The Emerald Affair

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  An uneasy peace with the Frontier tribes appeared to be holding. There was talk of reconstituting local militias to help patrol the more lawless areas. Taha was quiet and any outbreaks of unrest were further to the south. Esmie wondered if Dickie Mason was back on duty on the Frontier; they had heard nothing of the young captain. Harold was encouraged by the situation enough to start talking about reopening the clinic at Kanki-Khel. But McCabe had ordered caution. They did not want to have to send troops into that area if they could help it, as it might be seen as a provocation. The new policy of the British Administration appeared to be containment rather than conquer and subdue. Such a tactic relied on the border tribes being left alone as much as possible, as well as being co-opted into policing the Frontier.

  One day Esmie and Harold returned from a tiring day at the clinic to find a letter from Rawalpindi.

  ‘It’s Lydia’s handwriting,’ Esmie said, her heart racing with sudden nervousness. She opened it at once, as Harold looked on, bracing herself for further rebuke.

  Esmie gaped in astonishment and reread it.

  ‘Good news I hope?’ Harold asked.

  Esmie swallowed. ‘Yes . . . I think so. She wants to come and visit.’

  Harold’s eyes widened. ‘Lydia wants to come to Taha?’

  ‘Yes. She’s apologising for the way we parted and for not writing sooner.’ Esmie felt a wave of relief. ‘She sounds like the old Lydia. Oh, Harold, I’m so pleased. And she wants to bring Andrew too. You’ll get to meet him at last.’

  Harold look flustered. ‘Is Tom bringing them?’

  Esmie tried to hide her disappointment. ‘No, apparently not. But according to Lydia, he’s encouraging her to come. I think he was concerned that Lydia and I hadn’t parted well.’

  ‘I really don’t think she should be attempting the journey alone and with such a young infant,’ Harold protested.

  ‘She’s not travelling alone,’ said Esmie, referring again to the letter. ‘Brigadier McCabe’s wife is visiting too. That’s what’s given Lydia the idea. She wants to come next week.’

  Esmie saw the conflict in Harold’s face. She knew he would want to see Lydia but the thought of her being in his place of work must be unsettling. He liked to keep his mission life quite separate from those he saw on leave. Having Lydia to stay might also stir up unwanted emotions in Harold in the same way as being near Tom did in her.

  Esmie asked, ‘Would you rather I put Lydia off coming? If you think it’s going to interfere with your work . . .’

  ‘No, don’t do that,’ Harold said quickly. ‘Of course she must come. I know how much you want to see her and Andrew.’

  Esmie’s spirits lifted at the thought of seeing the baby again. ‘Then I’ll write back at once and say so.’

  In the following days Esmie reread Lydia’s short breezy letter many times, looking for clues as to how Tom was and what life was like back in Rawalpindi. They had opened up the house in Buchanan Road again soon after Esmie had left Murree. It seems Lydia’s enthusiasm for hill station life had dwindled quickly. She made no mention of Dickie but Esmie knew that it must have largely been because he was no longer there.

  Now that it was October, most of the other British on leave were also returning to Rawalpindi. There was mention of a card party with the Hopkirks and tennis with Dempster, the American engineer. Tom only got mentioned specifically in reference to some watercolour he’d done of Andrew.

  ‘. . . we’ve hung it in the nursery. It’s really not very good but I would never dare tell Tom that. I think he should stick to landscapes. Still, he seems pleased with it and no one’s going to see it, so everyone is happy.

  I do hope you say yes to my visit. I’ve been feeling rather bad about the way we argued in Murree. I was beastly to you. I know I was upset but that was no excuse for the things I said. You know that I count you among the people I love the most, don’t you? Dearest Esmie, please forgive me and say I can come and stay. I miss our chats and of course I’d love to see Harold too.’

  As a postscript to the letter, Lydia had written: ‘I know you live in a small bungalow but I hope you can accommodate Baby and Ayah in their own room?’

  There had been no other mention of Andrew except in reference to the painting and to assure her that Tom was in favour of Lydia bringing the baby with her to Taha. Esmie wished that Tom was coming too. A small part of her hoped that he might turn up unexpectedly at the last minute.

  The question of where Lydia and the baby would sleep preyed on her mind. With only two bedrooms in their small bungalow, Esmie saw it as an opportunity to move into Harold’s room for the length of Lydia’s visit – and perhaps beyond. But Harold must have been troubled by it too.

  Three days before Lydia was due to arrive, Harold announced on their way to the clinic, ‘I’ve been thinking of Lydia’s request and she must have her own room. Bannerman’s offered to put me up in his spare room while Lydia and the baby are here. No doubt you can find a place for the ayah and baby in the compound. I’ll leave the details up to you, my dear.’

  Esmie was so astonished by her husband’s thwarting of her plan for them to sleep together that she could think of no rejoinder. Only later, over supper, did she challenge him.

  ‘You didn’t have to go involving Bannerman in our domestic arrangements,’ Esmie chided. ‘We can easily accommodate Lydia in my room if I move into yours.’

  ‘I thought this would be more comfortable all round,’ said Harold, not meeting her look. ‘And Bannerman doesn’t mind. He enjoys the company.’

  In frustration, Esmie protested, ‘Surely, Harold, you can put up with me in your bed for a week or so?’

  He reddened. ‘There’s no need to raise your voice, dearest. The servants—’

  ‘The servants know all about our strange marital relations,’ Esmie retorted. ‘Nothing I say will shock them.’

  Harold looked at her in discomfort. ‘I’m sorry; I thought we were agreed on this.’

  ‘No, Harold, we were only in agreement on not having a baby yet,’ said Esmie. ‘You know that this sleeping apart is not what I want – I just have to accept it. But don’t pretend that I’m as happy about our arrangement as you are – or that Lydia won’t find it odd too.’

  The subject wasn’t mentioned again but there was a new tension between her and Harold which hadn’t been there before. The next day, Bannerman’s servant came round to fetch some of Harold’s personal things and his room was made ready for Lydia. Esmie, embarrassed at the thought of Sarah and Andrew being banished to the compound, made arrangements with Draman that the baby and his ayah would share her room.

  The night before Lydia arrived, Esmie lay sleepless in her bed, staring at the bedroll and cot ready for Sarah and Andrew, and wondered how she had got into such an unsatisfactory situation. Here she was, a married woman, lying alone and unfulfilled, waiting to share a room with the baby of the man she truly loved while her own husband went to lodge with a bachelor friend. She thought of the young and single Esmie – the headstrong nurse who thought nothing of volunteering for work on the battlefront – and knew how she would have laughed to be told she would accept such a situation. Not for any man would that Esmie McBride have put up with a marriage without physical love. But perhaps that’s exactly what she had done. Was it because Esmie could not have the man she loved above all others that she had settled for this half-union with a man she could never love so deeply?

  Esmie was shocked at how thin Lydia looked since she had last seen her seven weeks ago. Even rouge and red lipstick could not hide how drawn her face was, the cheekbones more prominent than ever and her eyes set in dark hollows. But her friend greeted her with her old warmth, a gush of words and a tight hug.

  ‘It’s so wonderful to see you!’ Lydia exclaimed, her eyes moist with tears.

  Esmie hugged her back, worried at how bony her friend felt yet thankful that there was no bitterness between them. ‘And for me too. Did you have a good journey?’

 
; ‘As good as could be expected, I suppose. God, you live in the back of beyond, don’t you? The Brigadier’s wife was a bag of nerves, gasping every time we rounded a corner and saw a native. She thinks every man she sees is a potential Pathan assassin. I have no idea why she bothers coming to Taha at all.’

  ‘To see her husband, I expect,’ Esmie answered wryly.

  Lydia snorted. ‘I’d get him to retire back to Eastbourne if I was her.’

  Esmie showed her into the bungalow, telling Ali where to put the luggage and asking Draman to provide tea. She beckoned for Sarah to follow and couldn’t resist lifting Andrew from his nurse’s arms. She’d been itching to hold him since they’d arrived. He made no protest.

  ‘My goodness, haven’t you grown?’ She kissed him on his soft, plump cheeks. Andrew thrust his fingers into her mouth and gurgled in delight. She was pleased to see that the baby appeared to be thriving.

  ‘I think he remembers me!’

  ‘Where’s Harold?’ Lydia asked.

  ‘He’s still at the hospital. He’ll join us for dinner.’ Catching Lydia’s look of disappointment, Esmie said swiftly, ‘He’s really looking forward to seeing you and he’s going to finish earlier than he usually does, so you’re very honoured.’

  Esmie noticed how Lydia hardly touched the afternoon tea of sandwiches and cake. She sipped at a cup of black tea well sweetened with sugar and lit up a cigarette. ‘You don’t mind if I do?’

  Esmie shook her head, searching for conversation that wouldn’t be one-sided. So far, Lydia had said nothing about Rawalpindi, while Esmie had talked a lot about Taha.

  Esmie tried again. ‘So how is life in Pindi?’

  Lydia gave a characteristic dismissive wave of the hand. ‘Oh, same as always. Tennis, bridge and all that.’

  ‘The cold season will be starting soon, I suppose,’ said Esmie, ‘with all the socialising that brings.’

  ‘Umm, I suppose so.’ Lydia didn’t sound enthusiastic.

  ‘Which regiments are stationed there at the moment?’ Esmie asked.

  Her friend gave her a sharp look. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Just wondered which mess would be vying to lay on the best ball this winter.’

  Lydia blew out smoke. ‘As a matter of fact, there’s a contingent of the Peshawar Rifles in the Victoria Barracks.’

  ‘Tom’s old regiment?’

  ‘Yes. I thought he’d be glad about it but he’s not showing any interest in meeting up. Says they’ll all be different from when he was with them and that all his friends are dead.’ Lydia rolled her eyes. ‘But that’s my cheerful husband for you. So even if we get invited to their mess, I don’t imagine Tom will go.’

  Esmie thought uncomfortably of Tom’s confiding in her about his disillusionment with his old regiment and army life – and he had alluded to some trouble that got him court- martialled – but it wasn’t for her to break such a confidence.

  ‘So how is Tom?’ She tried to keep her voice as neutral as possible, though her heart was thumping.

  Lydia shrugged. ‘Same as ever.’

  ‘So things are all right between you since . . .?’ Esmie let the question hang.

  ‘If you’re referring to Dickie Mason,’ she said in a tight voice, ‘I haven’t seen him since the day after you chased him away from Murree.’

  ‘Lydia, I—’ Esmie began.

  ‘Let’s not talk about it.’ Lydia cut her off and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘I don’t want us to argue again.’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Esmie said, feeling contrite for having raised the subject.

  Lydia put on a smile. ‘Well, I don’t know about you but I’m certainly ready for a chota peg. Let’s celebrate us being together again.’

  ‘Chota pegs it is then,’ Esmie said, smiling.

  Harold found them still on the veranda after dark, drinking whisky and soda and laughing over old school reminiscences. Esmie noticed how her husband blushed and became boyishly bashful at Lydia’s teasing. As they sat having dinner together and chatting about home, Esmie could almost imagine that nothing had changed since the summer they had all spent together at Ebbsmouth – except for Tom’s absence. She felt it acutely when they talked about The Anchorage and how Tibby was opening her home to impoverished artists.

  ‘Tom says they have to work at least one day in the garden for their keep,’ said Lydia.

  ‘What does the colonel make of all these radicals taking over his castle?’ Harold asked, amused.

  ‘Oh, the old miser’s very confused these days,’ she answered. ‘He thinks they’re members of staff. If he catches sight of one, he shouts at them to smarten up their uniform or he’ll sack them on the spot. They just humour him, according to Tibby.’

  ‘Good for Tibby,’ said Harold.

  Lydia asked after his mother and aunt. Harold talked about them with affection. Esmie seized the moment to suggest, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if we could go on furlough next year and see them?’

  She thought Harold was about to pooh-pooh the idea when Lydia interjected, ‘Oh, yes, do! We could all go back together for a visit. Summer time in Ebbsmouth, just think of it. You could stay at Templeton Hall and we’d go on picnics and theatre trips and have tennis parties, just like old times.’

  ‘Perhaps the year after,’ Harold said. ‘I’m not due home leave until 1922.’

  ‘Oh, Harold,’ Lydia cried, ‘it’s not as if you work for the government or army and have to abide by their silly rules. The mission would let you take holiday if you asked them. I don’t think Esmie can wait that long – I know I couldn’t. I miss home so much. Mummy and Daddy . . .’

  Suddenly Lydia’s face crumpled like a child’s. She put her face in her hands and started to sob. At once, Esmie was out of her seat and hurrying around the table to comfort her. Lydia’s bony shoulders felt tense under her hold.

  ‘I know how hard it is,’ Esmie sympathised. ‘I feel the same at times.’

  ‘How can you know how I feel?’ Lydia said, sniffling. ‘You and Harold are only here while the mission needs you and then you’ll go elsewhere. But I’m stuck in Pindi forever because of that wretched hotel.’

  Harold looked shocked at her outburst. He pulled out a handkerchief and offered it with an embarrassed ‘There, there, dear girl.’

  Esmie was heavy-hearted. She was sorry for Lydia but her greatest sympathy lay with Tom, who was trying to make the best of his hotel business and provide for his new family. Yet it appeared that it wasn’t enough for Lydia. She was too used to life at Templeton Hall, being pampered and adored by her parents; nowhere and no one else could live up to her expectations.

  ‘Pindi’s not so bad,’ said Esmie. ‘There’s more social life going on there than there ever will be in Ebbsmouth. Why don’t you encourage your parents to come out and visit again?’

  Lydia pulled away and grabbed at the handkerchief that Harold offered across the table. ‘Oh, don’t mind me. It’s those chota pegs of Draman’s have made me maudlin. I’m perfectly fine really. Everything’s perfectly fine.’

  Shortly afterwards, Harold left for Bannerman’s. Lydia gave him a baffled look as she kissed him on the cheek and said goodnight. When he’d gone, she said to Esmie, ‘I hope I haven’t caused too much disruption by staying. I don’t see the need for Harold to go.’

  ‘Don’t worry. He’ll come round for breakfast. He’s keen to show you the hospital tomorrow too. And I’ve taken time off so we can spend it together – show you and Andrew the sights.’

  It was as Esmie was retiring to her room and Lydia heard Andrew crying, that realisation dawned on her friend.

  ‘Esmie,’ she said, grabbing onto her arm unsteadily, ‘you and Harold have separate rooms?’

  Esmie went hot with embarrassment. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How very old-fashioned of you,’ said Lydia. She gave an inebriated laugh. ‘Mind you, it must be quite fun, having assignations in the night. Perhaps I should try that with Tom – spice up our marriage.’

&nbs
p; ‘Goodnight and sleep well, Lydia.’ Emsie turned away before her friend guessed the truth that there never had been any amorous visits from Harold – nor seemed likely to be in the future.

  After four days, Lydia didn’t hide the fact that she was bored. She had shown little interest in Harold and Esmie’s work at the hospital – ‘I hate the smell of antiseptic and seeing ill people’ – and she was unimpressed by the old town. ‘I can get all that native stuff in the Saddar Bazaar. Don’t you have any decent shops here at all?’

  Rupa gave them lunch one day. Lydia was intrigued to see inside her bungalow with its comfortable furnishings and pictures of Bombay but she hardly touched the food. ‘It’s delicious but my digestion can’t really cope with spicy food since the baby was born.’

  She thought the club house dull and the cantonment too small. Esmie invited Mrs McCabe round for tea but Lydia developed a sudden headache and went to lie down until the brigadier’s wife had gone.

  The one person whose company Lydia appeared to enjoy was Alec Bannerman’s.

  ‘He’s such a jolly man,’ she said in approval, ‘and I bet he was handsome in his younger days. Strange he never married. I suppose being a Holy Joe might have put some women off. Not that I think he’s the pious type myself.’

  Alec arranged to take them for an outing to the local beauty spot at Taha Khel where he and Harold liked to fish. Esmie piled in the back of Alec’s car with Andrew and his ayah while Lydia sat up front with the chaplain. When they arrived at the picnic spot, Esmie expected Lydia to make disparaging comments about the flat vista of sand and rock with its trickle of a river but she was fulsome.

  ‘How delightful to get out of the town,’ said Lydia, looking cool in a beige summer dress, a topee decorated with a paisley scarf and blue-lensed sunglasses.

  Taking command of distributing the picnic and pouring iced lemonade from a vacuum flask, she encouraged Alec to tell stories about his escapades on the Frontier and in Afghanistan as a young army padre.