The Emerald Affair

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  Tom took a deep breath, climbed out of the car and strode down the garden path. There was no sign of Lydia. Esmie scooped Andrew out of the basket and kissed his forehead.

  ‘Here’s Daddy,’ she said and handed him over to Tom with a smile.

  ‘Hello, Esmie,’ Tom smiled back.

  He gave Andrew a noisy kiss on the cheek and then lifted him high in the air. The baby’s mouth opened in alarm, then Tom was pulling him back for another kiss and was rewarded with a gummy smile.

  He eyed Esmie. ‘You’re looking well. The Murree air obviously suits you.’

  He saw a blush spread to her cheeks. She turned towards the cottage. ‘You’ve made good time. There’s still some scrambled egg and toast if you’re hungry.’

  ‘Where’s Lydia?’ he asked.

  ‘Having breakfast in bed.’

  ‘On your last morning?’

  She kept walking and didn’t answer. As they reached the porch, Lydia appeared on the veranda and called down. ‘Darling! You’re early, how lovely!’ She blew him a kiss. ‘Come on up and we’ll rustle up fresh tea and toast.’

  ‘Splendid,’ Tom answered.

  Arriving on the veranda with Andrew still nestled in the crook of his arm, Lydia offered him her lips to be kissed.

  ‘Let Ayah take the baby. You go and freshen up.’

  When he returned to the veranda after a wash, he noticed that the women were sitting in silence and thought it odd. With disappointment he saw that Ayah had taken the baby to the nursery.

  As he munched toast, Tom asked them about the past fortnight but Lydia waved away his questions.

  ‘Tell us about Pindi. I’m beginning to miss it.’

  Encouraged, Tom chatted about the hotel and some new business he was cultivating with the Chota Club on Edwardes Road as well as the Railway Institute. He expected a reproof from Lydia about pandering to the Anglo-Indians but none came. She seemed to be only half-listening. Esmie hardly said a word. She sat with her hands in her lap, her expression guarded. What was going on? He began to feel a growing unease. Had they argued over something?

  ‘So what are the plans for the day?’ Tom asked.

  Lydia gave him a sharp look. ‘You’re taking Esmie back to Pindi, darling.’

  ‘Yes, but we don’t have to leave until late afternoon. I thought we could have a picnic with Andrew.’

  ‘Tom,’ Lydia laughed, ‘the baby doesn’t know about picnics. Besides, the barometer is indicating it’s going to rain later so you better get on the road by lunchtime. Esmie doesn’t want to get stuck here and miss her train in the morning.’

  Esmie gave a tight smile and nodded. ‘I’m ready to go whenever’s convenient.’

  The tension between the women was palpable.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ Tom asked.

  ‘Nothing’s the matter, darling,’ Lydia replied. ‘She’s just longing to get back to Harold. Aren’t you, Esmie? They’ve never been apart this long since they were married.’

  Tom’s stomach clenched at the mention of Harold, ashamed of his lustful thoughts about Esmie.

  ‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘We’ll go after lunch. That still gives me a couple of hours with Andrew.’

  He saw Esmie’s look soften and her eyes glisten. She got up. ‘I’ll just go and finish packing.’

  When she’d gone, Tom asked. ‘Tell me what’s going on between you two. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife.’

  ‘Nothing’s going on,’ Lydia said, looking all innocence. ‘She’s just getting a bit tired of Murree.’ She dropped her voice. ‘To be honest, three weeks of Esmie is enough for me. She’s become so earnest since her mission work, don’t you think?’

  Tom didn’t think that at all. He was suddenly suspicious. Could it be that they had argued over Dickie Mason? There was no sign of the captain but it was only mid-morning.

  ‘Have you had a falling-out over something in particular – or someone?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘How is Dickie?’ Tom said, watching her intently.

  Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Dickie Mason?’

  ‘You know that’s who I mean,’ said Tom. ‘The man who’s been your shadow round Murree.’

  ‘I don’t know. I think he’s gone on shikar.’ Lydia gave a disarming laugh. ‘Do I detect a little jealousy? Oh, Tom, how sweet!’

  Tom was relieved. Perhaps his marriage wasn’t in as dangerous a state as he’d thought.

  ‘And, darling,’ said Lydia, ‘once you’ve taken Esmie to her train, I hope you’ll be able to come back up for the weekend. I don’t like being left here by myself so much. I’m tired of Murree.’

  Esmie found it hard saying goodbye to Andrew. Sarah was about to take him for his afternoon nap.

  ‘Would you let me put him down?’ Esmie asked on impulse.

  Sarah smiled and handed him over. Esmie carried him through to the nursery, whispering in his ear how much she would miss him. Reluctantly, she placed him in the cradle.

  ‘You’re nearly too big for this,’ said Esmie. ‘By the time I see you again, you’ll be in a cot.’

  She leaned in and kissed him. Andrew began to whimper at being let go. Esmie, crouching down, set the cradle gently swinging and started to sing the Highland lullaby that always seemed to calm the baby. By the time she’d finished, his eyelids were closing. Esmie stood up.

  ‘I’ll miss you, wee man,’ she said, leaning in for one last kiss.

  As she turned she gave a start. Tom was standing in the doorway watching her. His eyes shone.

  ‘You sing beautifully,’ he murmured.

  Esmie gave an awkward smile, embarrassed at having been overheard. He walked across to gaze down at his son.

  ‘I know I’m biased,’ said Tom, ‘but isn’t he the most perfect baby you’ve ever seen?’

  ‘I think he probably is,’ Esmie agreed in amusement.

  He held her look. ‘Thank you for helping take care of Andrew. It means a lot to me that other people love him too.’

  Esmie nodded, her throat constricting. She was growing too fond of the infant and knew how much she would miss him. The sooner she went the better. Without another word, Esmie hurried from the room.

  Lydia gave her a stilted goodbye and proffered a cheek.

  ‘Take care,’ Esmie said with a kiss.

  ‘Give my love to Harold,’ said Lydia. Up close, there were dark rings around her blue eyes that her make-up did not hide. There was no warmth in her look.

  ‘Of course,’ Esmie said. She gave Lydia’s hand a squeeze but felt her tense and pull away. Esmie was wretched that her long-time friend could be so cold towards her. In sadness, she turned to leave.

  Minutes later, she was sitting in the Clement-Talbot being driven away by Tom. Esmie craned round to wave goodbye. Lydia was standing at the balustrade, a lone figure watching. At the very last moment, Lydia raised a hand in farewell.

  Tom drove, acutely aware of Esmie so close that their arms touched when the car rattled over potholes and threw them together. There was no Bijal on the trip this time to inhibit their conversation but she seemed preoccupied and for half the journey hardly spoke.

  As they passed the forestry dak bungalow, he noticed Esmie glance towards it. His gut tightened. He almost suggested that they stop there for refreshment but thought better of it and drove on. Dangerous to think where it might lead were they to be alone together in a place so emotionally charged – at least that’s how he remembered it.

  They descended out of the hills and the trees thinned. The plain was coming into view and the air was already considerably hotter and more humid. They would soon be approaching Rawalpindi and their time alone together would be over.

  ‘Have you suddenly taken a vow of silence, Esmie?’ he asked.

  She shot him a look, followed by a self-conscious smile. ‘Sorry, I was just enjoying the scenery – the last chance for a while to see hills that remind me of home.’

  ‘So are you going to t
ell me why you and Lydia aren’t speaking?’

  He saw her cheeks redden. She glanced over. ‘It’s nothing . . .’

  ‘It’s something,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve never seen you two like that before.’

  Esmie shrugged. ‘Three weeks in a hill station is too long for me. I’m not good at being a lady of leisure – I need to be doing something. I’m afraid having me around wasn’t as much fun as Lydia hoped.’

  Tom was almost convinced. Lydia had implied much the same thing – that Esmie had grown too earnest. But Tom knew his wife’s moods and didn’t believe that Esmie would have created such a bad atmosphere. There was more to it.

  ‘Was it to do with Dickie Mason?’ he asked. From a quick glance he saw alarm on her face.

  She answered evasively. ‘Dickie’s not around anymore.’

  At once, Tom felt bad for putting her on the spot with his question.

  ‘Sorry, that was unfair. Even if it was about Dickie I know you wouldn’t say anything damning against Lydia.’ She didn’t respond. Tom added, ‘I’m relieved to hear Mason’s off the scene and if you had a hand in it, then I’m very grateful, Esmie. Now, if I promise not to talk about him or Lydia, do you think we can find another topic of conversation that we can both agree on?’

  He was rewarded with one of her wry smiles and his spirits lifted.

  ‘Tell me what Stella’s been up to,’ she asked. ‘Is she still missing the Baroness?’

  Tom gave a huff of amusement. ‘Funny you should ask. Miss Dubois has gone on holiday to Kashmir to visit the Baroness.’

  ‘Never!’ Esmie exclaimed.

  ‘Yes.’ Tom grinned. ‘She went last week with Mrs Shankley by tonga to Srinagar. I’m not sure who was in charge of who, to be honest.’

  Esmie laughed. ‘Good for them – what an adventure. I’d love to see Srinagar and Dal Lake.’

  ‘You should go,’ Tom encouraged. If only I could take you. He had to swallow the words he wanted to say. Instead he said, ‘I can just imagine you swimming in the Lake.’

  She shot him a look. Tom’s heart thumped. He quickly clarified. ‘You being such a keen swimmer.’

  ‘Can you swim from the houseboats?’ she asked.

  ‘No, it’s not safe – you can get tangled in the weeds and lilies. But if you take a boat out to the middle of the lake, the swimming is glorious. Surrounded by pleasure gardens and mountains.’

  Esmie looked reflective. ‘Sounds like heaven.’

  He heard the yearning in her voice; he felt the same.

  ‘Just like Loch Vaullay on a good summer’s day,’ he teased.

  She gave a soft laugh. ‘Then perhaps I’ll persuade Harold to take me there one day.’

  Tom felt familiar guilt. ‘I got Guthrie there once on my first leave from the army – the fishing was good enough to lure him away from his work. But that was before I was married to Mary.’

  To his surprise, he did not feel the familiar ache of loss at the mention of his dead wife’s name. Since talking about her to Esmie the pain had lessened. But Esmie fell quiet again. Was it the mention of Harold? Perhaps her thoughts were already racing to be with her husband. Lydia had said Esmie was eager to get back to Harold.

  All too soon they were driving into the bustling, dusty city and heading for the hotel. Jimmy was practising his batting moves on the scrap of lawn in front of the Raj. Esmie was quick to climb out of the car and rush forward to greet him.

  Esmie had another broken night’s sleep, plagued by doubts over whether she had mishandled the situation with Lydia. Her friend struck her as a deeply unhappy woman. Should she have insisted Lydia go to see a doctor about her melancholic feelings towards Andrew? Was that at the root of her problems and the reason why she had turned to Dickie for comfort? And yet Lydia claimed she had been in love with Dickie since last winter. Poor Tom! Esmie found a measure of solace in the fact that Dickie had broken off the liaison. If her friendship with Lydia was the main casualty – rather than Tom’s marriage – then she would have to live with that.

  Tom insisted on getting up before dawn to drive Esmie to the station for her train. The platform was already busy with porters balancing luggage on their heads and pedlars hawking their wares. Together they searched the manifests pasted onto the carriages that listed the passengers’ names. Finding hers, Esmie steeled herself for the final goodbye to Tom. Her heart drummed as they watched the porter putting her suitcase on board, along with a tiffin basket that the hotel cook had prepared for her journey.

  She had no idea when she would see Tom again. If the rift with Lydia wasn’t mended, there would be no Christmas invitation to the hotel or any excuse to come to Rawalpindi. She felt a leaden weight on her chest at the thought of the months rolling on without seeing Tom and Andrew.

  Dawn was breaking as they faced each other on the platform. People stepped around them but Esmie was aware only of Tom gazing down at her with those vital blue eyes that made her stomach somersault.

  ‘Thank you for bringing me,’ she managed to say.

  Tom took hold of her hands. ‘Oh, Esmie, it’s I who must thank you. I’ll always be grateful that you told me about visiting the graves in Peshawar – for the compassionate way you listened to me.’

  Esmie began to shake with emotion. She tried to blink away the tears that welled in her eyes.

  Before she knew it, she was blurting out, ‘I don’t know when I’ll see you again.’

  She saw the tension in his jaw as he struggled with some inner conflict. She held her breath, waiting for his answer. But none came. For an instant, Tom gripped her hands tightly in his. Leaning forward he kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Goodbye, Esmie,’ he said, his voice unsteady.

  She was so shocked she couldn’t speak. Stumbling away from him, Esmie clambered onto the train. She sat down quickly before her legs buckled. Peering out of the window, she saw Tom pushing his way through the crowd towards the station entrance. Her last glimpse of him was of a tall dark-haired figure, towering above those around him, caught in a shaft of light. Then he was gone.

  Esmie sat trembling, the imprint of Tom’s kiss still on her lips as the train jerked into motion and pulled out of the station. She shouldn’t have allowed it. She hadn’t expected it. Yet she had longed for it in countless daydreams. There was something very final in their parting; their exchange of words and the firm kiss. Tom would never have touched her lips if he’d thought they’d be seeing each other again.

  Esmie struggled to make sense of it. There was no doubt in her mind now that Tom had feelings for her – the same strength of feeling that she had for him. It was as if the kiss acknowledged this and yet was a gesture of farewell. They both knew that they couldn’t have each other. They had chosen to marry different people to whom they had made solemn promises. Tom was an honourable man and would not break his vows to Lydia however much she tested him – and he did not expect Esmie to break hers to Harold.

  She was desolate at leaving him. Yet painful as that was, she knew that she was loved – that Tom loved her – and that brought a strange comfort to her sore heart.

  Chapter 32

  Taha, October

  Esmie found that the best way to cope with the rift with Lydia and subduing her feelings for Tom was to work harder than ever. Like Harold, she spent long days at the hospital and returned after dark to eat a late supper and fall into bed too exhausted to think beyond the day. Harold asked her little about her time away in Murree and she decided not to tell him about Lydia’s affair with Dickie. She knew how fond Harold was of Lydia and didn’t want to lessen his regard for her. The affair was over and there was little to be gained by gossiping about it. She had written to Lydia twice since returning to Taha but had received no letter back.

  Esmie did share her concern that Lydia appeared not to have any maternal feelings for Andrew.

  ‘I suggested that she go to a doctor about it,’ Esmie told Harold, ‘but she was strongly against the idea. In fact, she told me to stop int
erfering. We didn’t part on very good terms, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Harold. ‘But I’m sure things will get better in time.’

  ‘Not if she sinks further into melancholia. And he’s such a sweet wee boy. Tom adores him but he needs his mother’s attention too.’

  Harold grew ill at ease at her enthusiastic descriptions of the baby so Esmie stopped mentioning him. Instead, she directed her own protective feelings towards Gabina, who was now running around the house after Karo and beginning to speak.

  On Sundays, after Esmie and Harold had attended church and eaten lunch with Alec Bannerman, Harold would rest while Esmie spent the afternoon playing with the Waziri girl. They would build structures out of old cotton reels and storage tins for Gabina to knock down and Esmie taught her nursery rhymes. Gabina loved to sing and clap her hands. It also gave Esmie a chance to chat with Karo and they practised speaking in each other’s language. Esmie grew fluent in Pashto. Only with Esmie was Karo confident enough to forgo wearing her face veil and reveal her disfigured face. Esmie determined that she would look after Karo and her daughter for as long as she was able.

  Sunday evening was the one moment in the week when Esmie and Harold spent any length of time alone together. He would read to her while she sewed by lamplight and they would discuss any home news they had received. Sometimes, when talking about her Aunt Isobel and the asylum, Esmie would experience a sharp pang of homesickness. It was little more than a year since she had left Scotland, yet it felt like a lifetime. Perhaps next year she could persuade Harold to take her on home furlough.