The Tea Gardens

by Fiona McIntosh

  I let Miles link my arm and guide me up three shallow marble stairs into the reception via the middle arch of a trio. The architecture had a strong Grecian quality, with Doric pillars downstairs, and I glimpsed Ionic pillars on the next level. But now that we were inside, the classical architecture was overwhelmed by the mood of the colonial tropics. A darkly polished staircase with ornate panelled balusters climbed away from us in a wide shallow curve of carpeted stairs to the first floor. My heels clicked on a marble floor with colourful inlay work upon which sat a huge jardinière. It was the central focus within walls that sported the hunting trophies of many a fine beast’s head with enormous curling horns. Gold-leafed noticeboards reflected the names of past presidents while ceiling fans twisted gently above us as Miles escorted me to the reception. Here, dark-eyed, moustachioed men stared silently and gravely at me as Miles signed me in before I was guided towards the back of the building.

  ‘This is the Crystal Room,’ he said, pointing left, where I noted mainly couples were socialising quietly beneath a glittering series of chandeliers. I caught the whiff of tobacco fighting against the aromas of food emanating from the kitchens to our right. I looked across and through to a timber-panelled dining room with a few scattered early diners. ‘And this is the main lounge,’ he finished, sounding proud as he led me into an airy chamber.

  It was louder here, the conversation more effervescent, with tinkling laughter and the deeper chuckles of men flirting with their guests. I felt my elbow grasped as Miles hurried me through a long room full of comfy chairs and clusters of people enjoying drinks and snacks. ‘But I thought we’d have cocktails on the verandah,’ he said, almost in an afterthought, I sensed. I looked at him without judgement but he added self-consciously, ‘If that’s all right with you?’

  ‘Out here on the verandah is lovely,’ I replied, although did he think I’d missed the smouldering presence of Saxon Vickery? I’d glimpsed the unfriendly professor, alone and reading a newspaper in one corner of the main lounge.

  A waiter arrived and I let Miles order for us while I admired our surrounds. Cane chairs and tables sat against the sweep of the whitewashed wall of the verandah, which overlooked a manicured lawn and other buildings in the distance. Above us, moths and other insects zigzagged in the shadows, winking into existence when the verandah lighting suddenly illuminated gossamer wings. Conversations and laughter dulled to a general melody of human voices and became a comfortable hum. The drinks arrived.

  It had vaguely irritated me that Miles hadn’t asked what I might feel like drinking but it seemed trivial to make any mention. I smiled my thanks and the waiter placed a martini-shaped glass onto a coaster. From his tray the waiter also produced a bowl of large peanuts, which were lightly warmed, glossed with oil and flavoured with herbs and chilli, it looked like.

  ‘You’ll love these,’ Miles assured as the waiter withdrew.

  ‘Here’s cheers, I’m thrilled you joined me finally,’ he said, raising a glass, and I followed suit before taking a sip of the sweet Plymouth gin mixed with bitters. It was delicious and the fresh citrus of the lemon rind made me think of an English sunset; a bright curl of sunshine within the pinkish mix of alcohol. I sighed silently and relaxed into my chair as the cool alcohol gave me a perk I hadn’t realised I’d been missing. I wanted to hold the chill of the glass, with its icy teardrops running down the outside, against my skin but I didn’t want to give Miles any wrong signals.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  It wasn’t my first pink gin but I let Miles have his pleasure. ‘So delicious, thank you. What a wonderful spot this is. I can hardly believe there’s a sprawling, choked city behind us.’

  He nodded in agreement. ‘I drop by here most nights. It keeps me sane, especially when the summer heats up. There are all manner of parties held on the lawn and there’s a marvellous library here too.’ I nodded to tell him I’d noticed it. ‘They have their own bakery so there’s always fresh cakes and breads on offer.’ He was gushing, sounding nervous.

  ‘It’s a great escape,’ I agreed. ‘Don’t you miss home, Miles?’ I know I’d asked him this before but I was genuinely interested and hoped he felt no longer the strangers we were back then.

  He made a scoffing sound. ‘Scotland? No!’ He took a deep sip of his cocktail.

  I gave him a look of bafflement. ‘You sound convinced.’

  ‘Oh, I am. In India, I’m someone, Isla. I’m no one back there.’

  What an odd sentiment. I didn’t want to explore it with him. ‘Have you heard about the special visit by the Viceroy’s wife?’

  Miles swallowed the contents of his glass. It had only taken him three swigs. He sighed as the gin hit the spot. ‘Yes,’ he answered in a weary tone. ‘This happens from time to time. We just grin and bear it. Are you involved? I’ve not been asked in any official capacity.’

  I nodded, unsure of what was best to say at his admission. ‘Er, yes. Matron has asked me to give the Vicereine a tour of our maternity wing.’ I chose not to mention Professor Vickery for fear of getting my companion charged with irritation but I didn’t need to worry about my part in provoking that emotion for the man himself chose that moment to stroll up. I saw him coming but Miles had his back to him and I felt my gut tighten. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I found his lopsided grin and slightly ungroomed appearance roguishly attractive against my companion’s tightly knotted tie and precisely cut fiery hair, which accentuated the vulpine ears.

  ‘Evening, colleagues,’ he said as he approached, wearing an indifferent smile of high wattage. This was surely the most gregarious mood I could imagine him in.

  Miles groaned and turned, slow-blinking at confirmation that it was indeed the professor I presumed he loved and loathed in equal measure.

  ‘Hello, Professor.’

  Our intruder waved a hand. ‘Call me Vickery. We’re off-duty, old chap. Isla, you look especially fetching tonight. I’m not used to seeing you out of your white coat and sensible linens.’

  I smiled. ‘You’re not used to seeing me at all, but thank you. I’m enjoying this relaxing setting.’

  ‘Well, while you do look relaxed, Isla, I’m afraid, dear Miles, I would suggest that gin is not agreeing with you. It makes your enormous ears go red. Swap to a Mary Pickford . . . the white rum and fresh pineapple have a lovely zing and the maraschino liqueur will match your hair.’ He grinned lazily and I thought a bit cruelly. I felt instantly sorry for Miles.

  ‘I’ll have a gimlet with you, Miles, if you’re ordering another,’ I offered by way of consolation.

  Miles cut me a smile of gratitude. ‘Don’t let us hold you up, Vickery.’

  ‘You’re not. I wanted to talk to Isla about the damned official visit that I’m being dragged into.’

  I hated him in that moment for how he said my name. It unnerved me that he managed to give it a delicate Scottish lilt from where it came. Somehow he added sweetness and affection into those four letters and I sensed he meant me to hear this, which I didn’t appreciate.

  ‘What? Both of you are involved?’ Miles frowned, sounding offended.

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you know? You normally make it your business to know everything that can further your profile.’ Vickery looked at me. ‘We’re meant to be showing our special visitor around together like a double act apparently,’ Vickery said, offhandedly. It was the first I’d heard that he was also included in the escort of the Vicereine around the hospital. I watched him lurch slightly behind Miles’s shoulder but he seemed to catch himself. He didn’t sound intoxicated but he could have been, for all I knew.

  ‘I’m refusing to discuss work,’ I replied, trying to soothe away the scowl from Miles’s face. ‘Off-duty, remember?’

  The professor wagged a finger at me. ‘Fair enough, fair Isla. But if you —’

  I saw it before Miles did and was leaping to my feet as Vickery first staggered and then began to crumple. I grabbed him and within a blink or two Miles had his other arm.


  ‘Whew! Steady on, old man. How much have you had?’

  Saxon found his more common mood. ‘Not enough!’ he growled. ‘Get off me, Miles.’ He shook his subordinate free of his arm but I noted he didn’t try to untangle himself from my grip. He turned to me and I was close enough that our faces were nearly touching. I smelled a vague whiff of alcohol, probably a Scotch, but not enough to convince me he was drunk.

  ‘Forgive me,’ he said, eyes looking into mine far too deeply for my comfort. ‘I must remember to eat more often and not drink a good malt on an empty belly.’ He gently unwrapped my fingers that clutched his arm, but didn’t let go, and I felt the warmth of his skin against mine. He didn’t take his gaze from me either, which was even more deeply unsettling because it felt as though he was searching through me, rummaging around in my thoughts to find something that didn’t want to be found. ‘Sorry for the nuisance.’

  ‘You’re not,’ I said, feeling transfixed. I shook my head to free myself of his spell. ‘Where’s home?’

  He grinned again. ‘Why, Isla? Are you coming with me?’

  I was clearly in a good mood because I found this amusing, although Miles didn’t and his snort of disgust seemed to entertain the two of us even more. We must have looked like a couple because his fingers still held mine.

  I chuckled. ‘No, I want to make sure you get home safely. I don’t like how unsteady you appear. Is it really because of lack of food?’

  ‘Matron complains, my butler glares silently, my wife urges me from afar to take better care of myself. I’m sorry again for the intrusion. I don’t have far to go . . . just upstairs, in fact.’

  Hearing him mention a wife was more surprising than learning where he lived; she must be saint-like to put up with him and maybe that explained why she didn’t live in India alongside the professor. ‘You live at this club?’

  ‘I do. Only transiently, though, since returning from England. I’m yet to find somewhere permanent, as I gave up my old flat on Park Road before I left. Miles grabbed it, didn’t you?’

  Miles nodded with an awkward smile and a glance back at me that was full of plea. I read into it that he wanted me to curtail conversation and help get rid of the professor.

  ‘I think Miles would jump into my grave if I deserted it. He certainly wants my role at the hospital but that’s another conversation for another time. Where was I?’ He looked up to the ceiling, distracted. ‘Ah yes,’ he said. ‘The other clubs are much too stuffy for my liking,’ Vickery continued, clearly not in the same hurry as my escort. He coughed and it was slightly more prolonged than for someone clearing a throat or a dust mote.

  ‘Professor?’ I queried. I wasn’t happy with how he sounded.

  He grinned lopsidedly at me. ‘Time to go. Dr Fenwick,’ he began, suddenly more formal. ‘I recall the last time we spoke,’ he said, rubbing his cheek in some sort of silent signal to me that made me smile with guilt but also with amusement at his deft manner, ‘you said you’d visit my department. I’m still waiting.’

  ‘My recollection,’ I replied, in a similarly lighthearted voice, ‘is that you invited me. I am yet to take up the invitation.’ The response had a soft bite but only Vickery would feel it; Miles did not need to know anything about our confrontation. I suppose time had helped to smooth over just how rough our previous meeting had been.

  ‘Don’t wait too long.’ He spluttered again, apologising for it, and his breathing sounded momentarily erratic.

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that cough,’ I mentioned. The clinician in me was alerted.

  ‘Nothing to fuss about. This always happens around mid-year for me.’

  I was sure I heard the lie but Miles had deepened his glare.

  ‘Come on, then, Isla,’ he said, shifting his weight as the cue to our intruder to leave. ‘I think we should move on. You may like to see one of the other clubs . . . Tollygunge, perhaps? Goodnight, Vickery,’ he added grudgingly. ‘Hope you feel better tomorrow.’

  ‘Miles belongs to all of the clubs,’ Vickery said drily. ‘Tally-ho, eh, Miles?’

  ‘Have a good sleep,’ Miles replied.

  I was impressed with Miles’s control that the professor, even in his slightly befuddled state, was making an extra special effort to topple.

  Vickery had already looked away from Miles, fixing his penetrating gaze upon me. ‘Good evening, Isla,’ and then it seemed his legs could no longer bear the load and, like an old building being demolished, he folded on himself slowly, legs giving way before his torso followed. He clipped one of the cane chairs, toppling it as he fell. Once again I moved faster than Miles and bearers swooped from out of the shadows quicker than I imagined possible.

  ‘Vickery!’ I was cradling his head and it felt too hot. ‘Just give him some air, please?’ I said to the hovering men around us. ‘Professor? Saxon?’ At the utterance of his name he opened his eyes and gave me a smile that warmed me as though I’d stepped out of a frozen night to stand next to a bonfire. His gaze was turning glassy, though. ‘I like how you say my name,’ he said, either unaware or deliberately ignoring all the heads that peered over us.

  I could feel the irritation of Miles building behind me as I squatted next to the man he loathed.

  ‘Saxon, what’s happening?’

  He seemed to grasp through his blur that I needed a brief overview of his medical status. ‘Bit of fever,’ he replied as casually as one might discuss the weather. But it confirmed what I suspected as he closed his eyes again and appeared to drift into sleep.

  ‘All right. Let’s get him up, please,’ I said to the aides. ‘An arm each. Just stand either side and be ready to catch him.’

  Our commotion had caused other patrons to walk over, queries bouncing around the verandah. I noticed others craning necks from inside the long room to get a look at the activity. I turned to Miles. ‘Please do the right thing and assure everyone. We don’t need to turn this into a circus.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ He sounded as bitter as a child who’d had his bag of sweets snatched away.

  ‘I’m going to see the professor safely to his room.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s appropriate.’

  ‘Does it look like I am troubled by what you consider appropriate right now, Miles?’ I said.

  He blinked quickly, stung.

  ‘One of our own is ill. For heaven’s sake. Help or leave. I’m going to make sure he’s all right.’

  ‘Right,’ he said with a slow sigh of disdain. ‘Leave him with me.’

  ‘No.’ I said this with such certainty, he stepped back, his face full of shocked query. ‘You and the professor clash, that much is obvious,’ I said.

  ‘And you two are such good friends, you mean?’

  There was no going back now. This episode would damage our loose friendship but my time here was short enough that it truly didn’t matter to me. ‘What I mean is that I have no history with the professor or feeling one way or the other.’ I covered the lie with a firm voice.

  ‘When it comes to medicine, you can be assured that I treat all my patients with the same level of care.’

  ‘I’m not talking about your ability to care for a patient, Miles. I’m talking about our patient’s desire to cooperate with you. I don’t see it happening with the professor, do you? Whereas I think he will cooperate for me. Now, as I said, either help or don’t, but let me see to him.’

  ‘Well, then, I shall leave you to it. Good evening, Dr Fenwick.’ He turned away, angry; he was right to feel humiliated in front of others, I suppose, but I didn’t have an ounce of sympathy for his hurt feelings given the circumstances. I had no time for the furiously blushing doctor’s dented ego and showed it by turning away and urging instructions to the bearers, who hefted Vickery to his feet. He looked dazed initially but recovered his wits.

  ‘Up to his room, please. I presume someone knows which one?’

  A senior man arrived wearing the uniform of the club. He told me his name but I couldn’t p
ronounce it to even remember it so I simply nodded. ‘I can take you to his rooms, madam. I have a key.’

  ‘Good. Lead on, please.’

  11

  I barely looked around the spacious room but had the bearers seat my patient on the edge of the bed.

  ‘My name is Dr Isla Fenwick,’ I impressed so they didn’t think I was breaking any club rules. ‘Could you undress him, please?’ I asked, turning my back on Vickery for modesty and to address the senior man. ‘And could you have some lightly brewed tea sent up. No sugar or milk necessary, thank you.’

  The man murmured some orders to his staff and then gave me a little bow. ‘Please ring down if you need anything, Dr Fenwick.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I knew it to be highly unusual for a woman to be left in the room of a gentleman member but these were unusual circumstances. I kept my back to the men until I heard Vickery dismiss them.

  He was covered by the sheet but only to the waist.

  They withdrew silently.

  ‘I’m near enough naked and defenceless, Isla. You can have your way with me,’ he slurred, eyes closed.

  I bent over to put a hand to his head, trying not to notice the broad chest that struck me as too thinly fleshed. Skin that I once imagined would catch the glow of sun so easily appeared slightly waxy in colour. ‘Bit warm.’

  ‘It’s just a little fever.’

  ‘Not concerned?’

  ‘No. It will be gone by tomorrow. I’ve just been overdoing it.’ His eyes snapped open. ‘Thank you for your concern, though.’ A smile broke across his face that reflected such pleasure it could be compared to climbing out of the sea to feel a summery sun on one’s back. Healing.

  I hadn’t realised that I was holding myself tense. I let my shoulders drop and sighed softly. ‘I’ve left this far too long but I do believe you’re owed an apology for my behaviour the last time we spoke.’ I couldn’t even bring myself to refer fully to it.