She swallowed down the lump in her throat as tears welled.
‘Tell me how you’ve been,’ he encouraged. ‘I’ve thought of you often.’
‘Have you?’ Her pulse began to quicken again.
‘Yes – every day.’
He looked at her with his vivid blue eyes in that intense way that always made her feel so alive and desired. She could hardly bear it.
He went on. ‘But I didn’t want to intrude on your grief for Harold. That’s why I didn’t write. And also because I was trying to save my marriage.’
Esmie’s chest tightened. She nodded. ‘I’m glad it’s working out for you both. Is this a second honeymoon for you and Lydia—?’
‘Esmie!’ Tom leaned towards her and clasped her hand. ‘Lydia’s not with me. We’ve separated for good.’
‘Separated?’ Esmie repeated.
‘Yes,’ he said, relief in his voice. ‘She’s finally made up her mind to stay in Scotland and not come back to India. If truth be told, she’s seeing another man – Colin Fleming – and I’m hoping in time we can divorce.’
‘Oh, Tom, I’m sorry . . .’
‘Don’t be,’ he said. ‘I’m not and neither is Lydia. We’ve been wrong for each other from the start.’
‘But what about Andrew?’ Esmie asked.
Tom let go his hold and drew something from his jacket pocket.
‘This is for you – a letter from Lydia. She said I could read it first – I hope you don’t mind – and then hand-deliver it. It explains things better than I’m doing.’
With trembling fingers, Esmie took the folded piece of writing paper and opened it up.
Dear Esmie,
I spent a long time being furious with you about the letter you sent. I was so annoyed at you for taking Tom’s side and not mine. But I’ve had a lot of time to think it over and I realise that you didn’t mean me harm by it. I knew that the brave Esmie who risked her life to come and rescue me was still my friend. We’ve been through so much together, you and I. I hope we will always be friends to each other.
Anyway, the point of this letter is to say that I forgive you and want you to be happy. By now you will know that I shan’t be coming back to Pindi or Tom. The one thing your letter helped show me was that I can never love the baby as much as Tom does so that is why I’m sending him back with Ayah. Daddy’s arranged for the wife of a Bombay banker he knows to be their guardian on the voyage back out.
I hope you might help look after Andrew for me. I know you won’t judge me like the rest of Pindi probably will – all the ‘mems’ will no doubt call me heartless and a terrible mother. But I think you understand that after that horrible birth I don’t have maternal feelings for him. I used to watch you holding the baby and think – that’s how a mother should look at her child – there was love all over your face.
I know that Tom will go rushing off to find you as soon as he can. He’s always been mad about you. I wish I’d known quite how much he loved you before we got married. I don’t know if you feel the same way but I’m hoping you do. I don’t want him to be unhappy. Whatever you decide, I wish you good luck in all you do.
Esmie, one day we will sit together on a swing seat and chat like old times but it won’t be in India.
I still think of Harold a lot and sometimes visit his mother – though I try and go when I think his battle-axe of an aunt is out at her kirk meetings!
I hope you will write to me from time to time.
Your loving friend,
Lydia xx
Esmie looked up from the astonishing letter, her eyes stinging with tears.
‘She’s sent Andrew back?’ she gasped. ‘You have him with you?’
Tom smiled and nodded. ‘He’s fallen asleep in the shikara – Sarah’s with him.’
Esmie leapt up. ‘Oh, Tom! Can I see him?’
Tom stood and caught her hand. ‘Esmie, first I need to know how you feel . . . Whether you could see yourself . . .’
She looked up into his handsome face, seeing the doubt clouding his expression. A weight pressed on her chest.
‘Oh, Tom; you must know how much I love you,’ she assured him. ‘Say what you want to say.’
Tom gripped her hands and searched her face. ‘I can’t offer you marriage yet but I want to be with you, Esmie. I can’t bear the thought of you going somewhere else or living without you. Will you come back with me to the Raj Hotel – live with me and Andrew – or nearby if you don’t want the memsahibs of Pindi gossiping about us? I’d see you on whatever terms you wanted.’
Esmie was choked with emotion. ‘I don’t care about wagging tongues,’ she said with a tearful smile. ‘I can think of nothing I want more than being with you and Andrew. I’d happily move into the hotel to be with you both.’
Tom stifled a cry. He looked on the point of tears himself.
‘Oh, happy day!’ He pulled Esmie into his arms and held her tight.
She clung on to him, hardly able to believe how in a few short minutes her life had been turned around so joyously. There was nothing now to stand in the way of their being together – no more obstacles to their loving each other.
She looked up into his face and saw his expression – tender yet passionate – mirroring her own.
‘Kiss me, Tom,’ she urged.
Jubilantly, he bent and embraced her. The touch of his firm mouth on hers made her dizzy. She could feel the impatience in his kisses as if he wanted to make up for all the time they had wasted not being together. From now on they would be.
As they kissed, she was overwhelmed by love for him. Being held tight in his arms, Esmie felt released from the past – the pain and loss that had marked her life – and huge gratitude to this passionate man. She knew she would make Tom happy, and he her. They would cherish and care for one another as well as fulfil their long held mutual desire.
As they broke away, Esmie’s cheeks were damp with tears of joy. Tom fished out a handkerchief to dab away her tears. She saw that it was hers – the one she had made him keep as a reminder of the day they had confessed their love for each other by the river in Kanki-Khel. They exchanged tender smiles.
Abruptly, squeals from outside broke the tranquillity of the lakeside.
Esmie gasped. ‘Is that Andrew waking up?’
Tom grinned. ‘Sounds like it.’
She felt a rush of euphoria at the thought of holding Andrew in her arms again.
‘Let’s go and fetch him!’ she cried.
Tom took her hand and kissed it fiercely. Then together, hand in hand, they hurried into the bright sunshine to answer the boy’s call.
GLOSSARY
ayah nurse or nanny
bhistis water-carriers
box-wallah person in trade
burra big, most important
caravanserai desert inn with central courtyard for travellers
charpoy string bed on a wooden frame
chota small, young
chota hazri breakfast
chota peg small alcoholic drink/sundowner
chowkidar watchman, gatekeeper, doorman
dak bungalow travellers’ rest house
darzi tailor
dhobi washerman
durbar a public reception held by an Indian prince or viceroy in India
feringhi foreigner (derogatory)
jezail muzzle-loading long-arm gun
khidmatgar table servant/under butler
(old) koi hai veteran of service in India
mali gardener
memsahib a polite title or form of address for a woman
mofussil countryside
nimbu pani lemon/lime drink
punkah a cloth fan that works by pulling a rope
punkah-wallah man who works the punkah
sahib a polite title or form of address for a man
sahib-log British in India
sepoy Indian soldier
shikar hunting
shikara small open boat found on Dal Lake, Kashmi
r
sirdar person of high rank
syce groom/stable boy
tonga two-wheeled, horse-drawn carriage
topee sunhat
zenana women’s quarters in a house
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I chose Rawalpindi, Northern India (now in Pakistan) as the post-First World War setting for the fictional Raj Hotel as my maternal grandparents had lived and worked there in the 1920s. My grandfather’s diaries gave some background as to what life was like in the army town and the surrounding hills, including the hill station of Murree. I was greatly helped in my research by Rawalpindi writer Ali Khan, who has written and produced a beautifully illustrated history book of the city with rare photographs: Rawul Pindee, The Raj Years. (The book was commissioned and sponsored by Isphanyar Bhandara, the CEO of Murree Brewery.)
The storyline about the kidnap and rescue of a British woman was inspired by true events that took place in the North-West Frontier in the early 1920s – although all the characters and locations in my depiction are fictitious. If you wish to read about the real events I would recommend Tales of Tirah and Lesser Tibet by Lilian A. Starr, of Peshawar. The copy I read is housed in the fabulous Lit & Phil Library in Newcastle upon Tyne, in the UK.
Grateful thanks go to my wonderful editor, Sammia Hamer, for her enthusiasm and belief in my writing, to structural editor Katie Green, who has been very helpful in enhancing this novel, to Jill Sawyer for careful copyediting and Swati Gamble for eagle-eyed proofreading. Also, to Lisa Horton for the gorgeous cover, to Bekah and Nicole in Author Support for their work behind the scenes and to all the hardworking team at Lake Union – many, many thanks.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Janet MacLeod Trotter is the author of numerous bestselling and acclaimed novels, including The Hungry Hills, which was nominated for the Sunday Times Young Writer of the Year Award, The Tea Planter’s Daughter, which was nominated for the Romantic Novelists’ Association Novel of the Year Award, and In the Far Pashmina Mountains, which was shortlisted for the RNA Historical Romance of the Year Award. Much informed by her own experiences, MacLeod Trotter was raised in the north-east of England by Scottish parents and travelled in India as a young woman. She now divides her time between Northumberland and the Isle of Skye. Find out more about the author and her novels at www.janetmacleodtrotter.com.
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