Libby answered, ‘I’m going to stay till after Flowers gets married. Apart from being at the wedding, I want to see Adela and Sam before I go home. I can’t deny that I’m sad they won’t be in England when I return.’
‘I long to see them too,’ said Sophie. ‘But with all that’s happened, I just want to be with Rafi as soon as possible.’
‘Sam will understand,’ Libby assured her.
‘You know you are welcome any time to stay with me and Rafi,’ said Sophie. ‘It’s so hard to say goodbye to you, lassie. We’ve been through such a lot together in a short time.’
‘I know,’ said Libby, growing teary. ‘I’ll miss you so very much too.’
Sophie said, ‘Don’t give up hope of finding Ghulam. Fatima hasn’t. We’ll keep making enquiries in the Punjab in case he made it that far. Someday we’ll find out what’s happened to him.’
Libby could only nod in agreement; her heart was too full and her throat too constricted to speak.
After Sophie left, Libby renewed her determination to fill her every hour. Putting the word around that she was teaching typing, Libby gained another couple of students from among the congregation at the Duff Church: young Anglo-Indian women who were eager to find good jobs in the city. Although the Roys said they were happy for her to use their home for teaching, Libby preferred to visit her new pupils at home. That way she quickly learnt more about them and their needs. They were willing students and when two of them swiftly secured jobs, word soon spread about Libby’s success and her number of pupils grew.
As October wore on, Libby got caught up in the excitement of Flowers’s impending marriage. She had resumed the occasional evening out with Flowers and George and their circle of young friends, though not as often as they asked her. Libby went with Flowers and her mother on shopping trips to buy her wedding trousseau. The gown was being made by a dressmaker friend of the Dunlops, but Flowers wanted clothes for her honeymoon.
‘I’m not supposed to know,’ Flowers said, ‘but I overheard George telling Eddy that it’s Ceylon. George was stationed there during the War and I know he wants to go back and see it properly.’
Libby knew that George had been posted to Ceylon during his time in the Fleet Air Arm. Yet it was only as an adult that Libby had discovered that during this time George’s sweetheart Joan had had a fling and become pregnant. It was while on leave from Ceylon that George had done the decent thing and swiftly married Joan. Seeing how happy Flowers was – and how besotted George was about his new love – Libby had to admit that she may have judged George too harshly over his behaviour in the past year.
He had never truly loved Joan and never had the chance to form an attachment with baby Bonnie, who wasn’t his own. Freed from his obligations to wife and child, George had been almost frantic in his attempts to make up for lost time and enjoy himself. Perhaps he had been more hurt by Joan’s infidelity than Libby had realised. George was naturally gregarious and flirtatious – but apart from the one enthusiastic kiss in the Botanical Gardens he had never led Libby to expect anything more than friendship.
When she thought back to six months ago and the various dances and dinners she had attended, it struck her that it was always the attractive, independently minded nurse that George was trying to pursue. He danced with Flowers more than anyone and made sure she was the last to be dropped off home. Flowers had been wary of George, not wanting either herself or Libby to catch him on the rebound after his divorce. Somehow George had finally convinced Flowers how serious he was about her.
Perhaps the upheaval and uncertainty of Independence had concentrated Flowers’s mind on what she wanted out of life – and she had chosen George. No doubt the Dunlop parents were relieved to see their only daughter settled, and with a young Englishman too. If George ever decided to return to live and work in Britain with his new wife, then the Dunlops would be able to follow. Danny Dunlop no longer needed his unproven connections to some tea planter; he was soon to have a son-in-law with a British passport.
While Libby buried her grief over Ghulam with as much activity as possible, she could not avoid the signs of distress on the streets around her. Even in the main shopping thoroughfares, the numbers of homeless and destitute people begging seemed to grow weekly. At night they would huddle in doorways and scavenge what was left in the gutters from street stalls. Libby’s spirits weighed heavily at the sight of them but what could she do that would make the slightest difference? The numbers were too overwhelming. Then she would think of Ghulam and how he would have chided her for her defeatist attitude.
It prompted Libby to ask Fatima where Sanjeev lived. Of all Ghulam’s comrades, the cheerful Sanjeev had always been the most optimistic. She wondered if he still was. Perhaps he would have some suggestion as to how she could help. Libby knew he could shed no light on Ghulam’s whereabouts as he had been the first person Fatima had contacted when she had heard no word of Ghulam arriving in Pakistan and had begun to grow worried.
A few days before Flowers’s wedding, Libby tracked down Sanjeev to a flat behind Hogg’s Market in Lindsay Street, close to where the Dunlops lived. Sanjeev welcomed her in, not showing as much surprise to see her as Libby had expected. The tiny spartan flat had little furniture, save for an old desk piled with books and a charpoy in the corner. It reminded Libby of Ghulam’s bedroom in Amelia Buildings. The thought brought her pain.
Sanjeev brewed up tea and they sat on rugs, swapping news and discussing everything that had happened since they had last met at the refugee centre outside Calcutta. She told him about her teaching young women to type but that she was seeking to do more to help the destitute too.
Finally, Libby asked, ‘Tell me about when Ghulam lived here.’ They had been skirting the subject of their mutual friend, apart from Sanjeev’s initial words of sorrow about Ghulam’s disappearance. ‘Was he in good spirits or depressed about what was happening after Partition?’
‘He was full of hope that things would get better,’ said Sanjeev, rubbing his temples. ‘We both were. Despite the hostility of some towards him, Ghulam was going to stand for the city council for the Communist Party and he was working on a series of articles about how Calcutta could be improved.’
‘Had he given up working for The Statesman?’ asked Libby. ‘I hadn’t seen anything by him for a while.’
‘No, he was still there part-time. His editor was very good about giving him as much leave as he needed to travel to Lahore to see his father. In fact, he gave Ghulam enough for the airfare from Delhi and told him not to take the train.’
Libby’s insides twisted. Ghulam had so much to live for. She forced herself to ask what she had been unable to ask Fatima.
‘Do you think he might have got as far as Delhi and then stayed for some reason? For some person . . . ?’
Libby glanced up and saw Sanjeev regarding her intently. She reddened.
‘Why do you think that?’
With burning cheeks, Libby said, ‘I know the big love of his life was a woman who came from Delhi. Perhaps he took the opportunity to find her and that’s why he never made it to Lahore.’
‘Cordelia?’ Sanjeev said in astonishment.
‘I suppose so – I never knew her name – just that she was very special to him but she rejected him for his stance over the War.’
Sanjeev retorted, ‘She gave him the run-around, that’s for certain. Ghulam was in love with her once, but that was a long time ago.’
‘Fatima seemed to think . . . She warned me that Ghulam couldn’t commit to another.’
‘Fatima, like all sisters, was being protective of her brother. She had seen him get badly hurt. But she didn’t know Ghulam’s true feelings.’
‘So how are you so sure that he no longer cared for this Cordelia?’
‘Because he told me so,’ said Sanjeev. ‘We talked about it before he left for Lahore.’
‘Did you? What did he say?’ Libby held her breath.
Sanjeev didn’t answer immediatel
y. He got up and crossed the room, opened a desk drawer and rummaged inside. He came back holding an envelope.
‘Before Ghulam went, he gave me this letter. He said if he didn’t make it back safely and you ever came to look for him, I was to give you this.’ He held it out.
Libby’s heart punched in her chest. ‘For me?’
‘Yes,’ said Sanjeev, ‘take it.’
Libby reached for it with trembling fingers. At the sight of the familiar handwriting she almost broke down. For a moment she couldn’t speak.
Sanjeev said gently, ‘I know he wouldn’t have gone to find Cordelia because he confessed to me how he was in love with you, Libby. He said he had to tell someone. He knew what a hazardous journey he was undertaking. The last night he was here, he sat up writing that. Whatever it says, it was from the heart. I thought about sending it to you but he was very insistent that I should only give it to you if you came to seek him out.’
Libby tucked it into her trouser pocket. ‘Thank you, Sanjeev,’ she said, her voice hoarse with emotion.
She got up quickly to go. She wanted to be alone to read Ghulam’s words. At the door she hesitated. ‘Did he get a letter from me before he left? I wrote from Belgooree and told him about his father.’
Sanjeev shook his head. ‘I’m sure he would have mentioned it if he had.’
Libby nodded, heartbroken that Ghulam had never read her declaration of love. As she went she said, ‘If I can be of any help to the refugees you are helping – perhaps free typing lessons or arithmetic – then please let me know.’
‘I will,’ Sanjeev agreed. ‘Thank you.’
It was only a short walk from Hogg’s Market to the Duff Church. Libby retraced the steps that she had taken with Ghulam the day she had realised she was falling in love with him. On the steps of the church she pulled out the letter and with shaking hands tore open the flimsy envelope.
My darling Goddess
Tomorrow I set off for Lahore to see my ill father. I suspect I might already be too late to find him conscious and make my peace with him, but I must try. Tonight I will get no sleep for I have decided to fill the dark hours thinking of all the people who are most dear to me.
My special sister Fatima – she has kept me strong through so much. Rafi and his faithful Sophie – I wish I’d got to know her better. My good comrade Sanjeev who keeps my spirits up on the bad days. Kind Sitara who has cared for Fatima and me so well and continues to serve my sister at the hospital. Other good and true friends at the newspaper and in the Party. But there is one person who keeps barging her way into my thoughts and won’t let me sleep. She has been the cause of many sleepless nights and not just this last one in Calcutta. You must know that it is you, Libby – my goddess in the green satin dress.
I love you with all my body and my whole heart – every part of me yearns for you just now. I wish that you were lying here beside me, loving me with that intensity that we shared so briefly but so utterly. I still think of those two occasions that we lay together and made love. I never felt so alive. I will always cherish those moments.
But more than that, Libby, you have been a true friend. I think, given time, we could have gone on to do good things together in this world. Perhaps I could have started a newspaper and you could have done the satirical cartoons! Or maybe we could have set up a school here in Calcutta where there is so much injustice and need – the streets are full of lost or abandoned children. I could teach them to read and write and you their sums and times tables.
Since you left me for Belgooree I have often dreamt of what a future together might have been. I imagine by now you have returned to Britain. I half hoped you might write before you did so – or turn up at my door. I know I promised to write to you, but it seemed unfair to do so when you had decided to go home.
I don’t imagine you will ever get to read this letter. I write it more for myself – a way to pour out my heart in the depths of night. But I shall leave it with Sanjeev just in case you ever try to find me – or him. For if you have done so and are reading this, then it means that you have decided to stay in Calcutta at least for a while – and that means that India is still important to you and not just a place of nostalgia that existed only in your memory of childhood.
But it also probably means that I have not succeeded in returning safely to Calcutta. I know there are risks ahead but I am so much luckier than many of my fellow Indians. The senseless killings of the past weeks make me almost give up in despair.
Yet I will not allow myself to give up – not while there are people of passion like you and Sanjeev and Fatima in the world who get up every new morning intent on making this a better place.
My darling Libby, the dawn is beginning to creep in at the window. I must get ready for the journey ahead. Wherever you are – and wherever you go in the future – enjoy your life, Libby. Please know that I treasured our friendship and that you were dearly beloved by me.
Ghulam x
Libby sat on the steps, with tears streaming down her face, rereading the letter over and over again. His words of love – the depth of his feelings for her – took her breath away. If only he had been able to express them when they had been together! She might never have left him in Calcutta or gone to Belgooree. She would have opened her heart to him too, instead of waiting to put her true feelings in a letter that he had never received.
It grieved her beyond words that Ghulam would never read her love letter to him. Yet there was comfort in her sore heart to know that he had written such tender words without any prompting from her or feeling of obligation that he should respond in kind. His passionate message had come from his heart. She was in no doubt now that Ghulam Khan had loved her, loved her deeply and completely.
Libby stood up on shaky legs, shattered and comforted in equal measure by what she had read and now knew of Ghulam’s feelings. She kissed the letter and slipped it into her blouse so it could lie close to her heart. Then Libby walked away from the shade of the palm trees and into the late October sunshine.
CHAPTER 42
Flowers and George were married on a balmy day at the end of October, two days after Adela and Sam arrived in Calcutta. Delayed in Bombay disembarking, the couple almost didn’t make it in time for the wedding. Sophie, before leaving, had arranged with the hospitable Roys for her brother and his wife to stay a few nights with them at Ballyganj.
The reception was a lunch held at Firpo’s, where George had done much of his courting of Flowers and where he had proposed over an intimate dinner and finally persuaded her to marry him.
Libby was greatly cheered to see Adela and Sam again. When the wedding was over, and the happy couple had been waved away in a taxi to the airport, bound for Colombo in Ceylon, Libby and her friends went back to the Roys’ and spent the evening sitting in the garden catching up on each other’s news.
An emotional Adela told Libby all about her search for John Wesley and the shock at finding him living at Willowburn when she had given up looking.
‘In the end we decided that it would be cruel to uproot him from his new home,’ she said tearfully. ‘He’s so happy with the Gibsons. But I live in hope that one day Martha Gibson will tell him who I really am and maybe he will want to know me better . . .’
Sam held her hand. ‘Tell Libby your other news,’ he said with a tender smile.
Adela wiped away her tears and smiled at her husband. ‘You tell her – it’s as much your news as mine.’
Sam grinned. ‘Adela’s expecting. I’m going to be a father.’
Libby’s eyes stung to see the pride and happiness in his face. ‘That’s wonderful!’ she cried. ‘I’m so very pleased for you both. I can’t imagine a couple more suited to being parents. Sophie and Rafi will be overjoyed to hear your news too.’
Adela beamed. ‘Thank you, Libby.’
Sam said, ‘I wish Sophie had hung on a couple more weeks to see us but I understand how she must have been impatient to be with Rafi after their time apart.’
‘And after the awful incident at Belgooree,’ said Adela. ‘We were deeply shocked by Mother’s letter, though she made light of it. Tell us what really happened.’
Libby told them about the Gulgat troubles, the attempt to snatch Sophie from Belgooree, their escape and how their relief at being back in Calcutta had been overshadowed by the terrible news of Ghulam’s disappearance. Adela and Sam sat in silence, stunned by the news. Libby had held back from telling them so as not to spoil Flowers’s wedding day. But now she poured out her story: of how she and Ghulam had grown very close, of how much she missed him and of the letter she treasured that he had written to her on the eve of his journey.
‘It’s six weeks since he was last heard of,’ Libby said in distress. ‘Fatima won’t give up hope that he’s still alive but I don’t believe it. I know there are literally millions of people on the move but I’m certain that Ghulam would have got a message to his family by now if he was okay.’
Adela stood up and went to Libby, putting her arms around her. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ she said. ‘My heart breaks for you.’
Libby hugged her tight, her pain easing a fraction for having confided in her friends. Adela had been the person she had felt closest to while growing up in Newcastle and the one who had confided in Libby as an adult about her own deeply personal loss of her baby. But more than that – both Adela and Sam had liked and admired Ghulam. Libby wept into Adela’s shoulder while her cousin stroked her hair and tried to comfort her.
Two days later Adela and Sam left, impatient to be back at Belgooree and reunited with Clarrie. Libby gave them Wesley’s old coat to return with a message of thanks to Adela’s courageous mother. That day, after giving typing lessons, Libby went to the centre where Sanjeev doled out food and began teaching sums to a roomful of children of all ages. Libby almost gagged at the rank smell in the airless, fetid room. But the look of trust and expectation on the children’s faces spurred her on. They were mostly boys and, from what Sanjeev told her, were refugees from the countryside, quite unused to the city.
The Secrets of the Tea Garden Page 50
