The Emerald Affair

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  ‘I’m sure he would if you suggested it. Even just go on a picnic.’

  ‘And watch him fish or paint?’ Lydia said dismissively. ‘That’s not my idea of a good day out.’

  A waiter arrived with a jug of lemonade and poured it into glasses for them. Esmie sipped and watched the Americans carry on playing tennis together. She searched for a topic of conversation that wouldn’t put Lydia on the defensive or make her homesick.

  ‘Stella is a very sweet girl and so mature for a seven-year-old,’ said Esmie. ‘She brought me ginger tea last night and sat chattering till I fell asleep.’

  ‘Umm, she’s the best of that bunch,’ Lydia conceded. ‘But I don’t know how much more I can bear being in the hotel. I’m not used to living like this – having to queue to use the bathroom and then finding deaf old Mrs Shankley’s yellow dentures floating in a glass. It’s enough to make the strongest constitution sick. And why should the Duboises have a house in the compound when we have to live in two rooms upstairs like a couple of travelling salesmen?’

  ‘Would you want to live in the compound?’ asked Esmie.

  ‘No, of course not,’ Lydia huffed. ‘But that’s not the point. The point is, why should they get a house at our expense when we, the owners, can’t afford one? At least according to my scrooge of a husband, we can’t.’

  Esmie eyed her friend. She was flushed and frowning, her mouth pulled downwards in discontent. She’d hardly touched her lemonade. She looked a deeply unhappy woman. Lydia seemed to have forgotten how to enjoy the simple things in life: planning a picnic, chatting to a friend or the pleasure of a carbonated drink frothing in the mouth. Lydia complained of Tom being a different man in India; but since coming out here, Lydia was a changed woman. Was it homesickness? Or was she falling out of love with Tom? Was India just too much for Lydia or was it simply that she hated the Raj Hotel?

  Esmie resisted placating her with anodyne responses about soon finding her feet or giving it more time to adjust to a new life. She knew her friend would dismiss them as unhelpful platitudes.

  ‘Well, then,’ said Esmie, ‘if you really want to live away from the hotel, then do something about it.’

  Lydia gave her a sharp look. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If you have money of your own to buy or rent a place, then start looking for one.’ Esmie put a hand out and covered Lydia’s puffy one. ‘I can help you look – if you want me to.’

  Lydia’s eyes widened. ‘Would you really?’

  ‘Of course.’ Esmie smiled. ‘We could start looking around the agents’ today if you like.’

  ‘Even if it gets you into trouble with Tom and Harold?’

  Esmie’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Why would they mind?’

  Lydia gave a dry laugh. ‘I know you’ve been told to talk some sense into me while they swan off fishing. They want me to be a good little wife who does her husband’s bidding and doesn’t cause a fuss. I’m right, aren’t I? I can’t wait to see Tom’s face when he hears you’ve been actively helping me escape the hotel.’

  Esmie was dismayed. ‘Lydia, I want to help you find a home you’re happy in – not to score points against Tom. You do want to share a home with him, don’t you?’

  Lydia’s eyes slid away from Esmie’s anxious look. ‘Yes, of course. I want somewhere we can entertain our friends and not have to share the privy with incontinent old box-wallahs.’

  Esmie couldn’t help a wry laugh. ‘Oh, Lydia, you are incorrigible.’ She drained off her drink.

  Lydia got to her feet. ‘I’m ravenous. Let’s go and have tiffin and celebrate the start of our mission to find me a house.’

  As Esmie stood, there was something about Lydia that caught her eye. As her friend turned, dappled sunlight fell on her figure, accentuating the tightness of her tennis skirt and her thickening waistline. The pot-belly beneath the waistband. Lydia was scratching her right breast as if it itched against the tight fabric of her blouse. Esmie’s heart thumped in shock. She let out a small gasp. Lydia caught her look.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Lydia . . .’

  ‘Have my buttons come undone or something?’

  Esmie moved closer and asked quietly, ‘Are you . . .?’

  ‘Am I what?’

  Esmie glanced around; there was no one within earshot. She whispered, ‘Are you pregnant?’

  Lydia’s mouth fell open in astonishment. ‘Of course not. I can’t be. Whatever makes you say that?’

  ‘You look it.’

  ‘What clap-trap!’

  Esmie had a moment of doubt. Then she saw tears spring to Lydia’s eyes. Her friend sat back down again as if she’d been winded. Her chin trembled.

  ‘Oh, God! I’ve been praying that I’m not,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to be.’

  Esmie quickly sat beside her and grabbed her hands. ‘But it’s wonderful news. Tom will be over the moon.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Lydia gave her a suspicious look.

  Esmie blushed. ‘Well, I’m sure he will be. He likes children.’

  ‘But I don’t,’ Lydia said, her voice tearful. ‘And I’ve been so careful to avoid . . .’ Lydia bowed her head.

  Esmie had a sudden appalling thought. What if Lydia had allowed Dickie to seduce her?

  Gently Esmie asked, ‘When did you last have your monthly bleed?’

  Lydia began to shake. ‘I thought it was just the travel that had put things out of kilter – coming to India – the heat and all that. You hear about your time of the month stopping because of such things, don’t you?’

  ‘So you haven’t had one since you’ve been in India?’

  Lydia shook her head. Esmie felt a stab of relief; the baby couldn’t be Dickie’s.

  ‘So you could be four months gone?’ Esmie calculated.

  Lydia stifled a sob. ‘Oh, how could we have been that stupid? That inept! Tom can be so careless.’

  Esmie didn’t like to think about Lydia and Tom being intimate. She put an arm around her friend. ‘Come on, don’t cry. You’ll be happy about it once it’s had time to sink in.’ She squeezed Lydia’s shoulder. ‘And once Tom knows about it, he’s not going to deny you a home of your own – not with a child on the way.’

  Lydia looked up, her face brightening. ‘Yes, that’s true. At least it’ll force him to be reasonable about a house. So it’s not all a disaster, is it?’

  When Tom returned with Harold after dark, he knew from Esmie’s expression that something had happened.

  Harold greeted her with a pat on the shoulder. ‘You’re looking much better, my dear. Have you had a good day?’

  ‘Yes. We played tennis at the club and then went for a drive.’

  Tom’s insides clenched as she turned her gaze to him. ‘Lydia’s tired so she’s resting. I’ve arranged for Maseed to bring supper up to your rooms when you get back.’

  ‘Are you and Harold joining us?’ Tom asked.

  ‘No,’ said Esmie. ‘I’ve still not got my appetite back and I thought Harold could keep Mr Ansom company at dinner – Mr Fritwell is away for the night.’

  ‘I’m sure Lydia would prefer it if you spent the evening with us,’ he said, not wanting to be alone with his wife. She was less likely to harangue him in front of her friends.

  Esmie shook her head. ‘She just wants it with you, Tom.’

  The way she spoke his name – was there tenderness and a little regret in her voice? – made his heart sink. Why did Lydia want to be alone with him? Was she going to confess about an affair with Dickie? Or perhaps she wanted to nag him again about moving out of the hotel. Tonight, he wouldn’t have the excuse of slipping downstairs to talk arrangements with his manager and have a nightcap with Charlie. The Duboises had just returned from Lalkutri but were still off duty.

  Tom swallowed. ‘Well, if you’re sure that’s what she wants.’

  ‘It is,’ Esmie said. Her smile made his chest tighten in longing.

  She turned and linked her arm
through Harold’s. ‘Have you had fun? Did you catch any fish? Tell me everything.’

  Tom watched her steer Harold towards the dining room. He felt engulfed in envy for his friend. For the umpteenth time, he wondered why he hadn’t proposed to Esmie instead of Lydia or realised that the strong emotion she had provoked in him when they’d first met had been love.

  With a heavy heart, Tom trudged upstairs.

  Lydia was lounging on the chintz sofa in a silk dressing gown, her bare feet propped up on a cushion. Her hair was unbound and her face devoid of make-up. He hadn’t seen her look so naturally pretty in months. Tom gave her a cautious look, wondering what it meant.

  She held out a hand to him. ‘You can come near me. I’m not going to bite.’

  He gave a wry smile and approached the sofa, bending to kiss her on the head. She’d bathed and smelt of talcum powder.

  ‘Esmie tells me you’ve had an enjoyable day,’ he said, standing back.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, suppressing a yawn. ‘She’s been helping me pick out a house. I’ve found the perfect one on Buchanan Road.’

  Tom tried to curb his irritation. ‘You didn’t have to drag Esmie into this.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Lydia said with a look of triumph. ‘It was her idea. She thinks you’re very selfish for not having done something sooner.’

  He reddened. ‘Lydia,’ he said in exasperation, ‘let’s at least get the Christmas holidays over with first.’

  ‘No, Tom,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve waited long enough. I’ve arranged a viewing for tomorrow. You can come if you want but I’m going to rent it anyway.’ She swung her legs over and stood up, arching her back. ‘I want to be in there by the New Year.’

  ‘That’s impossible – we’re too busy here.’

  ‘I’m not. You can leave all the arrangements to me.’ She padded to the sideboard and poured herself a sherry. ‘Want to join me?’

  ‘So your mind is made up?’ Tom asked tensely.

  ‘Yes. It’s got everything we need.’ She poured two glasses and handed one to Tom. ‘A large garden and three bedrooms; one for us, one for guests and one for the baby.’

  Tom thought he had misheard. ‘For the what?’

  ‘Our baby. I’m about four months pregnant.’ Lydia knocked back her drink in one gulp.

  Tom stared at her in disbelief. His heart knocked in his chest. ‘Four months?’

  She nodded, pouring herself another sherry. Tom began to shake. He clashed his glass down on the sideboard, spilling the liquor.

  ‘Careful, darling,’ Lydia admonished.

  Tom’s eyes stung. ‘I’m going to be a father?’ he rasped.

  ‘You are.’

  Tom felt pressure build in his chest and his throat constrict. Suddenly he let out a cry – half bellow, half sob – and stumbled towards her. He grabbed Lydia in a fierce hug.

  ‘Our child,’ he gasped, clinging on to his wife and kissing her hair.

  ‘Don’t, Tom,’ she protested. ‘You’re squeezing me too tight and spilling my sherry.’

  Tom let go. The next moment he was weeping – uncontrollable sobs from deep in his core. The discordant noise rang round the room.

  ‘For goodness’ sake,’ said Lydia, glancing at the veranda windows which had been left ajar. ‘Don’t let the residents hear you.’

  But Tom was helpless to stop it. He sank onto the sofa and gnawed his knuckles in an attempt to stem the tide of emotion. How was it possible to cry so hard at such happy welcome news? He gulped and spluttered and tried to say how pleased he was. Lydia looked on speechless, then turned away to top up her spilled drink.

  Esmie was standing in the courtyard below. Stella had pulled her outside to look at the full moon. Its white light lit up the rooftops like an electric lamp. As they gazed upwards in wonderment, they heard a man’s loud sobbing coming from the open veranda windows of the Lomaxes’ flat. Esmie felt a surge of shock.

  ‘Is Captain Lomax crying?’ asked Stella in concern. ‘It doesn’t sound like Mrs Lomax. Do you think she’s been shouting at him again?’

  For a moment Esmie couldn’t answer. She assumed Lydia had broken the news of her pregnancy by now. It seemed an extraordinary response from Tom. She’d expected to hear whoops of joy. But this emotion was altogether deeper – primeval. Her heart squeezed to hear him so overcome with feeling.

  A few moments later, someone crossed to the windows and closed them, shutting in the noise.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be all right,’ Esmie said.

  ‘He doesn’t sound it,’ Stella said. ‘Should I go up and see?’

  Esmie was astonished by the girl’s bravery. ‘You’re a kind girl. But no, I think we should leave them alone.’

  Stella glanced up at the closed windows, her expression still worried. Esmie steered her further across the courtyard.

  ‘Can you keep a secret?’ Esmie asked.

  The girl nodded.

  ‘I think Mrs Lomax was giving Captain Lomax some good news. They’re going to have a baby. But it’s still early days and they might not want people to know yet, so you must keep it to yourself.’

  Stella stared at her in bewilderment. ‘So why was Captain Lomax upset? Doesn’t he want a baby?’

  ‘Yes he does; very much. But sometimes grown-ups show how happy they are by crying.’

  Stella nodded. ‘That’s true. Uncle Ziggy cried when he was told about baby Sigmund being named after him.’

  Esmie smiled. ‘There you are then.’

  Stella’s face lit up. ‘A baby in the hotel – I can’t wait! I’ll help Mrs Lomax look after it. Do you think it’s a girl or a boy? I hope it’s a girl. Boys can be quite annoying.’

  ‘Shush now; remember, it’s a secret.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Stella, clamping a hand over her mouth.

  Now was not the time to disappoint the girl by telling her that the Lomax baby would not be living in the hotel. Esmie pulled Stella into a hug.

  ‘It is exciting, isn’t it?’ Esmie whispered. ‘And I know you’ll be a great help to the Lomaxes once the baby is here.’

  Chapter 25

  The next day the doctor was summoned and after a brief examination confirmed that Lydia was at least four months pregnant. The tension between Tom and Lydia seemed to evaporate overnight. Esmie noticed the difference at once. Tom strode about the hotel with energy and purpose again, full of bonhomie towards all comers and proudly protective of his wife. He went around with a permanent grin of euphoria. He fussed over Lydia, ordering her to rest in the afternoons and summoning hot drinks and warm baths. Lydia, taking advantage of his newly besotted state, pressed ahead with securing the house in Buchanan Road and ordering new furniture and appointing servants.

  It didn’t take long for the residents to work out that Tom’s new solicitousness towards his wife – and Lydia’s delight in being pampered – was because of the forthcoming baby. Tom didn’t deny it when Hester asked him outright.

  ‘Are we to hear the patter of tiny feet sometime soon, Captain Lomax?’

  Tom flushed with pride. ‘Yes, Baroness. The doctor thinks it’ll be born in May.’

  ‘Darling, I’m so pleased! But May is terribly hot. Perhaps you should arrange for Mrs Lomax’s confinement to be in Murree?’

  Tom frowned. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. You’re right. Murree would be far healthier. Thank you, dear lady.’

  Once the idea was in his head, Tom became adamant that their child should be born in the hills, away from the heat and summer fevers of the plains around Rawalpindi. Lydia acquiesced quickly.

  ‘I suppose the hot season will be unbearable here – and all my friends will be moving up to Murree by then.’

  ‘So that’s what I’ll arrange,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll come up as often as I can. In the car it’s less than a couple of hours’ drive.’

  Harold, not wanting to get embroiled in picking furnishings for the Buchanan Road bungalow, made arrangements to meet up with the Tolmies and other missionary acqua
intances who were in Rawalpindi over the holidays. Lydia reproached him.

  ‘You can go and meet your virtuous friends if you must, Harold. But you can’t take Esmie with you. I need her to help me with the house. I’m finding it so difficult to make up my mind – pregnancy seems to be addling my brain.’

  Harold went puce at her frank words. Esmie knew how uncomfortable he was at any mention of the word pregnant, preferring to use the euphemism of Lydia’s ‘delicate condition’. Esmie hoped it might spark her husband’s interest in their having a child too – or at least allow them to talk about it – but when Esmie raised the subject Harold was evasive.

  ‘Do we have to talk about this now, my dear?’

  ‘If not now, then when?’ she pressed him.

  ‘It’s not the right time,’ Harold said in agitation.

  ‘When will it ever be the right time?’ Esmie asked in exasperation. ‘I thought we’d agreed in Kanki-Khel that we both wanted to become parents.’

  ‘That was before the clinic was attacked again. I misjudged the situation. From what I was hearing at the mess the other night, the situation around Taha is going to get worse again. They’re talking of sending Mason’s regiment back to the Frontier.’

  Esmie knew he would always use the turbulence in the borderlands as an excuse not to start a family. Once, she would have agreed with him. But she had seen how women like Karo coped with bringing up children despite the uncertainties of frontier life. To Esmie it was a risk worth taking. She turned from Harold in frustration, wondering what it would take for him to change his mind. Perhaps when the Lomax baby was born and he saw how happy his friends were, then he would be persuaded to become a father himself.

  Esmie spent long hours helping Lydia with household arrangements and keeping out of Tom’s way as much as she could. He seemed wary of her now – his manner cordial but distant – and she imagined how he regretted his show of feeling towards her. It was only a week since they had gone out in the car alone together but it seemed an age ago. It was as if they were both trying to pretend that the confidences they had shared had never been spoken – or that Tom’s advances towards her at the dinner-dance had never happened. She knew he must be deeply embarrassed to think of it now. Esmie could not rid her mind of Tom’s howls of emotion on hearing he was to be a father and knew there was nothing in the world that he wanted more than this baby with Lydia.