Then it struck her what the source of the noise was; the rhythmic squeak and creak of bed springs. Esmie’s face went hot. She thought she heard a groan. Tom and Lydia were making love. In her haste to leave the veranda, Esmie stubbed her toe and stifled a cry. Back in her bedroom, she closed the long windows and scrambled under the covers. But now that she knew what was happening, she couldn’t block out the muffled sound of the creaking bed from the other side of the wall. She buried her head under her pillow, trying to curb her envy at their intimacy. Their marriage was obviously not in as much trouble as she’d thought. Her suspicions of Lydia over Dickie were unfounded and she was ashamed for even thinking them.
The noise from the next-door room ceased shortly afterwards. But Esmie lay for a long time, turning away restlessly from the peacefully sleeping Harold and trying to blot out thoughts of Tom.
Chapter 22
Sometime in the early hours, just after Esmie had fallen asleep, Harold woke up and was sick into his chamber pot. After the sweeper had been summoned to dispose of the contents, Harold fell asleep again. In the morning, Esmie left him sleeping and went down to breakfast alone.
Tom was in the dining room chatting to his guests. He smiled and came across to greet her. Esmie felt herself colouring, unable to rid her mind of what she knew he’d been doing while she’d been sleepless and feeling very alone on the other side of the bedroom wall.
‘Harold’s been unwell in the night,’ she said. ‘Too many drams probably.’
Tom pulled an apologetic face. ‘My fault for leading him astray.’
‘No, I think he needed to let his hair down.’
‘That’s generous of you.’
‘Where’s Lydia?’ Esmie asked, looking about for her friend.
‘Sleeping it off too,’ Tom said, his broad mouth twitching with amusement.
Esmie glanced away, unable to meet his look. The baroness waved her over.
‘Come, darling, and sit with me. We haven’t had a proper chat yet.’
Esmie did so with relief. As a breakfast of poached eggs and fish was served by a waiter called Maseed, Esmie was questioned by an inquisitive Hester. She knew some of the other guests were listening in too. Before breakfast was over Esmie felt as if she had recounted her whole life to the older woman, including every detail of her time in Serbia. The Austrian widow appeared well travelled.
‘I knew Belgrade,’ she said. ‘My husband had business interests there. And we spent a summer in Scutari in northern Albania. Have you heard of the virgins of Albania? They are like honorary men and don’t have to marry. A daughter can dress and live as a man and be the head of their family where there is no son.’ Hester laughed. ‘Such a quaint idea, don’t you think?’
‘Sounds quite unnatural,’ said Fritwell, looking scandalised.
‘Sounds liberating,’ said Esmie, with a wink at the baroness.
‘Ah, Mrs Guthrie,’ said Ansom, ‘are you one of these emancipated young women who are flocking to the ballot box at home?’
‘I would be,’ said Esmie, ‘except I have another five years to wait until I can vote at thirty.’
‘Well, young women are known to be too flighty,’ Fritwell declared.
‘Is that so, Mr Fritwell?’ said Esmie. ‘But not too flighty to do war work? Strange, don’t you think, that we women were told we’d been granted the vote for helping win the War – but the majority of women who did war work have yet to be allowed to vote?’
‘Bravo, darling!’ The baroness clapped her hands in glee. ‘That serves you right for being so pompous, Fritters.’
Tom, who had been talking with Charlie, came over. ‘Mrs Guthrie, are you sowing dissension in the ranks?’
Esmie said, ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘How about I take you for a tour of the town?’ Tom suggested.
Esmie was unnerved by the idea but could think of no excuse to refuse.
‘Perhaps I should see if Harold would like to come?’
‘Let the poor man lie in for once,’ said Tom. ‘He works far too hard.’
‘Go, darling,’ said Hester. ‘If the good doctor appears, we shall look after him.’
‘Of course we will,’ Ansom agreed. ‘He’s a capital fellow.’
Esmie smiled. ‘Thank you. Then yes, I would like to see Rawalpindi.’
Twenty minutes later, Esmie was squeezed next to Tom in the front of a battered four-seater Clement-Talbot that Tom had inherited with the hotel. He eased the motor car out of unprepossessing Nichol Road into Dalhousie Road and turned south towards the Mall, leaving behind the commercial quarter of open markets, bakeries, factories and the pervading smell of a slaughterhouse.
They passed the general post office, an imposing brick building, with a tonga-stand in front manned by tonga-wallahs in smart red tunics.
‘That’s Dhanjibhoy’s,’ Tom explained. ‘They run up to Murree and even as far as Srinagar in Kashmir. That’s why they have two horses each instead of the usual one.’
On the corner was a general merchant’s that was already doing a busy trade.
‘Bux and Sons is where I buy my fishing tackle,’ said Tom. ‘Not that I’ve had much time for it yet.’
‘I know Harold is keen to join you if you can manage a day’s fishing while we’re here.’
‘Of course,’ Tom replied, flashing a smile. ‘I’d like that too.’
The Mall was wide and tree-lined, with extra paths on either side for promenading on horseback. Some officers were out enjoying a trot in the cool morning air. Frost still lingered on the shaded grass, sparkling in the mellow sunshine, yet the dirt road had already been sprinkled with water to keep down the dust. The roadway was immaculately swept and clean.
They passed the large red-brick Scots Kirk with its tapering spire and then an imposing statue of the late Queen Victoria. Tom pointed out the shops on Canning Road.
‘No doubt Lydia will be taking you there, so I’ve no need to,’ he said. ‘And that’s the famous Flashman’s Hotel – the Arcadia of hotels that we must strive to copy.’
Esmie heard the self-mockery in his tone and felt sorry for him. The hotel was set back in lush gardens and half hidden by mature trees. It looked altogether grander than the Raj. Opposite was the Club where they had dined the previous night. In daylight, Esmie could see how extensive the recreation grounds for cricket and tennis were.
‘And over there is where the army play hockey and football,’ said Tom. ‘And there’s a track for athletics.’
‘Where is the polo ground that Dickie Mason was talking about?’ asked Esmie.
He slid her an enquiring look before answering and she immediately regretted mentioning the lieutenant.
‘That’s up on the race course beyond the railway station,’ said Tom. ‘It’s close to the cavalry barracks at Westridge where Dickie is stationed. It’s a bit bleak up there – and very hot in summer – but it’s handy for exercising the horses. You seemed to be enjoying chatting with Dickie last night.’
Esmie was alarmed that Tom had been observing Dickie. ‘Yes, he’s very easy to chat to. He was full of his hunting trip near Murree.’
Tom grunted. ‘I’d offered to take him on shikar – he seemed keen – but I think he’s keeping out of my way.’
Esmie tensed. ‘I’m sure you’re mistaken.’
‘He makes excuses not to come riding with me.’
‘Why would he do that?’ Esmie held her breath, hoping he wasn’t about to voice suspicion over Lydia.
She saw his jaw clench. ‘I suppose because of the gossip.’
‘Gossip?’ Esmie tried to sound calm.
‘I’m surprised Geraldine hasn’t already briefed you.’ Tom shot her a look.
Esmie reddened. ‘About what?’
‘About me turning my back on the Peshawar Rifles,’ said Tom. ‘The army don’t like criticism – or one of their own resigning their commission just to become a hotel-wallah. I’ve let the side down.’
Esmie breathed out.
‘I’m sure Dickie doesn’t feel that way.’
‘Then why else is he avoiding me?’
Esmie could think of nothing to say. She didn’t want to come out with some platitude about the lieutenant being busy. Nor did she want to voice her suspicion that Dickie might be spending his spare time meeting Lydia. But what if Tom was right and he was being cold-shouldered by some of the army fraternity for quitting his old regiment? It might become socially awkward in a garrison town like Rawalpindi. Lydia would hate that.
Tom turned the car onto Strathairn Road and into the heart of the military cantonment. Esmie was amazed at the endless rows of mud brick barrack buildings neatly arrayed amid mature trees and clipped borders. Tom pointed out the garrison church, Christ Church, and the medical corp officers’ mess. Spreading as far as the eye could see was a grid of troop huts, guard rooms, stables, hospitals, churches and parade grounds; a city in itself.
They drove through a commercial area of substantial two-storey native houses and arcaded shops, already bustling with pre-Christmas shoppers.
‘This is Lalkutri Bazaar,’ said Tom. ‘It serves the army cantonment. Myrtle Dubois’s sister and her family live here. The Dixons run a bicycle shop.’
‘So it’s an Anglo-Indian area?’ she queried.
Tom shot her a look. ‘Yes, I suppose it is. You don’t have a problem with Anglo-Indians, do you?’
‘Of course not,’ said Esmie. ‘Why do you say that?’
Tom pulled a face. ‘Lydia does. She thinks the Duboises should live down here with their own kind. She wants me to get a British manager who will attract in a different sort of clientele.’
Esmie studied him. She thought Lydia was wrong but she hesitated to interfere. ‘And what do you want?’ she asked.
Tom gripped the wheel harder. ‘I like the Duboises very much. They work hard and Charlie gives such a welcome to all the guests. Perhaps he’s not so good with money but Myrtle is prudent and keeps expenses to a minimum.’ He glanced at Esmie. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be dragging you into our business.’
She gave him a look of understanding. ‘From the little I’ve seen of your manager and his children, I think they’re delightful. Perhaps it might be a mistake to try and compete with the likes of Flashman’s. It seems to me that Rawalpindi is big enough to have a range of hotels catering for different incomes and tastes. Flashman’s may be grand but I think the Raj is homely and charming.’
A grin spread across Tom’s handsome face. ‘Do you really think so?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Thank you, Esmie. That means a lot to me.’
The warm look he gave her made her melt inside. Perhaps she had said too much. But she thought that he needed encouragement in his enterprise and reassurance that he was doing the best he could. She certainly thought that the friendly Dubois family were an asset to the hotel and not the liability that Lydia believed they were.
Esmie leaned back and looked around her as Tom drove and they meandered around the cantonments and bazaars of the army town. They fell into silence but it wasn’t an awkward one. Esmie felt more relaxed than she had in weeks, lulled by the rhythm of the motor car, entranced by the sights and sounds of the attractive Punjabi city and comfortable in Tom’s company.
Eventually, they turned east again and he drove out past the half-wilderness of Topi Park and on to the Grand Trunk Road that led out of Rawalpindi across the wide Sohan River and its meandering tributary, the Leh. They drove across a metal bridge over the shallow wooded gorge of the Leh River and then Tom brought the car to a stop at a many-arched stone bridge that spanned the Sohan. On the far side were crumbling low cliffs and scrub, fringed in the distance by a mountain range capped in snow; the Himalayan foothills. They looked majestic against the azure blue of a cloudless sky. Tom pointed to the north.
‘That’s the way to Murree. Looks like the snow’s already arrived.’
‘I’d like to visit the mountains,’ said Esmie. ‘Lydia wrote enthusiastically of her trip to Murree with her parents in the autumn.’
‘Yes, she enjoyed it tremendously,’ said Tom. ‘She’s missing her parents now though.’ He gave a rueful look. ‘And so am I. They were such good company.’
‘I’m sorry that I didn’t get over to see them before they left,’ Esmie said.
‘You were busy with work – they understood.’
Esmie shook her head. ‘The Templetons have been like family to me. I should have made the effort, but I couldn’t . . .’
‘Couldn’t what?’
Esmie’s insides knotted. She couldn’t admit that it was a reluctance to face Tom that had kept her away – the fear of her attraction towards him. Sitting close to him under the car’s canopy with the sound of raucous birdsong from the trees behind, her heart began to thud. She didn’t dare look him in the eye in case he should see the longing in hers.
‘I – I couldn’t manage it,’ Esmie answered evasively.
‘Tell me about your life in Taha,’ Tom said. ‘Harold only talks about his work at the hospital, not about the people you’ve met or the places you’ve been.’
Esmie felt more at ease with this subject and was soon telling him all about her new home on the arid plain, her colleagues and neighbours, the house servants and especially of Karo and Gabina. She told him how she loved to stand on the veranda and watch the early morning mist lift and how she had delighted in seeing Gabina take her first tottering steps. With Tom’s prompting, she told him about the challenging trip into the mountains to Kanki-Khel, their attempts to help Zakir and her guilt at putting Baz and his men in danger. She unburdened her fear that her insistence on sheltering Karo had provoked the attack by the Otmanzai tribesmen.
Tom was adamant she was not to blame. ‘The attack was not your fault, Esmie, you must believe that. I’ve fought against the tribes of the Frontier and they think strategically in all they do. The Waziris and Mahsuds are acting now because they think the British are in disarray after the War and have no more appetite for fighting. We’ve made peace with the Afghans in the hopes that they don’t forge an alliance with Bolshevik Russia. But the Frontier tribes don’t trust that we’ll leave their territory alone, so they are striking while they think we are weak.’
Tom’s look was earnest. ‘You were brave and kind to take Karo into your home, so don’t feel bad about it. Her husband may feel slighted by what you’ve done and that’s why he was angry at the clinic – but you said yourself that the other men chased him away. Don’t confuse a domestic fight with a tribal one.’
‘That’s what Harold said,’ Esmie admitted. ‘But I think he still feels my rash actions have caused problems and that I should never have gone to Kanki-Kehl. He didn’t want me to.’
Tom laid a hand on her arm. ‘Esmie, Harold thinks the world of you. I can tell by the way he speaks of your work.’
Esmie felt her skin tingling where he touched it. She said in a husky voice, ‘I know he values my work. I just wish he . . .’
‘Wished what?’ Tom pressed her.
‘Sometimes, all I want is for him to love me as myself, not simply as a nurse.’
‘Oh, Esmie, I’m sure he does.’
She shook her head and looked into his eyes. ‘It’s not his fault. We married in order that I could work at the mission. We had an understanding. Not very romantic, I know. But now I think I want more from our marriage than he does. Harold is such a good man – an honourable man – and I feel disloyal even speaking to you about him when I know he’s your greatest friend.’
Tom held her look. ‘Do you love him?’
Esmie felt her chest constrict, hardly able to bear his scrutiny. She evaded the question.
‘I want to start a family,’ she confided. ‘But Harold would rather we didn’t have a child yet.’
Tom dropped his hold and leaned back with a heavy sigh. ‘It’s the same for us.’
Esmie was startled. ‘Lydia wants a baby?’
He gave her a sad smile. ‘No, I do.’
Her insides twisted with pity. ‘Oh, Tom, I’m sure she’ll come round to the idea soon. Once she’s more settled.’
His look was disbelieving. ‘I know she writes to you a lot. Does she strike you as unhappy?’
Esmie hesitated. She didn’t want to break Lydia’s confidences or hurt Tom’s pride.
‘I think she’s enjoying Pindi,’ said Esmie. ‘But there’s one thing that might make her happier and that’s to have her own home in the cantonment. Perhaps she doesn’t want to bring up a baby in the hotel.’
For an instant, Tom’s face tightened in annoyance. Then he nodded.
‘You’re probably right. You’re a wise woman, Esmie. And Harold is a very lucky man.’
Esmie’s heart began to hammer at the tender expression in his blue eyes. What did he mean by that? Did Tom feel the same attraction that she did? Suddenly she feared where the conversation was going. She had to break the spell of intimacy that was making them both say too much.
She looked away. ‘You said that the Duboises sometimes come here to picnic and paddle in the river. Is there time for you to show me where?’
When she looked back, Tom was swinging his lanky legs over the side of the car. He came round and opened her door.
‘There’s a path down to the Leh through the trees over there,’ he said, his manner more breezy. ‘We better not stay long.’
In a couple of minutes, they’d emerged from the trees onto a sandy riverbank.
‘The river’s still low at the moment,’ Tom said, ‘but there’ll be more rain in January and then the fishing will be better.’
The sight of the glinting tranquil water was too tempting for Esmie. Without hesitating, she kicked off her shoes, lifted the hem of her skirt and stepped into the shallows in her stockinged feet. The water was colder than she’d expected but she revelled in the feel of it.
The Emerald Affair Page 25
