He fell silent and Esmie thought he would turn away from her and dismiss her plea. She braced herself for his rejection.
‘What has made you change your mind?’ he asked quietly.
‘You have,’ she admitted candidly. ‘My admiration and affection for you has grown these past months. I want this to be a true marriage and for us to be more than simply partners in work. Harold, I want to have our child. I see how the Waziri women manage against all the odds, so being a mother no longer frightens me.’
‘Are you sure?’ he questioned.
‘Yes. Yes, I am. But you must be sure too. Do you want to be a father, Harold?’
There was a tremble in his voice when he replied. ‘To be a father would be a great blessing.’
Hope leapt inside her at his change of heart. Encouraged, Esmie leaned over and kissed his mouth. ‘I’m so glad you feel the same way,’ she said, smiling in the dark. ‘Let tonight be a fresh beginning for us.’
After some hesitation, Harold began to fumble with her nightclothes.
‘Kiss me first, darling,’ she said, trying to rid her mind of their one other attempt at sex that had ended in such failure in a stuffy room in Bombay. This time the air was freezing and the night so black that they couldn’t see each other. Perhaps the reticent Harold would find it easier to make love to her in the dark.
They kissed and Harold stroked her hair. She heard his breathing quicken and he reached down to pull up her nightdress. She was surprised to feel that he was aroused so quickly. Without removing his pyjamas, he moved on top of her and began vigorous intercourse. Esmie hardly had time to adjust to it before he let out a long groan and came to a juddering climax. The next moment he was rolling away and pulling his bedroll around him. She could hear his panting subside.
‘Goodnight, dearest,’ he sighed.
Esmie mumbled a goodnight. She lay, a little stunned and sore. Was she elated that they had finally consummated the marriage? Tears prickled her eyes. She felt very emotional but couldn’t work out what emotion. It was like a mixture of disappointment and relief – and a twinge of frustration. He had given her no time to become sexually excited and the experience had been painful. Surely love-making should take longer and be more pleasurable than this?
In the dark, she cried silently. Tears leaked from her eyes down into her ears and dampened her hairline. She brushed them away brusquely, annoyed at her self-pity. The first time – she didn’t count the fiasco in Bombay – was bound to be fraught with inexperience and lack of finesse. Harold would improve as a lover. At least they had overcome the barrier of sleeping apart.
Yet as she lay sleepless, treacherous thoughts of Tom came to mind. She knew from Lydia’s indiscreet comments that he was an accomplished lover. It was inconceivable that Tom would have slept apart from his wife as long as Harold had his. How she longed to have the sort of intimate relationship where she could fall asleep in loving arms. Esmie curled up tightly in her bedroll, trying to warm herself and drive away unwanted thoughts of the man she could never have.
Chapter 19
More than ever, Esmie drove herself at work. December came with snow flurries around the lower slopes but Harold hung on, wishing to delay their return to Taha as long as possible. One day Baz came seeking them while they ate a hasty lunch. Esmie could see by his worried expression that he had bad news.
‘The attacks on Razmak have been confirmed,’ he told them. ‘The southern Waziris and Mahsuds are in open revolt. My advice is that you should pack up and leave as soon as possible.’
Esmie was alarmed but Harold pointed out, ‘Everything is peaceful here. And there is much work still to do. Surely we can hang on a bit longer?’
With reluctance, Baz agreed. ‘One more week at the most,’ he cautioned. ‘If the Waziris don’t cause problems then the snow will.’
After a full day at the clinic Esmie would return and spend hours with Zakir. She cut his hair shorter and gave him an embroidered cap to wear. With his appearance less unkempt, he looked no more than thirteen or fourteen, and the policemen began to treat him less warily.
Esmie felt a huge sense of achievement when finally, with Baz’s permission, she was able to coax the youth out of his cell to sit by the open fire and eat with the other men. Zakir would squat, rocking back and forth, while talking under his breath. When no one was looking he would shovel food into his mouth as if fearing someone would snatch it away. Gradually, this frantic behaviour lessened and occasionally Esmie was rewarded with a fleeting smile. The first time she heard him sing – a high-pitched haunting song – she thought her heart would burst with affection for the boy.
Yet he never answered any of their questions and they could find out little about him, except what the villagers had reported. He had come from the north – his accent was that of the Otmanzai – and had been found naked and raving on the edge of the settlement with cuts to his arms and wielding a dagger.
When Harold found himself resetting the leg of a young mullah from among the Otmanzai who had fallen from a mule, he asked him if he knew Zakir. The mullah said he did not but would ask in the remoter homesteads.
On hearing from Harold that Mullah Mahmud was a gentle soul who seemed respected among his followers, Esmie sought him out before he left. She got Harold to help her communicate.
‘If none of Zakir’s family has survived the summer fighting,’ she asked, ‘would you be able to take him into your home? He needs a lot of care but in time I’m sure his mind will heal.’
The mullah avoided her look, perhaps uncomfortable at being approached by a feringhi woman, so she relied on Harold to interpret her request.
‘Allah will look after him,’ Mullah Mahmud replied.
‘Yes,’ Esmie agreed. ‘But only with your help.’
She wasn’t sure that her husband conveyed her words for the man left making no promises.
‘Well, if his own kin won’t look after him,’ Esmie declared, ‘then we’ll take him back to Taha ourselves.’
Harold gave her an exasperated smile but said nothing.
A couple of days later, there was a commotion outside the clinic tents. Esmie looked out to see a thin, beaky-nosed man, his head swathed in a grubby turban, shouting at one of the police guards and pointing at the women’s tent. Other men were trying to restrain him. Esmie was about to step outside when Malik blocked her way.
‘Don’t go, memsahib,’ he warned.
‘Why not? What if he’s come about Zakir?’
Malik shook his head. ‘He’s a bad man. He wants to make trouble.’
‘Who is he?’ Esmie asked.
‘Baram Wali – Karo’s husband. He’s heard you are here. Please, memsahib, stay out of sight.’
Esmie was winded. So this was Karo’s terrible husband. He was older and less imposing than she had imagined, yet she felt his menace. What did the man want with her? He sounded very angry. She tensed with fear. Around her she saw the worried looks and murmurings of the women. Then she heard Harold outside trying to reason with the irate tribesman. It sounded like Baram Wali was cursing her husband and then the altercation died away as the man was persuaded to leave before the police took action.
Once it was safe, Esmie went to Harold. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Of course, my dear,’ he assured her. ‘Despite all the shouting I don’t think he would do us any harm.’
‘He was after me, wasn’t he?’ she asked. ‘Was this all because I’ve been asking around on Zakir’s behalf?’
Harold put a steadying hand on her shoulder. ‘There are some who think that foreigners – missionaries – have no place here. But you know that. We didn’t come here for an easy life, did we? So we mustn’t show fear. We’re here to help others. Will you allow one rogue Waziri to send you packing, my dearest?’
Shamed by her panic, Esmie shook her head. ‘No, never,’ she agreed.
The warm smile that he gave her lifted her spirits and she went back to work with renewed determination.<
br />
At night, Esmie looked forward to their getting into bed in the hopes of love-making. They did so another three times in the space of two weeks. Harold’s love-making had improved a little and it felt less like he was performing a physical fitness exercise. It no longer left her sore but it was always too brief, leaving Esmie impatient for the next chance of intimacy.
Harold always insisted on blowing out the candle and seemed less inhibited in the dark. Esmie didn’t object, although it left her feeling guilty. For in the pitch black, unable to see her husband moving over her, she couldn’t stop herself imagining that it was Tom who made love to her.
She knew it was very wrong of her to do so but it relaxed her quickly for the short bouts of sex with Harold. Afterwards, she would wonder if Harold had the same fantasy about Lydia. Perhaps that was why he always insisted that they did the deed in the dark. Whatever the truth was, at least they were now properly husband and wife. She fell asleep each night with the thought that they might already have conceived. The idea was both nerve-racking and thrilling – by next summer they might be parents.
Abruptly, one day in mid-December while busy at the clinic, Esmie heard distant gunfire. She went outside to peer into the low, dazzling sun but seeing nothing returned to her nursing. Half an hour later, Baz came hurrying out of the police post and burst into the tent where Harold was operating.
‘We’re under attack!’ he bawled. ‘You must leave at once.’
Esmie hurried into the adjoining tent to hear Harold arguing back.
‘I can’t leave in the middle of a clinic.’
‘You must,’ Baz insisted. ‘A patrol to the north was fired on this morning. There are dozens of fighters heading this way. I’m arming the local militia.’
Esmie saw the anger on Baz’s face and knew he was not a man to alarm easily.
‘Harold, we must do as the sergeant says,’ she intervened.
Suddenly there was a volley of rifle fire, much closer than before, that reverberated around the rocky hills. Esmie dashed forward and clutched Harold’s arm.
‘Tell the people to go,’ she gasped. ‘No one is safe here now.’
Her urgency galvanised Harold out of his stunned disbelief. He began issuing orders to the local orderlies to pack up the equipment.
‘No,’ Baz commanded. ‘You must leave all this and come at once.’
Esmie and Harold hurried from the tent, calling to Malik to follow. Esmie expected Baz to take them to the police post but he ushered them quickly towards a waiting truck.
‘But our patients?’ Harold said in distress.
Baz was blunt. ‘Dr Guthrie, you are no use to them dead. Get in,’ he ordered. ‘Hasan will drive you straight to Taha – if the road is still open. No time to fetch your things. I’ll have them sent on.’
‘You’re not coming with us?’ Harold asked in concern.
Baz shook his head, his look grim. ‘I’m needed here. Hasan will alert Brigadier McCabe to the situation.’
‘But we can’t leave without Zakir,’ Esmie cried. ‘He must come too.’
Baz ignored her as he bundled them into the back of the lorry. As Malik leapt up behind, Baz spoke to him so rapidly that Esmie didn’t catch his meaning. The orderly nodded, taking the rifle that the sergeant thrust at him. As the truck began to lurch forward, Esmie could hear Baz issuing orders for the patients to disperse. She felt sick to be running away and leaving these people to their fate and knew that Harold felt the same. But the gunfire continued and fear gripped her too. She knew that as feringhi missionaries they would be more of a target to the warring tribesmen than fellow Waziris.
Malik pointed at a pile of cloaks under the canvas. ‘Memsahib – Sahib,’ he said with a nod. ‘You must put those on.’
Esmie, heart pounding at the sound of shouting beyond, scrambled forward. Lifting up the top cloak, she realised it was an all-encompassing burka.
‘Please, Guthrie Memsahib,’ beseeched Malik, ‘you must wear it. And the doctor too. Sergeant Baz said it might save you both.’
She handed one to Harold. He looked affronted.
‘I refuse to put that on! I’m not going to cower like a girl from any Waziri fighters,’ he protested.
Esmie’s anger lit. ‘What does a little loss of dignity matter when our lives are at stake? If you refuse to put it on and they search the lorry, then you endanger the lives of Hasan and Malik who are trying to help us.’ She shook the burka at him. ‘If they’re prepared to risk their lives saving us, then the least you can do is put on one of these!’
Shocked at her verbal attack, Harold meekly pulled on the cloak. They sat hunched in the back of the vehicle, as Malik took up guard by the flapping canvas cover and Hasan accelerated down the hill.
Esmie could see little through the mesh of the hood. The blood pounded in her ears. What would happen to Zakir? He would believe she had deserted him just like everyone else he ever trusted. And he would be right. She was saving her own skin before his. Esmie swallowed down her fear and self-disgust. She clung to Harold and prayed for them all.
It was daybreak the following morning before they trundled into Taha, their limbs stiff and frozen and their bodies jarred from the traumatic escape. The sound of rifle fire had pursued them down the valley but Hasan had not stopped and no one had ambushed them. The biggest threat had been the icy hairpin bends. Twice they had been ordered out of the truck while the driver inched his way around treacherous corners, skilfully keeping his vehicle from pitching over the edge into the gorge below. Esmie relived the terror she had experienced on the retreat through the mountains of Montenegro, seeing fellow refugees slipping on ice and plunging to their deaths.
But now they were safe. They pulled off their burkas and Malik helped them climb from the lorry. Esmie broke down in tears at the sight of their tranquil bungalow, the wood smoke from its fires mingling with the dawn mist, and an anxious Draman coming out to greet them.
Her relief at getting back to Taha was mingled with guilt at the thought of the people they had left behind. When Harold came back from reporting the situation to McCabe, Esmie could not hide her distress.
‘I can’t stop thinking about Baz and his men,’ she fretted. ‘And poor Zakir; what on earth will become of him?’
Harold looked grey with exhaustion. ‘The brigadier is sending troops to relieve them. They won’t have to hold out much longer.’
Esmie’s insides knotted with worry. ‘We should have come back sooner,’ she said. ‘By delaying we put Baz and his men in greater danger.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Esmie! We’re not the reason the Waziris are in revolt. It’s a much wider issue than a couple of missionaries.’
His outburst shocked her. ‘I realise that,’ said Esmie, ‘but why did they attack Kanki-Khel first? Was it because of us and the clinic? Or was it that man – Karo’s husband – stirring things up and wanting revenge against us?’
He gave her a bleak look. ‘I believe completely in the work we do at the mission and don’t regret a single minute that we spent there. I would have stayed if it hadn’t been for wanting to get you to safety. I care nothing for my own. I put my trust in God.’ The look of disappointment in his hazel eyes made Esmie feel leaden inside. ‘I pray that your faith will make you stronger too.’
He walked past her, calling for Ali to fetch hot water, and then walked into his bachelor’s bedroom and closed the door behind him.
Esmie spent the next couple of days in limbo. It wasn’t just the aching tiredness from weeks of relentless work and little sleep but the dislocation of suddenly being back in Taha and feeling she wasn’t needed. Harold took up at the hospital as if he’d never been away but Esmie saw how Rupa, Bannerman and the local orderlies had been coping well without her. Rupa, full of concern at her ordeal, insisted she stayed at home and rested. Esmie had thought herself indispensable and now saw that she wasn’t; it was a salutary lesson.
There was a tense atmosphere around the town as news sprea
d of raids in the hills. Would Taha become a battlefront again as it had been during the recent Afghan incursions? A curfew was reimposed and the residents of the cantonment stayed away from the old town for fear of violent outbursts.
Karo and Gabina, though, seemed delighted to see Esmie again and the young mother took pride in showing off the clothes she had made on Esmie’s sewing machine. While Esmie had been away, Gabina had begun to take her first faltering steps.
‘What a clever lassie you are!’ Esmie cried, holding out her arms for the infant and sweeping her up in a hug of congratulation. Gabina giggled and pressed her head into Esmie’s neck in a brief sign of affection, before pushing to be let down. It stirred something in the very core of Esmie; her love for the girl deepened with every day.
There were several letters awaiting her from Lydia, reproaching her for her lack of correspondence but excited about seeing her for Christmas even though Esmie had never written to confirm.
‘. . . It seems an eternity since we last saw each other. You won’t recognise me. I’ve grown quite fat and matronly on all the mess dinners and garden party teas I’ve been attending. But I have to fill my time somehow, don’t I? Tom hasn’t shown the least bit of interest in socialising – I can’t believe how different he is to when he was wooing me last spring – he only seems to care about the wretched hotel.
So you see how I need Harold and you to dig him out of his lair for Christmas Week – there is such a lot going on. I know Harold will be able to jolly him along where I have failed – I think he misses his oldest friend quite a lot.
Make sure you bring some pretty frocks to wear – and at least two evening gowns. I don’t want to see a trace of nurse’s uniform – and I’ll arrange for my hairdresser to come and do your hair, because I know they are as rare as hen’s teeth in the mofussil . . .’
Esmie smiled at her friend’s use of the colonial term for the countryside; Lydia was adapting fast to life in British India. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to see her again and listen to her amusing acerbic observations. For a short while Esmie longed just to do frivolous things like sip gin cocktails and go dancing; she wanted to enjoy the company of people who had nothing to do with the mission.
The Emerald Affair Page 22
