The Secrets of the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Libby was quick to agree. They rattled out of the compound, loaded up with rice, blankets and tarpaulin. They chatted generally about the charity work and Ghulam told her more about the other volunteers. Sanjeev was an old comrade from the Communist Party who had switched allegiance to the Congress Party during the War.

  ‘He’s one of the few from the old days who didn’t turn his back on me for supporting the anti-fascist war effort,’ said Ghulam.

  Despite his sardonic smile, Libby saw the pain in his eyes when he glanced at her.

  ‘I like Sanjeev,’ said Libby, touching his arm, ‘he’s so optimistic.’

  Briefly, Ghulam covered her hand with his own and her pulse began to race. She wanted to ask him about that other former comrade – the woman who had been special to him – who had hurt him with her accusations of treachery. Was he still in love with her? Or in touch with her? But they were soon at the riverside and pulling up near an overcrowded ghat.

  All afternoon, they helped hand out rations and guide people to shore from small, crammed country boats. The river was a swollen, sluggish brown. Libby knew from Ghulam that it was particularly hazardous for Bengalis arriving by boat as so few of them knew how to swim.

  By late afternoon, the rain was starting again and people sought what shelter they could under rude tents of tarpaulin and bamboo.

  The sky was leaden and darkness was falling quickly.

  ‘We need to get back up the road before nightfall,’ said Ghulam. ‘It’s not safe to stay longer.’

  Just as they were making for the truck, they heard a scream from the water’s edge. Libby spun round. It seemed to be coming from a boat bobbing low in the water close to the bank. Then in the twilight she saw a woman scrabbling along a plank of bamboo that linked the boat to the land. She was wailing in distress. At once, Libby doubled back. She slithered in the mud towards the woman, holding out her hand, thinking she was too terrified to climb ashore from the boat.

  But the woman resisted, screaming and pointing at the dark water below. Then Libby saw it: a child’s head bobbing in the flooded reeds. An instant later it was submerged. Pausing only to kick off her shoes, Libby waded into the brackish water and struck out for where she had seen the child disappear.

  The water swirled about her, ripping her away from the bank. Suddenly she caught sight of the child’s thrashing arms and long hair: a small girl. Libby swam towards the drowning infant and – just as the girl disappeared again – grabbed at her hair. Libby pulled her into her hold; the girl spluttered and choked. With forceful kicks, Libby kept their heads above water, as she attempted to swim back to shore. But they had already been carried downstream out of view of the mother on the plank. In the weak light and the rain, Libby was disorientated. There seemed to be a myriad of creeks and waterways, while a strong undercurrent tried to suck them away into midstream.

  She stemmed the panic that rose in her throat. Anchoring the distraught, struggling girl to her body with one arm, Libby struck out with the other. She could hear shouts from the bank and thrashed towards the voices. Sudden darkness enveloped her like a light being switched off. All at once, she grabbed a handful of reeds and knew she must be near land. But when she tried to stand, she sank into mud and tendrils of swampy vegetation wrapped around her legs.

  ‘Help!’ she cried out. ‘Please help me!’

  Pain shot through her arms at the strain of holding on to the girl and trying not to go under. Her mouth filled with putrid water. She gagged and coughed. She was going to die. She couldn’t hold on much longer. Her futile attempt to save the unknown girl was going to end in death for them both. For an instant, Libby thought of her parents being reunited in Newcastle and how she wished she could be with them. And then she was thinking of Ghulam and how much she regretted that she would never get a chance to be with him.

  ‘Libby?’ a man bellowed through the drumming rain. ‘Libby!’

  Libby was galvanised by the voice – Ghulam’s precious voice. She was damn well not going to die in a mango swamp!

  ‘Here!’ she called out breathlessly. ‘Over here.’

  With the last of her waning strength, she struggled to rid herself of the tangle of weeds. She felt her legs break free. She kicked for the bank. At that moment, a flaming torch illuminated the undergrowth overhead and she saw a host of anxious faces peering down. People shouted encouragement as arms stretched out towards her.

  ‘Take . . . the . . . girl,’ Libby panted.

  The child was plucked to safety. Libby heard a coughing of water and a querulous wail. The girl was still alive.

  Moments later, strong arms were reaching down and pulling her out of the river.

  ‘My God, Libby,’ Ghulam said, gripping her. ‘I thought I’d lost you . . .’

  Libby was too exhausted to stand; her legs were like jelly. She could hardly breathe. But Ghulam held on to her, clutching her to him in relief. They stood clasping each other in the pounding rain as mud splattered their legs. Libby didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was alive and Ghulam was holding her as if he would never let her go.

  Then, people were pressing around them. The woman who had screamed for her child now came with a man who carried the girl wrapped in a blanket. They began gabbling at Libby. The woman held out a brass bangle of turquoise stones.

  ‘They’re thanking you for saving their daughter,’ said Ghulam, still with an arm about her. ‘They want you to have this gift.’

  Libby shook her head. She hardly had the strength to speak. ‘No . . . I can’t . . . girl should keep it . . .’

  When Ghulam explained Libby’s words, they grew agitated.

  Ghulam said to Libby. ‘You should accept it. Nothing is more important than a child’s life.’

  Libby felt her eyes sting with tears as she took the brass bangle, nodding her thanks while she still clung on to Ghulam. The people were trying to lead Libby to a fireside and give her their rice but Ghulam said something to them and steered her away towards the truck. There he wrapped a blanket around her sodden body. He was as wet as she was but she was shaking uncontrollably with a mix of euphoria and shock. It could only have been minutes since their first attempt to leave but Libby felt it had been an age. She was utterly drained.

  As the lorry swayed along the dark road, she was lulled into a half-sleep, her head nodding against Ghulam’s shoulder. They hardly spoke. Libby dozed off. She was vaguely aware of them stopping close to the derelict mansion and two of the helpers jumping down from the truck but when she tried to stir herself, Ghulam told her to rest. When she next awoke, she realised they were on the outskirts of Calcutta again.

  ‘Aren’t we going back to the centre?’ she asked groggily.

  Ghulam shook his head. ‘The others will explain what’s happened. I’m not going to be responsible for you catching your death sleeping on the floor of a leaky room. Fatima can lend you some dry clothes. You can stay with us tonight.’ He glanced at her. ‘If that’s okay with you?’

  Libby smiled. ‘Of course it is. Thank you.’

  ‘Did you leave anything behind?’ he asked.

  ‘Just a knapsack with a change of clothes,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll get Sanjeev to bring it over,’ said Ghulam.

  ‘No need,’ said Libby. ‘I’ll get it when I go back to help again.’

  He gave her a look of disbelief. ‘You won’t be going back.’

  ‘Of course I’ll go back,’ she insisted, though she felt weak at the thought.

  ‘Libby,’ he protested, ‘you nearly drowned.’

  ‘I don’t intend jumping into the river again in a hurry,’ she said, ‘but I still want to help out.’

  He let go an impatient sigh. ‘Why does that not surprise me?’

  He reached out and pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear. ‘Oh, Libby, I should never have taken you . . .’

  ‘It was my choice,’ she said with a wan smile, ‘and I’d do it again if I had to.’

  It took all Libb
y’s efforts to climb the stairs of Amelia Buildings to the fourth floor. She felt unwell; she was breathless and ached all over. Fatima was full of concern and fussed around Libby, scolding her for being so impetuous and Ghulam for letting her take such risks.

  ‘It’s not Ghulam’s fault,’ said Libby, ‘it was just a split-second decision.’

  ‘My brother should never have taken you down to the ghat in the first place,’ Fatima chided, but Libby could see the admiration in her eyes.

  Even though the air was oppressively warm, she couldn’t stop shivering. None of Fatima’s clothing was big enough for Libby so she resorted to putting on a cotton shirt of Ghulam’s and drawstring trousers that were too long and needed rolling up at the ankle. They were loose, comfortable and fresh-smelling and Libby was comforted by the feel of them against her skin. Fatima wrapped her in a soft woollen shawl.

  They ate a supper of curried mutton and potatoes. Ghulam and Fatima talked about the growing migration crisis and the rumour that Gandhi might once more be coming to the city to calm tensions in the lead-up to Independence Day. Libby hardly had the strength to eat and struggled to stay awake, even though she wanted to know more about this talk of Gandhi. She felt utterly spent.

  ‘Sorry, Libby,’ Fatima said, catching her yawning, ‘you must go to bed. You can take mine and I’ll sleep on a bedroll.’

  ‘No,’ said Ghulam. ‘There’s no need for that. Libby will have my room and I’ll sleep here – or on the roof.’

  Fatima frowned. ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Libby should have her own room tonight after what she’s been through,’ said Ghulam firmly.

  ‘Sorry, of course she must,’ said Fatima.

  ‘Thank you,’ Libby said. ‘You’ve both been so kind.’

  Libby could hardly believe she was lying in Ghulam’s bed; it smelt of his musky soap. The room was small but high-ceilinged and equipped only with a narrow iron-framed bed, a wooden chair, a bedside table and a cupboard for clothes. Her head swam. Despite the room being warm, she felt chilled in the eddying breeze from the un-shuttered window. Libby wrapped herself in Fatima’s shawl and tried to get warm.

  Sleep wouldn’t come. The hours dragged. She wanted nothing more than to have Ghulam wrap his arms around her and keep her safe. Every time she closed her eyes she was back in the dark, swirling water struggling for breath. The taste of the rank water lingered in her mouth. Her pulse raced to think how close she had come to drowning. If Ghulam hadn’t hauled her from the water . . .

  Libby clenched her teeth, biting back the panic rising in her throat. She was going to be sick. She scrambled out of bed and dashed for the door. In the dark corridor she stumbled towards the water closet, a hand clamped over her mouth. She reached it just in time and vomited into the thunderbox. Libby was sick until her stomach felt hollow and her throat raw. Then she crouched on the floor and let the tears come. She tried to stifle her sobs but relief came with weeping. She was alive – even though she felt terrible.

  Emerging from the closet, weak-kneed and shivering, Libby gasped to see a dark figure looming out of the shadows.

  ‘Libby,’ Ghulam whispered, ‘are you all right?’

  ‘I’ve just been sick,’ she whispered back. ‘I feel a bit wobbly.’

  He was bare-chested and his hair tousled. He reached out and took her by the hand, guiding her along to the sitting room. The room was bathed in lamplight. A rumpled bedroll on the floor and a discarded book showed that Ghulam had not been sleeping either.

  He sat her on one of the comfortable chairs and fetched a glass of soda water along with a dish of aniseed and mint to freshen her mouth. She drank the soda with shaking hands and chewed on the aniseed.

  ‘I can’t stop thinking . . .’ she said, her eyes flooding with fresh tears.

  ‘You’ve had a shock,’ said Ghulam, covering her hand with his. It felt warm and comforting. ‘But you saved a girl’s life. Libby, that was one of the most foolhardy acts I’ve ever seen – and one of the bravest. You are a remarkable woman.’

  ‘There’s nothing remarkable about me,’ Libby said, emotion catching in her throat at his kindness.

  ‘To me there is.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘You care so much about everyone and everything – nothing daunts you – and when I’m with you anything seems possible. You don’t let prejudice stand in your way. You went into the river after that unknown girl as if she was your own sister. That is remarkable, Libby.’ His vivid eyes were full of admiration. ‘And you are beautiful too.’

  His words made Libby dissolve into tears. She reached out for him.

  Libby gulped. ‘I was so afraid I would never see you again.’

  In an instant, Ghulam was pulling her to her feet and wrapping his arms around her, caressing her hair and murmuring reassurance.

  ‘You’re safe now. I won’t let any harm come to you.’

  Libby cried into his shoulder. She was acutely aware of being pressed to his naked chest, as covered in dark hairs as she had imagined. At that moment she didn’t care about the future. All that mattered was being in Ghulam’s arms and knowing that he had feelings for her. They stood clinging to each other while her crying subsided. Then Libby looked into his compassionate face.

  ‘I don’t want to be alone tonight,’ she whispered.

  Ghulam fixed her with a questioning look. She could feel the sudden tension in his body. Her heart began to thud.

  ‘What do you want, Libby?’ he asked.

  ‘I want to be with you,’ she said softly, ‘to lie with you.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, his voice gravelly.

  ‘Yes, but only if you want it too.’

  ‘Oh, Libby, you must know I do. But you are going home soon. There’s no future for us. And if your own people ever found out, you’d be cast out—’

  ‘I don’t care what other people think of me,’ she interrupted. ‘You must know that by now. And I know the future is uncertain for all of us. I’m not expecting you to offer me anything more than this moment together. But tonight I want to feel alive – I want to be with you, Ghulam, even if it’s only this once. Tomorrow can take care of itself.’

  He squeezed her to him and she could feel the drum of his quickening heartbeat. He looked deep into her eyes and she could see the passion in his.

  ‘And I want to be with you, Libby,’ he said, bending to brush her lips with a kiss.

  Libby felt desire flare in her belly. ‘Then take me to your bed,’ she said, ‘and make love to me.’

  They said nothing further as they padded back to Ghulam’s small bedroom and closed the door. Ghulam wedged a chair against it to stop Fatima or Sitara coming in unexpectedly. It was almost pitch black in the room at first but as their eyes adjusted they could see each other outlined in weak light from the mosquito-netted window.

  They quickly cast off their clothes and stood naked together. Libby ran her fingers across his broad chest, feeling the hairs. She kissed and nibbled his shoulder.

  ‘I’ve dreamt of touching you for so long,’ she whispered. ‘Kissing you—’

  She felt his arousal at once. Ghulam pulled her closer, his mouth seeking hers. He enveloped her lips in a hungry embrace. His hands caressed her body as he murmured his passion for her. Then they were tumbling towards the bed in their haste to make love.

  He covered her body in kisses, making her arch and squirm in ecstasy. She clung to him and tried not to cry out, though she wanted to scream out her love for this man.

  They writhed on the bed with suppressed sighs and groans, trying not to be heard. Ghulam’s lovemaking was both tender and vigorous, and Libby found herself weeping with emotion.

  Afterwards, they lay entwined on the narrow bed, their heartbeats still rapid. Ghulam twisted a strand of her hair in his fingers and kissed her gently on the lips.

  ‘You are truly remarkable,’ he said.

  ‘And you are even more remarkable in bed than I ever hoped you’d be,’ she replied, with a dreamy smi
le.

  He gave a soft exclamation. ‘You make it sound like you’ve been expecting us to fall into bed together.’

  ‘Hoping rather than expecting,’ she said, tracing a finger across his stubbled chin and pushing back the lick of hair from his eyes – something she’d been longing to do for months.

  ‘I’ve been hoping for it too,’ Ghulam admitted, kissing her nose.

  ‘I’ve daydreamed of this since we sat and ate cake on that day you took me out for lunch,’ said Libby. ‘Food can be such an aphrodisiac.’

  He chuckled quietly. ‘For me it was seeing you standing in that green satin dress with your hair loose, looking like a starlet.’

  ‘Really? At the party?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I tried to deny it to myself but I couldn’t get you out of my thoughts after that.’

  Libby was astonished. She hadn’t been at all sure of Ghulam’s feelings for her at that point, only that her own had been racing out of control. ‘I’m nothing like a starlet though,’ she said. ‘Not like my pretty cousin Adela.’

  ‘You are more desirable than a film star,’ he said, pushing hair away from her face and kissing her throat. ‘You are like one of those voluptuous erotic statues on Hindu temples – a goddess.’

  Libby stifled a laugh.

  ‘It’s true.’ He smiled and began to stroke her body again.

  Instantly, Libby went weak with longing. She closed her eyes and gave herself up to Ghulam’s lovemaking once more.

  CHAPTER 28

  Just before dawn Ghulam rose from the bed, kissed a sleepy Libby on the lips and crept back to the sitting room. She fell asleep again, sated by their energetic sex and no longer afraid. When she awoke, the sun was high and the street below hummed with noise. It took a few moments to remember where she was and a hot wave of pleasure washed through her at the memory of what she and Ghulam had done in the night.

  She got up, feeling light-headed, and pulled on the clothes she had discarded in her haste to make love a few hours previously. Her stomach felt hollow; her appetite had returned.