The Letter

by Sylvia Atkinson

  My Dearest, Atrey,

  You will now be at home with your wife. Do not forget me and the nights we have spent together under Egypt’s stars. I had never known what it was to fall in love. I thought it could never happen to me. I was too wrapped up in my work to become involved with such foolishness but these last two years with you have been worth everything. When will you send for me? Will I have to wait for this wretched war to end? Be kind to your wife when you tell her.

  It was signed Olivia, the address a military hospital in Egypt. Improbably it was from a woman who sounded so like herself. Tearing it to shreds Margaret watched them curl to ash on the fire’s dying embers.

  Chapter 24

  Delhi February 1943

  Margaret was posted to Delhi. Maybe Ben had fixed it so she could visit the children. Road and rail links were good. There was a train to Aakesh and she could take a tonga to the house, a journey under ninety miles instead of the hundreds she would have to travel if she’d been sent to Kohat.

  Letters were getting through to her, forwarded from Nainital. In his, Margaret’s father admitted to being lonely since his wife’s death. She sympathised but the ache inside her was made worse by the living. She didn’t ill wish Ben but prayed for some kind of severance from him. Margaret couldn’t expect her father to understand, or Nan and Mary. Her sisters were happily married and praying to be with their husbands who were away at the war, while she was seeking a solution to her own marriage. Ironically, she might see their husbands before they did. Her father had mentioned that they were on their way out East, and had promised to look her up, if they got the chance.

  Margaret knew Nan’s husband Davey but Mary had been too young for courtship when Margaret sailed for India. It would be great if they could get together, then she’d get the real low-down on what was happening in Scotland. Writing letters passed the time and she was disappointed if a day passed without receiving one, but today’s was most surprising:

  Dear Nurse Atrey,

  Sergeant Waters gave me a note to give to you if I reached Nainital. I’m sorry but it was months ago and the hospital there said you’d been posted out. They wouldn’t give me your address but offered to send a letter on, so I hope this reaches you.

  Sorry for the delay,

  Sandy Green

  The enclosed grubby envelope contained an equally grubby scrap of paper:

  Dear Margaret,

  Excuse this pencilled note. I know you are married and can only ever be a friend to me but I will never forget you as I think you are the most generous woman I have ever met. I would give anything to meet you again.

  I can’t tell you much about what I’ve been doing, except to say that I have seen things I never thought men could do to others. The memories of riding out with you and our time together by the lake kept me going.

  Don’t worry if you can’t write back. I’ll understand. Meanwhile God Bless You,

  Your loving friend,

  Tommy

  Thank goodness for Tommy’s straightforward approach to life. There was no address to reply to so she wrote care of The Bush Warfare School, enclosing the Delhi hospital address.

  The discovery of Ben’s affair with Olivia and his barbaric removal of the children had crushed her. Scot and Indian, Hindu and Catholic, Margaret had striven to yoke the opposing cultures but lately she despised the grovelling and pretence. Tommy didn’t deserve to be caught up in this but she didn’t want to give him up. Maybe she was no better than Ben? She hadn’t had an affair but Tommy’s kiss had warned her of the risk she was taking. It was silly, for they hardly knew each other and might not meet again. However, while she remained married there was a slight chance she might rescue the children. Yet, she felt unfaithful to Tommy in trying to save her marriage.

  A change of location to the busy city hospital was welcome. Margaret didn’t know how long she would stay but the central quarters were perfect for shopping. However, she was feeling unwell and couldn’t make the most of it. She spent her time off duty resting. No doubt it was nothing and would pass. A letter from Ben led her to believe there was a possibility of retrieving something from their relationship. She replied at once.

  Lady Irwin Hospital

  New Delhi

  My Dearest Ben,

  Thank you so much for your letter and the note and drawing from Pavia. I am so glad you are OK. I was worried at not hearing from you for some time.

  Well your letter was short but full of news. I am puzzled when you write that you are alone with the children. No my dear, Suleka gave me no news of you. I don’t know why I feel so jealous but I can’t bear to think of you with anyone else. Later I’ll be with you. Please excuse this outburst. I thought I was getting hard natured but I believe you will always be able to break me.

  My dear, my final exams will be on the 15th of this month. I hope I am all right until then, but these haemorrhages are taking a lot out of me and now my temperature stays up all day. I think its just weakness because I can’t eat much food without being sick. Of course, now you are back in India, I eat neither meat nor eggs, and as this is the main food available here, I often go dinnerless. I don’t know. I simply can’t look at the meat. It reminds me of the many operated bodies I see in the ward.

  My dear, I sent my father’s air graph just because I thought you’d like to read it. I don’t know why he mentioned that my nursing would be useful to me when I returned home.

  Tell me the truth, are you anxious for me to go and leave this land? These miserable days without the children make me realise how near to heaven I was with them. The beauty of the life I led has only struck me now. Up till then I saw only the hardships. Oh Ben you will never realise the torture in my heart! So much so that I feel life so hard that death is very welcome. No, it is not the work I have to do. It is very interesting and I like it. If only the circumstances had been different and I was with our children. Day and night I am haunted. I just want to die unwept because I have lost those who would have cried for me and respected my name in death. You could change it all.

  My thoughts are for our children and your happiness and contentment that is the prayer of my heart.

  Love to you and the children

  Charuni

  * * * * *

  Ben telephoned. He was coming to Delhi and bringing Pavia. Margaret wasn’t going to waste a second in wondering why. She went shopping, flitting from stall to stall in the market buying ribbons and pretty slides for her daughter’s hair, gaudy glass bracelets, embroidered handkerchiefs, books and aquamarine patterned cloth to make Pavia a dress. They could go to the tailors together. Ben would book them into a hotel. She’d pack a bag… be ready to go with them. They could talk, sort out the differences. And most important, she would be with Pavia.

  What should she wear to meet them… something to make an impact? Margaret held dress after dress in front of the mirror before choosing a white blouse with Swiss embroidery on the collar to team with a grey suit. She always felt attractive in that. She took leave, pushing any doubts aside.

  Winter was fading fast but some days were cool with occasional rain. The hospital gardeners, warm shawls draped round their bony shoulders, were hard at work sweeping debris from lawns and weeding flowerbeds. Margaret’s visitors were due at her quarters by eight o’clock. She set a small table so they could breakfast together but it was after nine and the tea had grown cold in the pot.

  Ben left Pavia in the car with a woman who he claimed to be a governess. Margaret waved to her daughter from the veranda, but Pavia was out of the car, her plait coming loose as she raced across the grass. Margaret would re-plait it tonight and tomorrow and… Pavia sobbed, “Please mama, please come home.” Come home! If only it were possible. “Mama, don’t you love us?”

  The barb struck home, “Of course I love you… I always will… But there’s a war on�
��” Margaret tried to explain…

  soldiers needed caring for … she wouldn’t be allowed to leave…

  “We’ll come to you!”

  Margaret pushed back the strands of hair hanging down her daughter’s tear-stained face. “You can’t stay here my darling. But we’ll be together soon.” She pulled Pavia close, kissing the top of her head. Ben must see what this separation was doing. How could he be so hard? Punish her, but not the children. She’d give up everything and go to Aakesh, if he’d let her.

  Ben said that it was time to go.

  Pavia obediently took her mother’s hand. Margaret let it go to pick up the bag. The child skipped on unaware of the drama unfolding between her parents.

  “Leave it.” Ben growled but Margaret picked it up. “I said leave it.”

  “I won’t leave it. I can do without the clothes but the children’s presents…”

  “The children don’t need your presents.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I chose them especially…”

  “You’re not coming. My mother is ill. Treatment is expensive… I need to secure the property. The family have arranged for me to marry a well-educated high caste lady, a teacher and owner of a private school. She brings a substantial dowry. You must grant me a divorce.”

  Instinctively Margaret made a dash for the open door. Ben barred the way. She beat him with her fists but he caught her hands contemptuously pushing them away. She dashed after him calling out as if he were a thief, “Give me back my children… There will be no divorce!”

  Powerless to prevent the car from driving away she was hounded indoors by diving malevolent crows disturbed by the commotion. Why hadn’t she seen through him? Hadn’t she learned anything?

  Haemorrhaging, she stumbled into the bathroom cursing God and her husband. Someone was coming… running down the corridor…

  Chapter 25

  Before she let the servant in Margaret had checked that the miscarriage was complete, and mopped the bathroom with white towels. The deep red blood wouldn’t rinse out. The servant said she was sorry. Margaret wasn’t sorry. She was worn-out and relieved, relieved another child hadn’t been born amid scandal and disgrace. She bribed the servant to dispose of the towels in the hospital waste and not to report it.

  Why hadn’t she recognized she was pregnant? It could only be Ben’s child, the result of the last attempt to save her marriage. The bungled rape was too long ago to be the cause. Either way the evidence was gone, flushed down the drain before too many questions were asked. The miscarriage had been merciful. She’d bleed for a couple of weeks, like a heavy period. That’s how she’d think of it.

  * * * * *

  Ben’s intention to sue for divorce had largely died down when Mary’s husband Willie contacted Margaret. However there was speculation, always speculation, so she arranged to meet him at India Gate. The prominent sandstone and granite war memorial commemorated the lives of 90,000 soldiers in the British Indian army, who lost their lives fighting in World War 1. The landmark, in New Delhi, was easily found.

  Jean had written describing Willie as being well over six feet tall, saying that Mary was lucky to have such a dashing husband. Margaret stationed herself by the side of the wide tree-lined road leading to the Viceroy’s Lodge on Rasina Hill. Willie was sure to see her there. She waved down a Rickshaw carrying a likely looking candidate, “Willie?” she queried.

  The airman grinned and shook his head, “Wish I was.” The hunt for Willie turned into a hilarious game with rickshaws slowing and airmen shouting “Have you found Willie?”

  She was feeling rather silly when the genuine Willie strolled towards her, smiling broadly, “You must be Maggie?” he said, giving her a bear hug. “I hope you are. If not it’s been nice meeting you.”

  Jean was right. In uniform, his pilot’s cap perched jauntily on his blonde hair, Willie was quite the man about town. “As you’re not beating me off, I need to tell you that the hug is from everyone back home. I’ve to write and let them know you are okay as soon as we meet up.”

  Margaret decided to forgo showing him the sights, steering their steps away from the busy road and onto the green lawns of the fountain-parks bordering India Gate. She wanted to know what was happening in Scotland but Willie got in first telling her of the birth of his son who was to be called John, after Margaret’s brother. Willie hadn’t seen the baby. The disappointment was in his eyes. Mary was sending a photograph. He asked if Margaret minded her father marrying again.

  “Father hasn’t told me. No one has,” she said, hurt and angry that his recent letters hadn’t so much as hinted at the prospect.

  “Look Maggie, I’m certain he will in his next letter.”

  “Yes, when it’s too late for me to say anything.”

  “Apparently it took everyone by surprise. You knew he was working in London?”

  “Yes…”

  “Well that’s where he met his wife.”

  “He soon forgot my mother.”

  “Now Maggie, you wouldn’t want to spoil his happiness. It’s been pretty bad at home. Your father was lonely. These days who knows what tomorrow will bring?”

  Willie described the changes in the country since the outbreak of war: women driving ambulances; working on the land and in factories, replacing men everywhere except down the mines. He told her about air raids, the blackout, and shortage of everyday items. Describing a friend’s wedding he said the bride’s dress was made of parachute silk but the cake was an elaborate cardboard model covering cheap Madeira. Eggs, flour and dried fruit were rationed.

  “Do you know Maggie, I’ve eaten heaps of fresh fruit since I arrived. My favourite’s papaya… makes my mouth water…”

  “Papaya’s mine too… though I’m dying for strawberries from my father’s garden. As a British Officer you’ll want for nothing.”

  “And a good job too! A country boy made good, that’s me! What about you? Is your husband still overseas?”

  “Actually he’s in the Punjab.”

  “Good, then I’ll get to meet him.”

  “Meanwhile, to Delhi’s sights” Margaret said, quickly hailing a rickshaw.

  Willie admired the classical bungalows, shady trees and wide airy roads of Lutyens New Delhi but the labyrinth of the Old City, filled with ghostly history, intrigued him. Over the next few days they explored the sandstone citadel of the Red Fort and the ancient towering Qutab Minar where monkeys roamed in place of Sultan’s armies.

  “Just stand looking interested” Margaret said, lining up her box camera. “I expect you to be able to name the places we’ve been to before I send the photos to Mary.”

  “Don’t do that! I’m supposed to be having a miserable time.”

  Margaret pulled his leg, “You boys in blue have no idea what that is.”

  * * * * *

  Willie’s last evening was to be spent in Chandni Chowk, once the grandest market in India with a canal running through the middle of the main street, as part of the city’s water supply. At night the moon and stars shone on the surface. Chaos, and cripples wailing ‘baksheesh’ had long ago usurped this oasis. Willie reached in his pocket but Margaret warned him to leave the money where it was. A few annas meant the difference between life and death. They’d be mobbed in the resulting scramble. Fierce looks and no money sent the menacing beggars skulking into the shadows.

  Confused looking cows wandered freely, dogs slunk

  by. Animals and humans poured onto streets that spawned an excess of filth and abject poverty. Willie filled his upturned hat with ripe guavas but spent so long holding his nose because of the open sewers that he threw the fruit away. He’d had enough of ‘Old Delhi’. The Mullah called the faithful to prayer. Willie hailed a rickshaw to the Officers Club.

  * * * * *

  The Club, blessed with defer
ential servants and refined

  voices, contrasted sharply with the babble of the streets. Willie mopped his brow, “I shouldn’t want to get lost in that place. You might not get out alive!”

  Margaret grinned. Sitting here under the fan with a gin fizz had a lot going for it.

  “The past is gone, Maggie. You can’t get it back. None of us know the future. If I did, I don’t think I’d get in another aeroplane. Live for today, that’s my motto, tomorrow may never come.”

  He tried to offer advice but for Margaret today and tomorrow involved her children. She was stuck in limbo.

  * * * * *

  “I was thinking… Maggie, what will you do when I leave tomorrow?”

  “Have a rest from all this jaunting and drinking,” she flippantly replied.

  “Have you thought of going home… to Scotland?”

  “A lot lately… It’s the children… I’d not get them out of the country. Also I’ve no money, except what I earn.”

  “The scoundrel! Doesn’t he maintain you?”

  “Don’t be too hard on him. Ben wanted to send me home to my father but how could I go? He offered me an allowance but I came with nothing and I want nothing from him, except to see my children.”

  It was after one in the morning when Willie gave Margaret a brotherly kiss outside the nurses’ quarters and told her to “Keep smiling.”

  She thought how Mary and the children must miss him. For years she had missed Ben in the same way, but not any more. Margaret sighed, resigning herself to the present, and turned in for the night.

  The following morning she was ordered to report to matron, immediately! The dustless office smelt of efficiency and military polish. Margaret stood to attention in front of a peppered haired authoritarian woman. “Nurse Atrey, it has come to my attention that you have been entertaining a man at your quarters. You of all people should have had enough of men to last a lifetime!”