The Tea Gardens

by Fiona McIntosh

  However, the roar of a man’s voice coming down the corridor made us both startle. Lily actually jumped, whereas I, annoyed to be disturbed so viciously, leapt to my feet and swung around to confront our intruder in the passage before he could reach our ward.

  A man, taller than most I knew, with broadish shoulders and a slim-hipped frame, strode towards me with thunder in his expression. Above it flopped bright hair that could only be described as a golden yellow that was darker beneath its top layer, suggesting to me it would naturally bleach to be tow-headed in summer. It had been allowed to grow in an unruly way about his ears, adding a careless unkemptness to his untidy mood. I wondered at the shadow on his face – whether his beard grew fast or he had simply not shaved today.

  ‘Stop!’ My voice had a growling quality and while I’m not sure where it came from, it worked so I didn’t question it. He halted, frowning beneath grey–golden brows.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ he demanded.

  I deliberately didn’t answer immediately but held him with what I hoped was the intimidating glare my father accused me of possessing. ‘Students will quake beneath it,’ he once said. ‘Make sure you reserve it only for the right occasion.’ I hoped that moment was now.

  ‘Will you please keep your voice down, whoever you are!’

  ‘Dr Fenwick?’ It was Lily by my side, speaking tremulously. ‘Er, this is Professor Saxon Vickery.’

  He didn’t bother with polite acknowledgement. Clearly he was no longer interested to discover more about me. Instead, the stormy gaze from eyes of the Portland blue of Wedgwood’s Jasperware now glared down at Lily.

  ‘You! It was you, wasn’t it? You meddling half-bred, half-baked —’

  I stepped between them. ‘How dare you speak to one of my midwives in this manner!’ Now my ire was up to full power. They could surely hear me all over the ward . . . across several wards probably.

  ‘You’re as bad. Another well-meaning memsahib, no doubt.’

  I didn’t have time to let my hackles rise; I shifted one step as he loomed closer and stood over both of us.

  ‘You’ve probably only been here hours and no doubt already meddling. Bugger me. Why and where do they keep finding you women to —’

  I don’t know what came over me. Some sort of blood rush to the head, but suddenly my hand was on his chest and I shoved him. Because he wasn’t expecting it, he tripped over himself, lurching backwards. I was convinced if he’d been ready for me, I couldn’t have pushed him half an inch in any direction. In that single touch I realised he may have a slim build but he was rangy and muscled, his body agile enough to regain a cat-like balance.

  His shock turned to laughter. ‘Well, that’s certainly a new type of manners they’re breeding into the misfits who find their way here.’

  I tried to mask the horror I felt at my unbecoming action by sounding as indignant as possible. It was my only escape. ‘Speak for yourself, sir. Now, I don’t care whether you’re a professor or the bloody Viceroy of India himself. But on this ward and in my presence you will show respect to me and my staff. And then you too will be accorded the same measure of respect you feel you deserve. Lily is my midwife and under my duty of care.’

  ‘You and your precious Lily can both go and —’

  ‘Professor Vickery?’ It was the matron. Now, there was a formidable figure to walk any hospital corridor and I felt nothing but relief to see her. I could feel Lily trembling at my side. ‘Dr Fenwick, good afternoon,’ Matron said matter-of-factly but taking in the scene quickly and deciding the innocent could be dismissed. ‘Lily, off you go; be about your business.’ Lily cast me a glance of anxiety but at my nod hurried away. ‘Now,’ Matron said. ‘Whatever is the matter here?’

  We both bleated at once, hurling accusations at the other like children. We watched our elder blink, deeply vexed. I stopped talking first and Saxon Vickery’s words petered out not far behind mine.

  ‘ . . . just not interfere,’ were his last words. He forced himself to breathe slowly while I glared at him.

  Actually it was hard not to look at him. If Apollo had decided to pay us mortals a visit from Olympus, this was likely how he might look. His bared teeth during his sneering rage were large and polished white, sitting within a jawline that men, I imagined, would give their only spare arm for. What a pity that he lived up to the popular opinion that he was contemptible. As with so many handsome men with status, he carried a shoulder-load of arrogance around with him.

  Matron looked at me with appeal and I heard the unspoken request to hold my rage. ‘Professor Vickery, can you please explain, in as few words that aren’t angry or insulting, what exactly has happened?’

  I gathered from how he dipped his eyes that he liked his elder, as we all did. ‘Matron, I have likely got an entire village out there about to suffer an outbreak of tuberculosis because one of your high and mighty Anglo-Indian nurses, getting above herself, decided that a patient could leave the hospital without my say so.’ He turned to regard me as one would an insect pinned to a display board. ‘She’s that nurse, by the way,’ he said, jutting forward the square-angled jaw towards the corridor Lily had fled down.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I offered politely, feeling weakened for having to offer up what I’d thought was the high ground only a few moments ago.

  ‘I fully question whether she should even be around the maternity wing while poking around in the tropical diseases unit.’

  ‘So would I, normally,’ Matron said, leaping in, ‘but as you well know, Professor, Lily hopes to move fully into the diseases wing by mid-year.’

  That had slipped my mind. Lily had mentioned her desire to learn more about caring for the patients with tropical diseases but she’d said it so casually I’d all but forgotten, plus most of that first week was a bit of a blur.

  I decided it was easier if I offered peace here rather than waiting for Matron to navigate us to an amicable truce. I extended my hand, which clearly surprised both of them. ‘Professor Vickery, good afternoon. I am Dr Fenwick and new here. I’m sorry we haven’t met but I gather you’ve been overseas.’

  ‘Er, yes, I have,’ he said, definitely taken aback. I noted he hadn’t accepted my handshake yet so I deliberately kept my palm open between us. Now he’d have to be rude to my face in front of Matron and lose the ground he’d won and the apology I was making. Or, he could relent.

  ‘Well, it’s lovely to finally meet you,’ I continued, sounding untroubled by his horrible manners. ‘My mother had an intense interest in infectious diseases for all of her career, particularly in TB. It took her life in the end, and far too young. I think we’re lucky to have your expertise here and I’m sorry that I misunderstood the situation.’

  He opened his mouth to speak but I hadn’t finished. I needed to set my own parameters on my ward.

  ‘But I’ll be damned if I let you raise your voice once more to me or any of my staff in the way you did just now. If you step onto my ward again, it had better be when you’re calm. Then I shall extend the help of any one of my nursing staff, the stretcher/errand boys, even myself if you require me. It’s unprofessional for anyone in our supervisory positions to be anything but level of mood. Otherwise we set entirely the wrong example; I’m sure you agree.’

  He watched me carefully and I refused to quaver beneath the chilly glare. And then he surprised me by smiling impossibly wide and annoyingly bright, accepting the handshake. His hand was warm and dry, firm but gentle, reflecting the change that came over his persona, which was remarkable in that moment of relenting. Deep, vertical lines connected through dimples from mid-cheek to jaw to frame his grin. It felt like the sun had suddenly broken through a storm as he let go of the anger.

  ‘I’ve behaved badly but then if you consult Matron, this is not uncommon, and it’s why they keep me incarcerated in the far wing, well away from the more delicate personalities.’

  Matron sighed. ‘I don’t think your father smacked you enough as a child, Professor Vicke
ry.’ The affection in her glance was unmistakable.

  ‘He never touched me.’ I heard beneath the words his disappointment and that what he was saying to Matron was different to what he meant. Was I the only one who caught the other meaning?

  ‘Why don’t you and Dr Fenwick share a cup of tea together, Professor Vickery? That might be a way to show your contrition.’

  ‘Thank you, Matron.’ I was glad for her involvement, which had snapped us both away from turning an ugly scene into a circus.

  She withdrew, leaving us both standing uncomfortably in the corridor.

  ‘Professor?’

  ‘Right,’ he said, immediately awkward. ‘Tea?’

  He was doing his best, I presumed, and for me to turn him down now would be churlish, but I’d already capitulated and didn’t feel like making the necessary small talk that would inevitably have to take place.

  ‘Well, actually I am a bit —’ I was about to beg off but there was an invisible demon, I was sure, standing at my back and shoving me into the pathway of anyone and anything to do with the study of tuberculosis. My father and the promise seemed suddenly a long way away.

  ‘Too busy?’ he offered and I heard only hope in his tone. He wanted me to turn him down!

  ‘I was going to say thirsty,’ I lied, enjoying watching his expression falter. ‘Of course, if you’re —’

  He scratched his head through the untidy flops of hair. ‘No, no. Matron will kill me. Let’s have some chai, shall we?’

  I could tell it was taking an enormous effort for him to remain patient through this chore and curiously it made me take an uncharacteristic pleasure in his discomfort.

  Dipali arrived, eyes turning wider and slightly fearful to behold the professor. ‘Good morning, Professor.’ She could barely look at him.

  I wasn’t having any of that. ‘This is Dipali.’ It forced her to regard him. ‘She’s going to be one of our best midwives,’ I introduced, determined he not ignore her.

  He nodded, but his gaze slid away towards the corridor she’d walked down.

  I smiled at her for him. ‘Dip, can you hold the fort for fifteen minutes while the professor and I swap some notes?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, cutting him another worried glance as though expecting a blow.

  I nodded thanks and had no choice but to follow his long stride because he was already in motion, on his way out into the hospital gardens.

  _________

  We sat as far apart as two people sharing a tea break could, on a bench conveniently situated beneath a huge banyan tree, and I uspected we both shared relief that no one else was using its shade. It might have meant being seated closer. Heavens, but he was awkward . . . or was it me?

  I sat straighter, angry with myself for feeling so unnerved. I knew how to make conversation, how to put people at ease, how to host and entertain; it irritated me that I was acting as uncomfortably as he was. Well, he was looking up to the sky, ignoring his role, so I suppose I would have to lead the way and get us through the next ten minutes and then I’d never spend time with him again. My early excitement about meeting the professor came tumbling down around me like blossom from a tree during a good blow in spring. Miles was right; the man was detestable and not even his eye-catching looks could overcome his unpleasant disposition.

  ‘Pardon?’ he enquired.

  I must have made a grumbling sound or certainly a noise of disgust. ‘Um, I was trying to imagine how you all learned to cope with this heat?’ I began, hoping to trigger some sort of discussion into the cheerless silence.

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t think about it.’

  ‘So just pretend it’s not there?’ I teased.

  His brow puckered as he considered my notion. ‘You surely knew it was going to be uncomfortably hot in India?’

  I nodded. ‘I did. I suppose the thought of something rarely lives up to the reality.’

  He frowned deeply, then shook his head at what he presumably found inconsequential. Fortunately for both of us the bearer arrived with small tin mugs of steaming tea. I knew it would already be sweetened and I preferred fresh to the evaporated milk that the hospital served but I dared not complain.

  ‘Shall I cool it, madam?’ the bearer said.

  Although I loved watching the tea makers pour their beverages, one arm outstretched so there was perhaps a yard of air between both receptacles and a lot of skill to allow that air to cool the hot liquid as it flowed from one cup to another, I didn’t think we needed that theatre in this moment.

  ‘No, thank you, Parth.’ I took the proffered cup and smiled a dismissal before beginning to blow gently on the liquid.

  Vickery was already sipping his. ‘Do you know everyone’s names here?’ It sounded vaguely like an accusation.

  I nodded. ‘I made a point of learning as many as I could in the first week. It’s polite, don’t you think?’

  ‘I don’t even know Matron’s name. I just call her Matron.’

  ‘I suspect you’re fibbing. She seemed to treat you most kindly?’ I queried, hoping he’d let me in.

  ‘Matron’s a good woman, that’s true, and she deals with everyone in that generous way.’

  I think we both knew he was skirting the issue and he cleared his throat, vaguely self-conscious of being trapped in evasion. It was meaningless to me, though. I had no burning desire to know more about him as I had never been an overly curious person. It was a regular complaint from friends that I was no good at gossip. Frankly, I was purely being polite now and if I could have walked away in the next moment without being insufferably rude, I would have.

  ‘How long have you been here?’ I continued. The chai was good enough to keep me anchored. Curiously, while the ginger warmed internally it didn’t overheat the drinker; in fact, I knew it would likely help alongside the black pepper that Parth favoured to dissipate heat through light perspiration. It was the cinnamon that captured my pleasure – the professor probably wondered why I smiled in that heartbeat; I wasn’t going to explain that the cinnamon made me think of Christmas and that I’d be with Jove by then . . . married even.

  ‘Six years, near enough,’ my companion answered.

  ‘I shall only be here through to September.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  I explained as succinctly as I could, already imagining he probably wouldn’t tolerate a long story, and it was comforting to talk of home and of Jove, whom I realised I was missing more than I cared to admit. We wrote each week but I would write to him tonight again and surprise him. Vickery sipped as I spoke and his attention began to feel much weightier now that he turned his shoulders so he could watch me as I told him my tale. I found his focus unsettling, especially as it gathered in intensity, holding me as tightly as if he’d wrapped his arms around me and then dared my eye contact to waver. I began to lose sense of the activity around us, the sound of birds, the distant hum of city life. We must have appeared to an observer as if we were locked in a staring competition. I was awkwardly lost in us for those two minutes and then, suddenly and acutely uncomfortable, I dragged myself out of his spell by abruptly falling silent. There had been more to say but I didn’t care to speak for longer.

  The professor didn’t so much as blink at the sudden pause, still holding my gaze as though he owned it. ‘Is it worth it?’ He punctured the invisible bubble that had wrapped itself about us, much like Parni’s baby’s caul, with his candid query and instantly the immediate world roared back to life around me. I could hear a bullock complaining in the distance and the sound of laughter of some nurses, probably coming off a shift. In a nearby building someone dropped a tray of pans and the shrill clattering echoed from one of the hospital wings. ‘I mean, really, is it worth it?’ he repeated. His straightforward enquiry cut quickly beneath my armour.

  ‘It is to me.’ I probably shouldn’t have sounded as wounded as I did. It showed him my weakness and that was the last thing I wanted to reveal to this unpleasant colleague.

  He sna
pped his attention from me to drain his cup and there was a curious feeling of bittersweet release. Although I had desperately wanted him to look away, I bizarrely felt instantly lonely, toppling from the cocoon he’d created. ‘It’s a long way to come for a matter of months and somehow I suspect this is not so much about midwifery as your mother’s death, leaving your own mark.’

  I found his directness painful in its accuracy. I cast my gaze down, unable to bear looking back into his eyes that had seen and judged far too much in a short time. ‘You may be right,’ I demurred. It seemed easier to let him score that point but perhaps he heard the slight tremor as I spoke. I thought I’d masked it.

  ‘I am right,’ he insisted. ‘I can hear it in your voice,’ he added, answering my fear. ‘You’re here to take revenge on the disease. I can help you!’

  ‘No, I’ll let you take revenge. Find a cure!’

  He gave a sneer of embarrassment. ‘I’m giving it my all, Dr Fenwick. Why don’t you help instead of playing with babies?’

  I had to inhale deeply, silently, to prevent myself from snapping. ‘Saving lives is hardly playing, Professor,’ I replied, pleased by how even I sounded. ‘And I’ve already told you why.’

  ‘It seems to me that you came here deliberately to break that promise to your father.’ He raised a hand. ‘Don’t waste your breath denying it. Besides, your private life is of no consequence to me but I desperately need a bright mind like yours on my side that has some experience in tropical medicine.’

  I shook my head to deny him, angry but determined to keep my composure. He threw more fuel onto the fire of my building rage by smiling; I think he’d worked out already how it infuriated me. He loaded his mocking expression with intrigue and challenge. ‘You can do both, of course. Run your ward, teach your midwives; I mean, frankly, Dr Fenwick, dear old Mother Nature has already equipped women with the internal mechanism and inherent knowledge for childbirth. Let’s face it, it’s not as though the mother has much choice – she simply has to lie down or squat. Nature does the rest.’