Free East Into Upper East by Ruth Prawer Jhabvala Page B

anger that she sounded the horn repeatedly to have the gates opened. As she parked the car, she saw that a light had come on in the house; she bit her lip, angry now with herself but also determined to face down anyone who dared to challenge her.
    Monica stood at the top of the stairs, watching her mother walk up them. Sumitra was calm; she said, “What, aren’t you asleep yet, Moni?”
    â€œWhere have you been?” Monica said in the imperious way in which she often addressed her mother. It was to assert herself against Sumitra’s dominant personality, and also to counter the look of disappointment that was always in her mother’s eyes when they looked at her. It was there now—Sumitra couldn’t help it. Monica was lanky like her father, and her hair, her eyes, her complexion were dull: as if Sumitra had taken all the sparkle and warmth there was to be had and left none for her daughter.
    â€œGoodness, I’m tired,” yawned Sumitra. “I thought no one was ever going home—why, Moni, you know there was that banquet for the King of Nepal. I told you—”
    â€œYou went to a banquet for the King of Nepal—in this?” Monica scornfully indicated the lilac robe Sumitra had thrown over her nightdress on her way to Too.
    Sumitra had become skilled enough in the ways of diplomacy to know how to handle a mistake that could not be redeemed. One simply swept over it—the way Sumitra now swept past Monica and into her bedroom where she stood at the mirror applying the night cream she had already applied some hours ago before retiring to herrestless bed. Monica had come up behind her; she had no diplomacy at all: “I’ll tell Papa,” she said.
    Sumitra went on smoothing cream into her smooth skin. They could see each other in the mirror. After a while she replied, “What will you tell him? That Mummy couldn’t sleep and went for a drive? Yes, that’s a stupid thing to do but it’s not a crime, I hope.” She could see the grim expression on Monica’s face falter into doubt. She went on, “I get so exhausted with these interminable dinners that afterwards I can’t sleep; I toss and turn half the night and don’t know what to do with myself.” She unfastened her robe and, in a gesture of weariness, let it drop to the carpet. “Sometimes I go down to make myself a cup of tea, and if that doesn’t work, I take the car for a spin.” In the mirror she probed her daughter’s indecisive face, then turned around to her: “I try to be very quiet and not wake you or Papa—but tonight I’m sorry I was so upset—”
    â€œWhy were you upset?”
    â€œI told you! The strain! You don’t know, nobody knows what hard work it all is. They’re so stupid. No one has the faintest idea how to do anything—tonight, you won’t believe this, they were serving the fish with the soup—oh, I don’t want to think about it! Every time I ask myself, why am I doing this, why can’t I just stay home and eat my dinner in peace with you and Papa.” She laid her head on Monica’s shoulder. Monica put her arm around her—but cautiously, as if not quite trusting her mother and ready to retrieve her affectionate gesture. Before this could happen, Sumitra kissed her: “You must go to sleep now. It doesn’t matter about me, but you shouldn’t be missing out on your beauty sleep.” And when Monica hesitated—“I think I’m getting there too—at last. That drive must have done me good.” And she yawned to prove it and was altogether so tired, so needful of sleep that Monica had to leave her and go back to her own room. It was some time before either of them was really asleep, for Monica too was restless now, not knowing what to believe, or even to feel about her mother.
    Sumitra never told Too about her nocturnal expedition, nor did she repeat it. She