Ghulam felt his heart begin to thud again at the memory. His instant feeling was one of elation that she had come to hear him, followed immediately by anger that she would put herself and also Fatima in danger by coming openly to the rowdy meeting. Of course as a memsahib she would attract suspicion and resentment.
Ghulam took a deep drag on his cigarette. He should never have told his sister about the meeting in the first place. The atmosphere had been openly hostile towards Muslims. Yet Fatima continued to reassure him that once a political settlement was reached then the anger and fear between the communities would dissipate. He had to believe that.
He leant on the parapet, welcoming the evening breeze that licked his hair and face, and looked south towards Alipore. An indistinct mass of dark trees obscured the housing.
‘Oh, Libby,’ he sighed.
He felt such a clash of emotions towards the young woman: annoyance and resentment, admiration and liking. Seeing her being accosted at the meeting by the odious heckler, Ghulam had been astonished by the surge of protectiveness he had felt towards her as he’d rushed to her aid.
He lit another cigarette. He had to admit that it wasn’t just the world slipping out of control that preoccupied him but his feelings for the Robson girl. How many times had the image of Libby in the green satin evening dress come to mind in recent days? Seeing her on the Watsons’ veranda had taken his breath away: her voluptuous figure and lustrous hair, her hypnotic blue eyes and translucent skin that betrayed her emotions as the blood rushed up from her chest to her cheeks at the slightest compliment. She was beautiful.
Ghulam had gone with reluctance to the birthday party just to please Fatima and had intended staying for as short a time as possible. But he had been unable to stop gazing at Libby or to quell the kick of jealousy he felt at seeing her dancing with her other male friends. He had feigned indifference to her plea to dance with him and yet when he took her in his arms he was flooded with a desire that he had not felt in years.
It was ridiculous to feel this way about a Britisher – and one nearly half his age – and yet he could not help it. He found himself thinking about her when trying to write articles, when he heard a snatch of band music on the radio or when over-tired and sleepless in his bed. Restless, Ghulam could not help wondering about other lovers she might have had.
He knew such surges of desire were fruitless; nothing could come of a relationship with Libby and it would be wrong to give her hope. Besides, Fatima had just told him how she had cautioned Libby against developing feelings for her brother and that he was wedded to his causes. He was grateful for his sister’s frankness towards the British girl.
But what about that moment of intimacy in the taxi earlier that evening? His pulse had throbbed at the touch of her hand on his and then that brief electrifying kiss on the lips. If she had stayed any longer, would he have pulled her into his arms and kissed her properly? Ghulam let out a long sigh. He had been genuine in wanting her to be reunited with her father and realised what an ordeal it would probably be for both of them after such a long separation. He had not suggested it as a means of putting her out of temptation’s way but there was a certain relief in thinking Libby would be leaving for Assam. He could get on with his work without worrying about bumping into her – and perhaps he could rid his thoughts of her more easily.
Ghulam stubbed out his cigarette and went below.
CHAPTER 13
Herbert’s Café, Newcastle, England, April
Adela glanced out of the hot kitchen to see Joan loitering with Sam in the back yard and sharing his cigarettes. She’d wondered where the lazy woman had got to. Sam, on his way in from the allotment, had obviously been distracted. He had a box of spring greens at his feet. With a stab of irritation, Adela made for the door.
‘As soon as the divorce comes through, me and Tommy are ganin’ to get wed,’ Joan was saying, with a toss of blonde hair. ‘He doesn’t care about me being married before – not like all the gossips round here – and he’s twice as respectable as them, him being in charge of Major Gibson’s stables.’
‘It’s good that Tommy wants to take on your daughter Bonnie,’ said Sam, tipping up his battered hat and scratching his head. His face was glistening and his hands were ingrained with soil. Adela felt a familiar pang of affection for her husband but it was quickly replaced by annoyance at Joan.
‘Joan, you’re needed in the café, please,’ Adela said. ‘Doreen can’t manage the waitressing and the washing up.’
Joan blew out a smoke ring. ‘Well, she’ll have to manage without me soon. I’m not stoppin’ to help out much longer. Tommy’s got a house on Major Gibson’s estate and I’ll be moving up to Willowburn once we’re wed.’
‘So you keep telling us,’ Adela said.
‘The only job I’ll have will be taking care of Tommy,’ Joan said, staring into the distance with a dreamy smile.
‘And Bonnie,’ Sam reminded her.
‘I hope Tommy’s good at cooking his own meals and cleaning up after himself,’ Adela muttered.
‘Adela!’ Sam said with a look that was half amused, half reproving.
She ignored his appeal. ‘Well, in the meantime, Joan, you can practise in our kitchen, if that isn’t too much of an inconvenience. You are getting paid, remember?’
‘Talking of which,’ said Joan, ‘Tommy thinks I should be getting paid a lot more than I am. He thinks you’re taking advantage of my good nature.’
‘Good nature?’ Adela snapped. ‘I’d call it lazy nature. You swan in here when it suits you and leave early.’
‘Only ’cause I have to pick up Bonnie from Mrs Brewis,’ Joan said.
‘Or sneak off to the pictures,’ Adela accused.
Joan flushed pink. ‘Well, we all need a bit of time off now and again – it’s hard work being a mam.’
Adela was stung by the comment. Joan was one of the few who knew she had given up her baby; was she trying deliberately to hurt her?
‘Hard work for Aunt Olive you mean,’ retorted Adela. ‘I can’t imagine how you’re going to manage when you haven’t got my aunt to look after Bonnie all day.’
‘I won’t need George’s mam once I’m up at Willowburn,’ Joan said with a dismissive wave. ‘It’ll be just me and Bonnie and Tommy – a perfect life.’
Adela bit back a waspish reply about Joan being completely unsuited for a life in the country.
‘Smells like something’s burning,’ Sam said.
‘Oh hell!’ Adela turned on her heels and dashed back into the kitchen. She had forgotten all about the rhubarb pies. Wrenching them out of the old oven, she saw that the pastry crusts were burnt black. Acrid smoke billowed around.
‘Eeh, you’ve ruined Mrs Jackman’s pies,’ said Joan who had followed her inside. ‘What a shame. That’ll be her ration of butter gone. And Sam was so proud of that rhubarb; weren’t you Sam?’
Sam stood scratching his head. He caught Adela’s thunderous look and quickly said, ‘There’s more – I’ll go and pick some.’
‘No!’ Adela turned back to the pies. ‘They’re not ruined. We’ll cut the tops off and serve them with whipped cream. They’ll still be delicious. Mohammed Din did a recipe like this. We’ll put ginger in the cream.’
‘They’ll not eat that round here,’ said Joan.
‘Of course they will,’ Adela said, her temper rising, ‘and you are going to serve it to them. Put that cigarette out and get your apron back on again.’
With a pout, Joan did as she was told.
Sam said, ‘I’ll stay and wash the vegetables, shall I?’
‘No,’ Adela said quickly, not wanting Joan to have any more distractions. ‘You can go back to the allotment.’
Joan rolled her eyes at him as she sauntered back into the café. Adela felt her teeth clench. Sam put a hand on her arm.
‘Let’s go for a walk up the Tyne this evening after work,’ he suggested. ‘I’ll take the camera. Just you and me.’
Adela fe
lt exhausted just thinking of it. ‘There’s so much to do here. By the time I get cleared up I’ll just want to soak my feet in a basin of hot water and drink gin.’
‘After the gin then,’ Sam said with a smile.
‘Anyway you can’t. Your mother’s expecting you for supper. Last thing she said before she got the bus home. Though why you should have to trek miles across the city to see her when she’s at the café every other day, I don’t know.’
Sam frowned. ‘Because I’m down on the allotment or out taking photos. I don’t see her that often – and I only go over to the coast when you’re staying here late.’
‘I wouldn’t have to stay late if you helped out more,’ she snapped.
‘I thought we agreed that I was of most use in the allotment?’ Sam said.
‘Well, if Joan goes then you’ll have to help round here more,’ Adela said with an impatient sigh.
‘Perhaps if you were a little kinder to her,’ said Sam, his voice suddenly steely, ‘then she might stay longer.’
With that he dumped down the box of vegetables and strode out of the kitchen. Adela felt immediately contrite and hurried after him.
‘Sam, I’m sorry,’ she called.
He turned, halfway across the yard. Her stomach somersaulted at his handsome face, but his look was wary.
‘Go and see Mrs Jackman this evening,’ said Adela. ‘I didn’t mean to criticise her; your mother’s been a godsend. We’ll have a walk on Sunday – just the two of us.’
She couldn’t read his expression; was he relieved or disappointed? She was too weary to work it out. She blew him a quick kiss and then doubled back inside.
It was after seven o’clock before Adela was finished in the café and locking up. She knew Sam wouldn’t be at home and she didn’t have the energy to put on a cheerful face for Tilly and Josey. She climbed the stairs and knocked on Lexy’s door.
‘Come in!’ Lexy’s deep smoker’s voice beckoned.
As Adela entered the cosy flat, Lexy was already heaving herself out of her armchair and making for the kitchen. ‘I’ve got a pot brewing. Thought you might be up shortly. Heard the fun and games earlier. Madam Joan playing up, is she? Little minx.’
‘I’ll get the tea,’ Adela said at once.
‘You’ll sit down and put your feet up, hinny,’ ordered Lexy. ‘I might puff like an old steam train but I can still pour a cuppa.’
Adela sank gratefully on to the sofa and closed her eyes. She must have dozed off for a few minutes because when she opened her eyes, Lexy was back in her favourite chair coughing over a cigarette and there was a cup of black tea and a paste sandwich on the side-table by Adela’s elbow.
With a deep sigh, Adela drank the tea. She was past being hungry and the grey sandwich didn’t look in the least appetising.
‘Tell all,’ Lexy encouraged.
‘Where to begin? It’s so much harder running the café than I thought. Even though we aren’t on the ration, it’s almost impossible to get hold of some ingredients. How can you make a decent shepherd’s pie when half the potatoes have been blighted by frost? Thank goodness I’ve got your contacts at the Grainger Market or we wouldn’t have anything on the menu.’
With a sympathetic nod from Lexy, Adela continued to pour out her troubles. ‘Joan is driving me mad and Sam just panders to her instead of backing me up, and his mother is really kind but once she gets in the café kitchen she’s a real bossy-boots. I know I can’t manage without her – I have pretty few cooking skills – but she’s taking over our lives. If she’s not at the café then she’s wanting Sam to go all the way out to Cullercoats to spend the evening with her.’
‘She’s had a long time without him,’ Lexy pointed out, ‘so she’s only trying to make up for that. She’ll calm down.’
Adela felt a twinge of guilt. ‘I sound so ungrateful, don’t I?’
‘It’s only natural that you feel a bit jealous over Sam with his mam,’ said Lexy.
‘I’m not jealous,’ Adela protested. ‘It was me who encouraged Sam to get in touch with his mother.’
‘Aye, it was; but that doesn’t mean you don’t see each other as rivals for his love,’ said Lexy. ‘What you should remember is that your lad, Sam, has a big heart and enough love for you both. And he’s daft about you. Anyone can see that.’
Adela felt her eyes sting with tears. She thought wistfully of how happy and in love they had been in India, when the prospect of returning to England together had felt like an adventure. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t been nice to him recently. I’ve turned into this nagging, short-tempered hag and I know I’m being unkind but I can’t help saying things. He doesn’t deserve it . . .’
‘You’re both a bit at sea,’ said Lexy, ‘but things will settle down once you’ve found your feet here. You’re doing your best with the café and Sam’s getting more photography work now, isn’t he?’
‘A bit but not much,’ said Adela. ‘I feel like I’ve dragged him halfway round the world for nothing.’
‘So you’ve found out nowt about the bairn?’ Lexy asked.
Adela shook her head. ‘I’ve written to the missionary society who arranged the adoption but heard nothing. I’m just going off the address on that piece of paper I signed, so I don’t even know if they’ve got my letter. Maybe they won’t tell me anything even if they do know where John Wesley was placed.’ Adela felt her throat constrict as tears flooded her eyes. ‘I just keep imagining him in some awful orphanage or institution where no one really cares for him and they’re strict and leave him to cry himself to sleep—’
‘Stop torturing yersel’, hinny,’ Lexy remonstrated. ‘It’s just as likely that he’s with a canny family who love him and are giving him the best start in life he could have. That’s all you can ask for, isn’t it?’
Adela gave her friend an anguished look. ‘But I want more than that, Lexy. I want to hold him in my arms and ask him to forgive me for abandoning him. I can’t be like Sam’s mother and live with years of guilt. I want to be a mother to him.’
Lexy’s look was pitying. ‘You know that’s never likely to happen, lass. Even if they know where he is, you have to be prepared that they might never let you see him. Are you prepared to lose him all over again?’
Adela’s heart ached. ‘But at least I would know. It’s the not knowing what’s happened to him that is breaking my heart.’
‘What does Sam say?’ Lexy asked.
Adela gave an unhappy shrug. ‘He knows I’m trying to find out about my boy but we don’t really speak about it – there’s precious little time to talk about anything these days. All I know is that he wants us to have our own child.’
‘That’s to be expected,’ said Lexy. ‘Surely that’s what you want an’ all?’
‘Of course it is,’ said Adela. ‘But nothing’s happening on that front. Not that we get much time for baby-making these days. We’re up at the crack of dawn to get to the market while there’s still something to buy – and at night we just fall into bed, dog-tired.’
‘Well, make time,’ said Lexy.
‘I know we should,’ sighed Adela. ‘But it’s not just that. I can’t think about another baby when all my thoughts are with John Wesley. I thought time would make my longing for him lessen but it’s quite the opposite. And I know Sam would love him too. Once we find him, all our quarrelling will stop. Sam would make such a wonderful dad to John Wesley.’ She gave Lexy a pleading look. ‘Can’t you help me, Lexy? You used to know some of the people from that missionary church, didn’t you?’
‘No, not really,’ said Lexy. ‘It was the minister at the seamen’s mission who knew them. I never met any of ’em – except the two wives who came to take the bairn away and I can’t remember what they were called.’
‘I could ask the minister then?’ Adela’s hope flared.
Lexy shook her head. ‘Poor man went down on a ship during the War.’
Adela felt leaden. ‘Is there no one you can think of who would know ab
out the adoption? There must be someone I can ask!’
Lexy said, ‘Don’t fret, hinny. You might hear back from the folk at the adoption society before long. These things tak’ time. And I’ll gan and have a word with Maggie – see if she remembers what them lasses from the church were called. Mind you, her memory’s not what it was.’
Adela thought with affection of Lexy’s friend Maggie who had taken her in when she was pregnant and homeless. Maggie, with a passion for purple and an earthy sense of humour, had given Adela sanctuary and helped bring John Wesley into the world. The Cullercoats cottage where Maggie had cared for the elderly Ina had also been John Wesley’s first brief home and a safe haven for Adela at a traumatic time.
‘How is Maggie?’ asked Adela. ‘I’ve called round a couple of times to the cottage but she’s never in.’
‘She’s hard o’ hearin’,’ said Lexy. ‘Bang louder next time. She doesn’t gan far these days.’
‘I will,’ said Adela. ‘The next time I get a spare minute.’
Lexy gave her a direct look. ‘The next time you get a spare minute, you spend it with that man of yours and have a bit o’ fun. Promise me you will?’
Adela gave a tired smile. ‘Okay, I promise.’
On Sunday, heeding Lexy’s advice and encouraged by Tilly, Adela and Sam borrowed Tilly’s car and drove out west beyond the city outskirts and into the countryside. It was a blustery April day of scudding clouds and sudden bursts of tepid sunshine. The winter seemed to have lasted forever. For one day, Adela determined she wasn’t going to worry about blighted potatoes or the lack of supplies of bread or cheese for the café. She didn’t want to think of the café at all.
The Secrets of the Tea Garden Page 17