‘Yes,’ came the reply, ‘the best.’
They came to a cosy sitting room with an open log fire brightening the cold February day. On the other side of the room was a large sofa and parked in the middle of it were two elderly people, who stood up slowly. They weren’t doddery but time had started to take its toll. There was an apprehensive look on their faces. Kate walked forward and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, followed by a hug. She turned to her father, stretched out to shake his hand, had second thoughts and gave him a peck on the cheek and a hug. Rafi sensed that her parents had been surprised by Kate’s attempt at showing reconciliation. They sat down. Not a word had been spoken. Marcus did the introductions.
‘Mr Rafi Khan, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to our parents: Major Sir Percy Gant-Adams and Lady Yvonne Gant-Adams.’
‘This, Mummy and Daddy, is Rafi. You’ll no doubt have seen his picture in the papers recently. He’s been working undercover for us. The full story will come out next week. We’ve only known one another for a week but I can assure you he’s a real catch and my first boyfriend in ages.’ And with that Kate planted a caring kiss on Rafi’s cheek.
Wow, that was brave, Rafi thought. Talk about light the blue touchpaper and stand well back!
The tension eased as Susannah walked in carrying a tray with a bottle of champagne and some orange juice. She exclaimed in delight when she saw Kate. The tray was put down next to Marcus, who uncorked the bottle with a pleasing pop, charged the glasses and passed them around.
The major lifted his glass, looked at the bubbles and took a sniff of the bouquet. Then he stopped, looked at his daughter and said, ‘Please forgive me for not standing up, but I would like to propose a toast.’ He raised his glass in the direction of Marcus and Susannah.
‘First I should like to toast our hosts without whom this reunion would not have happened – thank you both.’ The glasses were raised and an appreciative sip was taken by all. The major turned his gaze to Kate.
‘The second toast is to Kate, my long-lost daughter. Your mother and I look forward to you telling us what you’ve been up to. Marcus tells me that you’ve been heading up a team involved with the Bishopsgate bombing?’
‘Yes, Daddy – and a bit more besides.’ The conversation stopped in its tracks. It was as if Kate’s career was of little interest to her father.
Rafi felt annoyed, but tried not to show it. He looked carefully at the major. In his youth he must have been a dashing and well-built man, and his wife must once have been, he guessed, a slightly willowier version of Kate. She had the same hair and warm brown eyes.
Susannah looked at her watch. ‘Lunch will be in ten minutes. Please excuse me while I put the vegetables on.’
There was a silence. Rafi waited for someone to break the ice. Kate’s mother beat him to it. ‘Tell me Kate,’ she said in a frail voice, ‘I have been reading the papers. I am confused. How precisely did you manage in the space of a week to turn a terrorist suspect into a boyfriend?’
‘It’s a long story, Mummy. Rafi was set up. I was sent to see if he had information that could help us prevent more terrorist attacks. That was last Monday. Since then Rafi and I have been working flat out unravelling their conspiracy. Rafi helped us uncover a number of terrorist attacks.’
‘I see, dear,’ came her mother’s uncertain reply.
Marcus got up and recharged the glasses.
‘Don’t you drink?’ asked the major.
‘No, sir,’ replied Rafi. The major looked at him and hesitated before saying, ‘Do please call me Percy; it will make things less formal.’
Rafi sensed that uttering those few words had taken courage.
‘Thank you, sir.’
The major continued. ‘Where do you come from?’
‘It’s not a very interesting story,’ Rafi replied, but was encouraged to continue.
Rafi took a mouthful of the orange juice and then began. ‘My father owned a bakery in the East End of London. I was educated at Haileybury and then studied for my Bachelors and Masters degrees in London.’
The major nodded, hoping for more.
‘Up to a week ago, I was a senior fund manager in the City of London. The rest, as they say, is history.’
Kate skilfully switched the conversation to Leverthorne Hall and its vineyards. It transpired that Marcus had studied through the Open University Business School and had specialised on the marketing and product development side of Business Studies.
In the words of his mother, Marcus had turned the estate around. ‘There is now a small rural business park with a growing number of successful cottage industries and he has found an excellent farm manager to run the 3,500-acre farm.’
‘How big is 3,500 acres?’ Rafi enquired.
Kate looked at Rafi as if acres to square miles was a ratio he should have known, and replied, ‘Five and a half square miles.’
‘Oh, really!’ exclaimed Rafi. There was laughter. He sensed that the tide had turned.
‘Lunch is ready,’ echoed through from the dining room, where Rafi soon found himself sitting between Lady Yvonne and Kate, and opposite the major.
Given the circumstances, lunch was a relatively jolly affair. There were a few hesitant pauses in the conversation, but the sheer joy of Kate and her brother being back together again, under the roof of the family home, was plain for all to see. They sat next to each other and chatted away at ten to the dozen.
After lunch, the small talk continued over coffee. Rafi found himself the centre of the conversation. It seemed her parents found it simpler to talk to him rather than to Kate, lest they unintentionally reopened hidden wounds.
Rafi’s background, education, hobbies, work and involvement in uncovering the terrorist plots were all discussed.
Kate looked across at her parents. ‘Did I tell you that I have also met Rafi’s sister, Saara? When I saw the two of them together, it reminded me how much fun we had when we were living in Kenya and all the grief of the last decade seemed irrelevant; I just wished we could be as happy again.’
Kate paused and fell silent. Her parents, who were comfortably slumped on the sofa, seemed overcome by emotions. The major looked at Kate and then his wife.
‘Kate,’ he said, ‘I agree; we did have a good time in Kenya. I am sorry that moving here caused friction and hardship. Yes, we should strive to find that happiness again.’
‘But with a few more coats and jumpers,’ added Marcus with a laugh.
Coffee had long been finished. There was a lull in the conversation. Kate looked at her watch – time had flown by; it was coming up to 3.30 p.m. She explained that they had a second visit to make on their way back to London, as a teacher-friend of Rafi’s, Major Charlie Staveley, had invited them for tea.
They said their goodbyes and promised to be back soon.
Back in the car, Kate looked radiant. ‘Thank you for being so patient and courteous through all the interrogations.’
Rafi looked into her warm eyes. ‘My pleasure; it was fun, and I am hugely relieved it all worked out.’
‘Yes; after a shaky start – I can’t believe how well it went,’ said Kate.
They had an uneventful journey and in what seemed like no time at all they were pulling into Gypsy Lane. They stopped in front of a red brick house. Great Amwell was only a couple of miles from Haileybury College.
The major’s front garden was well-kept. They went up to the front door, rang the bell and stood there, holding hands.
A stooping silver-haired man answered the door. Rafi instantly recognised him – he had aged well, but was looking a little unsteady on his pins.
They were greeted by a jovial, ‘Come on in, come on in, it must be cold standing out there.’
‘Thank you,’ said Rafi and went on to introduce Kate.
They entered the modest-sized home and headed for the sitting room, where they were greeted by a roaring open fire.
Charlie beckoned Rafi to sit on the sofa next to the fire.
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‘Your timing is excellent – the kettle has just boiled. Let me look at you first, young Rafi, it’s been too long since I last laid eyes on you.’ He stood there gazing at him. ‘Thank you for your phone call. I’m sorry that you got caught up in this terrorist mess. I wondered whether you might make contact after I had a visit from MI5,’ he said and then paused as if uncertain what to say next. ‘Why don’t you have a look at some photos whilst Kate and I get the tea?’
Charlie picked up an old leather-bound photo album from the sideboard and handed it to Rafi, then disappeared with Kate into the kitchen.
Rafi opened it. It contained pictures of the major’s life. There were a couple of early photos of him at Haileybury: one of him playing cricket, which rekindled memories of Rafi standing in almost the same spot, bowling his right arm off breaks. The chapel and the large central courtyard looked just the same.
He moved on a few pages to see a very handsome, young man with a dark brown moustache and closely cropped wavy brown hair dressed in a smart army uniform. The sparse text under the photos showed that he’d been posted to Palestine and had initially served under Allenby, before being posted to India.
He turned the page and there was a picture of a beautiful Indian woman in a nurse’s uniform standing in front of a large hospital. This was followed by a series of casual snaps of him and her taken during their outings. Rafi looked carefully at the photos; 1945–46 seemed to have been a very special and happy time for them. Then there was a sun-bleached photo showing the nurse and her family, all dressed up in their finest, looking very splendid in palatial surroundings. In the centre was the person he assumed to be the head of the family; he looked intimidating. A couple of photos of a kindly-looking servant carrying a tray laden with glasses, cups and saucers followed.
‘What?’ Rafi exclaimed. He recognised the servant as his grandfather. He then looked carefully at the picture of the nurse. It couldn’t be! He couldn’t believe it – it was his grandmother in her early twenties. He was confused. Why was Charlie holding hands with his grandmother in many of the pictures? The last photo showed Charlie and Rafi’s grandmother standing formally next to each other. There was a look of sadness in their faces.
Rafi turned the page and there seemed to be no more pictures. The rest of the pages were blank, except the penultimate page on which there was a photo of Charlie standing next to a young lad, with his arm around his shoulder, a beaming smile across his face. Rafi remembered the occasion. It was taken in the summer near the end of his third year at Haileybury. He had taken four or five wickets in an inter-house cricket match. Charlie, who had been watching, insisted that a photo be taken for posterity. Rafi hadn’t seen the photo until now. He sat deep in thought without comprehending the situation.
He was interrupted by the clattering of an old-looking trolley on which the afternoon tea had been placed. Charlie and Kate sat down and passed around the tea.
Charlie looked carefully at Rafi’s face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I wish I could have remained with your grandmother. Sadly for both of us, it wasn’t to be. In those days, family honour ranked above individual feelings and sensibilities.’
‘Pardon?’ said Rafi.
‘There’s no easy way to say this,’ said Charlie. ‘I met Lateefa, your grandmother, in India just before its partitioning with Pakistan. We fell in love and then calamity struck: she told me that our relationship had to end, but she would not tell me why. I didn’t find out until later that she was carrying my child and had been disowned by her family. Had it not been for your grandfather, Mansur, a servant in her household, it would have been a disaster. He sought me out and explained why Lateefa had broken off our relationship.’
Rafi could see the beginning of tears in Charlie’s eyes.
‘I had been transferred to the Green Howards and was being posted to Sudan. I had so wanted to go back and see Lateefa, but there wasn’t time. To have become a deserter from the army would have only made things worse. When I told Mansur why I had to go, I had expected him to be angry with me. Instead he smiled and asked if he could help. It transpired that he had been in love with Lateefa since their childhood.’
Charlie looked sadly at Rafi. ‘The partitioning caused large-scale and violent cross-border migration of Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs. It was this upheaval and Lateefa being without family support that prompted Mansur to find me. I was impressed – he had it all planned. He asked me to arrange passes for Lateefa and him to get to England. Mansur then found Lateefa and they emigrated there. I helped them with what little money I could.’
‘So my father was your son?’ Rafi exclaimed, finally understanding what Charlie was trying to tell him.
‘Yes.’
‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me?’
‘I promised your parents that I would not interfere,’ said Charlie.
‘Hold on a minute!’ said Rafi. ‘Did you have anything to do with my going to Haileybury and Saara going to a private day school?’
Charlie nodded. ‘After decommissioning I went back to my studies, became a teacher and then accepted a job at Haileybury. Several years later, I had been visiting a school in Stepney, with which Haileybury had long-standing links and, as good fortune would have it, on the way home I stopped off at a local bakery in the East End. I unexpectedly met Mansur again. He looked much older, but I recognised him instantly.’
Charlie poignantly related how he had returned the following weekend and had met Lateefa and Mansur. ‘It was a tear-filled reunion. We talked about Jansher, their only son and decided that the past should remain in the past – it wouldn’t have been fair on them for me to come back into their lives. I asked if I could help them with their finances. They were too proud to accept any help. In the end, they allowed me to help with the education of any grandchildren that they might have.’
Rafi smiled. ‘Which explains why I went from an underperforming state school to a smart boarding school!’ He was overcome by emotion.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Charlie.
‘I’m not,’ replied Rafi. ‘As of today my close family relatives have grown by a factor of two. Let me give you a hug.’
Rafi sat back down. ‘I always knew Mansur as grandpa. Could I call you grandfather?’
Beaming, Charlie nodded, not trusting his voice.
‘Saara will be delighted; I can’t wait to tell her face to face.’
‘Unexpectedly, Mansur wrote to me once or twice a year keeping me up to date as to what your father, Jansher, was doing. It was just like him to be so thoughtful,’ said Charlie. ‘After your grandmother’s death he wrote saying he had told Jansher, your father, about me, and they had decided not to tell you or your sister.’
Over tea, the conversation drifted back to when Charlie had first met Lateefa, Rafi’s grandmother. ‘She came from an immensely powerful and wealthy family. They commanded respect for tens if not hundreds of miles around,’ said Charlie. He went on to describe the close-knit community in India before independence, the partitioning and painful birth of Pakistan. Charlie talked about the British Army families – the nannies and the family helpers – and about Lateefa. ‘Our relationship should have progressed to marriage,’ Charlie’s voice faltered. ‘It broke my heart to lose her.’
The conversation moved on to Rafi’s father, Jansher. ‘He worked with Mansur in the bakery, leaving school at fifteen. Sorry – of course you know all that, but perhaps there are elements that you might not be aware of,’ said Charlie.
He paused, topped up the cups of tea and continued. ‘By the time Jansher was twenty, Lateefa had become increasingly feeble and he took over the day to day running of the bakery to enable Mansur to spend more time looking after her. She died, just after your father’s twenty-first birthday, leaving Mansur heartbroken and increasingly reclusive.’
Charlie hesitated. ‘Then, quite out of the blue, the family in Pakistan made contact with Mansur, seeking an arranged marriage for a cousin, with Jansher. Mansur had initially
been against it, but relented when he heard she was bright, lively and a real beauty. The eldest son of the head of the family – the heir apparent – had fallen for her, but his parents wanted their son to marry the daughter of a wealthy merchant. Mansur was told by the head of the family that he would be doing them a large favour and that the marriage would right the wrongs of the past. Mansur agreed, but on one condition: your mother, Ameena, would have to come to stay for a couple of months as a guest and your father was not to know about the suggestion of an arranged marriage. Your parents enjoyed each other’s company and it didn’t take long for their love to flourish. They got married seven months later in a small ceremony.’
‘I was so pleased when Mansur wrote saying they had you and then your sister,’ said Charlie. ‘I was given a new lease of life when you arrived at Haileybury. I was sad that I saw very little of your sister, but at least I managed to slip into a back seat and see her graduation ceremony.’
Charlie paused and looked at Rafi. ‘I was devastated to hear of the deaths of Jansher and Ameena in that dreadful car crash.’
‘Thank you. Could you tell me about my family in Pakistan?’ asked Rafi.
‘Your cousins are very powerful people. Their fiefdom stretches over an area of thousands of square miles. Perhaps you should pay them a visit one day,’ suggested Charlie.
It was approaching 8 o’clock.
‘We should be going,’ said Rafi, ‘it’s getting late and tomorrow we have an early start.’
‘Don’t you want to stay for a quick bite of supper?’ said Charlie hopefully.
Rafi was about to decline the offer when Kate interjected, ‘That sounds like a nice idea.’
The conversation switched to Kate, her family reunion and her teaming up with Rafi to track down the terrorists.
Rafi talked about Saara and he promised to visit with her. After lengthy and fond goodbyes, they finally left at 10 o’clock.
The journey back into London was slow but straightforward and they arrived at the packed hotel just after midnight.
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