They had a picnic packed and a tartan rug. Sam whistled as he drove, his battered pork-pie hat – the fourth one he had owned since Adela had first known him – perched at a rakish angle on the back of his head.
Adela took sly glances at his face in profile; his long features were weathered from working outdoors and his hair was still a youthful honey brown. He caught her staring and gave her a quizzical smile.
‘A penny for your thoughts?’ he asked.
‘I was just remembering the very first time I ever sat in a car beside you,’ said Adela. ‘When I’d escaped from school and made you drive me back to Belgooree.’
Sam laughed. ‘I should have known then that the rebellious tea planter’s daughter would turn my world upside down.’
Adela smiled and traced a finger down his lean face. ‘I fell in love with you that day, Sam Jackman.’
‘Lucky me,’ Sam said with a grin. She could tell he was pleased with her sudden show of affection. She felt bad that she hadn’t made an effort to be more loving in recent weeks.
Sam said, ‘I first fell in love with you when I saw you at the top of the veranda steps in Simla looking divine in a red dress at your birthday party.’
Adela gave a wry laugh. ‘It was a pink dress.’
‘Was it? Well, it looked red in the setting sun.’
‘You arrived after dark,’ Adela said in amusement.
‘Did I?’ Sam gave a rueful smile. ‘Well, you looked delectable and I had a hard time trying not to kiss you that night.’
Adela laughed. ‘I spent the evening wishing you would.’
He put out a hand and squeezed her knee. ‘I’m not always very quick to understand what you want, am I?’
‘I wish we had kissed back then,’ sighed Adela. ‘It would have saved a lot of trouble—’
She bit off her words, suddenly remembering how misunderstandings between her and Sam had led to her allowing Prince Sanjay to seduce her and leave her pregnant.
Sam withdrew his hand. ‘It worked out well for us in the end, didn’t it? I hope you don’t have any regrets – I certainly don’t.’
‘Of course I don’t,’ Adela said quickly.
After that, they drove in silence. Adela stared out of the window at the passing scenery. Trees were finally in bud after the severe winter frosts and the fields were sprouting the first tiny green shoots of wheat and barley. Sam didn’t whistle any more; he seemed lost in his own thoughts. She had an unexpected pang of longing for Belgooree and her mother. At this time of year Clarrie would be busy overseeing the first flush of tea. Adela was gripped with sudden worry that she had made a terrible mistake in leaving India. Perhaps she and Sam could only ever be really happy in their old surroundings?
But things were changing in India. Within the next year many of the British would have to retire from service and return to Britain. Even some of the tea planters might not want to stay on, knowing that their way of life might have to change too. The last letter she had had from her mother had been full of concern for Libby’s father James. He appeared to be recuperating at Belgooree from some nervous condition and was yet to be reunited with Libby.
Sam broke into her thoughts. ‘Shall we picnic near the river? I don’t want to use up too much of Tilly’s petrol ration.’
‘Yes, that would be nice.’
A few miles on they drove through an attractive village of stone houses called Wylam and parked up. Sam hauled the picnic basket out of the boot and Adela carried the rug. They walked through a wood, upriver, passing an occasional courting couple and boys skimming stones at the river’s edge. After a while, they came to a deserted patch of grass by a sandy bank, sheltered by trees and undergrowth.
Spreading out the rug on the damp grass, Sam opened up the basket. They shared a bottle of beer and munched on egg-and-cress sandwiches and slices of corned beef. Adela had got hold of some oranges through a contact at the Grainger Market. They sat sucking segments of the sweet fruit.
Then Sam produced something wrapped in greaseproof paper.
‘I got Mum to make this,’ he said, glancing at her cautiously as he unwrapped it.
‘Ginger cake?’ Adela exclaimed. ‘My favourite!’
‘And there’s butter to go with it,’ Sam said, smiling, as he cut off a slice and spread butter on it.
‘Is that your mother’s own ration?’ Adela asked guiltily.
‘She’s happy for us to have it.’ He held out the slice. ‘Eat it.’
‘Delicious,’ said Adela, biting into the cake. Silently she thought it lacked the richness and spicy tang of Mohammed Din’s ginger cake but she was touched by Mrs Jackman’s offering and Sam’s boyish eagerness to please her. ‘Takes me right back to Belgooree.’
‘You haven’t told me what was in your mother’s most recent letter,’ said Sam through a mouthful of cake. ‘Is she well? Is Harry still enjoying school in Shillong?’
‘Mother’s fine as always,’ said Adela, ‘and Harry too. He couldn’t wait to get back to school for the cricket. He’s staying over some weekends now that he’s in the school’s second eleven.’
‘Good for him. He’s got the height and strength of a sixteen-year-old rather than a boy of thirteen. He’ll do well.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Adela, ‘he’s so like Dad.’
Adela felt a sudden lump in her throat. Her father had been dead for nearly nine years but she still felt his loss keenly.
Sam leant towards her and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘I know you miss him.’
Briefly she laid her head on his shoulder. But she didn’t want the day to be overshadowed by sad thoughts; she had promised herself that she would make an effort to get close to Sam again.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, ‘and I’m not worried about Mother. It’s James though . . .’ She told Sam about Clarrie’s concern over Libby’s father, how he was resting at Belgooree and hadn’t been to Calcutta to meet Libby as promised.
‘Does Tilly know he’s ill?’ asked Sam.
‘I don’t think she’s taking it seriously,’ said Adela. ‘I tried to mention it the other day but it was a rushed conversation on my way out to work. Tilly just thinks that James likes being at Belgooree and being fussed over by my mother.’
‘What do you think?’
Adela shrugged. ‘He’s not acting normally. James has always lived for his work at the Oxford but he’s showing no interest in it at the moment. And Mother says he has terrible nightmares and shouts in his sleep. Privately she thinks he should retire and leave the Oxford.’
‘Come back to Britain, you mean?’
‘Or take an extended leave,’ said Adela. ‘She doesn’t believe Tilly will ever go back to India, so she’s trying to persuade James to come home and patch things up with Tilly before it’s too late.’
Sam let out a sigh. ‘Where does that leave poor Libby?’
‘Goodness knows,’ said Adela. ‘She’s a resourceful girl and will make the best of wherever she is, but she was so looking forward to seeing her father. It worries me how much she was pinning her hopes on resuming a life in India as if nothing had changed since her childhood there.’
Sam nodded in agreement. ‘Have you heard from Libby recently?’ he asked.
‘No, but I’ve had a letter from Fatima saying that Libby had invited her and Ghulam to her birthday party.’
‘Ghulam too?’ Sam said with surprise. ‘I can’t imagine he went.’
Adela smiled. ‘He did, and Fatima said they both enjoyed it.’
Sam grinned. ‘Well, well, the anti-British radical accepting hospitality in the heart of colonial Calcutta! Whatever next?’
Adela laughed. ‘That’s how persuasive Libby can be.’
Sam helped them to more cake.
‘Talking of the Khans,’ said Adela, ‘what news of your sister and Rafi?’
Sam stiffened and Adela immediately regretted asking.
‘She never complains,’ he answered, ‘but I think Sanj— I think the new raja
h is making life difficult for Rafi. Did I tell you that he’s sacked him as his ADC?’
Adela winced at Sam’s avoidance of saying Sanjay’s name. ‘No you didn’t. How unfair! Is Rafi still the forest officer?’
‘Yes,’ said Sam. ‘Sophie is putting a brave face on things – says that Rafi is happier being out of the limelight at court and so is she.’
‘Well, Rafi has always been a forester at heart, hasn’t he?’ said Adela. ‘And Sophie hates all that stuffy court life. Maybe they really are happier.’
‘But for how long?’ Sam said. ‘It’s all so uncertain in India now – even the British in the princely states might be out of their jobs soon.’
Adela slipped her arm through his. ‘Wouldn’t that be wonderful if Sophie and Rafi decided to retire back to Britain too? I know you miss her and it would make me feel a whole lot better for having dragged you back to Newcastle.’
Sam gave her an intent look. ‘You didn’t drag me anywhere. I don’t mind where I live as long as you are there, Adela.’
Her heart drummed at his loving words. ‘Darling Sam, I don’t deserve you.’
‘Nonsense. I’m the luckiest man in the world, having you as my wife,’ he said and leant in to kiss her on the lips.
Adela kissed him back, flooded with love for him. Gently, Sam pushed her back on the rug and began to kiss her more deeply as his hands searched to loosen her jacket and blouse. Adela’s arousal turned abruptly to panic. She pushed him away.
‘Not here, Sam,’ she said. ‘It’s too public.’
He gave a puzzled smile. ‘There’s no one around. I want you so much, my darling.’ He tried to kiss her again but Adela sat up.
‘I can’t – someone’s bound to come. We’re just off the footpath.’
Sam sighed and pulled away. Adela felt confused by her reluctance to make love – she desired him just as much as ever – but she couldn’t. The place was wrong, that was all. Guilt swept her at the look of hurt on her husband’s face. It was all this talk of India; it was making her homesick and unsettled. It reminded her of how happy they had been in the early days of their marriage, when they had been so easy in each other’s company – so spontaneous.
‘Let’s put our feet in the river,’ she suggested, standing up.
‘It’ll be freezing,’ he protested.
‘I know.’ She smiled and, kicking off her shoes, scrambled down the sandy bank.
The river was fast flowing but they were perched above a shallow pool gouged out of the bank where the current slowed. Adela rolled down her stockings and shoved them in a jacket pocket. Holding up her skirt, she waded into the icy water with a shriek.
Sam was soon rolling up his trouser legs and joining her with a loud bellow at the freezing water. He flicked water at her, making her scream and splash him back. A few minutes later, a worried-looking man appeared on a bicycle.
‘Are you okay?’ he shouted down.
Spluttering, Adela called out, ‘We’re fine – just paddling!’
‘You’re daft in the head,’ said the man before cycling on.
After that they climbed out with bashful laughter and pulled on their shoes with numb fingers. Packing up swiftly, they made their way back to the car. It clouded over and the sun went. By the time they got back to Tilly’s house, they were chilled through. Tilly scolded Sam for allowing Adela in the river and ordered her into a hot bath. Adela nearly fell asleep in the steamy bathroom and, excusing herself from the evening meal, retreated to bed.
‘It’s been a lovely day,’ she said, ‘but I can hardly stay awake.’
Even though it was still light outside, Adela fell asleep in minutes and wasn’t even aware of Sam creeping under the covers later that night.
Adela, refreshed after a long sleep, determined that she would make a real effort to be nicer to Sam and her staff in the coming week. She didn’t like the fretful, short-tempered woman she had become. Despite the daily grind, she must try and be more like the gregarious Adela of old who would lift people’s spirits and encourage harmony. That day at the café she refrained from criticising Joan, complimenting her on being chatty with the customers and thanking her for helping out.
She allowed Mrs Jackman to order her about in the kitchen and retreated to a corner of the café to do her paperwork. She liked to sit half hidden behind a screen and listen to the customers and the waitresses, being on hand to smooth things over if a complaint or problem arose. She was always touched when some of the older customers remembered her mother fondly and told Adela that she reminded them of Clarrie. To her, that was the greatest compliment anyone could give her.
Sam turned down his mother’s invitation to go to her house for a meal that evening.
‘Maybe Adela and I could come over on Sunday?’ he suggested.
Mrs Jackman looked dismayed. ‘That’s a whole week away.’
‘It’ll soon be here,’ said Sam with a smile of reassurance. ‘We’ve too much to do at the café at the moment – redecorating and odd jobs that can’t be done during the day.’
‘Very well,’ Mrs Jackman agreed with reluctance, ‘I’ll expect you for Sunday dinner.’
Adela was grateful to Sam for standing up to his mother and told him so. That evening, as they walked from the bus stop to Tilly’s, arm in arm, they discussed what they would plant next in the allotment and whether they should alter the style of the café décor.
‘The palms and brass urns are all a bit dated, aren’t they?’ said Adela.
‘I like the eastern look,’ said Sam.
Adela smirked. ‘P&O third-class dining room, you mean.’
‘Snob,’ said Sam with a nudge.
‘We should go for something less imperial,’ she said, ‘and more modern. Maybe French chic – Mediterranean colours and bright tablecloths instead of those old white ones that are almost yellow with age.’
‘Have you suddenly come into money?’ Sam teased.
‘We can dye the old ones,’ suggested Adela. ‘Josey will help me – she’s full of artistic ideas. And we need to change the waitresses’ uniforms – they’re positively Victorian.’
As they reached the house, Adela was filled with a new optimism. Lexy was right: it was just a matter of finding their feet. Her sense of emotional distance towards Sam was nothing to worry about and their lack of intimacy would be temporary. They had just had too many other things to cope with since arriving in Newcastle.
‘There’s an official-looking letter for you,’ said Tilly as they passed on the doorstep. ‘I’ve left it on the hall table. I’m off to a Mothers’ Meeting at church. There’s tongue and pickle in the pantry – help yourselves. Josey’s upstairs making trousers out of black-out curtains for that next play. Toodle pip!’ Tilly kissed Adela on the cheek as she went.
Adela grinned. ‘Thanks and see you later.’
Adela ignored the envelope on the table and went straight into the dining room to pour herself a gin and lime. A creditors’ letter could wait. She was already taking a large gulp by the time Sam followed her into the room. He held out the letter, a strange look on his face.
‘It’s addressed to you,’ he said.
‘Well, it would be, wouldn’t it? I’m dealing with all of Herbert’s admin.’
‘It’s to Adela Robson, not Jackman,’ he said.
Adela’s heart missed a beat. ‘Is it . . . ? Do you think it’s from . . . ?’
‘Open it and see,’ said Sam. He looked as tense as she felt.
She put down her glass and held out her hand. With shaking fingers, she tore open the envelope. The typed address at the top was different from the one she had written to. The missionary society had moved to London.
Dear Miss Robson
I apologise for not replying sooner but your letter has only just been forwarded from Newcastle by the General Post Office.
I regret that we are unable to help you. We are a small adoption society and all our records from before 1942 were destroyed in an air raid on th
e city of Newcastle. Even if they had survived, we would not be at liberty to share our documents with you (as you no doubt realised when you signed over your child into our care).
I can, however, assure you that your son will have gone to a loving Christian home, with all the benefits of a stable, moral upbringing, and will be learning to walk in the way of Jesus Christ.
May the Lord bless you.
Yours sincerely
Rev A. J. Stevens
Adela felt numb as she re-read the letter, searching for any tiny clue that would give her hope that she could find her son. But there was none. Bile rose in her throat.
‘Adela,’ Sam said with an anxious expression, ‘what does it say?’
She held it out to him, tears making her vision blur. She couldn’t speak. She stood shaking while Sam scrutinised the letter with a frown of concentration. He looked up. His hazel-brown eyes were filled with pity. He opened his arms. ‘Come here,’ he said.
Adela stumbled into his hold and felt his strong arms bind tightly around her. She buried her face in his shoulder and wept. Sam stroked her hair and murmured, ‘I’m sorry, my darling.’
They stood clinging to each other for long minutes. Adela didn’t want to break away or think about what came next. She was submerged in a wave of loss and longing for John Wesley. How could she have ever given him up? The letter had made her see the brutal truth: she had no right to her own child. Worse still, now that the records of his adoption had been destroyed in the War, she would never be able to find out what had happened to him. The thought was unbearable. If Sam had not been holding her, she would have collapsed to the floor.
He let her sob in his arms until she was exhausted.
‘Whatever’s the matter?’
They were startled by Josey, dressed in an old red kimono, appearing in the doorway. Sam, keeping an arm about Adela, handed her the letter. Josey read it and came quickly to Adela’s side.
‘My poor sweetie,’ she crooned, putting her arms about her.
Adela moved out of Sam’s hold and clung to her old friend and confidante.
‘I can’t bear it!’ Adela cried.
‘You have to, dear girl,’ said Josey fatalistically. ‘There was only a very slim chance you were ever going to find him.’
The Secrets of the Tea Garden Page 18