The Secrets of the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  She paced anxiously around the café, checking the clock, unable to sit still.

  ‘What if he doesn’t come?’ she fretted.

  ‘He’ll come,’ said Lexy. ‘Sit down before you wear out the floor.’

  But Adela couldn’t settle. Only when Doreen dashed in from the kitchen to say he was coming across the backyard did Adela go behind the screen.

  She heard Sam talking to Doreen in the kitchen, a note of surprise in his voice.

  ‘Just go in the café, Mr Jackman,’ Doreen urged.

  The door swung open. Adela could see Sam in profile from her half-hidden position behind the plants. Heart hammering, she wound up the gramophone and lifted the needle on to the record. The jaunty song that had been the Toodle Pips’ signature tune, ‘Don’t Sit Under the Apple Tree’, began to play.

  ‘Here you are, bonny lad,’ said Lexy, rising stiffly to her feet and pointing to a jug of homemade juice. ‘Help yourself to Nimby-pimby or whatever daft name you give lemonade in India.’

  ‘Nimbu pani,’ said Adela, stepping out from the corner with a nervous smile.

  Sam stared at her, his mouth dropping open in astonishment. He was dressed in an old cricket shirt and grey flannel trousers with no jacket. His head was bare of his usual hat and his hair looked unkempt. With a pang of guilt, she noticed how gaunt his face was, his hazel eyes smudged with fatigue.

  ‘I-I didn’t realise . . .’ he began but his words petered out.

  As Lexy hobbled from the room, Adela went forward and poured them both glasses of the iced drink. She handed him one with a shaking hand.

  ‘I want to say sorry, Sam,’ she said quickly. ‘Truly sorry for the way I’ve been treating you – for making you so unhappy.’

  ‘Adela—’

  ‘Don’t say anything yet,’ she stopped him. ‘I know you’re planning to go abroad without me. I don’t blame you. But I want us to try and patch things up – have a meal together – and then talk things over. Please, can we do that?’

  Sam nodded. She could see the tension in his jaw and the muscle working in his cheek as he struggled with some emotion. Was it anger or regret that it was all too late? She gulped down her drink and led him over to the table set for dinner. As Doreen emerged with a tray laden with plates of curry and potato, Adela put on another record: ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’.

  ‘We’ll be off now,’ Doreen said with a nod to Sam and a swift encouraging smile to Adela.

  ‘Thank you,’ Adela replied with a grateful look.

  Adela sat down at the table opposite Sam. Her stomach was so churned up she didn’t think she could eat a mouthful.

  ‘Do you remember when I sang this at the army base in Imphal?’ she asked.

  He gave her a wistful smile. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘And then I sang “You’ll Never Know How Much I Love You”?’

  He nodded, holding her look. He hadn’t touched his food either.

  ‘I sang that especially for you, Sam,’ she said. ‘I thought I might never get the chance to say how I felt about you, so I sang it in that song.’

  Sam gave her a baffled look. ‘Adela, tell me what’s going on here. Are you buttering me up for something? Are you about to tell me you’ve found your son?’

  Adela winced. How could he distrust her so much?

  ‘No, Sam,’ she said, ‘I’m trying to show you that I still love you. You’re right – I’ve been obsessed with finding John Wesley to the exclusion of all else – I’ve pushed you away and hurt you when I never meant to. I have found out more about my baby but it took Tilly and Josey to make me see sense. Sam, it’s you I want to be with – you’re the person I love most in the world – and I can’t bear the thought that you might leave me . . .’

  Adela’s words caught in her throat. Tears flooded her eyes. She looked away, overcome.

  In an instant, Sam was out of his chair and raising her to her feet. He held her at arm’s length.

  ‘Do you mean that?’ he demanded, searching her face.

  ‘Yes,’ she croaked, ‘every word.’

  Sam pulled her into his arms and squeezed her tight. ‘Oh, my darling, I thought I’d never hear you say those words again. I thought you didn’t love me – that I was only a poor second best to Sanjay . . .’

  Adela shuddered. ‘Please don’t say that. That man doesn’t even come close to you in my estimation – I have no affection for him even though he fathered my son.’

  Sam buried his face in her hair with a sigh of relief. ‘I’m sorry for doubting you.’

  ‘I’m sorry I gave you cause to doubt me,’ said Adela. They looked at each other for a long silent moment and then she leant up and kissed him tenderly on the lips.

  He gazed into her eyes. ‘I never wanted to leave you, Adela, but I thought I was making you unhappy – I was at a loss as to how to make things better.’

  ‘It was a mistake making you come back to England,’ she said, ‘at least for the reason I did. I felt terrible when your mother told me you’d gone to Edinburgh to fix up a job as a tea planter in Ceylon. It made me realise just how far apart we had become.’

  Sam stroked her hair. ‘I wasn’t quite honest with my mother,’ he admitted. ‘I did have an appointment to meet a tea planter but there was another reason I went to Edinburgh.’

  ‘Oh?’ Adela felt calmed by his touch on her hair and the tenderness of the gesture.

  ‘I wanted to see where my blood family came from – the Logans and Andersons. Sophie had told me with such affection about her time with Aunt Amy Anderson, I needed to see the city for myself. I went to Clerk Street and saw the flat where Sophie grew up, in sight of Salisbury Crags. I met Sophie’s old employer, Miss Gorrie, who said how fond she was of my sister and told me anecdotes about their time together.’

  Sam gave Adela a sheepish look. ‘I didn’t want Mam to know that was my main reason for visiting Edinburgh, even though she would probably understand.’

  ‘I’m sure she would,’ Adela replied. ‘All she wants is for you to be happy – even if it means you leaving her and going abroad again.’

  ‘She said that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Adela. She touched his face. ‘Is that what you want to do, Sam?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I realise it will take time to feel I belong here – but even going to Edinburgh where my real family are from, I didn’t feel it was home. But I’ll make Britain home if that’s where you want to be. It depends on you and whether you want to stay and carry on looking for . . .’

  ‘No,’ Adela said, steeling herself. ‘I’m not going to keep searching for John Wesley. It was a selfish dream. Tilly said it was making me ill and she was right. I just have to come to terms with never knowing what’s happened to him – and hope that good people are taking care of him. I have to accept I will never be his mother . . .’ Her voice faltered.

  ‘Darling!’ Sam clutched her to him.

  Adela swallowed hard. ‘But,’ she said, ‘I want to be a mother to a child of our own. I want us to try for a baby.’

  He cupped her face in his hands, scrutinising her.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, on the verge of tears again. ‘If you still do.’

  ‘Of course I do!’ Sam cried. He leant and kissed her firmly on the mouth.

  Adela felt the ball of tension inside ease a little. A flood of affection washed through her. She held on to him and kissed him back.

  ‘What do we do now?’ he asked.

  Adela felt her pulse begin to quicken at the look he was giving her. For the first time in weeks, she felt a stirring of desire.

  ‘We can eat the curry before it gets cold,’ she said softly, ‘or we can go upstairs.’

  He gave her a questioning look.

  ‘Lexy and Doreen have leant me the flat for the night,’ she explained.

  His eyes widened. ‘They have?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Adela with a smile. ‘So I can seduce you.’


  Sam laughed in delighted surprise. ‘I can eat curry cold if you can.’

  Hand in hand, they left the tearoom and headed upstairs to the empty flat.

  Hours later, after bouts of love-making and lying in each other’s arms talking, Sam and Adela retrieved the plates of cold curry and carried them upstairs. Adela, dressed in an old dressing gown of Lexy’s, reheated the food while Sam stood close, fondling her hair.

  ‘You look very sexy in that,’ he murmured, stooping to kiss the back of her neck.

  Adela laughed. ‘I wouldn’t have bothered with the expensive red dress if I’d known that brown worsted drove you wild.’

  Sam slid his arms around her waist and pulled her to him. ‘I find you irresistible whatever you wear.’

  She swivelled around and kissed him. ‘Oh, Sam, I’ve missed our silly conversations. I love you so much.’

  He answered her with another long lingering kiss.

  They wolfed down the curry. Adela realised she hadn’t eaten a proper meal for days. It left her feeling warm and contented – and stirred her desire again.

  Sam must have been feeling the same because, as she stood to clear the plates, he stopped her, saying, ‘Let’s leave those till the morning.’

  He pulled at the cord of her dressing gown so that the garment fell open. He pushed it from her shoulders and, scooping her up in his arms, carried her back to bed.

  At some point during the night they fell asleep. When Adela woke, she saw Sam propped on an elbow gazing at her in the dawn light. They smiled at each other and Adela was filled with tenderness for Sam as well as relief that they still loved one another.

  He brought them cups of tea and lit cigarettes. Adela leant against his chest and they talked again about their future and the possibility of leaving Newcastle.

  ‘I’ve been thinking of writing to my cousin Jane Brewis to see if she might be interested in taking over the café again,’ she said.

  ‘Your Aunt Olive’s daughter?’ Sam said. ‘The one who used to run the café before the War?’

  ‘Yes. She was very good at it but she was called up and joined the ATS – ended up in Yorkshire and married a man she met when driving for the catering corps.’

  ‘But isn’t she settled where she is?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ said Adela. ‘That’s why I thought I’d write. We used to correspond with each other a lot but got out of the habit. I know she’s always been a home-bird. Aunt Olive relied on her greatly and I know she’d love it if Jane came back to the area.’ Adela looked at Sam. ‘If you’re really serious about wanting to go back to India, then this would be a way of keeping the café running but handing over responsibility.’

  ‘Is that what you want?’ Sam pressed.

  ‘I find the café a real chore,’ Adela admitted. ‘And I do miss India. But would it be foolhardy going back when most of the British are leaving?’

  ‘Your mother and brother are there,’ said Sam, ‘and so are Sophie and Rafi. James and Libby may stay on too – and your cousin George. There will always be opportunities for those who are committed to make a go of it.’

  Adela felt excitement quicken inside. ‘It would be wonderful to be at Belgooree again – I’ve missed it far more than I thought I would.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want your mother to feel she had to give me a job though,’ Sam said cautiously. ‘We might have to go elsewhere.’

  ‘Would you want to carry on with your photography?’ Adela asked.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Sam said. ‘I do enjoy being behind a camera – but I also like working outdoors.’ He stroked her hair. ‘But it’s your choice too. I want you to have the chance to enjoy the things you like. Since coming back to Newcastle you’ve done none of those things – acting and singing and having fun.’

  Adela laced her fingers in his. ‘That’s been my fault for becoming so fixated on finding . . .’ She swallowed, unable to mention her son again. ‘But I can find society wherever we go. I just want you to be happy and us to be together.’

  He squeezed her hand and kissed the top of her head. ‘I want the same for you.’

  Adela felt a fresh surge of affection for her easy-going husband.

  ‘And what about your mother?’ she asked.

  ‘She’ll understand,’ Sam said. ‘My future is with you, my darling.’

  Adela’s heart lifted with optimism. ‘Then why don’t we start at Belgooree?’ she suggested. ‘You could learn more about tea – my mother could teach you so much – if you really are interested in that. Or if you decide you’d rather carry on with your photography, we could go back to Calcutta. We have friends and contacts there. Perhaps Ghulam Khan could give you an introduction to his newspaper?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Sam, ‘I like both those ideas.’

  Adela saw the enthusiasm in his eyes. ‘Good.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll write to Jane today. But I’ll not mention anything to Mother until things are more certain.’

  Sam nodded. ‘What about Tilly and the others here?’

  Adela grimaced. ‘It’s going to be hard telling Tilly.’

  ‘She’ll not want you to go,’ said Sam.

  ‘No, so we won’t say anything yet,’ said Adela. ‘Except to tell her that we’ve kissed and made up. She’ll be happy about that.’

  Sam grinned. ‘There’s no hurry to rush back to South Gosforth just yet. How about a bit more kissing and making up?’

  Adela smiled, pushing him back on to the pillow and kissing him eagerly on the mouth in answer.

  It was lunchtime before Adela and Sam returned to Tilly’s, hand in hand and grinning foolishly at each other. Adela felt heady from their recent intimacy and Sam’s demonstrative love for her. She hated to think how close she had come to losing him. Tilly had been right; it was when life became tough that true love was put to the test.

  She had blamed Sam for not understanding her huge need to find her son but it was she who hadn’t been honest with him about her deep sense of guilt and desperate hope. He had tried to support her but she had kept him at a distance, thinking only of her own feelings. From now on, she would not shut Sam out from anything. They had agreed they would have no secrets from each other.

  ‘Hello! Koi hai! ’ Adela called as they entered the house. ‘We’re back! Anyone at home?’

  After a pause, Josey shouted. ‘In the sitting room. Sam with you?’

  Adela and Sam exchanged bashful looks.

  ‘Yes,’ shouted Sam, taking Adela firmly by the hand and pulling her into the sitting room.

  Tilly, Josey and Mungo were sitting down, their faces turned expectantly towards the door. Adela thought at once that Tilly had been crying; her eyes were red-rimmed and glistening. Josey looked flushed from several sherries.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Adela asked in alarm.

  ‘Perfectly,’ Tilly said with a teary smile. ‘I’m so glad to see you both together again.’

  ‘I hope that means you’ll be moving back in?’ said Josey with a wink.

  ‘Yes, for the time being,’ said Sam. ‘Until Adela and I find our own place.’

  ‘Great,’ Mungo said with a grin, ‘someone to talk to about cricket for once and not theatre costumes or outings with the Mothers’ Union.’

  ‘You know I can talk just as knowledgeably about cricket as Sam can,’ Josey said with her deep-throated laugh. ‘Can I pour you lovebirds a sherry?’

  Adela felt a familiar urge for a drink. She remembered how Sam thought she was drinking too much.

  ‘No, thanks,’ she said, ‘I’ll go and make some tea.’

  ‘I’ll come and help you,’ said Sam, squeezing her hand.

  ‘Before you do,’ said Mungo, springing to his feet, ‘we’ve got some news to tell you from India. Haven’t we, Ma?’

  ‘India?’ said Adela, feeling sudden alarm as Tilly pressed a handkerchief to her mouth. ‘Not bad news, I hope?’

  ‘No,’ said Mungo, ‘it’s great news. Though Ma is being all silly and emotion
al about it, aren’t you?’ He leant towards Tilly and gave her shoulder a pat.

  Adela looked at them expectantly. Tilly looked suddenly too overcome to speak.

  Josey said, ‘A telegram came late yesterday – from James.’

  Mungo smiled broadly. ‘Dad’s coming back. He’s booked a flight. He’ll be home by the end of the month.’

  ‘That’s wonderful!’ cried Adela. ‘Home for a visit or for good?’

  ‘For good,’ said Mungo.

  ‘I’m so pleased,’ said Adela.

  ‘So am I,’ said Sam.

  Tilly looked up and gave them a teary smile. ‘Yes, it’s marvellous news.’ Then her face crumpled and Tilly dissolved into tears.

  ‘Oh, Ma!’ Mungo chided in amusement. ‘You’re so sentimental.’

  Adela and Sam exchanged glances. Adela knew her husband was wondering the same thing; was Tilly weeping for joy or out of unhappiness that her long-absent husband was returning to her after all these years apart?

  CHAPTER 25

  Belgooree, late July

  A week after the emotional goodbye at Cheviot View, James’s flight home was arranged. In six days’ time he would fly from Calcutta. Libby was to accompany him to the city but was adamantly refusing to return back to Newcastle so soon. Her plan was to stay with the Watsons again but a letter from her Uncle Johnny explained that they were in the process of packing up and returning home too. They could put her up for a few days but would be gone before the fifteenth of August.

  ‘I can’t believe they’re leaving India!’ Libby cried. ‘What about poor old Colonel Swinson? He’s never known anywhere else.’

  ‘Well, at least Tilly will be pleased to have her brother back,’ said Clarrie. ‘Where are they going to live?’

  ‘Uncle Johnny’s buying a house in St Abbs,’ Libby replied. ‘So he’ll be near Auntie Mona in Dunbar – as well as Mother in Newcastle.’

  ‘Good fishing in the Scottish Borders,’ James said in approval. ‘I must say I’m glad to hear Johnny will be around – he’s a very decent chap.’

  Libby found her father’s preparations for leaving – and now the news about the Watsons – unsettling. Perhaps Clarrie sensed it, for on the day before departure, she encouraged Libby and Sophie to go riding to the waterfall and take a picnic. The jungle was dense and the waterfall thundering from the recent rain. They picnicked on a tarpaulin.