‘And what about you?’ she said. ‘You talked of tying up loose ends.’
‘Yes. I’ve been offered the chance of running a new tea garden in East Africa; I sail from London next month.’
‘East Africa!’ Clarrie exclaimed, winded by the news. Her dismay surprised her. What did it matter where he went? But he read her look.
‘Does that mean you still care for me just a little?’ he challenged her.
Clarrie flushed. ‘What makes you think I ever did?’
He pulled her closer, searching her face. ‘You’d pretend to me even now when I’m going away for good? Clarissa, I know you! You felt it too — maybe not as strongly — but we both felt desire for each other. That time when we kissed at Belgooree — tell me you haven’t forgotten! I never have.’
Clarrie’s heart pounded at their closeness, at the feel of his breath on her face and the urgency of his look.
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ she whispered.
‘If you had not been such a stubborn Belhaven and I a Robson,’ Wesley continued, ‘we could have been man and wife. But your father made sure that would never happen. Only his prejudice against me and my family which he passed on to you like a poison has stood in the way of our being together, admit it!’
‘No, that’s not true,’ Clarrie protested, trying to free herself from his hold. ‘I saw you for what you were — arrogant and determined to get your own way no matter who got hurt. I’ll never forgive you for the death of Ramsha.’
‘Who’s Ramsha?’ he snapped.
‘The favourite son of my nurse Ama,’ Clarrie replied. ‘He caught malaria working at the Oxford, but he escaped and Ama was hiding him. You knew all about it,’ she said accusingly. ‘You followed me that morning at Belgooree and found out we were hiding one of your runaways.’
Wesley stared at her, stunned. Clarrie felt sick with anger. ‘It’s true, isn’t it? You had him taken away—’
‘Stop it!’ He shook her. ‘I wasn’t interested in a runaway. I knew you were probably harbouring someone, but frankly I didn’t care. It was you I was looking for.’
Clarrie was disbelieving. ‘Then who was it arranged to have him dragged back to the Oxford if not you?’ she demanded. ‘You must have said something.’
He dropped his hold on her with an impatient cry. ‘Good God, Clarissa! I wasn’t the only recruiter at the Oxford and I was against employing hillsmen in the first place — they got homesick too easily and wouldn’t take orders. I’m sorry about this Ramsha but I told no one about him.’
Clarrie’s emotions were in turmoil. She did not know what to think.
‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ He scowled. ‘You really think I could have been that callous and calculating? If you thought so little of me then maybe our not marrying was a lucky escape.’ Clarrie flinched at the contempt in his voice. His eyes blazed. ‘Perhaps I was too full of myself back then, but I was young and newly out from England and eager to prove myself. But I never held a grudge against you Belhavens the way you did against us. I took people as I found them, including you and your father. I offered him my help, remember?’
‘Your help?’ Clarrie was scathing. ‘You ridiculed his managing of Belgooree and then tried to steal it from him by marrying me!’
‘I was doing him a favour,’ Wesley cried, ‘and at personal cost to myself. My uncle James thought my suggestion of buying Belgooree was pure folly. And when I saw how ungrateful you were I thought he was right.’
‘What did I have to be grateful for?’ Clarrie said in fury. ‘That you upset my father so much he locked himself in his room and drank himself to death?’
He seized her arm again. ‘Have you been blaming me for that all these years?’ he said in outraged disbelief. ‘Your father was already a broken man and a drunk.’
‘No he wasn’t!’ Clarrie threw him off.
‘It was the talk among all the tea growers long before I came out,’ Wesley said savagely. ‘And do you know what else they said? They said it was because he had lost his beautiful Indian wife, but he had a pretty daughter Clarissa to run his household and that’s the way he wanted it to stay. Nobody would have been good enough to be your suitor, as far as Jock was concerned. He wanted to keep you and Olive to himself even if it meant the tea garden going to rack and ruin.’
Furious, Clarrie slapped his face. ‘How dare you!’
Wesley glared back, his face taut and a vein in his forehead throbbing. ‘He did his job well, making you a slave to his selfish grief — making you feel guilty for having feelings for someone else other than him.’
‘No,’ Clarrie gasped.
‘Yes,’ he went on mercilessly. ‘You’ve been running away from love ever since — real passionate love between a man and a woman. You’ve buried your true feelings, Clarissa, and hidden behind the excuse of always having someone to look after — your father or Olive or Herbert — even Will. You’re too scared of loving any man with your whole heart. You think you don’t deserve it.’ He looked down on her with an expression of anger and pity. ‘It’s not me you really blame for your father’s death and losing Belgooree, is it, Clarissa? It’s yourself.’
The words were like a blow to the stomach. Clarrie clenched her teeth to keep back the sob in her throat. She would not let him see how much he had wounded her.
For a long moment they stood staring at each other in fury and misery. How cruel he was! Yet the truth of what he said made her feel faint. For years she had carried the guilt of her father’s death like a stone weight. It had been too big a burden; so much easier to blame Wesley and the Robsons instead.
Clarrie could hardly bear to look at him for the shame he made her feel, yet part of her longed for him to take her in his arms and tell her that none of the old hurts and rivalries mattered any more. But with a fierce scowl, Wesley stepped past her and marched over to Paladin. Taking hold of the reins, he swung up into the saddle.
‘Forgive me if I don’t accompany you back,’ he said, his jaw clenched. ‘I’m sure you’d rather see the back of me as quickly as possible. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you all these years, Clarissa. But it’s nothing to the heartache you have given me.’
He swung Paladin round and kicked him into a trot. Clarrie stared after him in fury and desolation. She felt achingly empty, yet battered by the rawness of his anger towards her. Had he really loved her all these years and not just seen her as a pawn in his business game or someone to trifle with when it amused him? She clutched her arms till they hurt. Let him go to Africa with Henrietta. He had no right to unearth such deep feelings at the point of leaving. No right! It was far too late.
Shaking and wretched, Clarrie forced herself to remount Laurel, but instead of returning to the stables she headed further west. It was late in the day and growing dark when she finally trailed back to Wylam. Tom came out to meet her.
‘Mr Robson told me to wait till you got back,’ he told her.
Her heart rose. ‘Is he still here?’
‘No, missus. He’s gone and he’ll not be back,’ Tom said regretfully. ‘He gans back to London day after the morra.’
CHAPTER 39
That night, exhausted and distressed, Clarrie unburdened herself to Lexy.
‘I can see the state you’re in, lass,’ Lexy said in concern. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Clarrie spoke of the encounter with Wesley that had shaken her to the core, and of the past history between Robsons and Belhavens that had been made worse by her father’s death.
‘I blamed Wesley,’ Clarrie admitted, ‘but most likely my father would’ve died anyway and the tea garden would’ve failed. I was too willing to believe the worst of him.’
‘Perhaps you had every right to,’ Lexy retorted. ‘You’ve never trusted him in business, have you? And he’s related to that stuck-up madam Verity.’
Clarrie looked pained. ‘But I’ve been too harsh. I’ve misjudged him on important things.’
‘Such as?’
‘I thought it was Wesley who had tried to drum Mr Milner out of business back in the early days. But it turns out he was the one who tipped Milner off and helped him over the bad patch.’
Lexy sighed. ‘Well, that’s as may be. But there’s no point hankering after some’at you can’t have. He’s off to Africa with his missus, so you said. Best to put it all behind you.’ Her friend patted her shoulder. ‘You never know, you might find someone else to care for right under your nose, like me and Jared have,’ she said. ‘That canny doctor Johnny, for instance.’
Clarrie was beyond arguing. She allowed Lexy to make her tea and put her to bed.
‘You lie in the morra,’ Lexy advised.
Clarrie slept a long and dreamless sleep. She was woken by muffled voices, drifting into her consciousness as if she were submerged underwater. They tugged her up to the surface. She blinked and sat up. It was bright daylight and the voices on the stairs were becoming louder.
‘You can’t gan up there!’ Lexy protested. ‘She’s not well.’
‘I must see her, it’s a matter of great importance,’ a woman said, her voice rising querulously.
‘Wait downstairs,’ Lexy said, ‘and I’ll ask her.’
‘No, no, I can’t be seen in public,’ the woman snapped. It sounded like Verity.
Clarrie struggled out of bed, her head groggy.
‘Well you’ll just have to,’ Lexy was firm. ‘You can have a cup of tea while you’re waiting.’
‘I don’t want tea!’
The voices grew fainter again as Lexy steered the woman away. By the time her friend reappeared, Clarrie had pulled on her clothes and was pinning up her hair.
‘It’s Verity,’ Lexy confirmed. ‘Wouldn’t tell me what it’s about, but she’s in a right state.’
Clarrie found Verity sitting tensely behind one of the potted plants trying not to be noticed. It struck her that it was the first time Bertie’s wife had come anywhere near the tea room.
‘I can’t speak to you here,’ Verity hissed. ‘Surely you have somewhere more private?’
Clarrie led her into the annexe and showed her into an empty meeting room. They sat down at a table.
‘How are the twins?’ Clarrie asked.
‘They’re costing us a fortune,’ Verity answered distractedly. ‘But I haven’t come here for chit-chat, you must realise that.’
‘I can’t imagine what brings you here,’ Clarrie said. ‘Please tell me.’
Verity’s hands squirmed in her lap. ‘I’m sorry, I’m a bit on edge.’
‘Let me call for some tea,’ Clarrie suggested.
‘Tea!’ Verity sighed impatiently. ‘That was always your answer to everything, wasn’t it?’
Clarrie eyed her. ‘If you haven’t come for a chat or to taste how good my tea is, then what, Verity?’
‘I wouldn’t have come — except — I don’t know who else to turn to,’ she said anxiously, avoiding Clarrie’s eyes. ‘Things are a bit desperate.’
‘Desperate?’
‘I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours about our recent difficulties.’
‘I’ve heard you’re living in South Gosforth and that Bertie has been losing money,’ Clarrie admitted.
‘Losing money?’ Verity cried. ‘He’s been hopeless with it! First his own and then mine. Clive won’t lend him any more. We’ve had to sell Tankerville and Summerhill and still we have debts to clear. We’re facing disaster!’
‘He’s spent all Herbert’s inheritance?’ Clarrie said, shocked.
Verity nodded. ‘And much more.’
Clarrie thought how much she could have done with just a fraction of their income when the tea room was on the verge of closure. She kept her temper, but she spoke bluntly.
‘It seems to me that Bertie will just have to stop relying on other people’s money and go back to earning a living.’
Verity slid her a glance. ‘If only it were that simple,’ she croaked. ‘I wish he had stuck to the law. But it seems he’s invested clients’ money unwisely — including my brother’s — and now they’ve lost confidence in him.’ Her voice dropped to a mumble. ‘He might even be struck off and never allowed to practise again. I’m so frightened!’ She covered her face with her gloved hands and began a dry sobbing.
Clarrie was at a loss. For the first time ever, she felt a stab of pity for Verity. What must it be like to live with the boastful Bertie, who had squandered his father’s careful legacy and good name with his greedy gambling of other people’s money? Yet both Bertie and Verity had been profligate spenders. It was the poor twins who would suffer the most.
‘I’m sorry Bertie has been so foolish,’ she said, ‘but I don’t see how I can help you.’
‘You could lend us money.’ Verity looked up, her expression pleading.
Clarrie’s laugh was short. ‘I have nothing to spare. Bertie took all that was mine a long time ago, remember.’
‘Not all; you have the tea room,’ Verity said. ‘You can raise money with the banks.’
‘Herbert’s Tea Rooms are not mine,’ Clarrie said in exasperation. ‘Bertie took them from me and sold them. They belong to a company called Stable Trading; Will set it up so that I would always have a living. He made sure your husband couldn’t get his hands on the cafe again.’
Verity gave her a strange look, half fearful, half triumphant. She scrabbled inside her handbag and produced a letter.
‘No. It wasn’t quite as you thought.’ Verity held out the letter. ‘This was amongst Will’s box of possessions. We were wrong to keep it from you, but I thought you would have found out the truth by now.’
With a lurch of the heart, Clarrie saw that the handwriting was Will’s and although it was addressed to her, it had already been opened. Fumbling, she took it out of the envelope. The writing was feeble, but it was unmistakably Will’s. It had been written in the field hospital.
‘Dearest Clarrie,
I’m in hospital with a wretched leg injury, but you’re not to worry as I’m sure everything will soon be fine and dandy. The bad news is it means I may be delayed in returning home, so I’m afraid you’ll have to keep that champagne on ice a little longer.
All this time with my feet up has given me pause to think. I have a confession to make and it’s easier to get it out in the open now, just in case. I haven’t been entirely candid with you about the buying of the cafe or the nature of Stable Trading. It was set up with the help of a friend of mine — but not, I fear, of yours.
But listen, dear Clarrie. This man has been a good friend to me these past months — one of the best I’ve ever had. When I told him of your plight, it was he who arranged the funds to buy Herbert’s Tea Rooms, as only he could lay his hands on that kind of money at such short notice. I did not have it. But he insisted you were not to be told, because of the bad feeling between you in the past. He feared you would be resentful and feel beholden to him. He made all the arrangements on his last spot of leave and he bought it in your name, so that you would have independence and a means of making your own living whatever happened.
He will be furious once he finds out I have told you, but I feel it is right you should know, if for no other reason than that you might revise your bad opinion of my loyal and trustworthy friend.
Clarrie, do you forgive me for misleading you? I do hope so. I know when we see each other again it will be such a joyous moment that you won’t stay cross with me for long. How I wish you could be here playing Florence Nightingale for me now instead of the rather severe matron, who won’t let me sing after lights out.
You will have guessed by now that the friend I refer to is Wesley Robson. I hope in time you can bury the bad feeling that was created by your father’s tragic death. Often in life we wish we could have done things differently and I know Wesley regrets much of his callow behaviour when first in India. He has a high regard for you and, I believe, deep affection. Why else would he keep asking me to talk of you? It would be splendid for me when I return if you
both could be friends.
Clarrie, how I long for that day! I can think of nothing else but coming home toot sweet to you and the family, to Newcastle and all my dear friends. Until then, I send you my fondest love,
Will.’
Clutching the letter, Clarrie let out a soft moan. Dear, beloved Will! It was like receiving a message from beyond the grave; her stepson’s irrepressible presence conjured up by the affectionate words. But what words! All along, it had been Wesley not Will who had saved the cafe and her livelihood — saved her sanity. For if she had lost her home yet again at such a time, she might have given up completely. If only she had known this earlier, she would never have argued so violently with Wesley the day before or said such hurtful things.
‘Well?’ Verity said with a nervous smile.
‘You knew about this?’
Verity blushed. ‘Naturally, we had to go through all his things.’
Clarrie felt anger ignite after the shock of revelation. ‘I pleaded with Bertie to give me something of Will’s as a keepsake, yet you didn’t even have the decency to give me the letter he wrote to me — his last letter!’
‘I’m sorry, it was wrong of us, I see that now,’ Verity gabbled, ‘but I thought it was only a matter of time before you found out anyway. I can’t believe Wesley Robson has been able to resist telling you of his grand gesture. Especially when he’s been up here recently seeing to business before going abroad.’
Clarrie gave her a sharp look. ‘Have you been asking him for money too?’
‘Well he is a relation.’ Verity said defensively. ‘And we thought if he could bail you out when you’re not even family, he could do the same for us.’
‘But he didn’t?’
Verity looked tearful. ‘He was quite offensive — told Bertie to act like a man and get himself an honest job — as if he were some common labourer.’
Clarrie could just imagine Wesley’s contemptuous look as he said it. ‘Does Bertie know you’re here?’ she asked.
Verity nodded.
Clarrie could not hide her revulsion. ‘Too cowardly to come himself, so he sends his wife to beg for him.’
THE TEA PLANTER'S DAUGHTER:A wonderfully moving story of courage and enduring love: First in the India Tea Series Page 40
