24
It turned into a golden morning, full of delicate light, and with a pale blue haze drifting over the lake. It seemed strange that after such a terrifying night everything should be so still and normal at the lakeside, with the fresh wetness of the trees and the dew coating the grass. However, the smell of burnt cheese still hung about and at the side of the house, where the coolies were cleaning up, an air of desolation crept over the ash-covered yard. Gwen kept Hugh close to her and waited anxiously for McGregor to appear.
Verity came into the drawing room. ‘One of the kitchen coolies was hurt in the fire.’
‘How badly?’
‘I don’t know. The appu just told me. I’m going to find McGregor to ask if he knows.’
‘Tell me, won’t you?’
‘Of course.’
Just as Florence Shoebotham turned up with a bacon flan, Gwen spotted McGregor outside on the upper terrace, waving his arms about while he talked with Verity. Gwen bent her body back in an effort to see but not be seen, but when McGregor spotted her and stared without a smile, she tensed. It was as she expected.
Florence was the last person she wanted to see, but in a way, though she was worried about the injured man, Gwen was pleased to have a reason not to be bullied by McGregor just yet. They would speak soon enough, but in the meantime, she would not seek him out.
‘I came as quickly as I could,’ Florence said, her chins wobbling sympathetically. ‘I heard your entire side wing burned down.’
‘No. Actually, it was just the cheese room.’
‘I am sorry to hear that.’
Gwen was obliged to stay and entertain the woman, and on her instruction the butler brought tea served in the best china and a three-tiered cake stand. As Florence tucked in to dainties that only smelt faintly of smoke, Gwen felt increasingly anxious. She would have to ask McGregor about the injured man sooner or later.
‘Are we likely to be seeing your delightful cousin Fran again soon?’ Florence asked.
‘No, not soon, though she has promised another visit at some point.’
‘You will be missing her, and your husband, of course.’ The woman arranged her face to look concerned and lowered her voice. ‘I do hope everything is all right with Laurence. I did hear he suffered heavy losses in the Wall Street crash.’
‘You have no need to concern yourself, Florence. Laurence is fine, and so am I.’
It seemed to Gwen that Florence struggled to conceal her disappointment that the gossip wasn’t going to materialize in quite the juicy way she had hoped.
‘We are looking forward to him being back with us very soon,’ Gwen continued; she didn’t say that in fact Laurence had wired the agent that very morning, saying he might be away longer than expected, and that she had not passed on the information about the fire.
After Florence had gone, Gwen opened the window but with the smell of burning still lingering she rapidly closed it again, then went in search of Verity and Hugh. She’d wanted to keep Hugh with her, but he’d slipped outside during Florence’s visit. She wandered among the trees and bushes of the garden, calling him, and then stood on the bottom terrace, looking at the islands that dotted the water. A thin layer of mist still floated above the lake and a gust of wind chilled her. When she heard footsteps on the path, and the sound of Hugh’s voice, she spun round to see McGregor advancing, gripping Hugh by the hand.
‘Mr McGregor,’ she said.
‘Mrs Hooper.’ He released Hugh’s hand and the child ran to her.
‘How is the man?’ she said, making an effort to appear calm.
‘The pharmacist is with him.’
‘An unfortunate sequence of events,’ she said.
He shook his head. ‘Rather more than unfortunate. Deliberate destruction cannot be condoned. I hope that this is the end of it. I would advise, however, that for the time being you keep the lad close to you.’
‘Let’s hope it was nothing sinister. It may have been an accident, don’t you think? With all those flaming torches burning so close to the house.’
‘I doubt it. But you’re very lucky it was spotted in time.’
She drew in her breath.
He turned to go, took a few steps away, but then glanced back. ‘I knew something like this would happen. Lucky for you the man is still alive.’
She held her hands together to suppress her rising anger. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that this is the sort of thing that happens when somebody interferes with the way of things.’
‘And by that, you mean me?’
He inclined his head and his face stiffened.
She took a step towards him and her efforts at keeping calm fell apart. ‘Actually, Mr McGregor, I do not think I did anything wrong in helping that little girl. Only a person with a heart of stone could think otherwise. It was not I who caused this, but you. The days of flogging a man over a trifle are over, and if they are not, well, shame on you.’
‘Have you finished?’
‘Not quite. You will be very fortunate if the Ceylon Labour Union do not pick this up. You are a mean-minded man who sees nothing but the bad in people. I believe in treating people kindly and fairly, whatever the colour of their skin.’
His face spasmed. ‘This is nothing to do with colour.’
‘Of course it’s to do with colour. Everything in this country is to do with colour. Well, mark my words, Mr McGregor, all this will come back to bite you one day, and on that day none of us will be safe in our beds.’
With that Gwen marched up the steps with her head held high and Hugh in tow. She would not give McGregor the satisfaction of seeing the tears that threatened to spill.
That night her dreams troubled her, with images of men brandishing flaming torches that seemed to rise from the surface of the lake. She dreamt of Laurence too, imagined he was there with her in the boathouse, a lock of waving hair falling over his eyes as he leant over her. The hairs on his arms shone in the moonlight and freckles peppered his cheeks. She put her arm round his neck and he cupped the back of her head with his hand, but then she realized he wasn’t looking at her at all – he was looking through her. It was a dark, unsettling dream and then, first thing in the morning, the news came that the man had died from his burns.
Gwen spent the day trying to find out who his family were, and wanting to see what she might do to help. She remembered the man in question, and it broke her heart to think of his life cut short in that agonizing way – he was not much more than a boy, with a ready smile and a willing nature – but when her path crossed McGregor’s in the garden, he insisted he would deal with it.
‘But he was one of my household coolies.’
‘Nevertheless, Mrs Hooper, I can’t allow sentimentality at this delicate stage. We can’t rule out further repercussions.’
‘But –’
McGregor didn’t reply but gave her a curt nod and walked off in the opposite direction. She gazed at the lake, not knowing what else she could do.
25
The weeks that followed remained tense, with a kind of gloom settling about the house. Gwen bravely attempted to behave as normally as possible for Hugh’s sake, though it soon became clear Verity was drinking to excess. Almost overnight she became withdrawn, brooding in her room for hours on end, and at times Gwen heard her sobbing. At other times, she seemed brittle, even losing her temper with Hugh. Once or twice, Gwen had to admonish her, and afterwards she heard her moving about in Laurence’s room in the middle of the night. Melancholy hung about Verity when she did come down, and then, tall and thin, she loped around the house like a creature dispossessed.
There were no shortcuts to understanding her sister-in-law, and now Gwen worried for the girl’s state of mind. Mood swings were one thing, but this! When she tried to ask what it was about, Verity squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. It seemed as if her sister-in-law was trying not to give in to her feelings and, in the end, Gwen felt it better to let it run its course. If Ver
ity’s unhappiness could be regarded as her just desserts, equally Gwen’s ‘revenge’ – if that is what it was – was not so sweet, and something about the girl drew her pity.
Gwen also felt bruised by what had happened with McGregor and kept out of his way, though with Naveena’s help she had managed to contact the dead man’s family. In the empty detached weeks until Laurence came home, she attended to her household duties, agreed the menus, ensured no laundry was being stolen and kept a firm eye on the accounts. But still she tormented herself over the man’s death and it left her feeling insecure and guilty.
On breezy days when the timbers of the bungalow creaked and groaned, she heard the footsteps of her absent child. Then she’d stand completely still as if waiting for the wind to bring some news, or, in order to break the spell, she’d compile a list of the contents of the storeroom, though anything mind-numbingly practical would do.
One morning she went to the kitchen and found only McGregor there, looking morose.
‘Mr McGregor,’ she said and turned to leave.
‘Have a cup of tea with me, Mrs Hooper,’ he said in a tone less brusque than usual.
She was surprised and hesitated.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t bite.’
‘I wasn’t thinking that.’
As he fetched a second cup and then poured the tea for her, she seated herself at the opposite side of the table.
‘All my life, I’ve worked in tea,’ he said, not looking up at her.
‘Laurence told me.’
‘I know these workers. But you come over here and you want to change everything. How is it that, knowing nothing, Mrs Hooper, you want to change everything?’
She started to reply, but he held up his hand, and she smelt a trace of whisky on his breath.
‘Let me finish. The thing is, the terrible thing is, the thing that has started to keep me awake at night …’
There was a long pause.
‘Mr McGregor?’
‘Is that, after everything, you may have been right about the flogging.’
‘Is that such a bad thing?’
‘For you, maybe not …’
Gwen cast around for an appropriate response. ‘What is it that really worries you?’
He hesitated and shook his head. There was another stretch of silence while his jaw worked and he appeared to be thinking. With no idea what went on inside this man, Gwen had only ever seen his gruff exterior.
‘What worries me, if you must know, is that I may not be able to adjust. I’ve given my life to tea, been part of the way it has been for so long … it’s in my blood, do you see? In the beginning we never thought anything of flogging the blacks. We hardly even thought of them as people, at least not people like you and me.’
‘But they are people, aren’t they, and one of them has lost his life.’
He nodded. ‘I changed my view a long time ago. I am not a cruel man, Mrs Hooper. I try to be fair, I hope you realize that.’
‘I believe we are all capable of change if we want it badly enough,’ she said.
‘Aye,’ he said. ‘If we want it. I have been happy here but, like it or not, our days are numbered.’
‘We have to move with the times.’
He sighed. ‘They won’t want us, you know, when it comes. For all we’ve done for them, it’ll be the end of everything.’
‘And maybe because of what we’ve done to them.’
‘And then I do not know what I shall do.’
Gwen watched, feeling the sense of resignation in him as his shoulders drooped.
‘How are things with the labourers now?’
‘Quiet. I think the man’s death shocked them as much as it did us. Nobody wants to lose their job.’
‘And the ones who started the fire?’
‘No one is talking. I have either to make a big show of involving the authorities or make it widely known that I believe it was an accident. It goes against the grain, but I have decided to let it pass as an accident.’
‘You don’t think there will be further trouble?’
‘Who knows? But it’s my bet the real trouble will begin in Colombo. The workers here have too much to lose.’
She sighed. Neither of them spoke for a while after that and, realizing there really wasn’t anything else to say, Gwen got up.
‘Thank you for the tea, but now I must find Hugh.’
She spent most of her free time with Hugh. Sometimes they played soldiers advancing on the enemy, usually one of the dogs. Sadly, the dogs didn’t understand their roles as vanquished soldiers and ran round in circles instead of lying down to die. Hugh shouted at them and stamped his feet.
‘Lie down, Spew! You too, Bobbins. Ginger, you’re supposed to be dead!’
Today Hugh whirled around the drawing room with his arms outstretched, pretending to be a British triplane and making himself dizzy.
‘Mummy, you be a plane too. You can be a German Albatros, and we can have a dog fight.’
She shuddered at the thought of air-to-air eruptions in the skies. ‘Darling, I don’t think I’m quite up to that. Why not let Aunty Verity read to you?’
Verity picked out a book and Hugh settled on the sofa beside her.
‘Which book is it?’ Gwen asked, and frowned when she looked over Verity’s shoulder. Gwen preferred Beatrix Potter, and claimed Verity’s choice, Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales, might frighten him. It was a long-standing difference of opinion.
Verity stood her ground. ‘He’s not a baby. Hasn’t he just been rushing around pretending to be a bomber aircraft?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, then. The Andersen stories are sometimes sad, but it’s such a wonderful imaginary world. I don’t want Hugh to miss out.’
‘And I don’t want him scarred for ever.’
‘But, Gwen, they are so much better than Grimm’s.’
‘You have a point. Maybe when he’s a little older.’
Verity threw down the book of fairy tales. ‘I can never do anything right for you, can I?’
Gwen was taken aback and felt a little exasperated. ‘Why not try Alice in Wonderland?’
Verity shrugged.
Gwen passed the book over. ‘Come on, Verity. Please don’t spoil things.’
Verity stared at the book, but didn’t reply, and when Gwen noticed tears in her eyes, she wondered if she was missing her brother.
‘What’s wrong?’ Gwen asked.
Verity shook her head.
‘Nothing can be that bad, can it?’
As Verity hung her head, Gwen went across to her and held her hands, squeezing them gently. ‘Come on, old thing. Chin up.’
Verity raised her head. ‘You do know I love Hugh, don’t you?’
‘Of course. It goes without saying.’
Verity sighed and no more was said.
A little later, just as Alice was sliding down the rabbit hole, the phone rang. All three looked up, but Gwen was first on her feet. When she answered it, a crackling voice told her that it was Laurence’s agent in Colombo, and that he’d received a wire saying that Laurence would be arriving in exactly one week’s time. Would McGregor pick him up from the docks? She said a silent prayer and went back into the drawing room. Watching her sister-in-law with her son, she wished she could keep the warm feeling to herself for a little longer.
Verity glanced up. ‘Who was on the phone?’
Gwen grinned.
‘Come on, tell. You look as pleased as punch.’
She couldn’t hold it in. ‘Laurence is coming home.’
‘When? He’s not already in Colombo, is he?’
Gwen shook her head. ‘He’s arriving in a week. He wants McGregor to pick him up.’
‘No,’ Verity said. ‘We’ll do it.’
Not sure if she wanted to go with Verity, Gwen pulled a face. ‘You’d have to drive.’
Hugh jumped up and down and clapped his hands.
Verity stood up, lifted Hugh off his feet an
d spun him round.
‘I’d love to throw a party to welcome him home,’ Gwen said. ‘It’s been so grim, and we all deserve a little fun.’
‘We’re supposed to be tightening our belts.’
‘It doesn’t have to be lavish.’
As Verity put Hugh down and stepped back, Gwen considered for a minute or two.
‘The food can just be canapés and we’ll have massive bowls of fruit punch, with honey from the hives and plenty of fruit from the trees. That’ll disguise the cheap alcohol. We don’t need a string quartet, we can play the gramophone.’
Verity smiled and Gwen realized she hadn’t seen her sister-in-law this happy for weeks.
‘We’ll spend as little as possible. Laurence will be furious if he comes home to a big display. And we’ll need to be here to oversee the preparations, so maybe McGregor had better fetch him after all.’
Verity shook her head. ‘You don’t want McGregor getting in first and telling tales. Because of the injured girl, he still blames you for the fire, and the man’s death.’
‘I thought he’d come round a little.’
‘Who knows? But do you want him speaking to Laurence before you have a chance to put your side of the story?’
‘I suppose I could drive myself.’
‘Gwen, I know you’ve got the hang of driving out and about around here, but all the way to Colombo? It’s not an easy route. What if you had an accident?’
She knew Verity was right.
‘Tell you what. The servants are accustomed to the old parties here, those opulent, money-no-object affairs. Why not stay to make sure it’s done your way? Keep an eye on the arrangements, and I’ll pick Laurence up on my own.’
‘I want terribly to go, but I don’t see how I can leave Hugh, when everyone will be so busy.’ And, not wanting to burst Verity’s happy bubble, Gwen decided to let her go.
The Tea Planter's Wife Page 27