The Emerald Affair

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  ‘It shouldn’t take too long to dry out – sun feels hot again.’

  Tom, leaning on the veranda, shot her a look – was it one of irritation?

  Esmie added quickly, ‘Or I could change into another dress if Bijal brings my case in from the car. I don’t want to hold you up.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘We can linger another half an hour. Allow the roads to dry out a bit too.’

  Esmie sat down again. Bijal had refreshed the teapot, so she poured out another cup for them both. After a moment of hesitation, Tom stubbed out his cigarette and joined her. The quiet seemed accentuated following the noise of the storm. Water dripped from the roof and the trees; a bird cooed. All was peaceful.

  Esmie eyed Tom in profile as he stared beyond the bungalow, his face rigid. His mind seemed far away.

  ‘A penny for your thoughts?’ she said quietly.

  Tom started. He glanced at her and then away again. ‘Sorry. I’m not being very good company. I’m just anxious to get to Murree.’

  She saw a muscle working in his jaw and waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she asked, ‘Is there something else troubling you, Tom?’

  His look was wary. ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘You seem faraway – not your usual self.’

  He gave her a bleak smile. ‘You’re off duty, Nurse McBride. You don’t need to worry about my mental health.’

  She felt a strange tightening in her chest at his use of her maiden name. Had he realised he’d done so or was he thinking back to a time when they had both been unmarried?

  ‘I’m never off duty for friends,’ she said, with a wry smile. ‘Talk about it if you want to.’

  He sat back and sighed. Esmie waited. The old wooden veranda creaked in the warming sun.

  In a low voice Tom said, ‘Dickie Mason is in Murree.’ When Esmie didn’t say anything, he gave her a sharp look. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’

  Esmie reddened. ‘Lydia did mention he was on leave from Razmak.’

  His expression hardened. ‘I bet she did.’

  ‘But she wrote about lots of visitors,’ she replied. ‘Dickie was just one of them.’

  ‘She’s seeing a lot of him again. Every time I go up there he seems to be around – playing tennis or having picnics. I wish I’d never introduced them.’

  Esmie’s stomach tensed; it was she who’d first suggested Dickie get in touch with the Lomaxes. But, gallantly, Tom wasn’t blaming her. She was dismayed to hear that Lydia had taken up again with the young lieutenant but she couldn’t believe it was serious.

  Esmie defended her friend. ‘You know how sociable Lydia is. She likes having attention paid to her. She’s just enjoying hill station life – especially after the ordeal of a difficult birth.’

  Tom ran a hand through his untidy hair. ‘I suppose that’s fair. It’s just that I worry Lydia might . . .’

  Esmie saw his brow furrow. ‘Might what?’

  ‘Go off with Mason and take Andrew with her.’

  Esmie gaped at Tom. He couldn’t really believe Lydia capable of that? But she saw from his agonised expression that he did.

  ‘Oh, Tom,’ she exclaimed. ‘Lydia’s not going to do that! She loves you too much. Why would she throw away all that she has with you for a junior officer who’s stationed at the Frontier? It’s unthinkable.’

  His eyes looked haunted. ‘She’s not as enamoured of me as you think and Dickie’s been promoted to captain during the recent campaign so he’s not so junior.’ He clenched his teeth and then added, ‘But what I do know is that I couldn’t live without my son.’

  Esmie had a rush of pity. She knew why he felt that way.

  ‘Has she given you any indication that she’s planning such a thing?’

  ‘No,’ Tom admitted. ‘But this thing with Mason . . .’

  ‘I’m sure it means nothing,’ Esmie tried to assure him.

  Tom let go another long sigh. ‘Sorry, Esmie. I have no right to burden you with my jealous suspicions. You’re too easy to talk to.’

  ‘I understand how precious Andrew is to you,’ she said gently.

  He gave her a harrowed look and shook his head. ‘No, Esmie, you couldn’t possibly.’

  Hesitating for only a moment, Esmie put a hand on his arm. ‘Tom, I want to tell you something. When Harold and I were in Peshawar we found Mary’s grave in the cemetery.’ Tom looked at her, stunned. Esmie ploughed on quickly. ‘And we saw Amelia’s grave next to it. We know you lost a daughter, Tom. I’m so very, very sorry. Harold had no idea Mary had died in childbirth.’

  She saw him struggling to keep his emotions in check. ‘I told no one – I couldn’t speak of it.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ said Esmie. ‘And I understand why Andrew is so special and how you must fear losing him.’

  Tom’s eyes welled with tears. She saw him swallowing hard.

  Softly, she continued. ‘We went back the next day and laid flowers – to show our respect – on Mary’s grave and Amelia’s. The inscriptions were beautiful. Such a peaceful place of rest too.’

  Tom gave a deep groan. Suddenly he was reaching out to her, burying his head in her lap like a small boy and letting out a sob. Esmie’s breath stopped. She was taken aback by the gesture and yet full of tenderness towards him. His grief was still palpable.

  As he gripped her, she stroked his damp hair and murmured. ‘It must have been terrible carrying the burden of that secret all this time – not even sharing it with your closest friend. I wanted to write and tell you we’d found out and laid flowers so you would know you didn’t grieve alone. But Harold thought we shouldn’t intrude and that you would have told him if you’d wanted him to know.’

  Tom pulled away. He rubbed brusquely at his reddened eyes. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ she replied.

  He stood up and went to the railing. She could see his shoulders tensing as he fought to bring his emotions back under control. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Esmie waited for him to take a couple of drags and then went to stand beside him. She was hot now in the blanket. She could still feel the imprint of where his head had lain against her thighs.

  ‘You must think me a real no-hoper,’ he said. ‘Like one of your shell shock patients.’

  ‘My patients aren’t no-hopers,’ she said.

  He stared out at the view of the distant plain far below. She thought he would say something else flippant to hide his feelings and make light of what had just happened. But he surprised her.

  Quietly he said, ‘The only person who really knew about Amelia was a nurse who looked after her at the hospital. She was born two months too early and couldn’t have survived. We hadn’t told anyone Mary was expecting – she didn’t want to jinx things by telling people before the baby came. She hadn’t written to her parents either. I didn’t get back to Peshawar until a week after the baby died – the message about Mary didn’t reach me for days – we were cut off in the snow. I had to register the deaths and I had the gravestones done by a stonemason in Rawalpindi. Then I tried not to think about either of them.’

  Tom took a long pull on his cigarette and inhaled deeply. Esmie, feeling he had more to say, kept silent. He ground out the cigarette and grasped the rail.

  ‘I’d almost convinced myself that there’d never been a baby. It was Mary I grieved for – Mary that I missed. But then the War came and I was sent to Mesopotamia. There was this siege. We broke through. I saw this woman crying . . . her baby wrapped in a blood-stained blanket. After that I couldn’t get the thought out of my head that the dead baby was Amelia.’

  Esmie could see from his eyes he was reliving the horror. She put a hand over one of his.

  ‘Oh, Tom, how terrible.’

  She could see him gritting his teeth as he struggled to tell her more. ‘That’s when I knew I wasn’t cut out to be a soldier. I was a mess. I started to disobey orders – should have been cashiered after a court-martial. It was thanks to Harold intervening that I wasn’t.
Saved me from disgrace – though some in the regiment never forgave me. Not that I cared for their opinion – all my close comrades were dead by then.’

  Abruptly he stopped. He looked at Esmie intently. ‘I’m telling you this in complete confidence. I don’t want Lydia to know any of this. I don’t want to give her any excuse to leave me and take Andrew. If she knew how weak I’d been . . .’

  ‘Of course I won’t tell her,’ said Esmie. ‘I won’t tell anyone – not even Harold, if you don’t want me to.’

  Tom looked relieved. ‘Harold guessed there was something that made me act the way I did – but he never asked me. I’ve always been grateful that he stood by me without question.’

  Esmie had been about to ask him what he had done to risk a court martial – it must have been a grave offence – but this stopped her. He didn’t want to tell her. He obviously thought he had said too much already.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve spoken about Amelia,’ Esmie said, ‘and you can trust me to keep your confidence. I’ve seen what war does to men – it can push them beyond endurance – and I would never judge you. But, Tom, I don’t think you’re a weak man – far from it. Bravery comes in different forms and it must have taken great courage to tell me what you just have.’

  Tom regarded her with keen blue eyes. To Esmie they seemed full of gratitude and warmth. For an instant, he squeezed her hand. ‘Thank you, Esmie.’

  She had never felt closer to him than in that moment. The feeling went much deeper than the physical attraction she had always experienced when in his presence. It made her heart swell with a fierce love that made her joyful and desolate at the same time.

  Then he disengaged their hands and stood back. For a long time, as they gazed out at the rain-soaked view, neither of them spoke. Eventually, Tom cleared his throat.

  ‘Perhaps you should get out of your Pathan disguise and put your dress back on.’ His mouth twitched in a smile. ‘Don’t want to alarm the memsahibs of Murree.’

  She smiled and nodded, not trusting herself to speak and betray her heightened emotion. Picking up her half-dried dress, Esmie retreated into the bungalow to change. Her heart was full. She was touched by the way Tom had opened up to her about his innermost thoughts and fears. She ached for him and the emotional scars he carried. She had wanted to wrap her arms about him and comfort him but knew that if she had it might have led to an outpouring of her own about how much she loved him.

  The brutal truth was that she could only ever be a friend to Tom. The knowledge weighed heavily on her heart. Yet she would help him if she could, and if that meant talking to Lydia about not encouraging Dickie then she would try and do that.

  Ten minutes later, Esmie was resuming the journey with Tom and Bijal. She waved at the hospitable chowkidar as the car splashed through puddles and birds flew up at the sound of the engine revving. Tom turned the car on to the mountain road and sped towards Murree.

  Chapter 30

  Murree

  Esmie was entranced by the hill station, a hotchpotch of red-roofed villas and terraced hotels spreading out across the lush forested mountainside like a blossoming creeper. Gardens overflowed with the same blooms Esmie had seen growing in Minnie Templeton’s flowerbeds: hollyhocks, gladioli, fuchsia, poppies and sweet pea. The mellow air was filled with the heady scent of pine and roses.

  At Linnet Cottage it was almost possible to imagine she was back in Scotland. Beyond the dense ferns and fir trees that fringed the pretty garden, Esmie could see glimpses of shimmering blue mountains wreathed in mist. The cottage, with its latticed windows and green wooden porch smothered in roses, reminded Esmie of the Guthries’ home in Ebbsmouth.

  Yet she just had to promenade along the Mall to realise she was still very much in India. Cascading down the steep slope below the British cantonment like a pack of spilled cards was the native town, a ramshackle collection of tin roofs and trodden paths. Peering down from the ridge, Esmie could see Indians busily going about their business, while the oily, spicy smells of cooking and woodsmoke wafted up from the bazaar.

  It made her think of Karo and Gabina, squatting around an open fire cooking their evening meal, and she realised how much she missed them. What would Karo have made of Murree? She would have delighted in the array of colourful shawls and blankets for sale from itinerant traders – and haggled fiercely on Esmie’s behalf. But Esmie had shied away from bringing Karo as her personal servant, knowing how sensitive the young woman was to people seeing her disfigurement. The Waziri preferred to keep close to the bungalow and compound. Besides, Lydia would have balked at Esmie bringing Gabina too; her friend was baffled by her attachment to a native child.

  Oh, Lydia! Esmie sighed as she thought about her friend. She had greeted Esmie with a tearful hug and squeals of delight and the first few days had been non-stop activity as Lydia showed off the town. There was never any time to get Lydia by herself as she constantly surrounded herself with other friends. There had been a series of tennis parties, picnics to nearby beauty spots, afternoon teas and dinner parties. The Hopkirks organised much of the socialising; Rawalpindi society had been transplanted to Murree for the hot season.

  As Tom had warned her, Dickie Mason was always in attendance. But to Esmie he seemed to be just one of several young officers who courted Lydia’s attention. Her friend was thriving on it. Three months after giving birth, she looked as trim and attractive as ever. But there was something manic in the way Lydia had to fill every minute of her waking day with socialising. On the couple of evenings they had dined at home, Esmie had retired to bed early to give Tom time alone with his wife. But through the thin walls she had heard Lydia berating Tom for something and he had eventually lost patience. Esmie had buried her head under the covers in an attempt not to overhear their arguing.

  What pained Esmie more than Lydia’s flirtatious behaviour was her lack of interest in Andrew. Esmie thought the baby delightful. He was plumply healthy and bright-eyed with a shock of dark hair that stood up in soft tufts. His large blue eyes – the same shape as Lydia’s – would fix on Esmie whenever she leaned close.

  Esmie loved to pick him up and cuddle him in the crook of her arm or balance him on her knee, supporting his back and head while she chattered nonsense to him. He would jam his fist in his mouth and gurgle back at her. Sometimes, if she tickled him, Andrew would respond with an infectious giggle that made her laugh too.

  Tom would insist that Andrew was brought along on the picnics and the outings along the Mall. One afternoon, when Dickie joined them, Esmie tried to get Lydia to walk with Tom.

  ‘You two go ahead and I’ll push the pram,’ she suggested, taking hold of the large black-hooded perambulator. ‘Dickie can help me over the rough stones.’

  ‘Goodness gracious, no!’ Lydia cried. ‘You mustn’t do that. We can’t have a cavalry captain being treated like a coolie! And you’re not the baby’s nursemaid. For heaven’s sake, Esmie!’

  Surprised by Lydia making such a fuss, Esmie quickly let go.

  ‘That’s Ayah’s job,’ Lydia chided. ‘You mustn’t put a servant’s nose out of joint by interfering with their duties. Andrew is her responsibility.’

  As the young ayah took over, Esmie glanced at Tom but he gave the faintest of shrugs and didn’t interfere. He seemed nervous of upsetting Lydia. Instead, he took Lydia’s arm and walked ahead with her as Esmie had suggested, pointedly ignoring Dickie and leaving him to step in behind with Esmie.

  As they strolled down to the Mall, the captain was charming and attentive to Esmie, which made her think that Tom was probably worrying needlessly about Dickie’s intentions. Nevertheless, she took the opportunity to raise the subject of his posting in Razmak.

  ‘How much longer are you on leave?’ she asked him.

  ‘We’ll return to the plains in September.’

  ‘And then back to Razmak?’

  He nodded. ‘Most likely. After all the unrest this past year, they’ve decided to strengthen the outposts along the Fronti
er. Razmak will be fortified as a permanent barracks.’

  Esmie didn’t like to think of Dickie in danger but at least Tom would be reassured to hear that the young officer would be far from Rawalpindi in the coming cold season.

  ‘Let’s hope things are a lot more peaceful on the Frontier from now on,’ Esmie said.

  Dickie pulled a rueful expression. ‘Perhaps with the army’s might and the zeal of the missionaries, we British will eventually prevail over these wild tribes. But I’m not holding my breath. That’s why we soldiers have to make the most of our leave. Murree is a slice of heaven after the desert mountains, don’t you think?’

  Esmie could only agree. ‘It certainly is. I wish Harold could experience it too.’

  Dickie gave her a smile of sympathy. ‘I’m very grateful to both you and Dr Guthrie for introducing me to the Lomaxes. They’re the most hospitable couple I know – more like family than acquaintances – and my fellow officers feel the same. Lydia has told us to treat Linnet Cottage like home.’

  Esmie scrutinised his handsome fair face but he seemed without guile. She was sure that Dickie had no dishonourable intentions towards Lydia.

  Later, when Dickie had gone and Lydia was dressing for dinner, she managed a snatched moment alone with Tom on the veranda and relayed the conversation she’d had with Dickie.

  ‘I really don’t think there’s anything to worry about,’ assured Esmie. ‘He just sees you both as family and Linnet Cottage as home-from-home.’

  Tom looked sceptical. ‘His attentiveness to Lydia looks more than brotherly to me.’

  ‘Dickie is just as charming to me and Geraldine so I think you’re reading more into his flattery than you should. Like any soldier, he’s just enjoying his time away from the Frontier.’

  Tom brightened. ‘I suppose so. And I can’t blame him for that – I was just the same at his age.’

  ‘There you are then,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Thank you, Esmie,’ he said, his expression softening into a look of relief.

  Three days later, Tom returned to Rawalpindi and left Esmie and Lydia to enjoy their time together.