The Emerald Affair

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  ‘I’m sorry, Harold,’ Esmie said, her anger deflating. ‘I know you’re doing your best.’

  She went out onto the veranda, hoping for a lick of breeze. The night sky pulsed with stars and the garden throbbed with the sound of insects. She envied the servants who lay out on the veranda at night and slept in the open. Karo, who had recently started working for her in the house, had chosen to bed down with Gabina on a curtained-off stretch of veranda leading to Esmie’s room.

  Esmie’s solitary bedroom was like a hot tomb. She would go to bed late and get up before dawn to walk in the garden before the brief coolness evaporated with the rising sun. For the few hours of broken sleep, she would lie on top of the bedcovers, sweating under the mosquito net and fantasising about swimming in Loch Vaullay.

  Esmie sat down and by the light of a kerosene lamp, she pulled out Lydia’s latest letter that had come two days ago and reread it.

  ‘. . . I’m back into the summer dresses I was wearing last year – what a joy it is that they fit me again! I still have a bit of a tummy but I’ve started playing tennis again so things are firming up nicely. Murree is absolutely jam-packed with visitors now. I hear it’s been horribly hot on the plains. We have ‘heaven-born’ all the way from Delhi staying as well as many of the regiments. Did I tell you that Dickie’s turned up on leave here? He’s full of stories about the fighting around Razmak. I’m glad to hear it’s all much safer now – I do worry about you so – being stuck down there with all those Pathans.

  When are you coming to stay? You promised you would come after the baby was born. Andrew is two months old already! You better come soon or we’ll be packing him off to boarding school before you’ve had time to meet him.

  People say he’s looking more like Tom with every passing day. I can’t really see it. I suppose he has dark hair but his face is round and plump. Most of the time he either dribbles or cries. All the women pretend he’s sweet but I’ve always thought babies are boring and having my own hasn’t changed my opinion much. I wouldn’t dare say so to Tom. He is completely besotted and comes up every four or five days to see us. I’ve told him he’s spending far too much on fuel – and one of these days that old wreck of a motor car is going to fall to pieces on the mountain roads. But he won’t be told.

  Anyway, when you come, I won’t make you stay at home for hours cooing over Andrew. Ayah is very good with him and sees to all his needs. We’ll be able to go out and about having fun. They say the monsoon is late this year but we’ve had a few thunderstorms which clear the air. It’s beautifully fresh here and going for picnics is a joy.

  You and Harold must come while I’m still here. Or come by yourself. Darling Esmie, I’m longing to see you.

  Much love to you both,

  Your best friend,

  Lydia xx

  P.S. the blanket you sent the baby is very useful already. When it’s rained the evenings can be quite cool. He looks very snug in it, so thank you.

  Esmie sat back, fanning herself with the letter. She was glad that her gift was proving practical. She and Karo had spent hours embroidering the soft wool blanket with birds, animals and Andrew’s initials, all done in brightly coloured threads. But, oh, to experience the cool of evening again! She shut her eyes and tried to imagine the forested mountains and the dark shaded verandas of Murree. All she could feel was the prickly heat of her body in her sweat-soaked dress.

  ‘That was a long sigh.’

  She opened her eyes to see Harold standing over her. ‘Sorry. I was just reading Lydia’s letter again.’

  ‘So I see.’ Harold sat down. ‘You must go and visit her. I know you’re longing to see Lydia and Tom and the baby.’

  Esmie felt fresh perspiration on her brow. Why had he mentioned Tom too? Did her husband have any inkling about her feelings for his best friend? She had redoubled her efforts to rid her mind of him these past seven months – or at least to try and think of him dispassionately. Since the news of Andrew’s birth, she had found it easier to think of Tom and Lydia bound together as a close-knit family. Lydia’s latest letter might not describe domestic bliss but there was no doubt that Tom was a doting father. The only hesitation she felt in rushing to see the new baby was that she might have to cope with her strong feelings for Tom again.

  ‘I can’t go when there is so much to do at the hospital,’ Esmie replied.

  ‘We can manage. There are no new fever cases.’ He gave her a look of concern. ‘Besides, you are working yourself too hard. I worry about your own health in this infernal heat. The last thing I want is for you to collapse with exhaustion.’

  Esmie gave him a quizzical look. ‘Me collapse? What about my overworked husband?’

  He smiled. ‘I’m far more used to this climate than you, my dear.’

  Esmie pondered the situation. ‘Perhaps in August. I really want to see Andrew. But I don’t want to leave you here.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, dearest.’ Harold yawned and stood up. ‘I’ll leave it up to you to decide. But be assured that you go with my blessing.’

  Once the subject had been raised, Esmie could think of nothing else. Daily she craved the relief of sweet mountain air and rain on her face. Taha had become a fiery prison. It sapped all her energy. She wrote to Lydia accepting her invitation to stay at Linnet Cottage – even the name conjured up shade and mild weather – and made arrangements to travel.

  Harold discovered that Brigadier McCabe was going to Rawalpindi in mid-August so asked him to accompany Esmie as far as the town. As the house in Buchanan Road had been shut up for the summer, Esmie would be staying at the hotel. From there, Tom would drive her up to Murree.

  Esmie could hardly contain her excitement. Loath as she was to leave Karo and Gabina, or Harold and her mission friends, she would not miss the debilitating, relentless heat. By September the worst of the hot season would be over. She would return refreshed to her work and life at the Frontier.

  The day came for departure. She ate an early breakfast of tea and toast with Harold as the call to prayer rang out across the old town. McCabe’s driver would be coming for her in an hour. Gabina tottered out of the shadows and put her hands up to Esmie. She lifted the girl onto her knee and fed her a piece of toast. Gabina grinned, showing her new front teeth, and then munched. Karo hovered anxiously nearby ready to snatch her away if she misbehaved.

  ‘She’s all right here,’ Esmie said. ‘We’re just having a last cuddle because I’m going to miss this wee lassie.’

  Gabina waved her half-chewed toast and babbled happily. Esmie kissed her head of dark curls. She looked across at Harold and saw his eyes glinting.

  Did he sometimes wonder, as she still did, how much a child would enrich their lives? Or was he thankful for Gabina, who filled the empty space in his wife’s heart?

  ‘We’re going to miss you too,’ Harold said quietly.

  Esmie felt a pang of affection for him. ‘And I, you.’ She smiled. ‘But it won’t be for long. So take very good care of yourselves while I’m away, won’t you?’

  Esmie was touched by the greeting she received at the Raj Hotel the evening she arrived in Rawalpindi. Jimmy was looking out for her, ready to carry her case, and no sooner was she stepping through the doorway than Stella was rushing towards her with arms wide and hugging her around the waist. For the first time it occurred to Esmie that Tom’s daughter, had she lived, would have been close to Stella in age. She wondered if Tom ever pondered that too and whether that was why he was so fond of the Dubois girl.

  ‘Hello, Stella!’ Esmie hugged her back. ‘How’s my favourite girl in all the world?’

  ‘I thought Gabina was your favourite?’ Stella asked, grinning up at her.

  ‘She’s my favourite baby,’ Esmie said, laughing.

  Stella gasped. ‘You can’t say that. Baby Andrew must be your favourite now.’

  ‘Of course,’ Esmie agreed. ‘Have you seen him yet?’

  ‘No,’ Stella admitted. ‘But Mr Lomax had a photo tak
en and I’ve seen that. It’s on the mantelpiece in the sitting room. Shall I show you?’

  Before Esmie could answer, Charlie came hurrying forward and greeted her with a bow. ‘Good evening, Mrs Guthrie. I hope you had a good journey? Jimmy will take your case upstairs to your old room.’

  Within seconds, she was being surrounded by residents shaking her hand and welcoming her in. After the heat of outdoors, the dim high-ceilinged hallway with its whirring overhead fans was blissfully cool.

  ‘How was the drive from Taha?’ asked Ansom.

  ‘Military escort, we hear?’ said Fritwell, twiddling his moustache. ‘They know how to look after a VIP like Mrs Guthrie.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Mrs Shankley, patting her arm, though Esmie was sure she hadn’t heard a word.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you all again.’ Esmie smiled. ‘Where’s the Baroness?’

  ‘She’s spending the summer in Kashmir,’ explained Ansom. ‘Always goes to a houseboat there. Belonged to some prince she knew. Can’t cope with the heat.’

  Esmie said, ‘I can sympathise with her on that but I’m sorry to miss her.’

  ‘Esmie!’ Tom’s voice from the stairs made her spin round, heart thumping. ‘I wondered who could be making such a stir among the guests.’

  She laughed, licking her dry lips. He jumped down the stairs two at a time and arrived in front of her, smiling. She leaned towards him, anticipating a kiss on the cheek but instead he took her hand and squeezed it.

  ‘I’ve been doing tedious paperwork so I’m glad of the diversion,’ he said, letting go his hold and thrusting his hands in his pockets. ‘Once you’ve settled in, would you like a sherry before dinner? Then you can tell us all about your journey. And Harold – how is he? It was good of him to spare you but I’m very sorry he hasn’t come too.’

  ‘He’s sorry not to see you as well,’ said Esmie. ‘He’s working as hard as ever but seems to thrive on it.’

  ‘Good, good.’ Tom smiled and clinked the coins in his pocket.

  She gave him a quizzical look. He seemed on edge, falsely hearty. She hoped she wasn’t making him uncomfortable by being there. It suddenly occurred to her that, unlike Lydia, he might be reluctant to have her visit. Perhaps he was still remorseful at being too affectionate towards her the previous winter.

  So, later, joining Tom and the residents in the hallway, she accepted a sherry and kept the conversation light, asking after Lydia and Andrew and then turning to chat to the others.

  Tired from the long, dusty drive, Esmie didn’t linger after dinner.

  Tom said, ‘We’ll make an early start in the morning.’

  She said her goodnights and retired upstairs.

  When Esmie came down for breakfast at seven o’clock, Tom had already eaten and was smoking in the courtyard. The air was humid and thundery.

  He ground out his cigarette and gave her a tight smile. ‘Hope you slept well?’

  ‘Better than for weeks,’ she said. ‘Taha’s an inferno compared to here.’

  Tom nodded. ‘It’s better here now the monsoon’s arrived. More rain’s on its way so we’ll get going as soon as you’ve had chota hazri.’

  An hour later, Esmie was saying goodbye to Stella and her friends at the hotel and climbing into the car beside Tom. Bijal sat in the cramped back seat with her luggage and provisions for the journey. As they trundled out of Rawalpindi along the Murree road and crossed the Sohan River, Esmie couldn’t help thinking of the drive she had taken with Tom the previous December and wondered if he did too.

  They spoke little – perhaps he felt inhibited by Bijal sitting close behind – or maybe it was having her next to him that made him unusually reticent. She spent the time gazing around at the emerald-green fields and pools of water that had appeared since the monsoon. It was such a relief after the arid, rocky landscape around Taha.

  Unnerved by the lack of conversation, Esmie began to talk about Harold and their work in Taha, her sadness over the patients they had lost to fever and heatstroke and how little Gabina kept their spirits up with her sunny nature.

  ‘It must be like that with Andrew,’ Esmie said. ‘A ray of sunshine in your lives.’

  He flashed her a smile. ‘Yes, it is. It’s hard to believe there was a time when the wee lad wasn’t here. I wish I could spend all my time in Murree but I suppose I’ll just have to be patient and wait until Lydia brings him back to Pindi at the end of the monsoon.’

  ‘I can’t wait to meet him,’ said Esmie. ‘Tell me about him.’

  Tom became animated. ‘He has a lot of dark hair and amazingly long fingers – a very strong grip. He wraps his fist around my thumb and won’t let go. He pulls funny expressions – sometimes he looks like a grumpy old man – and then he gives this huge smile and shows all his gums and I melt like butter.’ He laughed. ‘Geraldine says he looks like me but Lydia can’t see it.’

  Esmie felt a wave of tenderness towards him. After the terrible losses he’d had to endure, Tom was finding delight in his new son. He deserved it and she was glad for him.

  ‘I bet your father is pleased to have a grandson and heir for The Anchorage too,’ she said.

  Tom gave a grunt. ‘The old man sent a photograph of himself in uniform and told me to hang it in the nursery so that one day Andrew might be inspired to join the Rifles and redeem the family name.’ He flashed her a wry look. ‘No money has been forthcoming though. I’m not the least bit surprised but Lydia was hoping that her father-in-law would have been less miserly. She even took off the back of the picture frame thinking he might have hidden some bank notes for Andrew.’

  Esmie gave a twitch of a smile. ‘Maybe Andrew will inherit all the colonel’s tin soldiers.’

  Tom huffed in amusement and the subject was dropped.

  As they left the plain and began to climb into the wooded foothills, the sky darkened and the wind whipped up in minutes, making the trees sway. Tom looked concerned.

  ‘I think we’d better stop at the next dak bungalow – there’s one belonging to the forest service in a couple of miles. We can have a second breakfast there.’

  As they drove on, lightning streaked the sky and thunder rolled around the hills, the storm sounding nearer by the minute. When they drew up outside the squat bungalow, set back from the road, Esmie felt the first fat drops of rain. The sky overhead was black. By the time they were hurrying up the path, the rain was coming on hard. Tom took her by the arm and shouted, ‘Run!’

  Bijal ran behind them with the basket of provisions, calling for the chowkidar. An elderly man appeared from the house, struggling to put up an umbrella in the downpour. He held it ineffectually over Esmie and guided her up the steps. Under the shelter of the veranda, Esmie stood panting and laughing, her dress and shoes soaked. She pulled off her sunhat and shook the rain from her hair.

  ‘I’ve been dreaming of this for months!’ she cried. She caught Tom’s look of surprise and blushed. ‘The rain, I mean. It’s wonderful. I never thought I’d miss it so much.’

  Amusement flashed across his face. ‘Yes, we Scots never appreciate our climate until we’ve experienced a hot season in India.’

  He turned away to ask the chowkidar who was in residence and would they mind providing towels and brewing some tea. The old man explained that there was no one using the bungalow – the forester was in camp – but he would be happy to provide towels and tea. Tom sent Bijal with him to help and he quickly returned with towels and blankets. Esmie was shown into a musty-smelling bedroom where she changed out of her damp dress and wrapped a towel around her underclothes and then a blanket on top, securing it over her shoulders in the way she’d seen the Waziris do.

  Padding back out to the veranda barefoot, she caught her breath at the sight of Tom, stripped to the waist and with a cigarette smouldering between his lips, rubbing his hair with a towel. On seeing her, he stopped. They both stared. Esmie’s heart began to pound. She was reminded of the time they had swum together at the cove below The Anchor
age; he was as leanly muscled as she’d remembered and the jagged scar on his left shoulder still noticeable. She was acutely aware of him looking at her bare legs and feet. The rain thundered on the iron roof and battered the garden below.

  Esmie, trying to break the feeling of intimacy, raised her voice above the noise. ‘Don’t tell Geraldine about me dressing as a Pathan. She’ll need smelling salts.’

  He gave a distracted smile. Esmie moved to the back of the veranda and sat down, trembling. Tom turned away, dispensing with the towel. He flicked his cigarette into the storm and pulled on a coarse cotton shirt that looked as if it belonged to the chowkidar. She thought she had never seen him more handsome than in this slightly rumpled state wearing Indian cotton with his hair dishevelled.

  Bijal and the old servant returned, carrying trays of tea and food. Esmie busied herself helping pour the tea, acutely aware of Tom lowering himself into the cane chair next to hers. She wrapped her hands around the warm cup to stop them shaking and sipped at the steaming tea.

  For the next twenty minutes, Esmie and Tom sat, eating and drinking, hardly able to converse because of the noise of the downpour. Tom smoked and walked restlessly to the veranda steps, peering out as if willing the storm to pass.

  Esmie knew how keen he was to get to Murree and his son. This delay must be a huge frustration to him. But she thought there was something else bothering him. Since meeting him again the previous day, Tom had seemed preoccupied and a little tense. She had never known him this stuck for words; he had always been able to make easy conversation. Perhaps he felt awkward to be caught in the storm with her; yet Esmie thought he was troubled by more than that.

  Gradually the pounding on the roof lessened and then abruptly the rain stopped and the clouds broke. Sun streamed through the trees and steam rose from the sodden garden. Esmie went to fetch her dress and returned to hang it over the veranda railing.