The Emerald Affair

by Trotter, Janet MacLeod

  Lydia sat enthralled. ‘Tom won’t talk about his time in the Rifles – it’s as if he’s ashamed he was ever in the army. But I think it’s all fascinating – so dashing and heroic, fighting the wild Pathans. It’s why I married him – to be a captain’s wife. Now he doesn’t even want to use the title.’

  Esmie was dismayed at her criticising Tom so openly in front of Alec.

  ‘It wasn’t a happy time for Tom,’ Esmie pointed out. ‘He only went into the Rifles because he was trying to please his father.’

  ‘Tom’s never tried to please his father,’ Lydia retorted. ‘If he had, the old boy wouldn’t have disinherited him. Even giving him a grandson hasn’t changed the colonel’s mind.’

  ‘From what Harold has told me about Colonel Lomax,’ said Alec, ‘no amount of pleasing would have made any difference. Some men make bad fathers.’ He reached across and tickled Andrew under his chin. ‘But it’s not a hereditary disease,’ he joked. ‘I’ve met Tom – a few years ago in Peshawar – and I imagine he’s a fine father to wee Andrew here.’

  ‘I suppose he is,’ Lydia conceded. ‘He’s certainly dotty about the baby.’

  Esmie observed Lydia making a half-hearted attempt to pay her son some attention in front of Alec. She leaned over the baby and made a cooing noise. Andrew reached up and grabbed her glasses.

  ‘Don’t do that, you’ll break them!’ She prised his fingers off her tinted spectacles and sat back out of his reach.

  That evening, Alec invited them round for supper, along with Rupa. Lydia drank a lot of wine and kept the conversation lively. She regaled them with her tales of driving generals in the War and dodging U-boats in the Atlantic to fundraise in America for the Scottish Women’s Hospitals. Esmie and Harold had heard the stories many times but Alec and Rupa were held spellbound.

  ‘What a brave young lady,’ Alec said in admiration.

  ‘Not really,’ said Lydia, laughing. ‘I was scared silly. But I wanted to do my bit just like Esmie was doing.’ She caught Esmie’s look. ‘We’ve often talked about how life after the War was a bit of an anti-climax, haven’t we? Obviously we were thankful it was all over and most of it was hideous but, because of the danger, we lived every day in the moment and you don’t get that in peacetime – at least not as a woman.’

  ‘Well, you do if you live on the North-West Frontier,’ Alec said with a grimace. ‘Isn’t that so, Esmie?’

  ‘I’m afraid all too often it is,’ Esmie agreed. ‘But I know what you mean, Lydia, about living in the moment – feeling all the more alive because life might be snatched away in an instant.’

  Rupa said, ‘I would much rather work in a peaceful Taha than live under the threat of violence.’

  ‘Of course,’ Harold agreed. ‘And you know more than any of us how devastating the loss of a loved one can be because of it.’

  Lydia gasped. ‘I’m so sorry Mrs Desai; that was tactless of me. I didn’t mean to remind you of your husband’s cruel death.’

  ‘No need to apologise,’ said Rupa. ‘He is always in my thoughts.’

  ‘Well, I think you’re so brave staying on here,’ said Lydia.

  ‘I’m close to him here,’ Rupa said reflectively.

  ‘You must have loved him very much,’ Lydia said, her eyes filling with sudden tears.

  ‘Yes,’ Rupa said with a sad smile. ‘And I still do.’

  Shortly afterwards, Alec drove Rupa back to the hospital compound and Harold walked Esmie and Lydia back home along The Lines. Lydia’s previous bonhomie had evaporated; talk of Rupa’s murdered husband had turned her maudlin. Harold didn’t linger, leaving Esmie to coax Lydia to bed. Her friend resisted, flopping into a veranda chair.

  ‘Would you do that for Harold?’ Lydia asked, trying with difficulty to light a cigarette. ‘Stay on and work here if something happened to him?’

  ‘Probably not,’ Esmie admitted. ‘But none of us know what we’d do in certain circumstances – not unless they actually happen. Anyway, I don’t want to think of such a thing.’

  ‘I know I wouldn’t,’ said Lydia, sucking at the half-lit cigarette. ‘I’d marry again. But next time I’d marry for love.’

  Esmie’s insides clenched. ‘But you did marry for love,’ Esmie reminded her. ‘You had your heart set on Tom from the moment he turned up last summer.’

  ‘I had my heart set on marriage,’ Lydia said, picking a tobacco fleck from her tongue. ‘It’s not the same thing.’

  Esmie felt downcast. How had they all made the same mistake that summer in Ebbsmouth and married the wrong people? What a mess they had created.

  ‘I wish . . .’ Lydia began.

  ‘Wish what?’ Esmie asked.

  Lydia sighed. ‘That I hadn’t said yes to the first man who asked me. I should have waited until . . .’ She stubbed out her cigarette without saying what she should have waited for.

  Esmie didn’t press her – the subject made her agitated – and instead steered her friend into Harold’s bedroom and helped her to bed.

  Chapter 33

  For the next couple of days Lydia spent most of the time visiting Alec, inviting herself in for drinks and chat and getting him to show her his army memorabilia. She left Andrew with Esmie.

  ‘The Padre won’t want a squalling baby in his house,’ said Lydia, ‘and you’re so much better with baby than I am.’

  Esmie didn’t object. She was happy to have Andrew in her care and pushed him out in his pram around the cantonment. Sarah and Karo, although from quite different backgrounds, struck up a friendship over the children. Sarah, a Punjabi-speaker, had a few words of Pashto but they communicated mostly in English. Esmie returned from her perambulation with Andrew to find the women sitting in the shade of the back veranda, embroidering a shawl together and sharing sweetmeats, while Gabina played with her bobbins.

  Neither servant showed any discomfort when Esmie sat beside them and joined in the sewing. However, Draman made his displeasure known by refusing to serve tea to the women and pointedly had afternoon tea for Esmie brought onto the memsahib’s veranda.

  Lydia didn’t return for tea and it was dark when her friend finally appeared, just in time for dinner.

  ‘Such an interesting man,’ Lydia said, already inebriated. ‘And so knowledgeable about the area. I could listen to him for hours.’

  She chattered throughout dinner about the Frontier and repeated Alec’s stories. There was something feverish about her speech and she seemed gripped by nervous excitement, exaggerating the tales she’d been told. For the first time Esmie worried that Lydia’s previous melancholia might be tipping over into mania. Her friend quaffed wine that only she was drinking and pushed food onto her fork that she then didn’t eat. From Harold’s enquiring glances, Esmie knew her husband was concerned about Lydia too.

  When the meal was over and Lydia paused to light a cigarette, Harold took the opportunity to ask, ‘How long are you thinking of staying?’

  Lydia looked so crestfallen that Harold quickly added, ‘Not that we want you to go. It’s just that Esmie is needed at the hospital and I don’t want to outstay my welcome at Bannerman’s.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Lydia. ‘I can entertain myself. Esmie, you must go back to work. And I know Alec doesn’t mind a bit. He enjoys having you, Harold. I think he’s quite lonely. He loves having me round for a chin-wag.’

  ‘I’m sure he does,’ said Harold, ‘but he’s also a help to us at the hospital.’

  ‘I’m not stopping him,’ said Lydia, waving her cigarette at Harold.

  ‘Won’t Tom be missing you and the baby?’ Harold persisted.

  ‘The baby, yes,’ Lydia answered with a curl of her lip.

  Esmie intervened. ‘Mrs McCabe is returning to Pindi in a week’s time and I’m sure she would want you to accompany her again. That gives us another week together.’

  She saw the look of panic on Lydia’s face. Was she really so unhappy with Tom that she’d rather be in Taha, a town of which she w
as openly disparaging?

  ‘But of course you can stay longer,’ Esmie said. ‘It’s entirely up to you.’

  Lydia gave her a grateful look. ‘I promise I won’t stay forever,’ she said with a forced laugh. ‘And you must go to the hospital, Esmie. Don’t feel you have to chaperone me all day long. But I don’t want to go just yet.’

  The following day, when Lydia announced that Alec was taking her for a drive, Esmie decided to go into work for a few hours. Harold asked bemusedly, ‘Has Bannerman fallen under the famous Lydia spell, I wonder? If he was half his age I’d worry but there can’t be any harm in it, can there?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Esmie. ‘I’m not concerned about Alec but I am about Lydia. She’s behaving oddly – even manically.’

  ‘She’s drinking too much, that’s all,’ said Harold.

  ‘That’s not all,’ Esmie insisted. ‘It’s just a symptom. I don’t think Lydia’s stable.’

  ‘Lydia’s just in high spirits.’

  ‘You don’t see her at night like I do,’ Esmie pointed out. ‘After you’ve gone she’s either overwrought and wants to stay up half the night or she’s maudlin and weeping.’

  Harold looked concerned. ‘Is there anything in particular preying on her mind that she’s told you about?’

  Esmie thought of Lydia’s negative comments about Tom as well as the avoidance of talking about Dickie. She sighed. ‘Not in so many words. But I think she’s mentally fragile.’

  ‘Well, if anyone can get her to talk about her problems then it’s you, my dear.’

  Lydia was effusive about her day out with Alec. ‘And he let me drive his car on the way back through the old town – it was such a riot!’

  When Esmie tried to get her to talk about anything more personal, Lydia refused.

  ‘Why are you bringing up all that again?’ Lydia accused. ‘I don’t want to think about the awful summer with the birth and I don’t want to talk about Tom – or even Dickie – so you can’t make me.’

  Later, on the point of going to bed, Lydia was more conciliatory. ‘I know you’re well-meaning and you think I’ve got some sort of complex about the baby, but I’m fine. Really I am. I don’t need your medical help, Esmie; I just need you as my friend. That’s all I’ve ever wanted – for you to be my good friend.’

  Lydia put it so simply. She wanted friendship; nothing more and nothing less. Was Esmie failing her, too obsessed about her mental state and the way she denigrated Tom? Esmie was too emotionally involved to treat Lydia’s problems with a dispassionate and professional eye. She wished Aunt Isobel could be there to advise her.

  Esmie pulled Lydia into a hug. Her friend felt diminished and fragile. ‘Of course we’re good friends. I’m sorry for fussing.’ She kissed her on the forehead. ‘I’ll stop badgering you with questions if you promise that you’ll ask for help if you need it.’

  Lydia gave a teary laugh. ‘Promise. Cross my heart and hope to die.’

  Esmie laughed at her use of their schoolgirl phrase. ‘Good. Then go to bed and sleep well, best friend.’

  Lydia gave her one last hug and then did as she was told.

  The next day at the hospital was a busy one and Esmie felt a certain relief to be working. It stopped her ruminating over Lydia, although she was keen to get back to see Andrew. She was about to leave when Harold appeared from the operating theatre, a towel wrapped around his left hand. She could see blood staining it.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Esmie asked in alarm.

  ‘Nothing much – just a silly slip of the knife – nothing serious.’

  ‘Let me take a look,’ Esmie insisted, guiding him towards the dressing station and sitting him down. He’d gone very pale.

  But after closer inspection, she was relieved to see that the wound wasn’t deep. She cleaned it and bandaged him up.

  ‘Just as well I’m right-handed,’ Harold said, making light of his injury. ‘Thank you, my dear. Now I’ll just go and finish off my list.’

  ‘Harold! You’ll do no such thing. You’re coming home with me.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he protested. ‘There’s too much to do.’

  ‘There’ll always be too much,’ said Esmie, ‘but you can’t do it all. You’re exhausted. That’s probably why you cut yourself. Come home and rest – and see how you are in the morning.’

  As they walked back home together, Harold confessed, ‘Lydia’s been on my mind. I was thinking of having a word with Bannerman about her – see what he thinks. He’s a wise man and knows how people tick. Perhaps she’s said something to him.’

  Esmie slipped her arm through his. ‘That’s a good idea.’

  There was no sign of Lydia at the house, though Esmie could hear Andrew wailing while Sarah bathed him.

  ‘She must still be at Alec’s,’ said Harold.

  ‘A shame she never takes Andrew with her,’ Esmie sighed as she went to see the boy.

  A little later, as she was giving Andrew his milk, she heard voices on the veranda.

  ‘Esmie!’ Harold called for her.

  Handing Andrew over to Sarah, Esmie went out to see who had arrived.

  ‘Hello, Padre.’ Her smile died at the look of anxiety on both men’s faces. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘There seems to be some mix-up,’ Harold said. ‘Lydia hasn’t been with Alec today.’

  Alec’s craggy face was frowning in confusion. ‘She said she was going on a trip with you today – that’s why she wanted to borrow the car. I said that was fine as I was spending the day with the McCabes.’

  ‘The car?’ Esmie queried. ‘But I haven’t seen her all day – I’ve been at the hospital.’

  ‘So Harold’s just told me.’ Alec ran a hand over his face. ‘I don’t understand. I came round to see if you were safely back and to get the car.’

  ‘So Lydia took your car?’

  Alec nodded.

  ‘When?’

  ‘This morning.’

  Harold looked ashen. ‘She’s been gone since this morning?’

  Alec nodded. ‘I presume so.’

  Esmie felt queasy with panic. ‘Did she say where she was going? Where she said we were supposed to be going?’

  ‘No. I should have asked her. I offered to drive but she said she wanted to. A spin with her special friend, she said. She promised to take Malik with you both as protection.’

  Harold gasped. ‘Malik’s been at the hospital all day too.’

  Alec looked aghast. ‘She won’t have gone far on her own, surely? Perhaps she never left the cantonment – parked up somewhere and went visiting.’

  Esmie shook her head. ‘The only person she likes visiting is you, Padre.’

  ‘Oh, dear Lord!’ Alec cried. ‘Then she must have broken down.’

  ‘We must send out a search party,’ Harold said at once.

  Alec seized on the idea. ‘Yes. I’ll go and commandeer a motor car from the Mess.’

  ‘I’m coming too,’ Esmie insisted.

  ‘No.’ Harold was firm. ‘You must stay here in case Lydia turns up while we’re out. It’s possible someone’s found her car broken down and given her a lift back to town.’

  ‘We’ll try Taha Khel,’ suggested Alec. ‘Mrs Lomax was very taken with the riverside there.’

  Then they were gone. Esmie was left, stomach churning, watching from the veranda as the shadows of the fruit trees grew rapidly across the lawn. Where could Lydia have got to? What had possessed her to take off in Alec’s car alone? Assuming she was alone. A small niggling doubt began to worm its way into Esmie’s thoughts. Only one thing – one man – might make her act so recklessly: Dickie Mason. What if she had come across him in the town or got word to him to meet her? She quashed the thought at once. Not even Lydia would be so foolish. Esmie also doubted that Dickie would take such risks for Lydia; it could finish his army career.

  After a blaze of orange behind the mountains of Waziristan, darkness fell swiftly. Esmie went inside. Sarah was preparing Andrew for bed. Whe
n she explained to Sarah what had happened, the ayah burst into tears.

  ‘I didn’t know Lomax Mem’ had gone,’ she sobbed. ‘She said she was spending the day with Bannerman Sahib.’

  ‘No one’s blaming you, Sarah,’ Esmie tried to reassure her. ‘I’m sure my husband will find her. Please don’t worry.’

  Esmie picked Andrew up and cuddled him to her for comfort.

  ‘Mummy will come back soon,’ she whispered in his ear. He smelt of newly washed skin and talcum powder. She kissed him and carried him back outside to look again in vain for any sign of Lydia.

  Esmie was woken from dozing in a chair by Harold’s return.

  ‘Have you found her?’ Esmie asked, heart jolting. ‘Is she safe?’

  ‘We’ve searched as far as Taha Khel and down the southern road too, but there’s no trace of her.’ Harold’s expression was harrowed. ‘We’ve alerted the police. They’ll send out a search party as soon as it’s light.’

  ‘Can’t you keep looking?’

  ‘We’ve broken the curfew as it is,’ he sighed. ‘And we won’t find anything in the pitch black.’

  Esmie went to him. ‘Oh, Harold. Where can she have got to? I can’t bear to think of her out there on her own.’

  ‘Neither can I.’

  ‘How late is it?’ Esmie asked.

  ‘Gone midnight.’

  ‘Let me get you something to eat.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Harold. ‘Bannerman gave me a sandwich a few minutes ago.’

  ‘How is he? I bet he feels terribly responsible but he couldn’t have known that Lydia would trick him like this.’

  Something in her husband’s expression made Esmie ask, ‘Is there something you’re not telling me?’

  ‘Alec checked to see if anything else was missing. Something had been bothering him. Lydia had shown a lot of interest in his maps of the Frontier.’

  Esmie’s skin prickled with anxiety. ‘And was anything missing?’

  Harold nodded. ‘A map of Northern Waziristan.’

  Esmie’s pulse began to race. She felt bile in the back of her throat. The unease she had felt earlier returned with sickening strength. She forced herself to ask, ‘Does – does the map show where Razmak is?’