The Emerald Affair

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  Esmie arrived back early at the villa and dashed from tonga to veranda as quickly as she could through the pelting rain. She shook her wet skirt and discarded her hat, remembering with a blush how she had done the same at the dak bungalow when she’d sought shelter with Tom. She would be seeing him again in two days’ time. Her heart skipped a beat. But she was already steeling herself not to show her excitement at seeing him. Once he had put her on the train to Kohat, Esmie knew she must stay away from Rawalpindi and the Lomaxes – at least until they had overcome this rocky patch in their marriage.

  All was quiet at the cottage and the veranda deserted. Esmie wondered if Lydia had gone out for lunch and been marooned by the downpour too. She wouldn’t be expecting Esmie back until later. Walking through the house, Esmie decided to check if Ayah was in the baby’s room, as it would still be Andrew’s nap time. Quietly she tiptoed up the corridor and peered around the half-open door. The cradle and room were empty. Esmie was pleased to see that Lydia must have taken Andrew and his ayah with her on whatever outing she was on.

  Esmie decided to change out of her damp dress before tea. As she turned back down the corridor she heard a noise from the next-door bedroom – Lydia and Tom’s. She stopped. To her surprise, it was Lydia’s voice; an indistinct comment and then a laugh. She was here after all.

  ‘Lydia?’ Esmie called out.

  The murmuring stopped.

  ‘Lydia, it’s me. I’m back early. Margaret wasn’t well.’ Esmie tapped on the bedroom door. ‘Are you resting or can I come in?’

  ‘Wait!’ Lydia called out. ‘Don’t come in. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

  Esmie, baffled that her friend hadn’t called her straight in, replied, ‘I’ll just go and change – got caught in the rain.’

  ‘Yes, you do that!’

  Something made Esmie hesitate, uneasy. She was sure she heard a snort of laughter. Then Lydia was trying to hush someone. Esmie’s stomach lurched. Lydia wasn’t alone. Oh, please no! Esmie’s pulse began to hammer. Don’t let it be Dickie! Feeling queasy, Esmie retreated to her room and quickly changed her dress. She brushed out her hair with a shaking hand, hoping against all the odds that she had misheard. For one wild moment, she imagined that Tom had come early to Murree and that they were making up. But Tom would have shouted out a greeting.

  Esmie went to wait on the veranda. Lydia must have planned this knowing Esmie would be out for hours. She had obviously sent Ayah out with Andrew and the servants away for an hour or so too. Esmie wished she was anywhere but there. If only it hadn’t rained she would be shopping on the Mall. She didn’t want to discover evidence of Lydia’s affair. The rain was already easing. Esmie gripped the balustrade and swallowed down bile.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Guthrie.’

  Esmie turned to see Dickie, hair still a little messy, crossing the veranda. He smiled at her awkwardly. She nodded, unable to bring herself to speak to him. How could she have been so wrong about him? How foolish she felt for having assured Tom that there was nothing but a harmless flirtation between Lydia and the young lieutenant.

  ‘Esmie, darling,’ Lydia said brightly, following him out. She was dressed for afternoon tea but her loose hair betrayed the haste to get into her clothes. ‘I didn’t expect you back so soon.’

  ‘Obviously,’ Esmie said.

  ‘My goodness, if looks could kill,’ Lydia said with a nervous laugh. ‘There’s no need to play the head prefect with me.’

  Esmie’s anger suddenly ignited. ‘So, what do you want me to say, Lydia, when I come back to find you in bed with him?’ She threw Dickie a withering look.

  ‘Let’s all stay calm,’ Lydia said. ‘I didn’t mean to put you in this embarrassing situation. Why don’t we just pretend it never happened?’

  ‘But it has happened!’ Esmie retorted.

  Dickie’s fair face reddened. ‘I think I better go. I’m sorry if I’ve caused upset.’

  ‘Are you?’ Esmie demanded. ‘Because if so, it’s not me you should be apologising to. It’s Tom you’ve wronged.’

  Dickie looked suddenly stricken. ‘Yes . . . Sorry.’ He made for the steps.

  ‘Don’t go,’ Lydia cried, hurrying after him. ‘This is my house and you’re my guest.’ She grabbed onto his arm.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said again, disengaging her hold. ‘I really should go.’

  ‘Please don’t!’ She pursued him down the steps. ‘Please don’t leave me.’

  He marched swiftly down the steps and around the side of the house. It was only then that Esmie realised his pony was tied up beside one of the outhouses.

  ‘Dickie!’ Lydia shouted after him.

  As he mounted his horse and trotted down the path, Lydia went after him, bawling his name. Appalled, Esmie ran after her. By the time she reached her, Lydia was weeping uncontrollably. Esmie had never seen her so distraught. She wrapped her arms around her but Lydia flung her off.

  ‘Get away from me! I hate you!’

  ‘Lydia, don’t—’

  ‘I l-love him and you’ve s-spoilt it all,’ she sobbed. ‘W-why did you have to interfere? You’re supposed to be my friend . . . My friend!’

  Esmie was dumbstruck by Lydia’s outburst. Gone was the sophisticated, assured veneer of a Templeton and in its place was a howling, desperate woman. She hadn’t seen Lydia behave like this since they had been adolescent girls and she used to lash out at her older sister Grace for some perceived slight or favouritism.

  Esmie’s anger turned quickly to concern. ‘Lydia, I am your friend but it was a shock finding you with Dickie.’

  Lydia, her face furious and tear-streaked, almost spat back, ‘You’re not my friend. I never want to speak to you again!’ She pushed past Esmie and ran unsteadily back into the house.

  Esmie stood for several minutes, shaking and trying to calm her breathing. All about her, birds chattered noisily in the trees like gossips. A dog barked from a neighbouring property. She wondered how far the sound of their argument had carried or who might have seen Dickie riding to and from Linnet Cottage, alone.

  She felt miserable. Not only had she been caught in the middle of Lydia and Tom’s unhappy marriage but she had failed to help either of them. Should she have been firmer with Lydia about keeping Dickie at arm’s length or should she have warned Dickie off? Perhaps she should have told Lydia about Tom’s baby daughter dying? Why had she dismissed Tom’s fears about Lydia’s unfaithfulness too readily? Was it because her greatest fear was the Lomaxes’ marriage falling apart but her still being tied to Harold? Esmie felt ashamed of such selfish thoughts.

  Her insides churning, Esmie returned to the house, wondering whether she should go to Lydia and comfort her. Standing outside Lydia’s bedroom door, listening to her friend sobbing wretchedly, Esmie knocked.

  ‘Lydia? Can I come in?’

  But the crying didn’t stop and Lydia didn’t answer. Heavy-hearted, Esmie walked away.

  Chapter 31

  Esmie sent a chit over to Geraldine’s cancelling the invitation to afternoon tea and making up an excuse that Lydia had been taken ill with a tummy upset. In the note, Esmie thanked her for entertaining her during her stay. She made no promise to see her before she left. Esmie couldn’t face the thought of having to parry Geraldine’s keen questions about Lydia or possible goings on at Linnet Cottage.

  Soon afterwards, Ayah returned with Andrew, smiling and oblivious to the drama she had missed. Esmie eagerly plucked Andrew from his pram and gave him a cuddle. She breathed in his baby scent as he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled in delight. Her eyes smarted with tears. He was the innocent in all this and yet she feared for his future. Kissing his soft cheek, Esmie prayed fervently that Andrew wouldn’t be used as a pawn in his parents’ wrangling.

  Then she thought of Tom and her heart weighed like a stone. If he were to learn that his suspicions about Lydia’s affair with Dickie were true, what would he do? He would be unable to bear being separated from Andrew; of that she was certain. How much
would he be prepared to turn a blind eye to in order to keep his family together? A great deal, she imagined. Oh, Tom! How she wished she could save him from the pain of knowing. She longed to see him and yet dreaded it. Would it be best if she did what Lydia had wanted and pretend it never happened?

  Carrying a burbling Andrew into the house, Esmie thought it probably was.

  Lydia didn’t come out of her room again until the following day. Esmie tried to have food sent in to her but she had locked her bedroom door. With little appetite and unable to bear dining alone on the veranda, Esmie took her meal into the nursery.

  ‘Do you mind if I eat with you, Ayah?’ she asked the young woman.

  Ayah looked alarmed but agreed. They sat on durries on the floor and Esmie shared out her plate of fish, potatoes and cabbage. She learnt that the nanny was from an Indian Christian family – Episcopalians – and that her name was Sarah. Her father had worked in the army stables as a syce until he’d been crippled in an accident and so Sarah helped support the family now. She loved her job looking after Andrew.

  Esmie helped give Andrew his bottle of milk, Lydia having given up feeding him herself soon after birth. Esmie felt a tug of tenderness as she held the baby in her arms and watched his look of concentration as he glugged the milk. A calm feeling of contentment spread through her. If only Lydia could experience a moment like this, Esmie was sure she would begin to love her son.

  That night, Esmie hardly slept. She imagined Lydia lying awake and miserable too. Her crying had stopped but she had stayed locked in her room. As the dawn light crept through the cracks between the shutters, Esmie got up. Hearing Andrew grizzling, she padded along to the nursery and asked Sarah if she could feed the baby. She took Andrew onto the veranda and, wrapping them both in a blanket against the morning chill, she gave him his milk as the sky turned golden over the mountains of Kashmir.

  Esmie knew she would never forget this peaceful moment – it was like an unexpected gift – the sunrise and the rose-coloured peaks of snow, the smell of damp earth and pines, the early twittering of birds and the warmth of Andrew’s small body pressed against her. She imprinted it all in her mind to remember in the uncertain days ahead.

  Lydia emerged from her room in the late morning, dressed smartly and with her hair pinned back and bound in a broad ribbon. Only her pasty face and puffy eyelids betrayed her distress from the previous day. Esmie, playing with Andrew on the veranda, watched her warily.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Esmie asked.

  Lydia ignored the question. ‘I imagine you’ve had breakfast. I’ll order some coffee. Would you like some?’ Before Esmie could answer, Lydia was clapping her hands and issuing commands to her bearer. She skirted Esmie, the baby and Sarah and went to stand on the far side of the veranda. Scrabbling in her handbag, she pulled out cigarettes and a lighter and busied herself lighting up a cigarette.

  ‘Lydia, come and sit down,’ Esmie encouraged.

  When she didn’t, Esmie indicated to Sarah to take Andrew into the garden and then went and joined Lydia at the balustrade.

  ‘Speak to me, Lydia,’ Esmie entreated. ‘I can’t leave with this bad feeling between us.’

  Lydia eyed her bleakly. ‘Promise me you won’t tell Tom what you saw yesterday?’

  Esmie tensed. She hated the thought of keeping such a secret or having to lie to Tom but if Lydia was going to try and salvage her marriage then it was for the best.

  ‘I won’t talk about what happened, I promise. It’s up to you what you tell Tom.’

  Lydia’s anguished look softened. ‘I don’t intend saying anything. I’m not going to make life difficult for Dickie.’

  ‘For Dickie?’ Esmie exclaimed. ‘He’s the one who’s caused all this upset.’

  ‘No, he isn’t. He saw how unhappy I was and tried to comfort me.’

  ‘Some would say take advantage of you,’ said Esmie.

  Lydia’s eyes flashed. ‘You still don’t understand, do you? This isn’t just some hill station summer fling. We love each other. I’ve been mad about Dickie since that night last year when he took me to the brewery ball – and he adores me.’

  Esmie was horrified. ‘Oh, Lydia!’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t understand – you’re too conventional – too like Harold. Everything has to be so moral and by the book. But some of us have a greater capacity for love – we have too much passion in our hearts just to love one person.’

  Ignoring the slight, Esmie tried to comprehend. ‘Are you saying that you love both Tom and Dickie at the same time?’

  ‘I suppose I am,’ said Lydia, stubbing out the cigarette she had hardly smoked. ‘But since seeing Dickie again after the terrible time with the baby – well – I have deeper feelings for him than for Tom.’

  Esmie put a hand on Lydia’s arm. ‘Yet you say you don’t want Tom to find out? So you’re not going to do anything foolish, are you?’

  Lydia pulled her arm away. ‘It’s easier to stay with Tom, that’s all.’

  ‘Oh, Lydia, please don’t hurt Tom. If you care anything for him and Andrew then you should give Dickie up.’

  ‘Don’t lecture me,’ Lydia snapped. ‘I can handle my own marriage. Tom doesn’t need to know. The only way he’ll get hurt is if you tell him.’

  Esmie felt leaden at Lydia’s cold words. Before she could say anything more, the khidmatgar arrived with coffee. The women sat together in tense silence, drinking and staring out at the garden. Esmie watched the ayah pushing Andrew up and down the neat paths and chattering to him. It pained her that Lydia could even think of jeopardising a life with Tom and Andrew for Dickie. But wasn’t she being hypocritical? After all, Esmie also knew what it was like to love two men at the same time. She cared for Harold and yet yearned for Tom. The difference with Lydia was that she, Esmie, would never act on her impulses to satisfy her desire outside of marriage.

  With her coffee half-drunk, Lydia announced she was going out and left shortly after in a tonga. She neither invited Esmie along nor told her where she was going. Esmie feared she had gone straight to seek out Dickie in his outlying camp but could do nothing about it. She spent the rest of the day feeling queasy with dread and trying to occupy herself by accompanying Sarah in taking Andrew out in his pram.

  She avoided the Mall, where she might bump into Geraldine or others in Lydia’s social circle, and went instead to the native bazaar to buy some last-minute presents: a new shaving razor and brush for Harold, a turquoise necklace for Karo and a wooden pull-along dog for Gabina. She was relieved at the thought of leaving Murree and escaping from Lydia’s reproachful words and moodiness towards her.

  Lydia didn’t return until it was almost dark. Esmie, full of worry, had been keeping a look out for her. Lydia gave no explanation as to where she’d been and wouldn’t look Esmie in the eye. She smelt of drink.

  ‘I’ve got a headache,’ Lydia complained. ‘I can’t face dinner. I’m going to bed early. I hope you don’t mind?’

  Esmie followed her. ‘You must have something. Can I bring you a pot of tea? Or a nimbu pani?’

  ‘No, thank you. I just want to be alone.’

  In the night, Esmie heard Lydia crying again. She couldn’t bear to hear her so unhappy. But when she went along and knocked on her door, hoping to comfort her, Lydia told her to go away. Later, just as Esmie was finally sinking into an uneasy sleep, she was startled awake by Lydia standing by her bedside. She looked pale and ghostly in her nightgown with her blonde hair hanging loose.

  ‘Dickie’s leaving.’ Her voice sounded drained of emotion. ‘He’s going on shikar for the rest of his leave. No doubt you’ll be pleased.’

  Esmie struggled to sit up, befuddled by weariness. ‘I think he’s doing the right thing.’

  Lydia’s face looked taut. ‘I want you to know that I blame you for his going – for making such a fuss. Affairs happen all the time in hill stations and no one bats an eyelid. But you made Dickie feel terrible and now I won’t see him again.’

/>   Esmie heard the desolation in Lydia’s voice and knew that saying anything at all would just make things worse between them.

  Lydia went to the door. ‘I never thought I’d ever feel so resentful towards you, Esmie,’ she said. ‘It’s time you went back to Harold and stopped interfering in other people’s lives, don’t you think?’

  Esmie flushed at the accusation. Without waiting for an answer, Lydia left.

  Through the rest of the sleepless night, Esmie’s feeling of upset at Lydia’s accusing words turned to anger. She was not responsible for Lydia’s unhappiness. Lydia was the one who had selfishly embarked on an affair with Dickie without any thought of the damage it might do. Dickie, pricked by conscience at Esmie finding out, might have ended it earlier than he’d planned but Esmie was sure he saw it merely as a summer fling. If he had been as serious about Lydia as she claimed she was about him, Dickie would be standing by her and not escaping on shikar.

  By morning, Esmie had her case packed. She’d contemplated hiring a tonga to get herself back to Rawalpindi so she wouldn’t have to see any more of Lydia or face Tom. But as dawn broke, she knew such an action would be petty and cowardly. She would not run away. Perhaps Lydia might feel more contrite and they could at least part on speaking terms.

  But Lydia took her breakfast in her room and didn’t emerge until she heard the sound of Tom’s car horn beeping to announce his arrival. Esmie, her stomach in knots, was waiting in the garden with Andrew and Sarah.

  Tom caught his breath at the sight of Esmie in the garden, pushing Andrew in the swing he’d made out of a basket and rope for his son. She was pulling exaggerated smiles as the baby swung towards her and he could hear Andrew’s delighted giggles. At the sound of the car, she turned and waved in greeting. His chest tightened.

  All the way up the mountainside, he’d tried not to think too much about Esmie, and failed. He’d told himself that he’d set off at dawn in case it rained later but he knew he was spurred on by the thought of seeing her again. Passing the dak bungalow where they had sheltered from the storm and he had unburdened his innermost secrets, Tom had tried to suppress his hankering for her. Esmie, bare-legged and wrapped in a blanket, wet tendrils of hair falling across her grey eyes, had stirred passion inside him like no other woman ever had. Ever since she had arrived at the hotel, the previous day, Tom had tried to keep an emotional distance from her. But Esmie had been too perceptive and knew that something dwelled on his mind. Unable to confess to his inner turmoil about being in love with her, he’d told her instead about his fears over losing Andrew.