‘Apart from Saara, I don’t have the luxury of having a family,’ commented Rafi. ‘It’s got to be worth a shot at patching things up between you and your parents. It’s just a shame that all the good work you’ve been doing has to be kept quiet until the terrorists are caught.’
‘A blaze of publicity might have been useful,’ mused Kate, ‘but this way we’ll see if there’s any real affection left for me.’
The car stopped.
‘Whatever happens, you’ve still added one extra person to your life: me.’
Kate turned her head and looked at Rafi. He could see the beginnings of tears welling up in her gorgeous eyes. She leant over and kissed him.
‘Right, let the charm offensive begin.’ Rafi groaned as he eased himself out of the car seat. His bruised lower back had not liked the prolonged car journey.
Kate smiled. ‘Be your normal self. They get us warts and all.’ She gave his hand a squeeze and headed for the open front door. Rafi followed, with his trilby tilted over his eyes and the scarf round his neck and lower face.
He marvelled as he stepped inside. The entrance hall could have contained his flat. They approached the National Trust booth where a kindly woman greeted Kate with a big smile.
‘Hello, Mrs Hindmarsh – isn’t it? I didn’t recognise you straight away.’
‘Don’t worry dear – it’s been over ten years. How lovely to see you again.’
‘How’s…’ Kate hesitated, ‘Danny?’
‘On excellent form, thank you. I have three grandchildren. He works in Sudbury now, in an office opposite the church. He would be pleased to see you, so do drop by if you can.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Hindmarsh, I’ll do that next time I’m up here. Today is a bit of a fleeting visit.’
Mrs Hindmarsh nodded in a knowing manner and they proceeded on their way.
They walked into a cavernous central hall. It was devoid of furniture. Its stone floor had small squares of black stone inlay to give it a criss-cross pattern. The main feature in the central hall was the grand sweeping staircase. There was a pair of large double doors to the left which led through to an impressively furnished drawing room. In front of Rafi the open double doors framed a view through what looked like a music room and on to the largest set of French windows he could ever recall seeing, with a vista down to a lake and a gazebo. To the right of the hall was a grand dining room.
‘How many could you seat?’ he asked.
‘Oh, I think we had about sixty in there for my twenty-first,’ she replied nonchalantly. ‘Come on, enough of the sightseeing; let’s find Marcus.’
Kate took hold of his hand and led Rafi off to the right of the dining room, past a winding, back staircase, past a billiards room, down a long passage and past the kitchens. They climbed up a second set of back stairs and there in front of them was a normallooking front door.
‘Welcome to my brother’s flat,’ said Kate with a broad smile. She rang the doorbell.
They were greeted by a beaming Marcus. ‘Great to see you, Kate. And if I remember correctly from your phone call, this must be Rafi?’
‘Yes,’ said Kate.
‘Susannah will be with us shortly; she’s sorting out the final touches to lunch. Let’s find Mother and Father. I have told them that you’ve a boyfriend with you, but not that it’s Rafi! I didn’t want to mess things up, so I thought it might be simpler for you to explain how your boyfriend has gone from being a terrorist to a good guy.’
They walked down a small corridor, the walls covered in pictures of Africa. Marcus looked at Kate. ‘Happy memories!’
‘Yes,’ came the reply, ‘The best.’
They came to a cosy sitting room with an open log fire brightening the cold February day. On the other side of the room was a large sofa and, parked in the middle of it, were two elderly people, who stood up slowly. They weren’t doddery but time had started to take its toll. They looked apprehensive. Kate walked forward and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, followed by a hug. She turned to her father, stretched out to shake his hand, had second thoughts and gave him a peck on the cheek and a hug. Rafi sensed that her parents were surprised by Kate’s attempt at reconciliation. They sat down. Not a word had been spoken. Marcus did the introductions.
‘Mr Rafi Khan, it is my pleasure to introduce you to our parents: Major Sir Percy Gant-Adams and Lady Yvonne Gant-Adams.’
‘You will no doubt have seen his picture in the papers recently,’ added Kate quickly. ‘He’s been working undercover for us. The full story will come out next week. We’ve only known one another for a week but I can assure you he’s a real catch and my first boyfriend in ages.’ And with that she planted a caring kiss on Rafi’s cheek.
Wow, that was brave, Rafi thought. Talk about light the blue touchpaper and stand well back! Kate’s parents looked on awkwardly. But the tension eased as Susannah walked in carrying a tray with a bottle of champagne and some orange juice. She exclaimed in delight when she saw Kate. The tray was put down next to Marcus, who uncorked the bottle with a pleasing pop, charged the glasses and passed them around.
The major lifted his glass, looked at the bubbles and took a sniff of the bouquet. Then he stopped, looked at his daughter and said, ‘Please forgive me for not standing up again, but I would like to propose a toast.’ He raised his glass in the direction of Marcus and Susannah.
‘First I should like to toast our hosts without whom this reunion would not have happened – thank you both.’ The glasses were raised and an appreciative sip was taken by all. The major turned his gaze to Kate.
‘The second toast is to Kate, my long-lost daughter. Your mother and I look forward to you telling us what you’ve been up to. Marcus tells me that you’ve been heading up a team involved with the Bishopsgate bombing?’
‘Yes, Daddy – and a bit more besides.’ The conversation stopped in its tracks. It was as if Kate’s career was of little interest to her father.
Rafi felt annoyed, but tried not to show it. He looked carefully at the major. In his youth he must have been a dashing and well-built man, and his wife must once, he guessed, have been a slightly willowier version of Kate. She had the same auburn hair and warm brown eyes.
Susannah looked at her watch. ‘Lunch will be in ten minutes. Please excuse me while I put the vegetables on.’
There was a silence. Rafi waited for someone to break the ice. Kate’s mother beat him to it. ‘Tell me Kate,’ she said in a frail voice, ‘I have been reading the papers. I am confused. How precisely did you manage in the space of a week to turn a terrorist suspect into a boyfriend?’
‘It’s a long story. Rafi was set up. I was sent to see if he had information that could help us prevent more terrorist attacks. That was last Monday. Since then Rafi and I have been working flat out unravelling the terrorist conspiracy.’
‘I see, dear,’ came her mother’s uncertain reply.
Marcus got up and recharged the glasses.
‘Don’t you drink?’ asked the major.
‘No, sir,’ replied Rafi. The major looked at him and hesitated before saying, ‘Do please call me Percy; it will make things less formal.’
Rafi sensed that uttering those few words had broken the ice.
‘Thank you, sir.’
The major continued. ‘Where do you come from?’
‘It’s not a very interesting story,’ Rafi replied, hoping to avoid the subject, but he was encouraged to continue.
Rafi took a mouthful of the orange juice and then began. ‘My father owned a bakery in the East End of London. I was educated at Haileybury and then studied for my Bachelors and Masters degrees in London.’
The major nodded, hoping for more.
‘Up to a week ago, I was a senior fund manager in the City of London. The rest, as they say, is history.’
Kate skilfully switched the conversation to Leverthorne Hall and its vineyards. It transpired that Marcus had studied through the Open University Business School and had specialised on th
e marketing and product development side of Business Studies.
In the words of his mother, Marcus had turned the estate around. ‘There is now a small rural business park with a growing number of successful cottage industries and he has found an excellent farm manager to run the 3,500-acre farm.’
‘How big is 3,500 acres?’ Rafi enquired.
Kate looked at Rafi as if acres to square miles was a ratio he should have known, and replied, ‘Five and a half square miles.’
‘Oh, really!’ exclaimed Rafi. There was laughter. He sensed that the tide had turned.
‘Lunch is ready,’ echoed through from the dining room, where Rafi soon found himself sitting next to Lady Yvonne, and opposite the major and Kate.
Given the circumstances, lunch was a relatively jolly affair. There were a few hesitant pauses in the conversation, but the sheer joy of Kate and her brother being back together again, under the roof of the family home, was plain for all to see. They sat next to each other and chatted away at ten to the dozen.
After lunch, the small talk continued over coffee and Rafi found himself the centre of the conversation. It seemed her parents found it simpler to talk to him rather than to Kate, lest they unintentionally reopened hidden wounds.
Rafi’s background, his education, hobbies, work and involvement in uncovering the terrorist plots were all discussed.
Kate looked across at her parents. ‘Did I tell you that I have also met Rafi’s sister, Saara? When I saw the two of them together, it reminded me how much fun we had when we were living in Kenya… all the grief of the last decade seemed irrelevant; I just wish we could be that happy again,’ she paused and fell silent.
Her parents, who were sitting comfortably on the sofa, seemed overcome by emotions. The major looked at Kate and then his wife. ‘Kate, I agree; we did have a good time in Kenya. I am sorry that moving here caused such friction and hardship. Yes, we should strive to find that happiness again.’
‘But with a few more coats and jumpers,’ added Marcus with a laugh.
Coffee had long been finished. There was a brief lull in the conversation. Kate looked at her watch, time had flown by, it was coming up to 3.30 p.m. She explained that they had a second visit to make on their way back to London, as a teacherfriend of Rafi’s had invited them for afternoon tea.
They said their goodbyes and promised to be back soon.
Back in the car, Kate looked radiant. ‘Thank you for being so patient and courteous through all the interrogations.’
Rafi looked into her warm eyes. ‘My pleasure. It was fun, and I am hugely relieved it all worked out.’
‘Yes; after a shaky start – I can’t believe how well it went,’ said Kate.
They had an uneventful journey and in what seemed like no time at all they were pulling into Gypsy Lane. They stopped in front of a red brick house. Great Amwell was only a couple of miles from Haileybury College.
The major’s front garden was well-kept. They walked up to the front door, rang the bell and stood there, holding hands.
A stooping silver-haired man answered the door. Rafi instantly recognised him – he had aged well, but was looking a little unsteady on his pins.
They were greeted by a jovial, ‘Come on in, come on in, it must be cold standing out there.’
‘Thank you,’ said Rafi and went on to introduce Kate.
They entered the modest-sized home and headed for the sitting room, where they were greeted by a roaring open fire.
Charlie beckoned Rafi to sit on the sofa next to the fire.
‘Your timing is excellent – the kettle has just boiled. Let me look at you first though, young Rafi, it’s been too long since I last laid eyes on you.’ He stood there gazing at him. ‘Thank you for your phone call. It’s a shame that you got caught up in this terrorist mess. I wondered whether you might make contact after I’d had that visit from MI5.’ He paused, as if uncertain what to say next. ‘Why don’t you have a look at some photos whilst Kate and I put the kettle on?’
Charlie picked up an old leather-bound photo album from the sideboard and handed it to Rafi, then disappeared with Kate into the kitchen.
Rafi opened it. It contained pictures of the major’s life. There were a couple of photos of him in his early school days at Haileybury: one of him playing cricket, which rekindled memories of Rafi standing in almost the same spot, bowling right arm off breaks. The chapel and the large central courtyard looked just the same.
He moved on a few pages to see a very handsome, young man dressed in army uniform with a dark brown moustache and closely cropped wavy brown hair. The sparse text under the photos showed that he’d been posted to Palestine and had initially served under Allenby, before being posted to India.
He turned the page and there was a picture of a beautiful Indian woman in a nurse’s uniform standing in front of a large hospital. This was followed by a series of casual snaps of him and her taken during their outings. Rafi looked carefully at the photos; 1945-46 seemed to have been a very special and happy time for them. Then there was a sun-bleached photo showing the nurse and her family, all dressed up in their finest; looking very splendid in palatial surroundings. In the centre was the person he assumed to be the head of the family; he looked intimidating. A couple of photos of a kindly looking servant carrying a tray laden with glasses, cups and saucers followed.
‘What?’ Rafi exclaimed. He recognised the servant. He was his grandpa, Mansur Khan. His gaze fell upon the nurse in the picture. It couldn’t be! He couldn’t believe it – it was Lateefa, his grandmother, in her early twenties. He was confused. Why was Charlie holding hands with his grandmother in many of the pictures? The last photo showed them standing formally next to each other. There was a look of sadness in their faces.
Rafi turned the page. It contained a short press cutting on the death of Mansur. This was followed by another cutting which showed the mangled car in which his parents had died a few months later. The next page was blank; there were no more pictures, except for the penultimate page, on which there was a photo of Charlie standing next to a young lad, with his arm around his shoulder, a beaming smile across his face. Rafi remembered the occasion. It was taken in the summer near the end of his third year at Haileybury. He had taken four or five wickets in an inter-house cricket match. Charlie, who had been watching, insisted that a photo be taken for posterity. Rafi hadn’t seen the photo until now. He sat deep in thought, and was interrupted by the clattering of a trolley on which the afternoon tea had been placed. Charlie and Kate sat down and passed around the tea.
Charlie looked carefully at Rafi’s face. ‘I was distraught,’ he said. ‘I really wanted to marry your grandmother. Sadly for both of us, it wasn’t to be. In those days, family honour ranked above individual feelings and sensibilities.’
‘Pardon?’ asked Rafi.
‘There’s no easy way to say this,’ said Charlie. ‘I met Lateefa, your grandmother, in India just before its partitioning with Pakistan. We fell in love and then calamity struck: she told me that our relationship had to end, but she would not tell me why. I didn’t find out until later that she was carrying my child and had been disowned by her family. Had it not been for your grandfather, Mansur, a servant in her household, it would have been a disaster. He sought me out and explained why Lateefa had broken off our relationship.’
Rafi could see the beginning of tears in Charlie’s eyes.
‘I had been transferred to the Green Howards and was being posted to Sudan. I had so wanted to go back and see Lateefa, but there just wasn’t time. And to have become a deserter from the army would only have made things worse. When I told Mansur that I had to go, I had expected him to be angry with me. Instead he smiled and asked if he could help. It transpired that he had been in love with Lateefa since his childhood.’
Charlie looked sadly at Rafi. ‘The partitioning caused largescale and violent cross-border migration of Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs. It was this upheaval and Lateefa being without family support that
prompted Mansur to find me. I was impressed – he had it all planned. He asked me to arrange passes for Lateefa and him to get to England. Mansur then found Lateefa and they emigrated there. I helped them with what little money I could.’
‘So my father was your son?’ Rafi exclaimed, finally understanding what Charlie was trying to tell him.
‘Yes.’
‘Why on earth didn’t you tell me before now?’
‘I promised your parents that I would not interfere,’ said Charlie.
‘Hold on a minute!’ said Rafi. ‘Did you have anything to do with my going to Haileybury and Saara going to a private day school?’
Charlie nodded. ‘After decommissioning I went back to my studies, became a teacher and then accepted a job at Haileybury. Several years later, I had been visiting a school in Stepney with which Haileybury had long-standing links and, as good fortune would have it, on the way home I stopped off at a local bakery in the East End of London. I unexpectedly met Mansur again. He looked much older, but I recognised him instantly.’
Charlie poignantly related how he had returned the following weekend and had met Mansur and Lateefa. ‘I had a tear-filled reunion with your grandparents. We talked about Jansher, their only son and decided that the past should remain in the past – it wouldn’t have been fair on them for me to come back into their lives. I asked if I could help them with their finances. They were too proud to accept any help. In the end, they allowed me to help with the education of any grandchildren that they might have.’
Rafi smiled. ‘That explains why I went from a deprived state school to a smart private boarding school!’ He was overcome by emotion.
Charlie sat quietly waiting for Rafi’s response.
‘Wow,’ replied Rafi. ‘So as of today the number of my close family relatives has doubled… Let me give you a hug.’ Rafi embraced him warmly and then sat back down. ‘I always knew Mansur as grandpa. Could I call you grandfather?’
Beaming, Charlie nodded, not trusting his voice.
‘Saara will be delighted; I can’t wait to tell her face to face.’
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