‘Okay, I agree,’ James said, stifling a sigh. ‘I’ll view the house in Jesmond.’
‘Good,’ said Tilly, beaming. She crossed the bedroom swiftly. ‘Breakfast then,’ she said as she disappeared into the corridor.
James surveyed the room. His spirits plummeted at the sight of the twin beds. Tilly refused to sleep in a double bed, saying she had got used to a single bed and remembered how James was far too restless and always pulled off the covers. Hers was neatly made; his was a crumple of sheets and blankets. They had had sex once since his return but it had not been a success. He’d climbed into her bed but she’d lain tense and with her face turned away while he’d tried to arouse her. Ten minutes later he was back in the other bed, staring at the ceiling, engulfed by loneliness.
Neither of them had talked about the unsatisfactory copulation and after that Tilly was always in bed first with her bedside lamp switched off pretending to be asleep. Would his wife agree to buy a double bed in their next house? Could he demand such a concession from her? If only they could lie next to each other and fall asleep in each other’s arms like they used to, then surely they could reignite a healthy sex life.
James yearned for physical contact but Tilly shied away from it. She didn’t even appear to want to be kissed by him. Whenever he touched her, she froze or slipped past him saying she had a dozen things to do. The most he got from her was a peck on the cheek – he suspected more for appearance’s sake in front of the others – and a distracted wave as she hurried away from him.
James closed his eyes in despair. He clung on to the one positive element of their lonely sleeping arrangements: he’d hardly had any bad dreams since his return. He was sure Tilly would have complained at once if he’d woken her up with his shouts and babbling.
James pulled back his shoulders and raised his chin. He’d go riding today, come what may. That was the only way he could bear this strange dislocated life he found himself living.
CHAPTER 32
Belgooree, mid-August
On the fifteenth of August, Clarrie gave the servants the day off. Libby and Harry decorated the veranda with streamers in the colours of the new India flag, while Sophie helped Clarrie cook a lunch of omelettes, jacket potatoes, salads and curried lentils. This was followed by rice pudding, fruit salad and a ginger cake that Mohammed Din had ordered to be made the day before.
Clarrie’s old friend Dr Hemmings – who had delivered both her children – came from Shillong to share the meal and a celebratory bottle of champagne that had languished in Wesley’s wine cellar for over a decade. The tea garden managers, Banu and Daleep, were invited along with their extended families. Harry was happy that Manzur had decided to stay for the holiday and not journey to Bengal to spend it with his parents.
In the afternoon, Sophie and Harry organised a tennis tournament on the newly rolled lawn, with Libby and Manzur helping some of the local children to wield tennis rackets and hit balls over the makeshift net. Nitin and his brothers took to the game enthusiastically. Libby was pleased to hear from Nitin that he was enjoying his new position as under-mohurer in the factory office. She had bought spare typewriter ribbon in Calcutta for him.
In the evening, the women of the house, along with Harry and Manzur, went down to the village to watch the celebrations. There had been drumming from early morning and now the lanes were lit with the flares of fireworks and noisy with the sound of firecrackers. A fire-eater was performing on the riverbank and there was much singing, music and merriment.
Clarrie led them to a compound in the village. ‘This is where Ama, my old nurse, used to live – she was Banu’s grandmother and the most important woman in the village in her day. Her daughter Shimti is the headwoman now. I’d like to call on her.’
Libby was fascinated to see inside the compound and the circle of huts that made up the simple homestead. The air was thick with the smoke of cooking fires and the chatter of people who were sitting around eating, drinking and smoking. She was in awe of Clarrie’s ease with the local people and her quick chatter in their language.
Clarrie handed over presents of tobacco and a woollen shawl to the toothless old woman who sat on a mat by the fire. Shimti’s thin arms shimmered with silver bangles which tinkled when she raised her hands in an expressive gesture of thanks.
She commanded that they sit with her and chew paan while some of her great-grandchildren danced in their honour. After a while Libby’s head began to buzz with the music and the narcotic; she felt a sudden euphoria and optimism for the future. This was the first day of a new India and she was there to witness it.
‘I’m so glad I didn’t go home with Dad,’ Libby babbled to Clarrie. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. You are so loved by the people here, Clarrie. I think you are an amazing person and I’m sorry if I was jealous of you before for spending so much time with Dad – I know it wasn’t your fault, it was Dad not wanting to go home. But everything’s going to be all right. Dad and Mother. I’m really looking forward to seeing them – but I wanted to be here for Independence – Dad understood that. This is all so wonderful.’
Libby was baffled as to why she was in tears. ‘I’m happy, really I am. Except I miss Ghulam. That’s the only thing I’m really sad about.’
Libby had only a hazy recollection of Manzur and Harry steering her out of the compound and back up the drive to the bungalow. She thought she probably kissed them and told them that she loved them like brothers. She had a memory of insisting on lying on a veranda rug so she could gaze at the stars. Her head was spinning – and then she remembered nothing more.
Libby woke with a pounding head. She was lying in bed but couldn’t remember how she had got there. She had only the vaguest recollection of how the night had ended. What on earth had old Shimti put in her paan? Or was it the bowl of potent rice beer that she’d been encouraged to drink that had made her so intoxicated?
By the time she emerged, breakfast was already over and only Harry was in the house.
‘Mum’s gone to the factory and Sophie’s out riding with Banu,’ he told her. ‘Would you like to play tennis with me and Manzur? He’s coming round soon.’
Libby pressed fingers to her throbbing forehead. ‘Think I might just sit in the shade for a bit – write some letters.’
‘Got a headache?’ Harry grinned. ‘You were very funny last night, Libby.’
Libby groaned. ‘Was I?’
‘Yes. You were singing at the top of your voice all the way home – silly songs like “Daddy Wouldn’t Buy Me a Bow-Wow”. And you told me I was as handsome as my father and you kissed Manzur on the nose and told him he had perfect ears.’
‘Stop!’ Libby cried. ‘This is too embarrassing. I don’t know how I got so drunk.’
‘It wasn’t the drink,’ said Harry, ‘it was the bhang that Shimti mixes in the paan on special occasions. It’s very strong.’
‘How do you know about such things?’ she asked in surprise.
‘It’s made from ground-up hemp leaves – Nitin told me,’ said Harry nonchalantly, ‘and I’ve seen how merry people get.’
Libby gave a weak laugh. ‘You are having an amazing upbringing, Harry. At your age I was stuck in boarding school trying to earn toffees by doing the other girls’ prep.’
‘I’d rather have toffee than paan any day,’ Harry said with a smile. Then he was swinging down the veranda steps and rushing off with Breckon barking at his heels.
Libby felt a pang of emotion at the sight of her father’s old dog. How was her dad really coping back in Newcastle? She wished he would write and tell her. A letter had come from Tilly but it was full of her usual breezy chatter about the family and her busy life, with hardly a mention of James, except to say that he was spending his time riding with Major Gibson and talking of buying a dog. Neither did it tell her how her brothers were coping with having their absent father back in their lives. Surely they would be happy at that? Perhaps everything was fine and she was worrying unnecessar
ily. She would find out for herself soon enough.
Libby went to fetch paper and a pen; she would write to him anyway. She described the celebrations at Belgooree and her time in Calcutta, mentioning how she had helped out at the refugee centre with the Khans as well as staying with the Dunlops and socialising with Flowers and George. But she didn’t tell him about nearly drowning or the murder outside the Khans’ apartment block.
Libby enclosed the envelope from Flowers containing details about Danny Dunlop.
. . . Please can you see if old Mr Fairfax remembers anything about Mr Dunlop’s family? He’s so keen to find out about them and whether he has relations in Britain. I think he has a dream of settling in Britain – even though Mrs Dunlop is against the idea. I’m not sure what Flowers wants – she keeps her cards close to her chest on personal matters. But I don’t think she wants to leave India either, although she’s not sure what life is going to be like for Anglo-Indians from now on.
Oh, Dad, I’m going to find it so hard to leave this place – not just Belgooree but Assam and Calcutta too. I’ve grown to appreciate India as a grown-up and not just relying on my childhood memories (which I must admit were a little rose-tinted!). I love so much about India and I’ve made some good friends – I will find it all very hard to leave behind. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for you after a lifetime of living here.
But I’m going to be positive. I’m looking forward to being with you and Mother and the boys – all of us together after so long! We’ll be a family again. Have you managed to rent the house on the Willowburn Estate? Can we go out riding together in the early mornings? Just like old times!
Please write soon and tell me all the home news. I’ll probably stay on here another couple of weeks – until Sophie travels to the Punjab (or West Pakistan as I suppose we now call it). Flowers says I can stay with them while I arrange my flight home.
Could I ask a favour? Would you send out a tin of toffee for me to give to a good friend?
Heaps and heaps of love,
Your adoring daughter,
Libby xxx
CHAPTER 33
Newcastle, mid-August
On Friday the fifteenth of August, Adela and Sam returned from the café with half a dozen leftover fairy cakes decorated with yellow, white and green colouring. They found Tilly, James and Mungo finishing afternoon tea in the sitting room. Josey was nowhere to be seen. In the past couple of weeks, Adela had noticed how Tilly’s companion had been keeping out of the way, not wanting to be caught in the middle of Tilly and James’s bickering.
‘Cake!’ Mungo grinned, helping himself to one straight away. ‘What are we celebrating?’
‘It’s India’s Independence Day,’ said Sam, with a look of astonishment. ‘Surely you knew that?’
‘Oh, yes, so it is,’ said Mungo. ‘Should we really be celebrating it?’
‘Libby will be,’ said James.
‘Well, we’re marking the occasion if not exactly celebrating,’ Adela said with a smile.
At this, Tilly got up quickly. ‘I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to get ready for a committee meeting. I’ll see you all at supper.’
As Tilly hurried away, Adela offered James a cake. She thought how haggard he appeared. He was perched awkwardly on a dainty upholstered chair that was too small for his wide frame, looking forlorn.
He took one with a grateful expression. ‘Thank you, Adela. Nice to know someone else has been thinking of India today. I wonder what will be going on at Belgooree.’
Adela heard the longing in his voice and knew, like her, he would rather be there on such a day.
‘If Libby and Sophie are there with Mother,’ said Adela, smiling, ‘then definitely a party.’
Mungo picked a second cake from the plate as he sauntered towards the door. ‘Tell Freda these are very good,’ he said through a mouthful of cake.
‘Where are you going?’ James asked.
‘Tennis club,’ he answered. ‘Doubles match. Don’t include me in supper.’
‘Tell your mother before she goes out,’ James told him.
‘She knows,’ Mungo called over his shoulder and disappeared.
James sighed. ‘I always seem to be the last to know what’s going on around here.’
Adela sat down on the sofa and patted the space next to her for James to join her. ‘Have you been up to Willowburn today?’
‘Yes,’ James said, as he sat beside her, his face brightening. ‘I’ve signed the lease on the house for six months. Will you come up and take a look soon?’
‘Of course,’ said Adela. ‘We’d love that, wouldn’t we, Sam?’
Sam nodded, occupying the chair that Mungo had just left and stretching out his long legs. ‘Do you think we could spend an afternoon riding up there too?’ Sam asked.
‘I’m sure that could be arranged,’ James said with a nod of enthusiasm. ‘You’ll like the Major and his nice young wife – second wife. Gus was widowed young in Burma. New wife’s American. I’ve tried to get Tilly to meet her but I think she’s already decided not to like her just because I do.’
‘Aren’t you being a little unfair?’ said Adela. ‘Tilly’s very broad-minded about people – she’s probably just been too busy.’
‘You’re right,’ said James. ‘I’m just so afraid of putting my foot in it where Tilly’s concerned. I can’t seem to say or do the right thing.’
Adela felt a surge of sympathy for the unhappy man. ‘Just give it time,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to get to know each other all over again.’
‘Yes,’ James said, putting on a brave face. ‘I’m so glad that you and Sam are here – you two know what it’s like trying to adapt. Sometimes I wake up wondering where on earth I am. And I find myself calling out for Breckon. Ridiculous, isn’t it?’
‘Not ridiculous,’ said Sam. ‘You’re bound to miss things about your old life – it would be odd if you didn’t.’
‘Mother says that Harry is missing you,’ said Adela. ‘She lets Breckon sleep in his room because it comforts him.’
James’s eyes shone with sudden emotion. ‘Does it?’
‘Yes.’ Adela smiled. ‘Mother was very grateful for you taking an interest in my brother after Dad died.’
‘He’s a fine boy,’ said James, ‘and a credit to your mother – to both your parents.’ He looked at her with glistening eyes. ‘How is Clarrie? I’ve written to her but heard nothing back since her brief message telling me about Manzur becoming a teacher. Maybe she thinks she shouldn’t . . .’
Adela said gently, ‘She’s well. In her most recent letter, she said she and Sophie were looking forward to Libby joining them.’
‘Good,’ said James, his voice sounding hoarse. ‘I can’t wait to hear all Libby’s news. I hope she’ll be home in time for our September visit to St Abbs to stay with Johnny and Helena.’
‘Yes,’ said Adela, ‘it’ll be good to see her before . . .’ She stopped herself.
‘Before what?’ asked James.
Adela exchanged looks with Sam. She hadn’t meant to let slip their plans; they had agreed not to say anything until everything was certain. They hadn’t wanted to distract James and Tilly from their decisions about their own future, though both were pressing ahead regardless with renting the places they wanted most: James at Willowburn and Tilly in Jesmond. Adela worried about them both – James most of all – but didn’t feel she should intervene. She was hardly in a position to pontificate on marriage, given that she had almost ruined her own. She hoped that Tilly and James would work things out in their own time, like she and Sam had.
James was looking at her in alarm. ‘Tell me what you were going to say. Are you thinking of moving out? I wouldn’t blame you.’
‘Not just moving out, Cousin James,’ said Adela, ‘but moving away.’
He looked at them in confusion. ‘Where to?’
Sam spoke up, seeing Adela’s reticence. ‘We’re planning to go back to India – Belgooree to start with –
then we’ll see what happens.’
‘When?’ James gasped. Adela could hardly bear the shattered look on his face.
‘It all depends when my cousin Jane Brewis – or Latimer as she is now – can take on the café.’
‘You’re giving up Herbert’s?’
‘Yes,’ said Adela, ‘I never wanted to run it long-term. Jane’s keen to come back to Newcastle and her husband supports her. Jane’s father is due to retire and isn’t in the best of health – and she’s worried about her mother sinking back into depression now that Joan and Bonnie have gone to live at Willowburn. My Aunt Olive doted on Bonnie.’
James nodded. ‘She’s an engaging child. I see her at the stables with her new step-father – she’s a chatterbox just like Libby used to be.’
‘I’m glad the girl is taking well to her new life in the country,’ said Adela. ‘We all miss Bonnie at the café – even if we don’t miss Joan quite as much.’ She threw Sam a droll look. ‘Still, I really hope she’s happy at Willowburn.’
‘She seems to be,’ said James. ‘Joan is already good friends with Martha Gibson – they take their children on picnics together – and the Gibson boy is teaching Joan to play croquet.’
‘Joan will love that,’ said Adela with a roll of her eyes. ‘Hobnobbing with the gentry.’
‘Adela,’ said Sam, wagging his finger, ‘don’t be unkind. I bet Joan is lively company for Mrs Gibson.’
‘Yes, she will be,’ Adela conceded.
‘But why go now?’ asked James, still struggling to take in their shock news. ‘I thought you were building up a good photography business, Sam?’
‘I can do the same in India,’ Sam answered. ‘But I’m hoping Adela’s mother is going to teach me about tea production so I can be of use at Belgooree.’
The Secrets of the Tea Garden Page 40