Clarrie went to change out of her sodden clothes. There was no sign of Harry, who would still be with Banu, the garden overseer. If Clarrie allowed it, the boy would spend every daylight hour out riding with the patient Khasi manager or playing with Banu’s children. Perhaps she was wrong to let the boy run free, but he was not yet seven, and she wanted him to enjoy his childhood at Belgooree and be accepted by the local hill people in the way that she had been.
Ayah Mimi, frailer now, still kept an eye on him at the house when Clarrie was busy at the factory, and between them they were teaching him the basics of reading and counting. He loved Ayah’s stories of Hindu gods and goddesses. Formal education could wait. She wanted to keep Harry with her as long as possible. He was her final link with Wesley and each year grew more like his father: the unruly waves of dark hair, the lively green eyes that creased when he laughed and his passion for the outdoors.
Adela was so far away and might never want to live at Belgooree again. Was she being selfish wanting to hang on to Harry and not send him to school, Clarrie wondered? Adela! What was life really like for her vivacious daughter? She knew that Adela was playing down the danger she was in; after all, the tea rooms were close to the munitions factories and shipyards of the Tyne, which would surely be a target for enemy planes.
Her anxious thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car engine grinding up the drive. She quickly stepped into a loose cotton frock and pulled a brush through her wavy damp hair. Minutes later James was striding up the steps, looking dishevelled, as if he hadn’t slept for days, his expression grim.
‘Whatever’s happened?’ Clarrie asked, her stomach knotting. ‘Is it news from Tilly?’
‘Lack of news,’ James growled, thrusting his hat at Mohammed Din. He accepted a glass of nimbu pani, which he downed thirstily.
‘Please, James,’ Clarrie urged. ‘Sit down and tell me why you’re so upset.’
‘Tilly’s not answering my telegrams.’ James plonked himself down in a battered cane chair. It creaked under his solid frame.
‘When did you last hear from her?’
‘Two weeks ago. She’s refusing to bring the children out here; says the risk of travelling is worse than staying put.’
‘Perhaps she has a point.’
‘Do you have any idea of what’s happening at home?’ James demanded. ‘Tyneside is in the firing line with its shipyards and ammo factories. Last week the Germans were bombing Newcastle in broad daylight. The BBC reported that squadrons operating in the North East had brought down seventy-five bombers. But they never said how much destruction they managed before our boys destroyed them.’
Clarrie felt sick with anxiety, but she tried to calm him. ‘I just received a letter today from Adela.’
His haggard face brightened for an instant. ‘You have?’
‘Yes, and she says they are all safe and well – told me to tell you especially that Tilly and the . . . the children were staying with Mona on their Berwickshire farm. So well out of harm’s way.’
‘When was it written?’
‘July,’ Clarrie admitted.
James let out an oath. ‘She should have got out in June, when I told her to,’ he fretted. ‘Jean Bradley managed to get back safely to Assam with her two children – the Oxford Estates moved heaven and earth to get our employees’ wives and families on to planes. But not Tilly.’ He stood up and paced to the balcony. ‘I never knew she could be so stubborn – or so irresponsible.’
‘Isn’t it of some comfort that she’s there with the children?’ Clarrie asked. ‘At least they’re all together.’
He turned and glared. ‘I want them here with me, damn it! How can I protect them when they are thousands of miles away? Britain’s on the verge of being invaded. I don’t even want to think what that might mean! They’re completely isolated – Denmark, Norway, Holland all under the Nazis’ jackboots, and now France. It’s just a matter of time. Good God, woman! Don’t you worry about Adela?’
‘Of course I do!’ Clarrie jumped up, stung by his accusation. ‘But there’s nothing we can do out here.’
‘There must be something.’ James gave her a desperate look.
‘Hope and pray, that’s all,’ Clarrie answered, digging her nails into her palms to stop herself breaking into tears.
James turned away, gripped the balcony rail, and bowed his head. His broad back and thick shoulders, straining in his crumpled linen jacket, began to shudder. In alarm Clarrie went to him.
‘James?’ She put a hand on his shoulder. He let out a low howl. He tried to shake her off and hide his face, but she pulled him around. His craggy features were flushed and streaked with tears.
She rubbed his arm. ‘Don’t give up. We’ll be strong for each other.’
He gazed at her with intense blue eyes. His voice when he spoke was a hoarse whisper. ‘How will I manage without my Tilly? She’s the reason I get up in the morning and do my job. Cheviot View is so lonely without her, so bloody lonely!’
‘I know,’ Clarrie said gently. ‘All you can do is be brave and carry on doing your job. Some day soon, God willing, Tilly and the children will return, just as Adela will come back to Belgooree.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ asked James.
‘I have to – and so do you.’
Just then Clarrie heard a child’s shout and a clatter of feet. Harry was back.
‘Hello, Uncle James.’ He grinned. ‘I saw the car coming and ran home. Are you staying?’
‘Yes, he’s staying,’ Clarrie said at once.
‘Have you been running?’ Harry asked in curiosity. ‘You look all pink in the face.’
James straightened up and rubbed his eyes on his sleeve. ‘No, just a bit of grit in the eyes.’ He ruffled the boy’s hair. ‘But your mother got rid of it.’ Over Harry’s head, he gave Clarrie a grateful smile.
James stayed on for three days, doing a tour of the gardens and factory with Clarrie, their talk businesslike. No further mention was made of Tilly, and the tea planter resumed his usual brisk manner. Yet Clarrie could not forget her glimpse of a more vulnerable James, one who had let down his emotional guard and shed tears for his wife and family. Under all his bluster and forthright opinions, James had a soft heart – at least when it came to Tilly. Clarrie felt a fresh pang of loss for Wesley. Perhaps the Robson cousins had been more alike than she’d ever imagined: loyal and loving under their tough manliness.
Before he left to return to Upper Assam, James made a suggestion. The day before, they had been discussing Harry’s education. James had been critical of Clarrie’s reluctance to send her son away to school, even to St Mungo’s in Shillong, where he could return to her at weekends. James had pointed out that Harry would be seven in a couple of months’ time and that he was bright enough and ready for school. But Clarrie had been firm and told him that the decision was hers alone.
‘I know you think it’s none of my business,’ he said, ‘but I have a very talented young assistant, Manzur Ahmad, who wants to be a teacher. He’s my bearer Aslam’s boy. His mother, Meera, was the children’s ayah. Perhaps you remember her.’
‘Of course. Meera has been here on several occasions – a sweet woman. Didn’t you and Tilly pay for Manzur to go to school?’
‘Yes, we did. Tilly took a shine to the boy and said we owed it to Meera for all that she’d done for our children. Well, you know Tilly – daft about kiddies.’
‘It was a kind gesture,’ Clarrie said, waiting for him to explain why he was talking about Manzur.
‘The thing is, his father wants Manzur to train as a clerk in the plantation office – that’s where he’s been for the past year since finishing school – and he’s very efficient at what he does. I don’t want to lose him, but he’s a bright young man with a mind of his own, and I’m worried he might just up and off.’
‘So, what are you thinking?’ Clarrie probed.
‘That if I offered him some tutoring over here, say once a month, with youn
g Harry, then Manzur might be content to stay.’ James added dryly, ‘Then both Aslam and I would be happy.’
Clarrie considered. It might do Harry good to have a young tutor with the energy and patience to teach him. She was touched that James had been giving the problem some thought.
‘If Manzur would be willing to do that,’ Clarrie said and smiled, ‘then yes, I’d be very grateful for your offer. Perhaps we could try it out for a couple of months and see how Manzur gets on with Harry.’
‘Good idea,’ James said, nodding.
He left whistling ‘The British Grenadiers’, which Clarrie knew was a sign that James’s spirits were reviving.
CHAPTER 24
Newcastle, autumn 1940
Adela never mentioned anything about the bombing raids in letters to her mother. The first one in July had been terrifying. The sirens had wailed their warning on a late Tuesday afternoon just as she’d been in the middle of replenishing the tea from the urn in the voluntary canteen at the railway station. She had put down the large metal teapot and hurried out with her fellow workers and customers to the underground passage between the platforms, which doubled as a temporary air-raid shelter.
A sailor had played his harmonica to keep their minds off what might be happening above. Adela’s chest had tightened till she could barely breathe as they waited. The first bombs had sounded like the thunder of a distant train. In the dark somebody reached out for her hand. She held on to it tightly, until her fingers were numb.
The bombing had grown louder and more intense, shaking the walls, while the sailor carried on playing. Adela’s teeth had jarred as she clenched them shut to stop herself screaming. She thought her end had come and prayed that Lexy and the others would survive, that the café was still standing and that her Brewis family and Tilly were safe.
When they had emerged, shaking and laughing with euphoria at having survived, fire engines and ambulances were hurtling along the street heading for the quayside. Later she had discovered that the bombers had struck as close as the Spillers factory by the river, a split second away from the High Level Bridge. The air had reeked with burning rubber and metal, and palls of black smoke had blocked out the sun. Jarrow, the shipyard town on the south bank of the Tyne, had also been ablaze. The death toll that day had been thirteen, and the injured well over a hundred.
The raids carried on over the summer and into September, but Adela learnt to mask her fear and make jokes like others did.
‘Hitler must have heard you’d put yourself forward as Henry Higgins in our play,’ she teased Derek.
‘And Josey must be performing in London then,’ Derek replied with dark humour.
They knew that however bad it was in Newcastle, it was worse in London, which was being hit night after night. Adela hoped fervently that her friend was on tour and out of the capital. She would be forever grateful to Josey for her caring attention of the previous summer, when life had never seemed so tough. Adela’s body and emotions had still been in shock after childbirth and giving away her baby, and grief for her father had swamped her anew on the anniversary of his death. Josey had not pried into her unhappiness or fussed over her, but her warmth and humour had helped her through the worst of it.
More children were evacuated to the countryside, and Libby’s school was relocated to a rambling stately home north of Alnwick. She wrote impatient letters to Adela about how she wished she was in Newcastle being useful and vowed that once she turned sixteen, she was determined to leave school. Tilly was renting a terrace house in South Gosforth to provide a home for the children and, at Libby’s insistence, had taken in two Polish refugees through the Red Cross. Tilly had thrown herself enthusiastically into war work, volunteering with the Women’s Voluntary Service, helping at rest centres doling out clothes and food for those made homeless by the bombing.
Although the cinemas had reopened again after being closed at the beginning of the war, Adela had gone part-time at the Essoldo so that she could help out more at the services canteen and at Herbert’s. The latter was staying open till late to provide a fuggy haven for the flood of new workers at the armaments factories. Any spare time she had was spent at the theatre on Rye Hill.
Just before Christmas, as they were rehearsing Cinderella – Adela was playing Prince Charming – in walked Josey. Adela flew at her and they hugged tightly.
‘No, you can’t have my part,’ Adela said, laughing, ‘so don’t even ask.’
‘Love the long boots, Miss Robson.’ Josey grinned. ‘Derek never let me wear anything that fetching.’
‘You’d never fit those thighs in them, that’s why,’ Derek grunted, but couldn’t resist giving her a peck on the cheek.
They celebrated in the green room with a bottle of whisky Josey had been given by a grateful quartermaster at the barracks in Ripon, and she regaled them with stories of her touring.
‘It’s not all whisky and after-show parties in the sergeants’ mess you know,’ said Josey. ‘It’s damn hard work, and some of the places we’ve stayed in I don’t think they’d changed the sheets since the Napoleonic War.’
‘Remember it, do you?’ said Derek.
‘No, but I remember you talking about it,’ she said, sticking out her tongue.
Josey had two weeks off before her next contract.
‘Florence has let my room to two munitions workers,’ she said with a grimace. ‘I don’t blame her, and she’s been good about storing a trunk for me, but it means I’m homeless.’
‘Stay and have Christmas with us,’ Adela urged. ‘You can have the camp bed in my room.’
Lexy was as accommodating as ever, agreeing at once to Adela’s request that they take in a friend in need of a home. The three of them got on well, Josey and Lexy sharing a sometimes bawdy sense of humour. For Christmas, Lexy suggested cooking a meal at the café for the Brewises, as well as Tilly and her family.
‘Won’t you be expected at one of your sisters’ or nieces’ homes?’ asked Adela.
‘I can see them any day of the week,’ Lexy said, ‘and I’d only end up doing all the washing up. If I stay here, you and Josey can do that.’
Tilly accepted with alacrity. ‘Ros is going to Duncan’s parents in St Abb’s for Christmas. Strachan’s seem to be able to get hold of petrol without too much trouble. She invited us along, but the children would rather be in Newcastle.’
‘So you’re intent on staying and seeing the war out here?’ Adela asked her.
Tilly’s expression was pained. ‘I know James is hurt that I haven’t gone beetling back to him and India. But I couldn’t do it. Not while all three children are here. And I won’t risk a sea voyage.’ She put on a brave smile. ‘Besides, we’ve survived so far, haven’t we? And the Nazis haven’t invaded. So this Christmas, at least, we have something to celebrate.’
‘Yes, we do,’ Adela agreed. She wondered if Tilly woke each morning with the same queasy anxiety that she did. Would today bring further bombing raids or news of another ship sunk? For one day at least they could try and forget the ever-present dangers and join together to lift each other’s spirits.
Aunt Olive, however, took a strong dislike to Adela and Lexy’s plans and refused to leave Lime Terrace. Jane was apologetic but loyal.
‘Mam’s better where she feels safe, and that’s at home. It’s not really her fault. She can’t stop fretting that our George is going to volunteer – he’s been talking about wanting to join the Fleet Air Arm.’
‘No wonder she’s worried,’ Adela sympathised, dismayed to think of George going away. ‘But won’t he get called up soon anyway?’
‘That’s what George keeps saying,’ Jane replied. ‘And he wants to be able to choose where he goes.’
‘What does your dad think he should do?’
Jane sighed. ‘Father just says whatever he thinks will stop Mam worrying. He says George is needed to run the business, and he’ll say so in front of any tribunal. It’s causing a bit of friction at home I can tell you.’
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‘What about Joan? She won’t want George joining up either, will she?’
Jane pulled a face. ‘Joan’s putting pressure on him to get wed – says all her friends are doing it – but I think that’s another reason he wants to up and off.’
On Christmas Eve a card came from Adela’s dear old guardian, Fluffy Hogg, with seasonal good wishes. Scrawled on the back was a message. Adela caught her breath at the familiar name.
I thought you’d want to know that your missionary friend, Sam Jackman, has left the Sarahan district. I heard it from Fatima. He came to see her, but unfortunately she has been away in Lahore seeing to her sick mother so missed him, and he left no onward address. We think that the mission might have given him a second chance and sent him somewhere else to start afresh at short notice.
Adela reread the tantalising short message several times with a thumping heart. It told her so little. Why had Sam left? Where had he gone? Had he taken Pema with him? To hear of him in this way was upsetting. He had disappeared from the Himalayas, and the chances of her ever seeing him again were even more remote than before. Oh Sam! Where are you now? she wondered bleakly.
Adela couldn’t bear to have the card on display so slipped it into her bedside drawer under her nightie, alongside the photograph she had kept of her and Sam on the Narkanda veranda. Briefly she gazed at the photo. How happy they looked together! Her heart twisted to think of what might have been. But it was a glimpse into a past life that would never be hers again.
On Christmas day, with the café decorated with homemade paper streamers and old Chinese lanterns (that Tilly remembered Clarrie using for her long-ago twenty-first birthday party), the Robsons, Lexy, Josey and Derek all came together to share a meal. Tilly and Josey took to each other at once – Tilly remembered Josey as a lively child at a Christmas party of Clarrie’s during the Great War – and the café rang with their raucous laughter as they swapped anecdotes about their growing up in Newcastle among eccentric and bossy relations.
The Girl From the Tea Garden Page 35
