The Girl From the Tea Garden

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t have let him slip through my sticky paws,’ Prue declared, and gave up asking.

  They returned to Calcutta. In October their nine-month tour was at an end. Adela’s spirits revived to discover that Sophie and Rafi were in the city too. Rafi was sourcing goran wood from the Sundarbans for making tent poles as an alternative to traditional hardwoods, which were in short supply since the occupation of Burma. Sophie had secured a transfer so that she could be with her husband and work at the Calcutta Red Cross depot. Adela spent a happy couple of days with them in their cramped temporary quarters. Rafi had aged; the hair at his temples and moustache was grey and his handsome face more hollowed. He looked tired out, but greeted her with his habitual warmth and cheerfulness.

  ‘You can see my husband is working too hard,’ said Sophie, ‘and worry over Ghulam has produced more grey hairs.’

  ‘What’s happened to Ghulam?’ asked Adela in concern.

  ‘Back in prison,’ Rafi said, sighing, ‘for taking part in the Quit India Movement.’

  ‘Rounded up with other socialists and Congress supporters,’ explained Sophie.

  ‘I can’t help him this time,’ said Rafi dispiritedly, ‘not until this war is over.’

  Adela could see how the subject pained Rafi so asked instead about the Raja. Krishan, Rita and their daughters were well. The Raja had encouraged many of his Gulgat subjects to enlist in the Indian Army to defend the country, though the family spent much of their time in Bombay, where Rita was happiest. Sanjay was married and living in Delhi, but still leading the playboy life. Sophie showed her a recent newspaper photo of him attending a polo match.

  ‘Losing his good looks already,’ Sophie pointed out. ‘Too much good living.’

  Adela stared at the grainy picture; Jay’s figure was stouter and his face had filled out. She knew Sophie was trying to make her feel better that Jay was out of her life. But there was no need. Adela could hear his name mentioned now and see his image without the slightest tug of emotion.

  ‘You look weary, lassie,’ Sophie said with a concerned smile. ‘Why don’t you go home for a visit and let your mother spoil you?’

  While the ENSA troupe decided whether to sign on for another stint in India, they were given two weeks’ leave to spend in the hills.

  ‘Typical.’ Tommy laughed. ‘Just as the cold season starts, they send us to freeze in Darjeeling.’

  He and Prue decided to go to Jubbulpore instead and stay with Prue’s parents, Prue ever hopeful that Stuey might get a few days’ leave to join her. Adela, encouraged by Sophie’s suggestion, sent a message to her mother and headed to Belgooree. She faced the truth that, despite her yearning to go home, deep down she had been putting off going back because of the pain it would stir up over her father’s death and the rift it had caused with her mother. However many fond and caring letters Clarrie had written to her in the intervening years, Adela knew that her mother had blamed her for the tragedy in Gulgat. But Adela couldn’t avoid the issue for ever; better to clear the air now so that they could try and recapture the loving relationship they once had. With her heart torn in shreds over Sam, she needed her mother more than ever.

  Adela felt her spirits rise the closer she got to home. From the ferry she took a crowded local bus to Shillong, where Daleep was waiting with her father’s rusting car. Harry, was standing up in the passenger seat, waving. For a heart-stopping moment she saw the likeness to their father.

  ‘You’re so tall,’ Adela cried as she pulled him down for a hug. The eleven-year-old was suddenly bashful and brushed off the kiss she planted on his cheek. She laughed.

  Daleep chatted about the gardens all the way back up to Belgooree. Adela half listened as the familiar landscape rolled by, and she was flooded with memories of doing this drive with her father – and with Sam. She smothered such thoughts as Daleep honked the horn to signal their arrival. Minutes later she was rushing up the veranda steps and into her mother’s arms.

  For the first few days Adela did little more than sleep. She got up for meals – Mohammed Din spoiling her with all her favourite dishes – but even when she sat on the veranda to read the letters she had picked up from the ENSA office before leaving, she fell asleep for hours at a time.

  Clarrie was busy every day at the factory. Harry was having his fortnightly lessons with the handsome young Manzur. Clarrie was trying to be firm that Harry would go to St Mungo’s School in Shillong after Christmas; she had already put off his going twice. Now that the threat of invasion was receding, she felt better about allowing Harry out of her sight.

  Adela went to visit Ayah Mimi, who continued to live contentedly in a hut in the garden, and she put flowers on her father’s grave. She wept fresh tears, but felt his presence strongly, and it eased her sore heart. Once her energy began to return, Adela would go riding in the morning while Harry had his lessons and then take her brother fishing.

  It was only at the end of the week, when Manzur had left, that she finally had time alone with her mother to talk. After Harry had gone to bed, the women sat on the veranda sofa together with the windows closed against the cool night air of October, and Adela read out the letters she had brought from Calcutta.

  There were two from Jane, who was still relishing her job at the air defence battery; Olive continued to dote on Bonnie and looked after her while Joan worked in the café. George had been away for over a year with the Fleet Air Arm, but his infrequent letters sounded cheery.

  The other letters were from Tilly and Libby. Tilly’s was full of home news: Jamie was working hard at the hospital, Mungo was loving school sports, Josey was staying with them while having a break from touring, and Libby was just being Libby. Libby’s letter, on the other hand, hardly mentioned her family at all, but was exultant about Paris being liberated by the Allies. She was funny about her Land Girl job and some prank she and her friends had played on Italian POWs who had come to help with the harvest.

  ‘James misses his family terribly,’ Clarrie said. ‘He seems to miss them more as time goes on, not less, poor man. I’ve written to tell him you’re here, so you can give him first-hand news if he can manage to get away for a day or so. You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Adela said, ‘I’d love to see him. It was frustrating being close to the Oxford Estate and not getting there when up at Dimapur. And I can tell him how much his family misses him too. Libby especially. I think the only time I’ve seen her cry was when she knew I was likely to be seeing her dad before she would.’

  ‘Dear Libby,’ said Clarrie with affection. ‘She was always the most demonstrative of the three.’

  ‘She certainly speaks her mind,’ Adela said with a rueful smile.

  Adela talked about her tour. She told her mother about meeting Flowers Dunlop again after all these years, and Jimmy Maitland.

  ‘He was recovering, thank goodness,’ she said, ‘and has been sent to the army hospital in Comilla now that the hot weather is over.’

  ‘Will you stay in touch?’ Clarrie asked.

  ‘Just as a friend,’ said Adela. ‘Jimmy knows I don’t have feelings for him other than affection.’

  Her mother let her talk on. When she paused, Clarrie asked, ‘Adela, is there something troubling you? Something you haven’t told me about?’

  Adela’s stomach knotted. She hesitated. Suddenly the burden of carrying her secret for so long was too much to bear. If she was ever to regain closeness to her mother, then she could no longer bury the deep hurt inside her. Tears stung her eyes as she looked at her mother’s concerned face.

  ‘I met Sam Jackman again in Imphal. It was wonderful – he loves me. He never did live with Pema as husband and wife; she’s married properly to his old bearer, Nitin. But I sent Sam away letting him think there was someone else – even though I love him too with all my heart.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’ Clarrie asked gently.

  ‘Because there is someone else.’ Adela swallowed hard. ‘A five-a
nd-a-half-year-old boy.’

  Clarrie’s expression was puzzled. Then something changed in her dark eyes, a dawning understanding. She reached out and put a hand on her daughter’s knee.

  ‘Tell me,’ she encouraged.

  It all came pouring out: the whole confession about her infatuation and affair with Prince Jay at the same time as loving Sam; wanting to seal off her hurt at Sam’s impulsive local marriage to Pema. She spoke about her discovery of being pregnant – of maid Myra’s discovery – her utter shock at her situation and Olive’s horror.

  ‘I don’t blame Aunt Olive in the least,’ said Adela, ‘and you mustn’t either. She was so scared of what people would say. But Lexy stood by me. She was incredible. All your old friends were – Maggie and dear old Ina too.’

  Clarrie squeezed her hand. She seemed too overcome to speak, just nodding for Adela to continue. So Adela talked about the birth of her son – tenderly and with the profound joy of a mother – in more detail than she had ever done before. Then she steeled herself to tell her mother about giving the baby away and how at first she had felt nothing but relief.

  ‘It was only much later that I came to regret what I’d done,’ she admitted. ‘Bitterly regret. The moment Joan tried to get me to hold Bonnie, I thought I would faint from the pain inside. Even then I believed I’d done the best thing for him. But now I have this yearning to try and find him. Perhaps he never got adopted because of his Indian blood. And even if he did, I just want to know what happened to him. Can you understand that?’

  Her mother’s face was wet with tears, yet she had said nothing while Adela unburdened herself.

  Finally Clarrie swallowed and said in a trembling voice, ‘Of course I do, my darling.’ She pulled Adela into her arms and held her, rocking her as if she were a child. ‘I’m so very sorry you had to endure all that on your own. I should have been there when you needed me, but I was selfish in my grief for your father and sent you away. I hope you can forgive me.’

  Adela hugged her mother tighter. ‘None of it was your fault,’ she whispered. ‘It’s me that’s sorry for what happened to Dad. Not a day goes by when I don’t regret that terrible trip. I wish I could undo everything. But I can’t. The only decent thing to come out of it all is that sweet baby boy.’

  Clarrie smoothed back Adela’s hair and kissed her forehead. ‘Did you give him a name?’

  Adela shook her head. ‘But Lexy did – insisted on it. She called him John Wesley – after Granddad Jock and Dad.’

  Clarrie let out a whimper. ‘Dear Lexy.’

  ‘I did do one thing for my baby,’ Adela said. ‘I gave him the swami’s pink stone to protect him. I hope he still has it. Do you think it will keep him safe?’

  Clarrie nodded and kissed her brow. For a while they just sat holding each other, their emotions too strong to put into words. Adela felt more at peace than she had since the death of her father. It was such a blessed relief that her mother knew – and did not hate her for it. She shared her mother’s handkerchief to wipe her tears.

  ‘Is that why you pushed Sam away?’ Clarrie asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Adela admitted, feeling a new wave of regret. ‘He was so angry at his own mother for giving him up that I knew he would hate me too.’

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Clarrie pointed out. ‘Isn’t it a little unfair to Sam, letting him go through life thinking you love someone else? It would take courage to tell him, but if he rejected you because of it, then he wouldn’t be half the man I think he is, and you’d be better off without him.’

  Adela was startled by her mother’s blunt words. It was distressing to think she might have made the wrong decision. Clarrie stood up.

  ‘It went quite out of my head,’ she said, ‘but you mentioning Sam and his mother has just reminded me.’

  ‘Reminded you of what?’ Adela asked.

  ‘A package came weeks ago addressed to you. I put it in the trunk to stop ants eating it. No idea what it is, but the address was Cullercoats and the name was Jackman.’

  Adela followed her mother into her bedroom. In the soft lamplight three framed photographs glinted on the dressing table, the large one of her parents in their wedding finery and two smaller ones of Adela on a pony, grinning, and Harry sitting on a tricycle, frowning with impatience. Her mother unlocked the zinc-lined trunk in the corner and rummaged under a layer of clothing. She pulled out a small brown paper parcel tied with string and handed it over.

  They returned to the veranda while Adela pulled it open.

  She gasped. ‘It’s a shawl from Sam’s mother. Isn’t that kind of her?’

  She part unfolded it. It was soft to the touch, made of thin creamy wool with elaborate green and turquoise embroidery around the edge.

  Clarrie fingered it. ‘It’s beautiful. Cashmere I’d say.’

  ‘Why would she send it to me?’

  ‘She doesn’t have a daughter to pass it on to. What does the letter say?’

  Adela reached for the letter and leant towards the lamp to read it. Her heart began to thud. She read on, her astonishment mounting. She reread it over again, her heart now pounding. She could hardly believe what Mrs Jackman had written. Was it possible? She looked up at her mother, gaping.

  ‘What is it?’ Clarrie frowned.

  Adela passed her the letter. ‘Read it. This changes everything.’

  As her mother reached for her glasses to read, Adela fully opened out the shawl and found the other gift that Sam’s mother had sent her.

  CHAPTER 31

  Sam picked up the letter that was awaiting him at the officers’ mess in Jessore; it had been forwarded from Agartala. For the past month he had been training with a new Special Duties squadron in East Bengal, including pilots newly out from Europe with experience of special ops. With regret he had left 194 Squadron, The Friendly Firm, but he relished the new challenge. What was there to lose? He cared not for danger; he had no ties and no obligations except to his fellow crewmen. By December he would be flying into Eastern Burma and dropping men and supplies in the Toungoo Hills to carry out guerrilla warfare and intelligence gathering. They just awaited the first full moon.

  He had managed to function after Adela’s rejection, day by day, flying sortie by sortie. An emotional numbness cocooned him. His last morning in Imphal he had gone to the hospital to try and see Adela, apologise for taking out his anger at his mother, on her. She hadn’t been there, and the nurse on the officers’ ward had been trying to calm an agitated young major, a Scot called Maitland.

  ‘She can’t come every morning,’ the nurse had said. ‘There’ll be a good reason.’

  Sam tried to cheer the man. Then Maitland had told him how in love with Adela he was – had known her since their days in Simla – and how he planned to propose once he was on his feet again. Sam had walked out, determined to bury all feelings for Adela once and for all.

  But now a letter had come from her. He stuffed it in his pocket, unsure whether he should read it. He had found equilibrium in his life; reading what she had to say might destroy that. Half an hour later he could ignore it no longer. He went outside, lit up a cigarette and opened it, annoyed at his fumbling fingers.

  Dear Sam

  I know you won’t be expecting to hear from me – will probably be cross that I am writing to you after the way I let you down. But I hope this message gets to you. I have something really important to tell you, and I’d rather not write it in a letter. Is there any possibility that you could meet me in Calcutta so that I can explain in person? I know you sometimes go there in between operations. I’m not asking this for myself but for someone close to me. I’ve been having R&R at Belgooree – it’s been a little piece of heaven. But I return to Calcutta next week and will be staying with Sophie and Rafi (at the address at the bottom of this letter). You can get a message to me there.

  Please come, Sam.

  Yours most affectionately,

  Adela

  Sam didn’t know what to make of it. What cou
ld be so important? Was there a change in her circumstances and she now wanted to be with him? His initial leap of hope was quickly dashed as he reread it. She wasn’t asking on her own behalf. He felt a flash of irritation. Was she doing it on behalf of his mother? When would she stop interfering! But then that was Adela all over – stubbornly sticking up for others. Sam let out a long sigh.

  That night he sent a letter back, agreeing to meet her the following week – if he could get away.

  Adela answered the door to the Khans’ flat, her heart drumming painfully. Sam was looking lean and handsome in his pilot’s uniform.

  ‘Thank you for coming.’ She smiled nervously. ‘Please come in.’ Her words sounded ridiculously formal, but she wasn’t going to let her own emotions get in the way of what had to be said. He looked as ill at ease as she felt.

  ‘Sophie’s here. She’s making tea in the kitchen. Rafi will be back later. I hope you’ll stay to meet him.’

  Sam didn’t answer. He followed her into a small sitting room, its ugly army furniture softened by colourful blankets and cushions. A gramophone and a pile of records took up space on the dining table. Adela indicated they should sit down next to a low carved table.

  ‘Adela, what is this about?’

  ‘Let’s have tea first. I promise to explain.’

  Sam put his cap on the table and ran a hand over his cropped hair.

  ‘What are you doing at Jessore?’ she asked.

  ‘Special Duties.’ He didn’t elaborate.

  ‘But not with The Friendly Firm any more?’

  ‘No. Except for Chubs MacRae. He’s come with me.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘Adela!’ He gave her a helpless look. ‘I’m finding this very hard.’

  At that moment Sophie came in, carrying a tray of teacups and a teapot.

  ‘Sam, hello. It’s been years since we’ve met. I know it must look strange me acting as bearer, but I thought it would be easier if it was just us.’

  Sam got up and took the tray from her, placing it down on the table. Then he shook her hand.