Clarrie was determined not to go under and would have worked herself to a standstill if Lexy had not forced her to take time off to sleep. By summer, they had reopened the downstairs annexe as meeting rooms and the tea room’s reputation as a place of affordable glamour and radical talking shop was revived.
But it was the times when the cafe was closed that she found hardest to cope with, and many was the night she lay awake exhausted yet sleepless, grieving for Will and wondering what the future would bring. Olive and Jack were happily bringing up their children; Ina was talking of retiring and going to live with her son in Cullercoats. Jared, to everyone’s surprise, had started courting Lexy — taking her to the pictures for the Wednesday matinee — and, to their greater surprise, Lexy was encouraging his attentions.
‘He’s kind to me,’ Lexy told Clarrie. ‘Give me a canny man over bonny looks any day.’
Clarrie was glad for them all, but it left her feeling restless and wondering if running the tea room was to be her lot in life forever. And if so, would it always be enough? She was thirty-three, widowed, childless and living in a country that was not her spiritual home but which she had come to love.
Olive, alert to her sister’s underlying sadness, tried to involve her in their family life and was constantly inviting her round. One Sunday when she joined them, Olive turned to Jack and said, ‘Tell our Clarrie what Mr Milner wanted.’
Jack nodded. ‘The boss was wondering if you could help him out with the horses.’
‘Horses?’ Clarrie queried.
‘Aye, the ones that are past workin’. Three or four that were used by the government in the war are now too old to pull a load. Mr Milner hasn’t the heart to send them to the knacker’s yard, so he keeps them on a farm near Wylam.’
‘Like a home for retired ponies,’ Olive said.
Clarrie smiled. ‘What a kind man he is. Does he take worn-out tea room managers as well?’
Jack grinned. ‘He wondered if you would do him a favour and gan out there once in a while — give them a bit of a walk out.’
Clarrie felt her interest spark. ‘Course I would.’
After that, she went once a week to the Wylam stables to help groom and exercise the horses. They were stocky but docile and Clarrie never took them far or rode them at more than a trot, but she grew to relish her Mondays there. Daniel Milner had come to an arrangement with the landowner to stable his old horses alongside half a dozen thoroughbreds.
‘They’ve worked hard all their lives,’ Milner told Clarrie cheerfully, ‘so why shouldn’t they enjoy a bit of God’s fresh air now?’
One Monday morning in early September, when Clarrie was getting ready to go to Wylam, Edna came running up the stairs to the flat shouting for her.
‘There’s a lad downstairs asking for you,’ she told her breathlessly.
Clarrie made an impatient noise, reluctant to be delayed.
‘Well, he was askin’ for Clarissa Belhaven. But we put two and two together.’
‘Really?’ Clarrie turned in surprise. No one had called her that for many a year. ‘Who is he?’
Edna hesitated. ‘Sounds foreign. Canny lookin’,’ she grinned. ‘Looks a bit like you.’
‘Me?’ Clarrie snorted.
‘Aye, Indian lookin’.’ Edna pulled her towards the door. ‘Haway, don’t keep a good-looking lad waitin’.’
Intrigued, Clarrie hurried after the impatient Edna. Sitting at a table in the window sipping tea was a young Indian with a broad face and well-groomed dark hair, wearing a cheap blue serge suit. As soon as he saw her, he stood up to greet her with a wide smile. There was something oddly familiar about him, but Clarrie could not think what. She was sure she had never met him before.
He shook her hand with a polite bow. ‘I am Arif Kapur from Bengal. Very pleased to meet you.’
‘Mr Kapur.’ Clarrie smiled. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I am coming with greetings from my great-uncle Kamal,’ he explained.
Clarrie’s heart thudded in shock. ‘Kamal!’ she exclaimed. ‘You are Kamal’s great-nephew?’
He nodded. ‘He is telling me all about you. Since I was a boy, Uncle Kamal is always telling stories of Belhaven sahib and life in Assam.’
Clarrie held on to his hand as if to assure herself that he was not a dream. ‘Tell me, is Kamal still alive?’
Arif gave an Indian nod of the head. ‘Yes, alive. He is blind but his mind is sharp and he is still telling stories.’
Clarrie felt overwhelmed. Sudden tears stung her eyes and she pressed her hands to her mouth to stop herself crying out. Arif looked alarmed.
‘I’m sorry to upset you.’
‘No, no you haven’t,’ Clarrie was quick to reassure him. ‘It’s just such a shock after all this time. I had thought never to hear from Kamal again.’
She gestured for Arif to sit down and drew out the chair opposite. ‘Did he ever get my letters? I wrote to him for the first couple of years. How is he? Is he happy? Has he ever been back to Assam? Does he hear from Ama and her family? Tell me all about yours. I want to hear everything!’
Arif laughed and tried to answer the questions that came tumbling out of Clarrie like a river in flood. Kamal was happy and well respected in his village for his wisdom and knowledge of the world beyond. He used to ride round the countryside on Prince until his sight went and the pony died. Arif did not think he had ever been back to Belgooree or heard anything of Ama. But Kamal had kept Clarrie’s letters and when Arif had joined the Indian army and been posted to France, his great-uncle had urged him to seek out the Belhaven sisters should he get to England.
‘Just ask in Newcastle, Uncle said. Miss Clarissa will be doing something with tea.’ He grinned. ‘It only took me two days to find you.’
Clarrie gave him a watery smile. ‘And are you still in the army?’
Arif shook his head. ‘I am going back to India to study science. Uncle Kamal is paying my fees. I want to work in the forestry service. He says I am loving trees because of his stories about Belgooree and Khassia hills.’
Clarrie’s heart squeezed to hear him speak the familiar names. She felt a bittersweet longing for her old home and envy at the young man’s impatience to get back to India. She recognised the homesickness in his eyes.
Her own eyes shone as she spoke. ‘I wish I could go with you.’
Clarrie cancelled her trip to the stables and took Arif to see Olive. Her sister was equally taken aback but less shaken by his appearance. She reminisced as if Belgooree was some dim, far-off childhood place that she found hard to recall in any detail. It struck Clarrie forcefully how much Olive had taken to life on Tyneside. This was her home now and she had no hankering to travel or return to India.
Arif stayed for a few days, lodging in the annexe with Jared until it was time for him to leave. He had arranged to work his passage on a cargo boat to London and then on by steamship. Clarrie took him down to the quayside and saw him safely aboard with a letter for Kamal and some samples of tea from the Tyneside Tea Company.
‘I know it’s a bit like carrying coals to Newcastle, but I know how much your great-uncle likes his teas. Tell him these are my favourites and make him guess the blends before you tell him,’ she teased. She shook his hand warmly. ‘And give him my fondest regards.’
***
The days that followed were unsettling ones. Arif had reawoken her past and stirred her restless nature. She was distracted at work, and it was Lexy who told her bluntly, ‘For pity’s sake, lass! You’ve a face like a bucket of clarts. You’re scaring off the customers. Tak’ the day off and gan to the stables. Tell yer troubles to them horses.’
So, although it was Friday and the cafe was busy, Clarrie allowed Lexy to chase her out. Taking the train upriver to Wylam, she felt gradually better as the shipyards and factories gave way to woodland and the sun shimmered on the first yellowing leaves.
The stable boy greeted her in surprise. ‘Didn’t expect you the day,’ he said nervou
sly.
‘Do you mind?’ she asked.
‘The landlord’s visitin’, that’s all.’
‘I won’t get in the way,’ Clarrie promised. ‘I’ll just take Florrie up the hill for an hour.’
She went into the gloom of the stables and made straight for Florrie’s stall. The horse whinnied in recognition. Clarrie put her arms around her neck and buried her face in the warm flank. One of the most comforting smells in the world was that of warm horseflesh and hay. She thought of how Kamal had continued to ride her beloved Prince until the pony died, and began to weep.
A noise or movement made her suddenly aware that she was not alone. Someone at the far end of the stables was checking over one of the thoroughbred mares. He was too tall for one of the stable hands. He stopped to watch her, and then came forward. Clarrie hurriedly wiped away her tears. Only when he was almost upon her did she realise who it was. She stared open-mouthed in disbelief. Wesley, dressed in riding breeches and jacket, stood looking down at her.
‘Mr Robson!’ she gasped. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘The same as you, I imagine.’
She continued to gaze at him in bewilderment. ‘B-but here?’ she stammered. ‘I thought you were in London.’
‘I’ve come north to see to business, tie up some loose ends,’ he replied. ‘Are you all right?’
She glanced away, stretching out a hand to pat Florrie.
‘I’m sorry if my appearance upsets you,’ he said. ‘I thought you only came here on a Monday. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.’
Clarrie gave him a sharp look. ‘How do you know so much about this place?’
Wesley gave a familiar sardonic smile. ‘I own it.’
She gawped at him. Just then the stable lad appeared.
‘Do you want me to saddle up Paladin, sir?’
‘Yes, please, Tom.’ Wesley eyed Clarrie. ‘Would you care to ride with me, Mrs Stock?’
‘With me on old Florrie?’ Clarrie retorted. ‘Thank you but no.’
‘Take one of mine,’ he offered. ‘Tom tells me you’re fond of Laurel.’
Clarrie flushed. ‘I didn’t know I was being spied on.’
‘Don’t be cross with him.’ Wesley looked amused. ‘I just like to know what goes on here.’
‘Does Daniel Milner know you own these stables?’ Clarrie asked.
‘Of course,’ Wesley said.
‘I find that hard to believe.’
‘Why? We’ve done business for years.’
‘You and Mr Milner?’ Clarrie cried. ‘But you tried to ruin him — put him out of business when he was just getting started. He must be very forgiving.’
Wesley frowned. ‘Who told you such a thing?’
‘Mr Milner was Herbert’s client. You can’t deny it.’ Clarrie was indignant. ‘I heard how the other tea merchants were ganging up against the Tyneside Tea Company, pricing it out of the market. Don’t pretend the Robsons weren’t a part of it.’
Wesley’s face tightened with annoyance, but his voice remained calm. ‘I don’t pretend. You were right — the Robsons were in on it. My uncle James was one of the main instigators.’
Clarrie felt sickened. Even though she had suspected his involvement all along, she had wanted him to prove her wrong.
‘It was shameful,’ she glared, stepping away.
‘Yes, it was.’ Wesley caught her by the arm. ‘That’s why I tipped off Milner that it was happening.’
She flinched. ‘You did?’
‘Yes. My uncle tried to keep me in the dark, but I found out. I told Daniel and I put him in contact with a more trustworthy agent. After that his business thrived. The only thing I asked in return was that he never told my uncle or anyone else what I’d done.’
Clarrie gave him a look. ‘Didn’t want to spoil your own gilded nest?’
‘Quite so.’ Wesley’s look turned mocking. ‘I wasn’t going to ruin my very good prospects if I could avoid it.’
Clarrie felt uncomfortable. ‘You did the right thing,’ she conceded. ‘I’m sorry I accused you wrongly. But who could blame me? You are still a Robson, after all.’
Wesley gave an abrupt laugh. ‘Ride with me, Clarrie! I promise we don’t even have to speak if you don’t want to. I know only too well your low opinion of me and it’s far too late for me to try to change it, but the ride would give us both pleasure. Just this once, please?’
The urge to do so was too strong to resist. What harm could it do? She might never have the chance again to ride a thoroughbred — or to ride with Wesley. Clarrie nodded in assent.
Swiftly the horses were saddled and soon they were clattering out of the courtyard and into the country lanes. Wesley turned north, leading them uphill through the woods. Clarrie s heart beat faster as she was reminded of their long-ago ride through the forests around Belgooree. Looking back on that time, she could see how that young, impetuous, passionate Clarissa Belhaven had so easily fallen for the handsome Wesley Robson. For she could no longer deny that she had been in love with him. He had been infuriatingly brash and arrogant, yet charming and sensual too. She had been drawn to him against her better judgement.
As they emerged from the woods into open country, Wesley pulled up and waited for her. His strong features in profile made her stomach somersault. He still had the power to make her desire him. Yet this was the man who had been Robsons’ most ruthless recruiter for their tea gardens, and the man who had gone after Belgooree and caused such grief to her father. She must never forget how Papa had warned her against him. Her longing for Wesley still felt like a betrayal of Jock.
The sun strengthened, and after riding a further mile they stopped by a stream and dismounted. Wesley laid out his jacket on the grass under a stone wall and invited Clarrie to sit down. Sheltered by the wall, they watched the horses drink and listened in silence to the birdsong. Clarrie had a sharp pang of remembrance.
‘You’re smiling,’ Wesley commented. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’
‘This reminds me of a special day before the war — with Will and Johnny — sitting by a farm wall. We used to go out riding together and put the world to rights.’
‘Johnny is still a close friend?’ Wesley asked.
Clarrie nodded. ‘I feel close to Will when I’m with him.’
They lapsed into silence until Wesley broke it.
‘Young Will,’ he murmured. ‘He talked about you a great deal.’
Clarrie gulped. ‘Did he?’
‘All the time,’ Wesley gave a sad smile. ‘The other men used to go on about their sweethearts, but he only spoke of you. They’d tease him by calling you the Wicked Stepmother. He adored you, you know.’
Clarrie’s eyes prickled. ‘He was the sweetest lad I ever met. Will loved everyone.’
‘But you were special to him.’
‘I miss him so much,’ Clarrie whispered.
Wesley reached out and took her hand. He wrapped strong warm fingers round hers. ‘I know. So do I.’
She met his look and saw the glint of emotion in his green eyes. ‘Strange how fate threw you both together,’ she said. ‘Tell me what it was like.’
Still holding her hand, Wesley began to talk of his time in the trenches; not the harrowing moments of battle, but the mundane and the routine. He spoke of the moments when he and Will had joked and smoked together, and read each other’s letters.
‘You read my letters to him?’ Clarrie was taken aback.
Wesley grinned. ‘I’m afraid I did. I particularly looked forward to yours — you told him far more gossip than Bertie or any of his friends.’
Clarrie blushed and pulled her hand away. ‘He had no right.’
‘No, but it was good for morale,’ Wesley teased.
Annoyed, Clarrie scrambled to her feet, trying to remember all the silly intimate things she had probably written to Will to amuse him. Wesley jumped up.
‘Don’t be cross,’ he chided, catching her hand.
‘I think we s
hould go,’ Clarrie said, avoiding his look. ‘I shouldn’t be here with you.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know why,’ Clarrie said, thinking of Henrietta.
He pulled her round to face him. ‘What is it, Clarrie? It’s not just being with me that upsets you, is it? You were crying in the stables.’
She began to shake at the feel of his hands gripping hers. ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ she whispered.
‘Tell me anyway,’ he insisted.
Clarrie swallowed. ‘Last week I had a visitor from India — Kamal’s great-nephew.’
‘Kamal your khansama?’ Wesley exclaimed.
‘Yes. Do you remember him?’
‘Of course I do. Kamal was the best khansama I ever met.’
Clarrie’s eyes swam with tears. ‘He’s still alive. His great-nephew Arif came all this way to try and find me. It was like meeting a ghost from my past; he had Kamal’s smile. Even before he turned up out of the blue, I’d been thinking more and more of Belgooree and how much I still miss it. Olive doesn’t feel the same — it’s just me.’
‘India,’ Wesley murmured, ‘it gets under your skin. Everywhere else seems dull by comparison.’
‘You feel it too?’ Clarrie asked, meeting his gaze.
He nodded. ‘It makes it hard to settle anywhere for very long. But I thought you were happy at the cafe? Will said how important it was to you.’
‘I am,’ Clarrie admitted. ‘It’s just been such a struggle these past years. But it’s getting better again. I won’t let it fail.’
He smiled. ‘That’s more like the fighting talk I expect from a Belhaven.’
THE TEA PLANTER'S DAUGHTER:A wonderfully moving story of courage and enduring love: First in the India Tea Series Page 39
