daylight. Latex only flowed readily from the rubber trees before the heat of the day. It coagulated in warm temperatures.

Kirinda, Adam’s Sinhalese woman, entered the room on silent feet. In her soft voice she told John Bull that the Leopard’s bath was ready. All his people thought and spoke of him as the Leopard. He thought cynically that the name came more from his resemblance to a scarred beast, than from owning Leopard’s Leap.

John Bull remonstrated with her in a stage whisper. “When we are in England you will not order the master about. When he is ready for his bath he will come into the bathing room. At the moment he is not interesting!”

Adam Savage put down the charts. “I resent that remark, John Bull,” he said lightly. “Lead the way, Lotus Blossom.”

She never walked before him, always behind. When Adam had passed her on his way to the bathing room she
raised downcast eyes and pulled an impudent face at John Bull.

He said scornfully, “A lotus is nothing more than a common water lily!”

In the center of the room was a sunken, tiled bathing pool steaming with warm scented water. Adam pulled his white cotton shirt over his head and allowed Kirinda to help him peel off his riding breeches, then he walked down the steps into the water that came up to his hips. His broad chest was heavy with sleek muscle from years of hard physical labor. The tropical sun had tanned him to a dark mahogany above the waist, while below, his taut buttocks and strong legs seemed startlingly pale in contrast.

Kirinda loved to look at the master’s body, though she always appeared to keep her eyes modestly downcast lest he think she stared at his scars. He was deliciously different from the men of this land. His chest and manhood were covered by black curls and he was wonderously large. His hair fell to his shoulders and was as dark as any native’s, but his eyes were a startling ice-blue and they could freeze a person with one glance if he was displeased.

She stole a look at him and saw that his elbows rested upon the tile ledge, his head was thrown back, and his eyes closed as the sensual feel of the water relaxed his tired muscles. As Kirinda bent to pick up a sponge her black hair swung forward like a silken waterfall. She straightened, slipped off her richly embroidered sari, and walked gracefully down the tiled steps into the water.

When Savage bought Leopard’s Leap from its Dutch owners it had been a failing plantation. He had worked twenty hours a day to make it thrive. In those days he had literally been too tired to bathe and so one night she had done it for him. The experience had proven so pleasurable to both that now it was a ritual.

Kirinda had to reach high on tiptoe to lather his neck and shoulders, then she held up her palm with the cake of
soap upon it. Adam took it, washed his face and hair, then ducked beneath the water to rinse off the suds. She soaped his back, chest, and belly, then again passed him the soap so he could wash his own intimate parts. Their relationship was nonsexual and completely matter of fact. Adam, now totally relaxed, closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He felt as if his very bones might melt.

When he opened his eyes a minute or two later, Kirinda was standing patiently with his towels. The ritual time spent with Lotus Blossom was soothing to a man. She never chattered. She never recoiled from his scars. His blue eyes smiled into hers as he slipped on a robe and went to eat his evening meal.

When he had eaten he went out onto the screened verandah to catch the breeze and enjoy a cheroot rolled from tobacco grown in the dry zone of Jaffra. His thoughts drifted about, lulled by the nocturnal symphony of tree frogs.

It was still pitch-black when he arose and made his way to the sheds beside the smokehouse. Over the years his tappers had become highly skilled, learning the importance of cleanliness in gathering the snow-white liquid. Savage handed out knives, cups, coconut shells, and buckets. Then he began to pour acetic acid into molds, knowing the tappers would quickly start returning with latex. After setting for eighteen hours the sheets would be put through rollers to press on a rough pattern to prevent adhesion, then hung in the smokehouse for several days to dry.

The men who had become proficient in English were promoted to overseers and given an umbrella as a badge of office. The Leopard, as the plantation workers also called him, was a hard taskmaster who ruled with an iron hand. He would put up with nothing that displeased him. Punishment was both swift and harsh. He was never lenient, there were no second chances. Mixed with their fear
of him, however, was a healthy dose of respect. There was not one task on the entire plantation that he could not do himself and do it better than any other.

When the Dutch owned the plantation, the workers had all been native Sinhalese. They were an attractive people but extremely cunning and indolent. If they did not wish to work on a particular day, no power on earth could make them. When Adam had been in India he had witnessed how the natives manipulated the English by their own form of blackmail. They would sit on a step and fast to get their own way or threaten to disembowel themselves or even dash out their childrens’ brains.

When Savage took over he dismissed the Sinhalese workers and replaced them with darker-skinned Tamils, who were far more industrious and willing to do labor. Savage allowed them their own customs unless those customs offended him, in which case he forbade them. In the East a woman was barren until she bore a son, then her husband was permitted to take a second wife. Concubinage was normal, so he did not interfere. A female must marry as soon as puberty was reached or she became the prey of all males in her caste.

Kirinda was the only Sinhalese woman on the plantation. She became a twelve-year-old widow during his first week and marked for sati. He saved her from burning on the funeral pyre by taking her as his personal body servant.