She laughed and waded up to her knees. ‘A Christmas Eve treat!’
Tom chuckled. ‘I’d forgotten how you throw yourself into water at the slightest opportunity.’
In a moment, he was pulling off his shoes and socks, rolling up his trousers and following her in. They stood in the river as their feet grew numb, swapping news from home and talking of safer topics such as Tibby’s new-found passion for gardening and Aunt Isobel’s plans for the hospital.
All too soon they were squeezing wet feet into their shoes and heading back to the car. They said little as Tom drove them towards town. But he didn’t take her straight back to the hotel and Esmie wondered if he felt the same reluctance to end their time alone together. They might not have the chance again. She savoured each precious moment. Being with him and talking so frankly had stirred up the same feelings of attraction and empathy for Tom that she had first experienced when they had come across each other in the graveyard at Ebbsmouth. In different circumstances . . . Esmie swallowed down her yearning, making a supreme effort not to let her feelings for him show.
He detoured off the Mall, up Murree Road, so that she could catch a glimpse of the old city. The narrow streets and markets were thronged with turbaned traders and mules laden with produce. Amid the tall houses with latticed windows, Esmie saw the gleaming white domes of mosques and temples. It reminded Esmie of the bazaar at Taha but on a much grander scale.
Tom’s attempt to weave further into the old quarter was thwarted by a camel train coming the other way. He turned and drove Esmie back to the ordered leafy streets around the Mall.
Esmie heard the large clock in the park chiming eleven o’clock as they headed along Edwardes Road and turned back up Dalhousie Road.
Lydia was standing on the steps of the hotel dressed in a smart green suit and matching hat, looking out for them.
‘Why didn’t you wake me?’ she cried. ‘I would have come with you. Good grief, Esmie, your skirt is wet. Where on earth have you been?’
‘Paddling in the river,’ said Esmie with a grin.
Lydia’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘You really are the strangest girl. Tom, you shouldn’t have let her. Goodness knows what horrible condition she might contract from that filthy water.’
‘The water was clear and I’m fine,’ said Esmie. ‘But I’m ready for a strong tea or coffee.’
‘Go and change,’ Lydia ordered, ‘and I’ll have Dubois bring up coffee to our sitting room.’
‘Is Harold up yet?’ Esmie asked.
‘No, he’s not.’ She turned to her husband. ‘I don’t know how much whisky you made him drink last night.’
Tom gave an apologetic shrug and followed the women inside.
Lydia monopolised Esmie for the rest of the day. While Harold stayed in bed resting, her friend took her out to the shops to buy last-minute gifts for the Dubois children.
‘Jimmy and Stella are rather sweet,’ said Lydia, ‘even if their parents get on my nerves. And I love buying Christmas presents.’ Suddenly her chin trembled. ‘It’s the first Christmas without Mummy and Daddy. I wanted them to stay longer but they’d promised Grace they’d go to Switzerland to see their new grandchild. It’s going to be hard. I’m so glad you and Harold are here.’
Esmie saw the tears welling in Lydia’s eyes and grabbed her hand, squeezing it.
‘I know how much you miss them – and they miss you. But we’ll make the best of it,’ Esmie encouraged. ‘And maybe next year, they’ll spend it here with you and Tom.’
Lydia’s look was hard to fathom. ‘I can’t look that far ahead,’ she said, pulling away from Esmie and quickly brushing away a stray tear.
After that, there was no more show of emotion as Lydia steered Esmie around the shops. They rummaged around a large store offering furniture for sale or rent.
‘Lots of our people seem to rent things rather than buy,’ said Lydia, ‘as they get moved around to different postings at the drop of a hat. At least Geraldine, as the deputy manager’s wife, should be staying put. The Hopkirks have a fabulous house off the Grand Trunk Road full of expensive teak tables and carved chairs. But Geraldine’s got her eye on the manager’s house – it’s like a maharajah’s palace in its own grounds. Even the governor of the Punjab doesn’t have such a palatial residence. But that’s brewery money for you,’ said Lydia with envy, trailing her hand over an ivory-inlaid drinks’ table. ‘I want Tom to rent some better furniture for the hotel but he says we can’t afford it. The place is so shabby, don’t you think?’
‘I think it has a certain charm,’ Esmie replied.
Lydia gave an abrupt laugh. ‘I don’t know why I’m asking you – you’ve never been interested in that sort of thing. That’s why you don’t mind living like a nomad in God-forsaken places with Harold. I do admire you both but I couldn’t live like that.’
Back out on the street, Lydia eyed Esmie and asked, ‘You were out a jolly long time with Tom. What did he talk about?’
Esmie could feel herself blushing. ‘Mainly about the town – pointing things out. And swapping family news.’ She met Lydia’s look. ‘He asked me about life in Taha.’
Lydia clicked her tongue in disapproval. ‘That was insensitive. Everyone knows what an awful time you’ve had there – having to run for your lives.’
‘That was in Kanki-Khel,’ said Esmie. ‘Taha is different—’
‘Well, still,’ Lydia interrupted. ‘You’ve come here to get away from all that and not have to think about it for a while.’ She slipped her arm through Esmie’s and began to walk. ‘Did Tom say anything about me?’
Esmie hesitated and then decided to be frank. ‘He asked me if I thought you were unhappy.’
Lydia stopped and scrutinised her. ‘Did he? And what did you say?’
‘That I thought you were enjoying Pindi but that moving out of the hotel might make you happier.’
Lydia gave a smile of triumph. ‘Good for you! I hope he listened – ’cause he certainly doesn’t to me.’
‘Yes, he did listen,’ Esmie replied. ‘He wants you to be happy.’
‘Sometimes I wonder,’ said Lydia with a pout. ‘Tom’s so different from how he was back at home. There, he couldn’t do enough to please me – quite swept me off my feet with his attention and promises of a grand future in India.’
‘I seem to remember it was you who went after Tom and swept him off his feet,’ Esmie reminded her.
Lydia gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘Well, perhaps a bit of both,’ she conceded. ‘But here, he’s turned into a dull boarding-house landlord who’s forgotten how to have fun.’
‘When you get a home of your own it’ll be different,’ said Esmie. ‘You’ll be able to do more together.’ Glancing at Lydia, she added, ‘Such as starting a family.’
Lydia laughed derisively. ‘That’s the last thing I want to do. I’m not going to turn into my boring older sister and churn out babies. They stop one having fun and ruin one’s figure – and none of the young officers will look at me twice.’
Esmie was uncomfortable as she remembered Lydia’s straying hand under the club dinner table. She was on the point of asking Lydia about Dickie when her friend changed the subject.
‘So what are you going to wear for the dinner-dance at Flashman’s tonight?’
‘The same dress as last night,’ Esmie answered.
Lydia was horrified. ‘You simply can’t. Don’t tell me you’ve only brought one evening dress?’
‘That’s all I need in Taha,’ said Esmie. ‘Perhaps I could wear my Sunday dress with an evening shawl.’
‘That’s even worse!’ Lydia exclaimed. ‘No, I’ll have to summon the darzi to shorten one of my dresses. One or two are too tight for me at the moment, so you might as well wear them.’
They curtailed their trip to the shops and Lydia hurried them back to the hotel to address Esmie’s costume crisis. Her friend chose a low-cut beaded V-neck dress in emerald green and ordered the Indian tailor to alter the length an
d sew in a piece of black lace over the cleavage for modesty’s sake. He worked away in the residents’ sitting room, Lydia having chased out Mr Hoffman who had been dozing over a book. Esmie had never possessed such an expensive or luxurious evening gown and thought it too flamboyant, but didn’t want to stop Lydia’s obvious enjoyment in seeing her friend dressing up for the occasion.
The baroness and Stella, hearing about the darzi’s visit, were not so easily banished.
‘I’ve a beaded headband which will be a perfect match,’ said Hester.
‘We could put one of your feathers in it,’ suggested Stella, full of glee. ‘The bright-green one or the orange would be very pretty. Or maybe both together!’
Lydia rolled her eyes. ‘Goodness, girl! We don’t want Esmie looking like a vaudeville act.’
Esmie saw Stella’s dashed expression and quickly said, ‘I think I’d rather like to wear a feather. What do you think to a black one?’
‘Perfect, darling,’ said the baroness. ‘Stella will fetch it for you – and the headband.’
The girl dashed away and returned with the sparkly headdress and luxurious black feather.
Lydia was still unsure. ‘It’s a bit showy.’
‘I think Mrs Guthrie looks like a princess,’ Stella said in admiration, holding up a hand mirror for Esmie to see.
Esmie laughed self-consciously. ‘I’m not sure my Aunt Isobel would approve.’
Lydia smiled. ‘Well, we won’t tell her. Go on, wear it. After all, it’s Christmas Eve and we’re all going to have fun.’
Esmie was concerned about Harold. He’d stayed in bed all day and had hardly eaten anything. He looked pale and his eyes dark-ringed.
‘I don’t like to leave you,’ said Esmie. ‘I’ll cry off tonight and stay here.’
Harold was insistent. ‘Certainly not. You must go. Lydia will be very disappointed if you don’t. I’m quite happy in bed reading and getting an early night. Then I’ll be fresh for tomorrow. I’d hate to miss the Christmas Day service.’
Esmie knew Harold would find the formal evening an ordeal. Unlike her, he found no pleasure in dancing. Reluctantly, she agreed to go without him.
‘I’ll ask Jimmy and Stella to keep an eye on you while the Duboises are hosting their party downstairs. If you need me at all, they can send word. Flashman’s is just minutes away in a tonga.’
‘You mustn’t worry about me, my dear. Go and enjoy yourself.’
Esmie indulged in a hot bath before putting on the fancy evening gown and headdress. Even Harold looked on in admiration.
‘You look quite beautiful, dearest. I’ve never seen you so sophisticated.’
Esmie blushed and laughed. ‘I just hope I can walk in it without tripping over the hem.’
As she descended the stairs, she could hear lively chatter and a gramophone playing Viennese waltzes in the dining room. Red and green streamers were strung between Chinese lanterns and looped across the top of the windows. Tables were laden with bite-size sandwiches, fried pakora, pastries and cakes. A jovial Charlie was mixing and dispensing his cocktail punch into blue-stemmed glasses. A glamorous dark-haired woman in a pink frock came towards her and held out her hand.
‘I’m Myrtle Dubois,’ she said with a gleaming smile. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Mrs Guthrie. I do like your dress.’
‘Thank you; it’s lovely to meet you too.’ Esmie smiled back. ‘The gown is one of Lydia’s.’
‘I know. Stella told me about it. I must say it suits you better,’ she said with a wink. ‘But don’t tell Mrs Lomax.’
‘Darling!’ cried Hester, catching sight of Esmie. ‘You look divine. And my headdress has never looked better. Come and drink one of Charlie’s whisky fizzes or whatever it is he puts in his punch. You’ll float to the dance, I can assure you.’
Soon Esmie was clinking glasses with the others and joining in the general chatter. Jimmy was on duty at the gramophone, winding it up when it slowed and changing the records. The noise in the room was so raucous that Esmie didn’t notice Tom and Lydia enter until they were almost beside her.
She turned and saw Tom regarding her. He was immaculately dressed in tails, with his thick dark hair groomed into place and his chin freshly shaven. Her heart thudded at his sudden appearance. Lydia was reaching for a cocktail, shimmering in a lacy cream dress encrusted with golden sequins and beads. She had a corsage of fresh flowers at her bosom and a matching one in her hair. She wore long cream evening gloves and a string of ivory beads, and her petite mouth was accentuated by a slash of red lipstick. The whole effect was startling.
‘You both look wonderful,’ said Esmie.
Tom was still eyeing her strangely and she wondered if her headband had slipped out of place, but Lydia gave a generous smile and leaning towards her whispered, ‘So do you. If I were the jealous type, I’d be furious that the dress suits you better than me. But I’m not – so you must keep it. You can wear it back in Taha and make all the missionaries faint.’
‘Thank you!’ Esmie laughed and took a swig of her punch; it was already making her light-headed.
Lydia thrust a glass into Tom’s hand and said, ‘Ten minutes maximum then we go. We mustn’t be late. I’ve already had to apologise for Harold not coming.’ She moved away to talk to Fritwell, who grinned foolishly at her attention.
Esmie glanced up at Tom. He hadn’t said a word since he’d arrived. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.
He cleared his throat. ‘Yes, fine.’ He gave a distracted smile and clinked his glass against hers. ‘Happy Christmas Eve, Esmie.’ He downed his almost in one gulp. Then he turned from her to speak to the baroness.
Esmie wondered what was preoccupying him. Was he annoyed with her? Perhaps Lydia had been badgering him again about buying a house and citing Esmie’s support for the idea. Or maybe he was regretting taking her into his confidence earlier in the day and allowing himself to say things he hadn’t meant to.
Charlie was just about to top up Esmie’s glass when Lydia was at her elbow, steering her away.
‘We have to go, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘Enjoy your party. As long as the dining room is all ready for breakfast in the morning.’
‘Thank you – and I promise you it will be, Mrs Lomax,’ Charlie said with a slight bow.
‘That’s the best punch I’ve ever tasted, Mr Dubois,’ said Esmie, wishing she could stay among the convivial guests. ‘Perhaps Jimmy could take one up to Dr Guthrie. It might be the elixir he needs.’
‘Of course.’ Charlie nodded, looking pleased.
They were greeted with champagne at Flashman’s before sitting down to a five-course dinner. Geraldine had rustled up a replacement for Harold; an American called Dempster who worked for an oil company. Geraldine seated him beside Esmie. He was amusing and Esmie felt caught up in the festive mood. After the meal, the Hopkirks and their guests went out into the garden to smoke and drink while tables were cleared and the room made ready for dancing.
When the band struck up and the dancing began, they were joined by a party of officers from the cavalry mess. Both Esmie and Lydia found their dance cards being quickly filled. Despite her disappointment that Tom hadn’t been quick enough to mark her card, Esmie revelled in the dancing. The last time she had danced so energetically had been at Lydia and Tom’s wedding, when she and Tibby had taken to the floor.
She noticed how often Dickie claimed Lydia as his partner. The young lieutenant did not try and hide his admiration for her and Lydia was enjoying being the centre of attention among the officers’ party. If Tom minded, he didn’t show it. She’d glimpsed him earlier talking to the American oilman but had hardly seen him since the dancing had started. Every time she’d cast about for him, there’d been no sign of Tom in the melee of dancers.
Now the evening was nearly over. Glancing down at her card, she saw that Dempster was her partner for the last waltz.
‘I hope you don’t mind but Mr Dempster asked me to take his place.’ Esmie looked up,
startled to see Tom holding out a hand to her. ‘He’s had to leave before the end.’
Her pulse quickened. ‘No, I don’t mind at all.’
Tom flashed her a smile as she put her hand into his. She could feel herself trembling and hoped he didn’t notice. The floor was crowded with dancers, so Tom pulled her close. She was acutely aware of his warm hand on her back as he spun her around. Her throat was so tight with nerves, she couldn’t speak. Every time she looked up at his face, he was regarding her with his vivid blue eyes. There was something feverish in his look. She wondered how much he’d been drinking. Her own head swam as they twirled around, heady from the champagne and the proximity to Tom.
‘You look beautiful tonight, Esmie,’ he murmured.
‘Thank you,’ she said, her breath catching as he gripped her more firmly.
‘Did you enjoy our drive this morning?’ he asked.
‘Very much.’
‘So did I. I’m wondering when we can do it again. Just the two of us.’
Esmie’s heart pounded in her chest. This was dangerous talk. In that instant she felt reckless, her senses charged with desire for this man. She didn’t trust herself. She thought that she might agree to anything he suggested. For the first time, she felt sure that Tom had feelings for her too. But he belonged to Lydia and she to Harold. Esmie would do nothing to betray or hurt either of them. She mustn’t let Tom know how much she cared for him – thirsted for him with every fibre of her being. For a fleeting moment, she let herself imagine what it would be like to kiss his mouth and feel his heart next to hers. She went weak with longing.
Esmie looked away, overcome with shame at her thoughts.
‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ she answered.
‘Why not?’ he demanded. ‘I think we both feel something—’
‘Please, Tom, don’t say anything more.’
His jaw tightened as if he were biting back words he wanted to say. His hold on her slackened.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I’ve drunk too much brandy with Dempster. Please forget what I said.’
The Emerald Affair Page 26
