The Tea Planter’s Wife

by Jefferies, Dinah

  ‘The news is not good,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I’m afraid her condition is not what I first thought.’

  Gwen looked out at the lake and attempted a smile that she didn’t feel. ‘But last time you were here, you said she would be fine.’

  ‘This isn’t a nutritional deficiency.’

  Her smile still hovered. ‘But she will get better?’

  ‘I believe this little girl may have a wasting disease. Does she sometimes find it hard to catch her breath, or has she had any respiratory infections?’

  Gwen nodded.

  ‘And you say her posture has worsened?’

  Gwen bit her lip and couldn’t speak.

  ‘It’s hard to be completely sure but I think a degeneration in the spine is causing withering of her muscles.’

  She covered her mouth with her hand.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘But there is a treatment? You can still do something?’

  He shook his head. ‘If I am right, that this is some kind of muscular atrophy, it will probably only get worse. I’m afraid a failure of the heart is the most likely prognosis.’

  Gwen, who had been holding her emotions tight inside, doubled over as if she had been punched.

  He held out a hand to help her, but she didn’t take it. If she allowed his sympathy, everything she kept locked inside would pour from her and she’d lose control. She took a deep breath.

  ‘Is there anything we can do for the poor child?’ she said, keeping her voice as level as she could and gripping the back of a chair for support. ‘Liyoni has no one, you see. Just Naveena … and us.’

  ‘I will get a wheelchair sent down for her.’

  Gwen’s lips parted as she shuddered. ‘No!’

  ‘If you want a second opinion …’

  ‘She will still be able to swim, won’t she?’

  He smiled. ‘For a while. The natural buoyancy of the water will reduce the pain and the pressure on her spine and legs.’

  ‘But in the end?’

  ‘I’ll show the ayah how to massage her legs.’ He made a small puckered movement with his chin. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  Gwen hesitated. ‘John, I just wondered, if I’d been in a position to bring the child here sooner –’

  ‘Would this condition have been avoidable? Is that what you mean?’

  She nodded, holding her breath during a short stretch of silence.

  He shrugged. ‘It’s hard to know. People are born with it. In adults it can be slow and chronic. We really don’t know much about it. In one as young as this, the development tends to be rapid.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, in answer to your question, I doubt it would have made much difference.’

  As soon as he had gone, Gwen lay on the bed too. ‘It’s all right,’ she said as she stroked Liyoni’s hot forehead. ‘Everything will be all right.’

  The next morning, Naveena insisted Liyoni should remain in the nursery, where she could watch over her uninterrupted. The ayah was right. Gwen had other responsibilities to see to and could not be there every minute of the day.

  Alone in her room, Gwen’s thoughts returned to the night at the Stork Club. She couldn’t help feeling New York had been a dream; a sleepless, brightly lit and, apart from the phone call, wonderful dream. Whatever Christina had meant by that phone call in New York, at the moment Gwen didn’t care.

  She glanced out of her bedroom window to look at the lake, hoping the stillness of the water might soothe her. Instead, against the pale water, she saw Laurence standing in silhouette, and it took a moment before she realized he was carrying Liyoni, with Hugh and the dogs following close behind. The sight of Laurence with the child provoked a depth of feeling in her that stripped her of fear. She grabbed her silk gown and, wrapping it round her, stepped out of her French windows and on to the verandah.

  The air was teeming with birds and, together with the whine of mosquitoes, the noise was mounting. She stood for a moment, listening and watching the birds fly back and forth to their nests. A smudgy haze made the garden appear fuzzy, its colours running together like an impressionist painting. As an eagle flew across the horizon, she saw that it was a perfectly lovely day. She watched her little family as they reached the lake. Today it was silver in the middle and deepest green at the perimeter, with the reflections of the trees shading it in places.

  Spew raced out of the water and ran up to Gwen, while Ginger ran around in circles chasing his tale. Gwen bent down to pat the dog, but he jumped up and rubbed against her, and every time she touched his nose, a pink tongue shot out and licked her hand. Her thin cotton skirt was damp from his wet fur and she’d acquired his doggy smell too.

  Liyoni’s arm was wrapped round Laurence’s neck. After he had taken the last couple of steps to the border of the lake, he carefully unwrapped her. A fleet of cormorants took off as he laid her in the water, but for a moment nothing else happened. Gwen’s heart almost stopped. The water wasn’t deep at the edge, so the child was in no danger of drowning, but Gwen watched her absence of movement in dread.

  Laurence stood at the ready, and Hugh had gone into the water on the other side of Liyoni, ready to help if anything went wrong. The child remained lifeless for a few seconds, then suddenly she turned over and began to flap her arms. After floundering for a moment longer, she seemed to find her equilibrium, and with a swift movement, began to swim. As relief flooded through her, Gwen walked down the steps to the lake. Hearing her, Laurence glanced back.

  ‘That was kind of you,’ she said with a smile, and felt overcome.

  The look on his face puzzled her and his voice was gruff when he replied. ‘Partridge told me of her condition. I know you’re fond of her. To be honest, I’m rather getting used to having her around too.’

  Gwen swallowed, unable to trust herself to speak. There was no reason to bring about this change in Laurence’s attitude towards the child and, though pleased, she also felt confused. He came up and linked his arm with hers, and they both watched Liyoni’s progress in the water.

  ‘We mustn’t let her swim too far,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t worry. At the slightest sign of a problem I’ll be there. Once you’ve lost people you love it makes you realize how much family matters.’

  ‘Do you mind telling me what actually happened that day? To Caroline, I mean.’

  His voice was strained when he replied. ‘You already know.’

  ‘Yes. But I wondered … I’m sorry for asking, but you said it wasn’t at the lake. I wondered where she drowned? You’ve never actually said.’

  ‘Because I hate the place. She slid into the pool at the bottom of the waterfall, holding Thomas in her arms. It would have been impossible for her to swim and hold a baby at the same time. Naveena witnessed it.’

  Gwen tried to imagine how Laurence must have felt, but the sorrow was too dark and too nameless.

  ‘Instinct told Naveena something was wrong. That’s why she followed Caroline. If she hadn’t, I don’t suppose we’d ever have known exactly what happened. I sometimes wonder if it might have been better not to know.’

  Gwen thought about what he’d said, hesitating before she spoke. ‘Your mind might have invented things.’

  He nodded. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘Naveena wasn’t able to stop her?’

  Laurence looked at the ground and shook his head. ‘It all happened too quickly.’

  ‘Who found them? Was it Naveena?’

  He placed a hand on his chest as he took a deep breath, then stared at her. For a moment he looked older. She hadn’t noticed before the additional grey in his hair.

  ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t have to tell me.’

  He looked down at her and, shading her own eyes from the sun, she gazed into his eyes.

  ‘It isn’t that …’

  ‘What then?’

  He shook his head. ‘Naveena came to fetch us. McGregor found Thomas, I found Caroline. Th
e strange thing was she was wearing her favourite dress. An oriental silk in vivid sea green. She was dressed as if for a party. It seemed like a statement.’

  Gwen’s heart constricted at the thought of it, but she didn’t speak, and for a while, neither did he. He seemed preoccupied. She felt he wanted to say more and waited.

  ‘The rapids pulled them apart almost immediately. Thomas was found only twenty yards away, but already dead.’ Laurence wiped his forehead with the side of his hand. ‘Just before she left the house she had packed away all of his clothes in the trunk you found.’

  ‘I am so very sorry,’ Gwen said, and leant against him.

  Sorry in so many ways, she thought, and there was so much more she longed to say. She wanted to tell him the truth: wanted to tell him that when she’d overheard him on the phone she’d known it was Christina; wanted to, but did not. She concentrated on her breathing and kept it to herself. This was not the time.

  On Sunday evening Hugh was packed off back to school, and early on Wednesday morning McGregor drove them both to Colombo to meet Fran. Once there, Laurence told Gwen to stay in the centre as there had been one or two scuffles in the city’s poorer outskirts.

  She frowned. ‘I’m not frightened of a crowd.’

  ‘I mean it, Gwen. Just go to the store and come straight back to the hotel. No wandering in the bazaar.’

  While Laurence was busy arranging for the increased loads of tea to be shipped to the west coast of America, where it would be packaged in a new facility Christina had organized, Gwen took care of some essential shopping. The last person she expected to see that evening was Verity, drenched in perfume and wheeling drunkenly on to the verandah at the Galle Face, waving a cigarette in the air.

  ‘Darling, there you are,’ Verity said, giving her a twisted smile and slurring her words. ‘I heard you were coming, but I’m afraid you’ve missed your cousin. She left with her husband yesterday.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Gwen said as she reluctantly walked over to her sister-in-law. ‘Fran doesn’t have a husband.’

  ‘She does now,’ Verity said and threw herself into a nearby chair. ‘Phew, I’m out of puff!’

  An air of disorder hung about Verity: her thin brown hair, plastered to her skull, looked like it needed a good wash, and her clothes were crumpled.

  Gwen stretched out a hand. ‘Get up. I’m taking you to your room. People are looking. You can’t stay down here in this state.’

  ‘Haven’t got a room.’

  ‘In that case, where did you spend last night?’

  ‘This chap I met. Quite nice really. Had blue eyes.’ She paused, deliberately it seemed, for dramatic effect. ‘Or maybe they were brown.’

  Gwen bristled, as she knew Verity had intended she should. There wasn’t a hint of contrition about her, and she was behaving as if the terrible scene at home had never happened.

  ‘I don’t give a fig about some chap, whatever the colour of his eyes,’ Gwen said. ‘You’re coming up to our room, right now.’

  She managed to manoeuvre Verity to the left-hand stairs without too much fuss, but when they were halfway up, the girl stopped and stood still.

  ‘Come on,’ Gwen said and gave her a push. ‘We’re not there yet.’

  Verity, standing on the next step up, looked down at Gwen and prodded her in the chest. ‘You think you’re so smart.’

  Gwen glanced at her watch and sighed. ‘I don’t think I’m smart at all. Now hurry up, I want you to sober up before Laurence gets back. You know very well he has refused to see you, and getting yourself in this state won’t help him change his mind. About a gallon of coffee should do it.’

  ‘Nope. You need to listen to me first.’

  As they eyed one another, Gwen’s spirits plummeted. This wasn’t going to be easy. She was itching to see Fran, but first, after an afternoon in Colombo, with her hair and clothes full of dust, she needed a hot bath. As she thought of her cousin, she wondered if Verity could have been telling the truth and, if so, who Fran had married without whispering a word.

  ‘So, are you listening?’ Verity said, interrupting her thoughts and arching her brows.

  Too close, Gwen smelt Verity’s bad breath and sighed, unable to able to keep the sarcasm from her voice. ‘Out with it then. What startling revelation have you got for me?’

  ‘You won’t be laughing in a minute.’ Verity took a step and wobbled.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you upstairs double quick. Come on. Chop chop, before you fall down the stairs.’

  Verity stared at Gwen and muttered something.

  ‘You are about as clear as mud. What is it?’ Gwen said.

  ‘I know.’ Her eyes narrowed as she smiled.

  ‘Verity, this is becoming tedious. You’ve already told me about Fran. Now come on, before I lose patience.’

  Gwen attempted to push her up the stairs, but Verity nodded her head very slowly and, staring back with a look of intense determination, clutched the handrail and held her ground.

  ‘I know that Liyoni is your daughter.’

  In the silence, Gwen stood absolutely still. Her mind seemed unnaturally clear. It was her body’s reaction that was letting her down. The burst of heat, when it came, left her with bees buzzing in her head. She suddenly knew what it felt like to be consumed by the desire to kill. With just two little steps, and one little push, Verity would be gone. A drunken fall, a terrible accident. That’s what the papers would say. As the strength of her feelings consumed her, she reached out a hand. Just a couple of steps up and one little push. Then the thought vanished as quickly as it had risen.

  ‘That’s shut you up, hasn’t it?’ Verity said and began to climb the steps.

  Gwen, now short of breath, tried to inhale, but with the shock squeezing the air out of her, she’d forgotten how to breathe. She clung to the banister, opening and closing her mouth in panic. It flashed into her mind that, gasping as she was, she must look like a dying fish. The ridiculous image seemed to prompt her lungs to remember what to do and she managed to regain control.

  She followed Verity to the landing, took a step forward and pointed out their door, not trusting herself to speak. Verity barged past, her gait uneven, then sprawled in an armchair in the room, staring morosely at the patterned parquet floor. She glanced at Gwen, who was distracting herself by folding and unfolding Laurence’s shirts in an attempt to stop her heart banging against her ribs.

  ‘You’ve folded that one three times. I said you wouldn’t be laughing.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I heard you talking to Naveena. Just before you brought the chee-chee mongrel child to live in Laurence’s house.’

  ‘You must have misheard. Now I’ve called for some coffee and you’re going to drink it and stop this silly nonsense.’

  Verity shook her head, dipped into her bag, pulled out a sheaf of charcoal drawings and waved them in the air. ‘It was actually these that told me all I needed to know.’

  Gwen’s heart jolted and, conscious that her voice would shake and give away how frightened she was, she ran over and tried to tug Liyoni’s drawings from Verity’s hand.

  ‘Oh no,’ Verity said and pulled away. ‘I’m hanging on to these.’

  One ripped and Gwen bent to pick up the fragment, giving her a few seconds to compose herself before she stood and faced Verity again. ‘How dare you go through my private things! In any case, I don’t know what you think you’ve found.’

  Verity laughed. ‘I read this fascinating article about a woman in the West Indies who had given birth to twins of different colours. She had slept with her husband, of course, but also with the master. I think Laurence would be interested. Don’t you?’

  There was a long stretch of silence, during which Gwen could hardly believe what she was feeling. Anger, yes, and fear too, but there was something else. A terrifying hollowed-out feeling she’d never quite felt before. From the drawings Verity would have seen that Liyoni had been learning to write in the tin
y village school – and that on the last couple of drawings she had written about a white lady her foster mother had told her about. A white lady who, one day, might come for her. Naveena had translated it for her, but Gwen knew that Verity was able to understand Sinhala.

  ‘If he asks Naveena outright, she will tell him, you know,’ Verity said.

  ‘I’ve had enough of this,’ Gwen said, more to herself than Verity, and opened the window. She tried to calm her racing pulse by looking down at the long stretch of lawn that extended from the hotel, the road that passed through it, and at the wisps of plants that grew in cracks in the sea wall. But when she heard the sound of children laughing as they flew a kite, it brought tears to her eyes.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘There’s the coffee. Will you be mother?’ Verity said. ‘It does seem rather apt, and I am just too tired to move.’

  When the waiter had left, Gwen poured the coffee.

  Verity sipped hers. ‘I have a proposal for you. A way out, if you like.’

  Gwen shook her head.

  ‘If you promise to get my allowance reinstated, I won’t tell Laurence.’

  ‘That is blackmail.’

  Verity inclined her head. ‘Up to you.’

  Gwen sat down and scratched around for some kind of response that would put a stop to this. She gulped the scalding coffee and burned her lips.

  ‘Now, changing the subject, wouldn’t you like to know who Fran has married? I take it you don’t already know?’

  ‘If this is another of your hurtful lies …’

  ‘No word of a lie. I saw them together, and when she saw I’d clocked the rings on her finger, what could she say? A massive diamond, the engagement ring, surrounded by sapphires, but also a telltale band of gold. The man had one too, though he tried to keep his hands behind his back.’

  Gwen folded her arms and leant back, wondering what was coming next. ‘So who is he?’

  Verity smiled. ‘Savi Ravasinghe.’

  Gwen watched the sunlight flickering on Verity’s face and struggled to suppress her desire to throttle the woman.

  Verity laughed. ‘The father of your brat – because he is the father, isn’t he, Gwen? He must be. You don’t know any other men of colour. Apart from the servants, of course, and I don’t think even you would stoop that low. You may have everyone fooled, Gwen, but I see through you.’