‘I bet you don’t remember me,’ Sophie said and smiled. ‘You were just a boy when I travelled on your father’s steamboat in ’23.’
Sam smiled. ‘I do remember, because you bothered to speak to me – not like most of the memsahibs. And I’ve heard about you from Adela since.’
‘Of course.’
Adela poured out the tea, while Sam asked politely after Rafi. She felt a pang of affection for him, attempting to be sociable when she knew how confused and on edge he must be. Adela got up and fetched the package from the dining table.
‘I’m going to tell you something, Sam, and I don’t want you to interrupt until I’ve finished. It’s quite hard to take in. At the end you can ask any questions you like.’
He looked at her, baffled.
‘Last week Mother gave me this parcel. Your mother sent it a couple of months ago.’ Adela held up her hand to stop the protest that was rising to his lips. ‘I thought the gifts were for me, but they weren’t. They’re for you.’
She took out the shawl from its brown paper and handed it to him.
‘Mrs Jackman explained in her letter how she came to have it. She’s not your real mother, Sam. The woman who gave birth to you was Jessie Logan, a tea planter’s wife. When you were a week old, she saved your life by bundling you up in this shawl and giving you to her ayah to take to safety. She also gave the ayah an ivory bracelet to buy food or anything you might need, until she could rescue you. That never happened, because her husband, Bill Logan – your real father – shot Jessie and then turned his gun on himself.’
Adela paused. Sam was staring at her intently, his face in shock.
‘The deaths were covered up because things were volatile at the time – it was fifty years after the sepoys’ Mutiny, and the authorities feared unrest on the anniversary. The police officer who suppressed the truth of the murder also made sure that the ayah handed over the baby to him. He gave you to the Jackmans because Mr Jackman was a fellow Mason in the Shillong Lodge. They couldn’t have children of their own and were more than happy to take you on.’
She stopped to allow Sam to take in her momentous revelation. He shook his head in disbelief.
‘It’s impossible,’ he said. ‘It’s just another story concocted by that woman to make you feel sorry for her, to get to me.’
‘No, Sam, it’s all true,’ Sophie spoke up. ‘Open the shawl and you’ll find the bracelet. Look at it now.’
Sam did as she told him. He held up the small circle of carved elephants’ heads, yellowed by age. Sophie pulled back the sleeve of her cardigan. She was wearing an identical one.
‘See. It’s the same. I was given one just like it. My mother was Jessie Logan too. I was in the bungalow at Belgooree that day—’
‘Belgooree?’ Sam gaped.
Sophie nodded. ‘Our parents were renting it – trying to save their marriage perhaps, away from the gossip of the Oxford Estates. It was my sixth birthday, and I saw Ayah Mimi running off with you. Mother made me go and hide. I never saw her again . . .’
Abruptly she stopped, her eyes welling with tears.
Sam whispered, ‘Are you telling me that you’re my sister?’
‘Yes,’ Sophie said through her tears, ‘and you’re the brother I’ve been searching for. To think we were living in the same part of India and have known of one another for years!’ She held out her arms to him. ‘Can I have a hug from my wee brother please?’
They stood up and went to each other. Sam put his arms gently around Sophie and rubbed her back. Adela gulped back tears of her own. She rose, feeling suddenly an intruder on their emotional reunion. Sophie broke away from Sam.
‘It’s thanks to Adela that we’ve found each other.’ She smiled. ‘If she hadn’t got in touch with Mrs Jackman and befriended her, this would never have happened.’
Sam looked at Adela. She saw him struggle with conflicting emotions. It would take time for him to come to terms with the truth.
‘I’ll leave you both for a bit,’ she said, smiling, ‘so Sophie can tell you more about your family. I’ll be at the Grand Hotel with Prue.’
She picked up her jacket and went to the door.
‘Adela,’ Sam said, his voice husky. ‘Thank you.’
Adela didn’t return to the flat that night, and Sam didn’t come looking for her. She bedded down with Prue, who talked of her exploits in Jubbulpore and her frustration at not seeing Stuey.
‘Sounds like you found other distractions at the Gun Carriage Club,’ Adela teased.
‘Well, being a grass widow – or a grass fiancée – doesn’t mean you can’t have fun,’ said Prue breezily.
‘Is there such a thing as a grass fiancée?’ asked Adela.
‘If there isn’t, there should be.’ Prue sighed. ‘My parents aren’t at all keen on my engagement to an American; they think it’s all too quick. But I’d marry him tomorrow. What’s the point of looking into the future when there’s a war on? Take happiness where you can say I.’
They discussed staying on to do another tour. ‘I’m keen if you are,’ said Prue. ‘We might get sent further east if they ever retake Rangoon – then I’m more likely to see Stuey.’
‘Yes, I’ll stay,’ agreed Adela, ‘till the war ends.’
The next day she went back to the Khans’ flat, but Sam had gone. Sophie was still very emotional. ‘We sat up half the night just talking and talking. He wanted to know everything about our parents – not that I could tell him that much, but I told him about Auntie Amy in Edinburgh and how wonderful she had been to me as my guardian, and Great Uncle Daniel in Perth, who taught me to fish. And of course it means that he’s now second cousins with Tilly. He was overwhelmed by it all. I think that’s why he left. He said he had to get back to base, but I think he needs a bit of time to think it all over.’
‘Did he say when he might come back again?’ asked Adela.
‘No.’ Sophie gave a look of regret. ‘His squadron’s gearing up for something big I think. He wouldn’t say what.’ She sighed. ‘It’s so hard. I’ve just found my brother, and now he’s flying off and I’m going to worry about him all the time until I see him again.’
Adela felt her eyes prickle. Sophie’s look was sympathetic. ‘You’re feeling the same too, aren’t you, dear lassie?’
Adela couldn’t settle to anything. They were rehearsing new songs and dance routines for their next tour, this time to southern India and Ceylon. Tommy and Prue were growing exasperated with her lack of concentration.
‘For pity’s sake,’ cried Prue, ‘go and see that man before he flies off. If Stuey was based just a couple of hours away, I’d go like a shot.’
‘And say what?’
‘That you love him of course!’
That night Adela sat down and wrote Sam a long letter, pouring out her feelings for him and telling him about her illegitimate baby.
I won’t blame you if you never want to see me again, but I’ve come to realise that the worst thing is to have secrets from those you love. When this war ends – and please, God, it will one day soon – I will go back to England to find out what happened to my boy. There is no other man in my life – no one has ever come close to you in my heart – so I wanted you to know that it was my son that I meant when I spoke of loyalty to another.
Take good care of yourself please, Sam. You are dearer to me than the stars.
Love you forever,
Adela.
She didn’t post it. Instead she put on her ENSA uniform, persuaded Tommy to go with her, took a train to Jessore and hitched a lift in a Jeep going out to the airbase. They talked their way in, Tommy saying he’d come to arrange a performance on the base. They were shown into the officers’ mess.
‘Flight Lieutenant Jackman is on training ops,’ they were told.
‘We’ll wait,’ said Adela.
‘He won’t be back till after dark.’
‘Come on, girl,’ said Tommy, ‘we can’t stay. Leave your letter for him.’
‘They’re not Dakotas,’ Tommy said with a pitying look.
Back in Calcutta, Adela threw herself into rehearsals; hard work was her best remedy for a bruised heart. When she was on stage singing or dancing with The Toodle Pips, she blanked out everything else. In a week’s time they would be taking the train to Bangalore. While she had heard nothing from Sam, Sophie had received a long, affectionate letter telling her how pleased he was to have discovered a special sister and a whole new family of cousins through Tilly. One day he hoped to meet them all. Adela had read the letter with a mix of joy for Sophie and pain for herself. She was forced to accept that Sam no longer wanted her.
Late one evening she was drinking in the hotel bar with Tommy, Prue, Betsie and Mack after a long day of rehearsals. It was Tommy, sitting opposite, who made a soft whistle and said, ‘Brace yourself, Robson, for incoming fire.’
Adela glanced round to see a tall figure elbowing his way through the throng towards them. Her heart jolted. It was Sam. He was still in sweat-stained and creased pilot’s fatigues, as if he had rushed straight from the cockpit. He greeted the group with a distracted smile, but his eyes focused only on Adela.
‘I just got your letter. The sergeant mislaid it. I commandeered a car to get here.’
‘Can I get you a drink?’ asked Tommy. ‘Looks like you could do with one.’
‘Thanks. Maybe in a minute. First I want a moment alone with Adela.’
Adela got up quickly, ignoring Prue’s arching eyebrows. ‘Let’s go outside, Sam.’
On the roadside, beyond the covered portico, soft lights from stalls illuminated the line of waiting tongas, their drivers hunched in blankets against the chill of early December. Ignoring the passers-by, Sam took her hands and pulled her round to face him.
‘Adela,’ Sam said, looking down at her. She had never seen his eyes look so intense, almost feverish. ‘Your letter – did you mean what you said?’
‘About my baby?’ Adela whispered, her heart knocking with fear at what he might say.
‘No.’ His expression softened. ‘Not about that. How could you think I would reject you because of what Jay did to you? I hate to think of what you’ve been through on your own. And I’m not one of those puritans who blame women for having babies out of wedlock. If society wasn’t so quick to blame, then women wouldn’t be under the pressure they are to give up their children.’
Adela’s eyes stung at his kind words. ‘I thought you would hate me for giving away my boy; you were so angry with your own mother.’
Sam’s grip on her hands tightened. ‘Not my mother. My real mother sacrificed her own life to save me and Sophie. That other woman – the one who deserted me – was so unhappy that she couldn’t have stayed, not even for the adopted son whom she tried so hard to love. I see that now, and I don’t feel the same anger towards her any more. I’ve written to say so – and to thank her for having the courage to tell me the truth. Adela,’ he said, his look tender, ‘I can’t thank you enough either.’
‘Is that why you came, Sam?’ She was trembling under his touch.
‘No, I came to tell you that I love you, Adela, as much as you say you love me. No other woman has ever come close to making me feel the way you do. As soon as I saw you again in Imphal, I knew I was still hopelessly in love with you.’
Adela gave a tearful laugh. ‘I was filthy and a terrible sight.’
‘A beautiful sight.’ Sam smiled. ‘But I need to be sure that you are not promised to any other – to that Major Maitland in the hospital.’
‘Jimmy?’ Adela said in surprise. ‘No, we were never more than friends.’
He pulled her closer. ‘Then marry me, Adela. Marry me now before we’re parted again.’
Adela’s heart soared. With a gasp she asked, ‘Here in Calcutta?’ she gasped.
‘Yes, before I have to leave for Burma and you for the south. I have five days.’
Adela thrilled at his words. ‘Yes.’ She grinned. ‘Yes, of course I’ll marry you!’
She threw her arms around his neck as he pulled her into his arms, and they kissed on the dusty pavement as people stepped around them. A group of sailors, meandering by, whistled and cheered.
They broke apart, laughing. ‘Sam Jackman, how I love you!’ Adela cried.
Three days later Adela and Sam were married by a magistrate and by special licence. Tommy and Prue were witnesses, and Sophie and Rafi held a celebratory lunch in their flat. Clarrie, too far away to get there in time, sent a telegram of congratulations and love.
‘Can’t believe you’ve beaten me to the altar,’ Prue teased. ‘Now Stuey will have to buck up his ideas.’
Rafi arranged for him and Sophie to stay with a colleague so that Adela and Sam could honeymoon in their quarters for the two precious days that they had left together.
‘It’s our wedding present to my special brother and my favourite lassie,’ Sophie said, beaming.
‘Thank you,’ said Adela as they kissed goodbye.
Afterwards Sam took Adela by the hand. ‘Finally I get you alone,’ he said and smiled.
They went straight to bed and made love as the dying winter sun lit the room with a blaze of orange. They carried on until well after dark and then lay entwined, hearts thumping after their passionate coupling.
During the two euphoric days together, they talked of many things: how they might return to the Himalayan foothills and plant new orchards or live at Belgooree for a while and help in the tea garden, or travel round India making films.
‘Whatever we end up doing,’ Sam said, ‘I promise you we will also go to England and look for your baby.’
‘Thank you, my darling,’ Adela whispered, and kissed his lips tenderly.
The day of parting came. At the seething railway station they clung to each other in a fierce embrace. Adela had never felt such strength of emotion, desperately sad at Sam’s going and yet flooded with the deepest love for the man who was now her husband.
‘When the war ends, we will never be apart again,’ Sam said, kissing away her tears. ‘Until then, my darling Adela, you’ll be in my heart every hour of every day.’
‘And you in mine, Sam,’ Adela said and smiled, her green eyes brimming with love. ‘Always.’
SOME ANGLO-INDIAN TERMS
Begar System of forced labour
Bidi Indian cigarette
Box-wallah Person in trade
Burra bungalow Main bungalow
Burra memsahib Head lady
Chai Indian tea
Chai-wallah Tea worker/seller
Chaprassy Messenger
Chee-chee Derogatory term for Indian accent
Chota hazri Breakfast
Dak Post or postal service
Durzi Tailor
Godown Storage shed
Gur Type of raw sugar
Jalebi Chewy, syrupy sweets
Jungli Lives simple life away from town; can imply disparaging ‘gone native’
Khansama Head servant.
Lathi Long stick/truncheon
Machan Tree hideout for hunters
Mali Gardener
Memsahib Madam
Mohurer Bookkeeper
Nimbu pani Lemon drink
Paan Chewable mix of areca nut, spice and betel leaf
Puri Deep-fried puff bread
Sahib Sir
Sepoy Private in the Indian Army
Shalwar kameez Loose-fitting trousers and tunic
Shikar Hunting
Shikari Hunter/tracker
Swaraj Freedom
Syce Groom/stable boy
Topee Sun hat
ACRONYMNS
WVS Women’s Voluntary Service
SEAC South East Asia Command
ENSA Entertainments National Services Association
RAF Royal Air Force
NCO Non-Commissioned Officer
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I’d like to
thank my husband, Graeme, for encouraging the trip to India and helping me trace the footsteps of my intrepid grandparents Bob and Sydney Gorrie through the foothills of the Himalayas. In the course of our research we had the thrill of discovering the house in Shimla where they had lodged with my two-year-old mother, Sheila, in the winter of 1928. Many people made our stay in India special, but particular thanks go to Sanjay Verma, our guide around Shimla and the area, for his knowledge of local history and his interest in my family’s links to his town. We also experienced a little bit of heaven on the Glenburn Tea Estate, near Darjeeling, and would like to thank the management and staff for their kindness. Appreciation also goes to Lis van Lynden, of Haslemere Travel, for putting together the specialised itinerary for the research trip.
Thanks to the team at Amazon Publishing, with whom it has been a delight to work: Sana, Hatty and Bekah of the author team; Jenny Parrot in editorial for her very helpful overview; Marcus Trower and Julia Bruce for meticulous copyediting and proofreading. A special thanks to my editor, Sammia Hamer, for her encouragement and enthusiasm throughout the project – she has become a friend!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Janet MacLeod Trotter is the author of numerous bestselling and acclaimed novels, including The Hungry Hills, which was nominated for the Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year Award, and The Tea Planter’s Daughter, which was nominated for the Romantic Novelists’ Association Novel of the Year Award. Much informed by her own experiences, MacLeod Trotter was raised in the north-east of England by Scottish parents and travelled in India as a young woman. She recently discovered diaries and letters belonging to her grandparents, who married in Lahore and lived and worked in the Punjab for nearly thirty years, which served as her inspiration for the India Tea Series. She now divides her time between Northumberland and the Isle of Skye. Find out more about the author and her novels at www.janetmacleodtrotter.com.
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