The colonel raised his hand and slapped Tom’s face hard. They glared at each other. Tom fought down the urge to punch his father back. Just then, Tibby rushed in.
‘What’s all this shouting?’ she demanded. ‘You’ve set the dogs barking.’
‘Get him out of here!’ Archibald bawled.
Calmly, Tibby steered her brother through the doorway. ‘Tommy, make yourself scarce. I’ll see to Papa.’
Tom didn’t trust himself to speak but he probably didn’t need to. Knowing Tibby, she would have been listening at the keyhole, ready to intervene. Behind him he heard his sister cajoling their father back into his chair with soothing words. Tom marvelled at her patience and good humour. Clattering out of the castle, he fled into the fresh air. He was furious at being treated like a wilful child and yet elated that he was standing up to his hateful father. Tom punched the air and set off down the drive.
Chapter 3
Esmie was writing letters in the drawing room when Harold’s car appeared on the drive. She noticed with alarm that Tom was in the passenger seat. He leapt out of the car, brandishing an enormous bunch of what looked like twigs and wild flowers.
Lydia appeared from the terrace where she’d been half-heartedly throwing a ball to Bramble and Briar, waiting for something more exciting to happen. Esmie saw her greeting them with a wide smile as Tom thrust the strange bouquet into her arms. Lydia laughed and turned, pointing at the drawing-room windows. She caught sight of Esmie and beckoned her outside. Reluctantly, Esmie abandoned her letter writing.
‘Captain Lomax has come to apologise,’ Lydia told Esmie as she joined them on the terrace, handing her the wild flowers. ‘I told him there was absolutely no need.’
Tom gave Esmie a wary glance. ‘My friend Guthrie tells me otherwise. And from what I recall of last night, I was unconscionably rude, Miss McBride. Please forgive me.’
He looked suddenly boyish and unsure.
Esmie nodded and smiled. ‘Apology accepted, Captain Lomax.’
He grinned in relief. ‘Thank you.’
‘Good,’ said Lydia. ‘Now that that is sorted, we can have some refreshment.’ She rang the bell on the table and when Baxter appeared, she ordered lemonade and shortbread. ‘And take the flowers away and put them in water, please.’
As they settled into cane chairs, Lydia turned to Tom. ‘I tried ringing you at The Anchorage to arrange a boat trip. Got your sister Tibby. She didn’t know where you were but thought you’d probably be with Harold. What have you boys been up to?’
Esmie saw a look pass between Tom and Harold.
‘Guthrie has come to my aid as usual,’ said Tom. ‘I had rather a big disagreement with my father this morning. I’m going to stay with Harold for a couple of days until things simmer down.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Lydia. ‘Can we ask what about?’
Tom shrugged. ‘I don’t want to bore you with our family squabbles.’
Lydia grinned. ‘I never find family squabbles boring. Domestic harmony can be far more tedious.’
Tom gave a surprised laugh.
Harold said, ‘Why not tell them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘Yes, do,’ encouraged Lydia.
Tom scratched his chin. ‘Very well. My father is rather annoyed because I’ve resigned my commission.’
The women stared at him.
‘You’re no longer in the Indian Army?’ gasped Lydia.
Tom shook his head. Esmie saw Lydia trying to hide her shock as she absorbed the news and her dream of being a captain’s wife suddenly vanished.
‘But why?’ asked Lydia. ‘I thought you loved the soldier’s life?’
‘No, not really,’ said Tom frankly. ‘It was what my father wanted for me. Then with the War . . . Well, I’ve had enough. It’s time for something different.’
‘So what will you do instead?’ Lydia probed.
‘I’m buying a hotel in Rawalpindi in northern Punjab. It’s a very pleasant town with a large army cantonment and plenty of social life. I think I can make a good business of it.’
‘You’ll be a splendid host,’ said Harold.
‘And it’s near the hills so I can get away for a spot of shikar from time to time.’
‘Shikar?’ Lydia queried.
‘Hunting game and shooting birds,’ Tom explained. ‘It’ll be a grand life.’
‘Goodness, a hotel,’ Lydia said. ‘It all sounds rather glamorous.’
‘Well, I’m not sure about that . . .’ Tom shrugged.
‘Oh, Daddy knows lots of hoteliers who have made pots of money – it’s all about location and clientele.’
Esmie smiled to herself. She admired her friend’s unfailing optimism, undaunted by this sudden turn of events. Lydia, with her style and engaging manner, would make an excellent hotelier’s wife; as long as someone else was employed to do the hard work.
‘My needs aren’t great,’ said Tom. ‘I just need enough for a comfortable life in India – and not to have to rely on my father.’
‘Oh, I’m sure Colonel Lomax will come round to the idea given time,’ said Lydia.
Ivy appeared carrying a tray of drinks. They paused while Baxter supervised the maid and handed around biscuits. When the servants had gone, Lydia took up the conversation again.
‘And what does your sister think of your bold plan?’
Tom looked embarrassed. ‘I’m afraid I hadn’t discussed it with her before I told Papa. She told me to make myself scarce. But Tibby takes everything in her stride. If I told her I was going to the desert to live as a hermit, she would wave me off with a bag of provisions and tell me to keep my head out of the sun.’
Lydia laughed. ‘Well, I hope you won’t be going to that extreme to get out of your father’s way.’
Harold suddenly turned to Esmie and asked, ‘What do you think of Lomax’s venture, Miss McBride?’
Esmie felt herself colouring. ‘I—I have to admit I’m a little surprised – but I think it’s a brave thing to do.’
‘Brave?’ Tom said with a grimace. ‘My heart always sinks when people call me brave – it usually means they think I’m being foolish.’
‘Not at all,’ said Esmie with a smile. ‘I too have experienced the occasional tongue-lashing from the colonel. I think it’s admirable that you are standing up to your father and doing what you want to do. I hope it’s a great success. I congratulate you, Captain Lomax. Do we still call you Captain?’
‘Of course we do,’ Lydia said at once. ‘The military can keep their rank even after they retire, isn’t that so?’
Tom gave a wry smile. ‘I suppose we can but I’m not sure I want to.’ He flashed a look at Esmie. ‘Thank you, Nurse McBride. I’m glad it meets with your approval. My equivalent of chopping wood, perhaps?’
‘Don’t tease her,’ said Harold.
Esmie held Tom’s look. ‘I’m sure running a hotel will be an excellent therapy for an ex-soldier,’ she replied. ‘Just be careful not to drink the profits.’
‘Esmie!’ Lydia admonished. ‘Don’t be so impertinent.’
Tom laughed loudly. ‘Touché, Nurse McBride – I deserved that – and Guthrie has already said much the same thing.’
Harold nodded in agreement.
Lydia said, ‘Let’s have a celebration! A drive in the country and a picnic tea. We can take my car – it’ll take all four of us.’
‘I haven’t actually bought the hotel yet,’ Tom confessed. ‘We’re still agreeing terms.’
Lydia waved away his caution. ‘I’m sure that’s just a formality.’
‘A picnic would be nice,’ said Esmie. ‘How about going to the beach and we could swim. The sea was looking so inviting this morning.’
Lydia rolled her eyes. ‘Esmie’s always been a sea-bather – quite mad. But if you gentlemen would like a swim then we can go via Harold’s to pick up bathing costumes.’
Driving south, they stopped at a wide beach easily accessible from a farm track. Esmie threw off her b
athing robe and ran yelling into the sea. The men followed; both were strong swimmers and struck out into deep water. Esmie noticed a scar on Tom’s left shoulder, purple and jagged in the cold. It looked like a bullet wound that had been badly sewn up and she wondered if it gave him pain. But given his testiness when talking of war or the army, she decided not to ask.
The sea was still icy from winter and they did not linger. Lydia, with her frock hitched up into a belt, stood at the water’s edge with towels, shouting encouragement.
Esmie went behind a rock to change back into her clothes. When she emerged, feeling invigorated, the others were lounging on tartan rugs munching cake. Tom was studying her. She glanced away quickly, flustered by his scrutinising look. Harold poured tea from a vacuum flask into a beaker and handed it to Esmie.
‘Brava, Miss McBride! First in and last out. You put us men to shame but we’ve grown used to bathing in warm water in India.’
‘Can you swim in Rawalpindi?’ Lydia asked in interest. ‘Isn’t it a long way from the sea?’
‘Yes,’ said Tom. ‘But some of the well-to-do have pools – tanks of water – where we can cool off in the hot weather.’
Lydia smiled. ‘Sounds divine, doesn’t it, Esmie?’
‘I’d prefer swimming in rivers or lochs,’ said Esmie.
‘Then you’d love Kashmir,’ said Tom. ‘The Dal Lake at Srinagar is like swimming in a paradise garden.’
For a moment, their eyes met again. Esmie saw something in his look – yearning or sadness – and then he turned his attention back to Lydia.
‘Gosh, I’d love to go there,’ said Lydia. ‘India sounds so romantic.’
Harold grunted. ‘It’s not all paradise gardens and maharajas – that’s for the few. Life for most Indians is very tough and it can be hard for the British too, despite the luxury of the cantonments. Some of them never get used to the heat and find it all too alien.’
‘We don’t all live in primitive mud huts in the mofussil like you, Guthrie,’ Tom teased. ‘Pindi is a world away from Taha.’
‘Oh, do tell us more about it, Captain Lomax,’ Lydia enthused.
Tom began to describe the town nestled on the Punjab plain below the foothills of the western Himalayas, its leafy cantonment divided from the narrow-laned old city by the meandering Leh River. Esmie saw how his eyes shone with enthusiasm as he talked about the place.
‘The Mall is wide but shaded with trees – early morning rides are excellent, especially in the cold season. And Topi Park is a charming wild area just on the edge of the army cantonment. Pindi’s old quarter is fascinating – tall buildings that are so close together they keep the lanes shadowed and cool. You can hear the singing from the temples right across town . . .’
‘But what is the housing like for the British?’ Lydia interrupted.
‘It’s very good – bungalows with large gardens.’ He gave a dry smile. ‘Not the size of Templeton Hall, of course, but quite comfortable.’
Harold joined in. ‘In the cantonment you would think you were in a British town – it has all the same facilities – post office, banks, shops, churches. There’s even a Scots Kirk.’
‘Yes, there’s often a Scottish regiment stationed in Pindi,’ said Tom. ‘They make the town lively during Christmas Week and Hogmanay – always dances and parties going on. Then there’s Race Week in February with competitions and polo matches.’
Lydia’s eyes lit up. ‘And is tennis played too?’
Tom nodded. ‘Plenty of tennis at the Club. And cricket.’
‘And there’s a golf course,’ said Harold.
‘I love golf,’ cried Lydia. ‘Daddy’s been teaching me. This Rawalpindi of yours sounds idyllic – like the best of Britain except in permanent sunshine.’
‘It can rain cats and dogs when the monsoon comes,’ Harold warned. ‘And it gets extremely muggy from May onwards. That’s why people head for the hills – even the regiments.’
‘Except for dedicated men like you, Harold,’ said Tom, ‘who stick it out in the heat.’
Esmie raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘And hotel owners?’
He smiled wryly. ‘I suppose so, yes.’
‘Not the owners,’ said Lydia. ‘That’s what managers are employed for. It’s all about delegating responsibility but keeping a tight rein on the purse strings. That’s what Daddy would say.’
An awkward silence followed. Esmie saw a flush creep into Lydia’s cheeks as she realised she might have been too presumptuous.
‘Of course that’s entirely up to you how you run your hotel, Captain Lomax,’ Lydia said hastily. ‘It was just an observation. You should talk to Daddy about it. I’m sure he’d be happy to give you advice on being a successful businessman.’
‘Thank you,’ said Tom. ‘It would be helpful to speak to someone who knows about these things. My family have little experience of commerce.’
‘Your family run an estate,’ Lydia pointed out. ‘I imagine it’s much the same. Keeping an eye on the servants, that sort of thing.’
‘What’s the hotel called?’ Esmie asked.
‘The Rajah,’ said Tom. ‘Except everyone calls it the Raj. Years ago the last two letters fell off. They fixed up the sign again but by then the nickname had stuck.’
‘The Raj,’ murmured Lydia. ‘I think it sounds rather grand.’
‘Not the grandest in Pindi by any means,’ Tom admitted. ‘The famous one is Flashman’s, just off the Mall.’
As Lydia pressed Tom for more information about Rawalpindi society, Esmie’s mind wandered. She knew little about India apart from what she had gleaned in geography lessons at school and the headmaster’s scrapbook of newspaper cuttings about a royal visit there in 1910 – lavish pageants of princes on elephants, reviews of troops and tiger hunts. It hadn’t really interested her and it didn’t match up with Harold’s description of his mission work in Taha. His talk of a peasantry eking out a living from a harsh land, their hospitality and good humour, had reminded her of the Gaelic-speakers she had grown up amongst in the Highlands.
She had been impressed by Harold’s sense of purpose; saving lives and living in simplicity. She could understand the appeal of such a life; her work with the Scottish Women’s Hospitals had had a similar intensity. In dusty, fly-blown camps, they had lived for the moment. Despite the gruelling nursing of casualties, they had found time to relish the simple pleasures; a river swim, a sing-song after dark or a snatched lie-down with a book in the shade of a tumbledown wall. Was she perverse in missing those days of comradeship and endeavour? The War had caused untold misery and devastation – countless numbers had been lost – and yet amid the hellishness she had felt intensely alive . . .
Esmie shivered. The wind was now coming off the sea and was strengthening.
‘You’re cold, Miss McBride,’ said Harold in concern. ‘Perhaps it’s time to go.’
Esmie dragged her thoughts back to the present. ‘Yes, I am a bit.’
‘Stayed in the sea too long,’ Lydia rebuked.
Tom was looking at her quizzically. Esmie hoped she hadn’t appeared rude by letting her mind wander while he had been talking.
As they packed up, Lydia made arrangements for them all to go out in her father’s boat the next day.
‘Do you like to fish, Captain Lomax?’ she asked.
‘I love it,’ he said eagerly.
Lydia smiled. ‘Then we’ll fish from the boat. As long as I’m not expected to touch the slippery things.’
For the rest of the week, while the good weather lasted, Lydia organised Esmie and the men into a non-stop round of activities and social get-togethers. They fished and picnicked, played tennis and croquet, went riding on horseback and for runs in the car. When the weather broke and rain set in, they took the train to Edinburgh and went to a tea dance. The four friends were soon on first name terms. Postcards of the French Riviera that came from Colin Fleming went unanswered; Lydia’s attention was completely focused on Tom. She encouraged Tom to invi
te Tibby round to Templeton Hall and help herself to cuttings from their hothouses.
‘She’s very odd,’ Lydia said to Esmie after Tibby’s first visit. ‘Do you think she ever takes off that awful old hat or does she sleep in it?’
‘I think she’s good fun,’ said Esmie. ‘And Tom seems very fond of his sister.’
‘Yes he does – that’s why I’m paying her attention – to impress him.’
‘So, you’re not put off by his hotel venture?’
‘I can’t pretend I’m not a little disappointed he’s not going to climb the ranks in the army,’ Lydia admitted. ‘But I’m not one of those stuck-up girls like my sister who think you shouldn’t marry into trade. Daddy made his money that way and I like all the luxury it brings. Besides, Tom won’t be trade – just one of the gentry dabbling in a hobby which happens to be a hotel.’
‘If his father carries out his threat to cut him off without a penny then Tom will have to rely on the Raj Hotel for a living,’ Esmie cautioned.
Lydia gave her an astonished look. ‘That’s not going to happen. I’ll win the old boy round, just you see.’
Esmie was enjoying this time of leisure; her companions were amusing company and she hadn’t laughed so much in ages. It touched her to see how deep was the friendship between Tom and Harold. They had grown up together, gone to the same boarding school in Perthshire and both ended up in India a day’s journey from each other. Tom made jokes at his friend’s expense which Harold laughed off good-naturedly, yet it was obvious how much Tom admired the young doctor.
Esmie knew that her Aunt Isobel wasn’t expecting her to hurry back to Vaullay and Lydia was insisting she stay for at least a month. But she was plagued by guilt that she hadn’t yet been to see the Drummonds. She knew that they would be busy with the school summer term and Lydia kept discouraging her from visiting. ‘It’ll spoil my plans for the day,’ she had chided. ‘You can go one Sunday evening, when there’s nothing much to do, can’t you?’
After two weeks of mounting self-reproach, Esmie knew she could no longer delay a visit. She sent a note round to the Drummonds asking if she could call on them. No invitation came back. Her anxiety was tinged with relief. Perhaps she wouldn’t have to face them. Then she felt ashamed. If Tom had been brave enough to stand up to his martinet father, then she should not shirk facing David’s parents. And they might find comfort in talking to her about their son; they deserved whatever solace such a visit could bring. So Esmie wrote again. This time, William Drummond wrote back apologising for not responding sooner – he’d been away – and inviting her round for tea the following Saturday.
The Emerald Affair Page 5
