Sometimes he would send a rickshaw to bring her out to the forested spur of Mashobra – with its exclusive mansions, including the Viceroy’s country retreat – and she would join a large hunting party of his club friends and one or two rajas from the surrounding hill states. Jay was particularly friendly with the Raja of Nerikot, who shared his love of shikar and good living. Any trip would entail a stop for a sumptuous picnic of caviar, salmon, curry puffs, puddings and champagne, served at tables and eaten off exquisite china, all of which was brought on the backs of dozens of mules and hill porters. Adela felt uncomfortable at the lavishness of these al fresco dinners, knowing how little the Raja’s coolies had to eat and how the hill families struggled for their daily existence.
She thought how much Sam would disapprove and then pushed him from her mind. Weeks had gone by since the trip to Narkanda, and Sam had made no attempt to get in touch. And there would be no chance to go back to the mission any time soon, as Fatima was too busy at the hospital and Adela was committed to the theatre season.
Adela much preferred the times when Jay appeared without ceremony to go riding, rather than the grand hunting expeditions. They would trot up Jakko Hill to see the sunrise, with just a retainer on horseback keeping a discreet distance behind.
‘Best part of the day,’ Adela said on one such ride, breathing in the sweet air of early morning while monkeys swung and screeched between the trees by the temple.
‘I normally hate early mornings,’ said Sanjay. ‘I only do it to keep Robson Memsahib happy.’
‘I’m honoured, Your Highness.’ She returned his mocking smile.
‘You should be. There is no one else I would do this for – except perhaps the Viceroy or my Uncle Kishan.’
‘You’re very fond of your uncle, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, very.’
‘Uncle Rafi is too,’ she said. ‘He’d do absolutely anything for the Raja.’
‘I wish he was as loyal to me,’ Sanjay said, his tone suddenly petulant. ‘He still insists on backing the claim of Rita’s brat, Jasmina, although it’s quite obvious that I, as a man, would make a much better ruler.’
‘I don’t think it’s anything to do with Rafi,’ Adela defended. ‘Surely it’s up to the Raja.’
‘Oh, Rafi Khan has a great deal of influence over my uncle, believe me. If he said the word, I would be Uncle Kishan’s successor. Stourton, the British Agent in Gulgat, thinks it should be me, but Rafi won’t listen to him. But then Sophie and Rita stick together – they’re as thick as thieves. If Rita says jump, then Sophie and Rafi jump.’ Sanjay turned to look at her intently with his dark, almond-shaped eyes. ‘You could speak to Rafi on my behalf.’
Adela hesitated, not wanting to get embroiled in Gulgat politics.
‘If you persuaded Sophie, then she would persuade her adoring husband.’ There was still an edge to his voice.
‘Well, if you think it would do any good.’
Abruptly he smiled. ‘Of course it would. Two beautiful goddesses could bewitch Rafi and change his mind, I know it.’
Adela laughed. How quickly he could switch from belligerence to utter charm. She studied his profile as he turned to look at the sunrise. His skin was as light as hers and his sculpted features – the straight nose and high cheekbones – were perfect. With his long, dark lashes, Sanjay was almost beautiful; she could look at him for hours. She wasn’t in love with him, but he stirred her physically.
Above the canopy of deodars, the light was turning the distant mountain peaks marigold orange. Soon they would be hidden in haze. That way lay Narkanda and Sam. Adela felt a sharp pang for the elusive man. Why did she have to fall in love with such a hopeless case? Sam could be passionate and impulsive yet funny and down to earth; appearances and possessions meant nothing to him, only the welfare of others did. He would be happy to stay in the hills for ever and probably hadn’t given her a second thought since she’d left. Out of sight and out of mind; she was sure that Sam only lived in the moment.
On the other hand, Adela was quite sure that every thought and gesture of Sanjay’s was calculated. He took great pride in his appearance; for all his protesting that he preferred to lounge in cricket whites, he was always immaculately dressed and manicured. He planned things down to the last detail, but made them look effortless, such as this morning ride. She knew from the looks he gave her and the attention he lavished on her that he desired her. It would be so very easy to give into his seductive charm.
‘I know what you’re thinking.’ Sanjay turned to her suddenly.
‘Oh?’ Adela blushed.
‘That you would like to dine with me after the show finishes on Saturday night.’
Adela laughed with relief. ‘Well, there’ll be the after-show party at The Chalet . . .’
‘I thought Wildflower Hall would be nice.’
‘Wildflower Hall?’ Adela gasped. ‘I’ve only ever been when Rafi and Sophie visited and they treated me to Sunday lunch there.’
‘This will be better,’ declared Sanjay. ‘And perhaps afterwards you would like to spend a few days at Eagle’s Nest relaxing after the show is over. We can go to the Sipi Fair. It’s always good for amusement – all that wife-swapping that the coolies do.’
Adela’s stomach tightened in excitement. She and Fluffy had been entertained to dinner at the Raja of Gulgat’s villa beyond Mashobra, but never stayed over.
‘And Auntie can come too?’
He hesitated for just a heartbeat, then said, ‘Naturally Mrs Hogg is invited.’
‘That would be lovely, thank you, Your Highness.’
‘Please’ – Sanjay stretched out a hand and clasped her arm – ‘you really must start calling me Jay. I think we know each other well enough by now.’
‘Jay,’ Adela said and smiled. ‘Let’s go and tell Auntie now. She’ll be expecting you for chota hazri.’
Jay rolled his eyes. ‘Porridge and devilled kidneys. The things I do for my sweet English rose,’ he teased.
Fluffy was captivated by the idea of a few days at Eagle’s Nest. Fatima was more critical.
‘We hardly ever see you at the hospital these days.’ Fatima eyed her. ‘You spend so much time with Prince Sanjay.’
It was the first time Adela had been back to the doctor’s flat since she had found Ghulam hiding there. She had just called in to make sure Fatima was going to come to the show.
‘The play has been taking up most of my time,’ Adela replied, avoiding her look and glancing out of the window as if something had caught her interest. A woman was spreading out washing on a roof to dry. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll have more time once it’s over.’
‘Not if you are going to spend it at Eagle’s Nest.’
‘That’s just for a day or two.’
‘I’m surprised at you wanting to spend time with a man like that.’ Fatima was blunt.
‘Like what?’ Adela bristled.
‘One that spends his time in gambling and indulgence and keeping company with autocrats like the Raja of Nerikot, who cares nothing for ordinary people.’ Fatima was disdainful. ‘My brother Ghulam would be rotting in his palace prison if it hadn’t been for Sam Jackman.’
‘Sam?’ Adela’s stomach jolted at his sudden mention.
‘Yes, he rescued Ghulam from Nerikot and hid him in a forest bungalow. If the authorities found out – or the Raja – Sam would be in big trouble.’ Fatima gave her an anxious look. ‘You won’t say anything, will you? I shouldn’t have said—’
‘Of course I won’t,’ Adela cried. ‘How could you think I would?’
‘Sorry,’ Fatima said, touching Adela’s head in affection. ‘I didn’t mean to get on my high horse. I just worry about you with that man. He’s from a different class to us, Adela, and thinks he can have whatever he wants. You will be careful, won’t you? There can’t be any future in it.’
‘Who cares about the future?’ Adela was impatient. ‘I’m just enjoying this season. I won’t pretend I’m not flattered by Ja
y’s attention – who wouldn’t be? – but I know he’s not going to propose to a girl like me. We’re friends, that’s all. So stop worrying.’
Sitara brought in tea and ginger cake. Fatima talked about the hospital and no more about Sanjay. Before she went, Adela asked, ‘Is your brother safe?’
Fatima shrugged. ‘I don’t know where he is and it’s probably best not to.’
‘Does Sam know?’
‘I haven’t heard from him for a month or so – he sent word that Ghulam was safely away from Nerikot, that’s all.’
‘So Sam hasn’t been to Simla?’ Adela could feel her cheeks redden despite her attempt to sound nonchalant.
Again Fatima shrugged. ‘I think Sundar would have told me if he had; they are good friends now.’
Adela grinned and nudged her friend. ‘So even the busy Dr Khan finds time to see her admirer Sundar Singh.’
To her delight, Fatima also blushed. ‘Very occasionally,’ she admitted, ‘I beat him at backgammon.’
‘Well, I hope you will drag him along to the play too,’ Adela said with a departing hug.
Rushing to the theatre on the eve of the first night of the play, Adela ran into her former boss, Bracknall, by the bandstand, where a military band had just finished playing.
‘Hello, sir,’ Adela said. ‘When did you arrive in Simla?’
He took her hand and held on to it. ‘Mrs Bracknall arrived last week to set up house; I came two days ago.’ He swept her with a look. ‘I’ve been hearing things about you, Miss Robson. Running about with some Indian prince, my wife tells me.’
Adela laughed, trying to withdraw her hand. ‘Prince Sanjay is a family friend, that’s all.’
‘I thought your family were tea-wallahs?’
Adela winced at his derogatory tone. Pulling her hand away, she said proudly, ‘My Aunt Sophie and her husband, Rafi Khan, are good friends of the Rajah of Gulgat. Prince Sanjay is the Raja’s nephew.’
Bracknall stared at her as if she had grown a second head. Adela said, ‘Well, I must get to the theatre . . .’
He grabbed her arm to stop her. ‘Rafi Khan from Lahore?’
‘Yes.’ Adela regretted at once mentioning them. Too late she remembered Sophie’s antipathy to Bracknall and that he had once been Rafi’s boss. She didn’t like the twisted smile on Bracknall’s craggy face.
‘Well, well. So Sophie Telfer is your aunt – or Mrs Khan, as she no doubt prefers to be called.’
‘That is her name,’ said Adela.
Still gripping her, he said, ‘Perhaps I’m old-fashioned, but I’m not one of those who believe in these mixed racial marriages. Can’t quite see how a Christian marrying a Mohammedan can be lawful, but then Sophie Telfer would do anything to escape the shame of her first failed marriage I imagine.’
Adela was shocked at his words. She threw off his hold. ‘Auntie Sophie married Rafi for love. They’re devoted to each other.’
Bracknall gave an indulgent laugh. ‘Oh, the innocence of youth is quite charming. I could tell you a few stories about your aunt and uncle that would have your eyes on stalks.’
‘I must go.’
‘I’ll see you at the office next week, my girl, and we can talk more about the Khans.’
‘I don’t work at the Forest Office any more, Mr Bracknall.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I haven’t been there since January.’ Adela noticed his annoyance with triumph. ‘Did Boz not tell you?’
‘No, he did not.’ Bracknall quickly recovered. ‘But then your role was very minor, wasn’t it? And I suppose if you have caught the eye of a rich native you don’t need an office job to keep you in stockings and lipstick.’
Adela felt revulsion at his lascivious look and turned away with a curt goodbye. No wonder Sophie disliked the overbearing man; he made her skin crawl too. But his words troubled her; they had been full of menace for Sophie. Sam had warned her about Bracknall – Boz too – but she had dismissed their concerns. It struck her for the first time that anyone who crossed the bullying Bracknall would be made to pay for it.
CHAPTER 10
Whistling with hands in pockets, Sam walked away from the photographers’ shop on the East Mall with a pack of newly developed photographs in his inner jacket pocket. He had some duplicates too. Although tempted to splash out his meagre pay on tea at Clarkes Hotel, he bought Sundar’s favourite sticky jalebis from a street stall in the Lower Bazaar instead. His friend was treating him and Fatima to the theatre that night for the final performance of The Arabian Nights, Simla style.
‘It will be awful, my friend,’ Sundar had promised. ‘All the stoutest matrons of Simla dressed up like dancing girls and all the portly retired colonels pretending to be Errol Flynn. But our dear Adela will save the show with her sweet singing and a flash of shapely leg. At least that’s what they’re saying at the club.’
Sam could not deny his feeling of anticipation. It was thoughts of Adela that had plagued him and driven him to town. The photographs were his excuse, but he knew that he would find no relief until he saw her again. He had tried and failed to banish her from his mind. But every morning as the sun came up he remembered riding with her at dawn, and every night when the sun set behind Hatu Mountain he thought of her excitement at meeting the Gaddi nomads. The Tibetan women who sold trinkets in Narkanda; the children who played by the river; a passing chestnut pony with a bright blanket for a saddle; Nitin’s rice pudding served on the veranda – all these reminded Sam constantly of Adela’s lively presence and how much he missed her.
After the play – when she was able to relax and take time off – he would call round with some photos for her and invite her to tea at Clarkes. If things went well, he would stay for the Sipi Fair – they could ride out there together – and he would tell her exactly how he felt about her. Lying alone in his narrow bed at the mission, listening to Hunt snoring in the next room, Sam had questioned his resolve to remain single. Would his work not be better served with a wife and partner who could be his companion and equal, two of them striving for a better world rather than one? He had seen how good Adela was in helping at the clinic; she didn’t flinch from any task, however distasteful. Even the beggar with leprosy outside the hill shrine had not repulsed her; she had greeted the woman and touched the stump of her hand as she put coins in her bowl.
Yet Adela was still so young, despite her mature handling of people. She might hate the thought of being stuck in the hills far from the bright lights of Simla, its theatre and glittering social life. Since that time she had stowed away in his car as a rebellious thirteen-year-old, he knew she had burned with the ambition to be an actress. Now she was doing what she wanted. Why would she give that up to live with him in a leaky mission bungalow in the back of beyond? Well, unless he asked her he would never know. And Sam was never afraid to ask awkward or challenging questions. He gave a self-deprecating laugh as he sauntered back up the hill to Sundar’s quarters, where he was staying. Whatever happened, he was looking forward to sitting in the comfort of the Gaiety Theatre, sucking on jalebi with Sundar and Fatima and watching the prettiest girl in Simla dancing across the stage.
‘There’s someone at the stage door wants to see you,’ Deborah said as she came rushing into the dressing room. Adela was still removing her make-up, the clapping and wolf whistles from the army contingent in the stalls still ringing in her ears. Despite Deborah fluffing her lines in the final scene, Tommy forgetting to come on just before the interval and the stage hands bringing on the magic carpet a scene too early, they had received a standing ovation. Perhaps it was because it was the last night, but the atmosphere had seemed almost feverish and the audience raucous.
Sanjay had got a clap all to himself when he appeared dressed in his magnificent clothes and turban glinting with jewels. At the curtain call he had kissed the hands of the leading ladies and caused gasps to ripple through the auditorium. When the curtain finally fell, the cast dissolved into hysterical giggles and laug
hter.
‘A male admirer I hope.’ Adela smiled, pausing at the mirror.
‘’Fraid not. She seems rather formidable. Says she was at school with you.’
Adela gave her a puzzled look. ‘Then you should know who she is.’
‘Not St Mary’s,’ said Deborah, sitting down and pulling off her stage shoes. ‘She said you were at school in Shillong together. St Ninian’s or somewhere.’
Adela felt her stomach clench. ‘What did she look like?’
‘Bit horsey looking. Blonde hair.’
Adela felt sweat break out on her brow. If it was Flowers Dunlop or even Margie Munro, she wouldn’t mind. But it sounded like the one girl from St Ninian’s she hoped never to set eyes on again. Yet how was that possible? Her mother had told her that Henrietta Davidge and Nina had gone back to England after Nina’s father had died over two years ago.
‘Did . . . did she say her name?’
Deborah was pulling off her tunic and wafting perfume under her arms. ‘Oh, just go and say hello. She says you’ll remember her. Nora or Nina I think it was.’
Adela felt sick. A wave of panic rose up inside and stuck in her throat. At once she was back at school, Nina taunting her and pulling her hair, spitting out cruel words about her parents. You’re just a two annas; nobody likes you. Margie never wanted to be your friend. Go and play with stinky Flowers. Her heart hammered and she struggled to breathe. This was ridiculous. Nina could do nothing to hurt her; they were grown women. Even if it was her, she had just come to congratulate her, not to cause trouble, surely.
She swallowed hard. ‘Please, Debs, can you just say I’ve already gone? I really don’t want to see her.’
Deborah laughed as if she were joking. ‘Don’t go all Greta Garbo on me, as if you have so many admirers. I’d pay someone to hang around backstage and ask for my autograph.’
The Girl From the Tea Garden Page 16