‘Here come the Bolshies; Khan and McGinty,’ Jimmy greeted them drunkenly. ‘Come to spoil our fun, eh?’
‘Oh shut up Jimmy,’ Nell said.
But Rafi and Ian were unperturbed. ‘Enjoy your bourgeois pursuits while you can, Scott,’ Rafi said mildly, raising his glass of beer and blowing out cigarette smoke. ‘Come the revolution, we’ll put in a word for you with the commissariat.’
‘Don’t make fun o’ me,’ Jimmy slurred.
‘Come and sit next to me Rafi,’ Nell ordered, ‘and tell me about the Empire debate I missed. Tam said you had to give the case for colonial rule. What on earth did you say to win it?’
‘Just spouted forth about the benefits of benign Mughal emperors,’ Rafi said dryly.
‘Not quite what they were expecting,’ Tam grunted.
‘Makes a change from Britishers going on about railways and missionaries,’ said Ian McGinty.
This seemed to rile Jimmy, who was swaying possessively over Nell. ‘Khan! You drinking liquor, are you? Thought you Mohammedans weren’t supposed to touch a drop.’
Rafi raised his glass. ‘Benefits of the Empire, Scott.’
‘Bloody hypocrite,’ Jimmy snarled. ‘S’prised they let you in.’
McGinty stepped towards him aggressively. ‘And why shouldn’t they? He’s as much right to come in here as any of us.’
Jimmy lurched forward and spat out the words, ‘cos he’s a bloody wog.’
In a flash, Tam was out of his seat, face contorted in fury.
‘Bastard!’ he thundered, drew back his fist and landed a punch on Jimmy’s nose. Jimmy reeled backwards and fell to the floor. Tam went for him again but Boz and Rafi intervened, blocking his way and holding him back. The beefy rower pulled Jimmy up.
‘Get him out of here,’ Nell ordered, ‘before we all get thrown out.’
Jimmy began to protest but Boz was quick to take his other arm. ‘You’re drunk; hame time.’
Jimmy was swiftly marched from the hall, clutching his face. It was so quickly over that Sophie could hardly believe it had happened. No one beyond their table appeared to have noticed. Tam stood, breathing hard, his fists still bunched.
McGinty said, ‘Well done Telfer – time someone kicked his imperialist backside.’
Rafi’s expression was hard to decipher. Sophie thought he looked more concerned about Tam than himself. Without a word, he put a hand on Tam’s shoulder and guided him into a chair. Tam sat staring, clutching the chair arms while he calmed down. There was an awkwardness around the table. Nell stood up and said, ‘Come on Rafi, let’s dance.’
They moved off and Sophie watched them until they melted into the throng of dancers. She felt funny watching Nell and Rafi dance together; the violence had upset her and her emotions were all at sea. Boz returned.
‘Brown’s taken him home tae his digs. He’ll no remember much in the morning. You all right, Tam?’
Tam nodded. Boz looked at Sophie. ‘And you?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She reached for her drink, her hand shaking, and took a long gulp. Boz looked about to say something else, but Tam abruptly stood up.
‘Ladies,’ he addressed Sophie and Catherine, ‘I’m sorry for my barrack-room behaviour.’ He stared at his knuckles as if they did not belong to him. ‘Please forgive me.’
Catherine waved away his apology. ‘Jimmy over-stepped the mark. She held out a hand to Boz. ‘Take me for a tango; we’re equally bad at it.’
Left alone, Sophie and Tam regarded each other. ‘I’ve spoilt your evening, haven’t I?’ Tam looked contrite.
‘No,’ said Sophie, ‘Jimmy did that. And it hasn’t really been spoilt – I’ve been having such a grand evening.’
Tam looked drained. ‘Do you mind if we went now?’
Sophie hid her reluctance. ‘Of course not.’
Outside, the rain had stopped. Tam revived in the cool air, his former good humour returning.
‘Let me walk you home.’
‘It’s out of your way.’
‘I enjoy walking and your aunt will expect me to deliver you safely to your door, won’t she?’
‘Yes,’ Sophie agreed.
‘Come on, Miss Logan,’ he smiled. ‘I don’t want Miss Anderson to find an excuse not to let me take you out dancing again.’
They walked arm in arm across Bruntsfield Links and on through the Meadows, the malty smell of the breweries strong on the night breeze.
‘You were brave standing up for Rafi,’ Sophie said.
‘Nothing brave about it. Scott was being a boor in front of you ladies. He drinks too much.’
His expression tightened and she wished she hadn’t mentioned it.
‘You hardly touched a drop all evening.’
‘Liquor’s bad for you; my father died of it.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It was a long time ago.’ Tam brushed aside her sympathy. ‘Besides, Rafi’s a good friend; he’s twice the man Jimmy Scott will ever be. There’s a bond between men like me and Rafi and Boz – boys who made it through the Flanders war. I wasn’t going to stand by and see him insulted.’
Sophie squeezed his arm. ‘And I admire you all the more for it.’
He stopped and pulled her round to face him, tilting her chin. Sophie’s heart thumped at his closeness. Was he about to kiss her? He gazed intently into her eyes. Sophie swallowed, willing him to press his firm mouth to hers.
‘I’m not worthy of your admiration,’ he said, stepping back.
She felt a wave of disappointment. They carried on walking, Tam making light conversation about Boz and his craving for toffee during the war.
‘Rafi says Boz will love all the sweetmeats when we get to India – that’s if we all pass the exams.’
Sophie didn’t want to talk about Rafi and Boz and exams, or think about Tam disappearing off to India. She wanted Tam to kiss her. She was full of frustration and longing. Surely he could tell?
At the door to her tenement, Tam raised her hand to his lips and gave it a light kiss. He was so gentle that it was hard to believe this was the same man who had lost his temper in an instant with his fellow rower.
‘I’ve enjoyed tonight, Miss Logan. You’re a natural dancer.’
‘I’ve enjoyed it too,’ Sophie said, fearful he would turn and walk off without making any promise to see her again. ‘Tam, how about that game of tennis during the week?’
‘Tennis?’
‘Racquets at dawn, remember?’
He studied her a moment. ‘Of course. I’d like that.’
‘Monday?’ she suggested.
‘I study Hindustani with Downs on Mondays – old hand from the Punjab.’
‘Oh.’ She waited.
‘What about Tuesday after your day at the office?’
‘Yes,’ she said at once.
‘Good,’ he smiled.
‘Thank you for a magical evening,’ she said, ‘the Palais was even better than I could have imagined.’
‘Well, in you go. I want to see you safely inside and duty done.’ He gave a self-mocking salute.
Sophie opened the door. ‘Thanks again.’ She stepped inside but watched him as he walked away, softly whistling a dance tune. The scar on his head caught in the light of the street lamp. It was a sudden reminder that, young though he was, Tam must have seen and done things that no young man should be expected to endure. She wondered how he had got such a wound but suspected he would resent her asking. Every time he brushed his thick hair around the bald patch it must remind him of war.
Later, she lay in bed unable to sleep, the music going round in her head and images of Tam’s handsome face smiling down at her. He liked her, of that she was sure. But there was a reticence about him. Perhaps he didn’t want to become romantically involved when in a few short weeks he would be sailing for India and a new life? She felt a stab of envy that he would be going to live in the land of her childhood, but it was madness to allow any feelings for Tam; she had manage
d so well up until now not to allow any man into her heart. Those you loved too deeply you lost.
As she lay tossing about in her narrow bed, Sophie feared her attraction to Tam was too strong to resist.
Chapter 9
Sophie woke with a start in the early light. She had hardly slept. What had woken her? The image in her head on waking had not been Tam, but Nell dancing with Rafi, moving like swaying grass across the ballroom floor.
Keep away from the grass huts where the natives live. Her father had told her that, she was sure of it. She remembered running across an emerald green lawn and down a dusty track with someone chasing her. It was thrilling and she was laughing. Ahead lay jungle and a pool of brown water where children were splashing and playing. Keep away! She’d wanted to join in; she could almost recall the hot pungent smell of ox dung and flowers, hear the shrieks and laughter. On the point of reaching them, someone pulled her back and smacked her legs. She was led bawling back up the track.
Keep her away from there! Her father’s furious red face. No daughter of mine plays with wogs.
Sophie sat up, trying to shake off the dream. Or had it really happened? Deep down, she knew it to be true. The incident at the Palais between Jimmy Scott and Rafi – the derogatory name Jimmy had used to insult Rafi – was the same one she remembered her father using. It was a common enough term but it made her sad to think of her father shouting it out for all to hear. And she had no memory of ever playing with Indian children, before or after.
Sophie got up, made a pot of tea and sat at the sitting-room window watching a watery yellow dawn behind the dark crags in Holyrood Park. She wished it was an office day. Work would shake off her strange, sad mood; keeping busy always did chase the blues away. She would go to kirk with her aunt and then take her for a spin in The Memsahib if the rain held off.
Washing in cold water, she dressed, brushed out last night’s curls and took a cup of tea into Amy’s room to wake her.
Later that day, stopping for a picnic tea in the Pentland Hills with a hazy view over all Edinburgh and beyond to the Forth, Sophie regaled her aunt with the details of the dance but made no mention of Jimmy’s drunken behaviour or Tam’s aggressive response in case Amy stopped her going again.
‘You seem very taken with this Tam Telfer,’ Amy said.
‘He’s invited me to play tennis on Tuesday,’ Sophie smiled.
‘Singles or doubles with the other boys?’
‘Singles.’
Amy gave a direct look. ‘I wonder why Mr Telfer did not call or write to you after he said he would at Carter Bar? I hope it’s not just because Mr Boswell was showing an interest in you that Mr Telfer has too.’
Sophie was hurt at the suggestion. ‘Tam’s not like that. He was busy with lectures and then took his mother and sister to Paris; there was no opportunity.’
‘Is it really wise to let yourself become attached to a man who is soon to leave the country?’
‘Auntie!’ Sophie was impatient. ‘I can’t help who I fall in love with can I?’
Amy patted her hand. ‘I just want you to be cautious. I’m prepared to be won over. And judging by the pink colour he brings to your cheeks by just the mention of his name; it’s high time you brought him round to tea.’
‘Thank you, Auntie,’ Sophie grinned.
As they packed up to leave, Sophie said, ‘I had a dream about India last night – it might have been a memory.’
‘Was it a nice dream?’
‘Not very. I was running away and got smacked and there were children playing but I wasn’t allowed to join in. But the colour of the grass and the flowers was so bright I wanted the dream to carry on.’
‘Was the place familiar?’ Amy asked.
‘Perhaps,’ Sophie shrugged. ‘My father was there.’ She gave a troubled look. ‘What was he like?’
‘I didn’t meet him for very long,’ Amy said.
‘You must have had an impression at least?’
‘He was quite handsome and very in love with your mother,’ Amy admitted. ‘Old-fashioned in his ways, though. A woman’s place is in the home where her husband is master, sort of attitude. But then I think the British in India lag behind us by a generation in social progress. Bill Logan certainly didn’t approve of my suffrage activities,’ Amy laughed, ‘or my spinsterhood and independence!’
She saw her niece’s sad expression and tried to think of something positive to say about her brother-in-law. ‘But he was a family man and Jessie wrote after your birth to say how pleased he was to be a father.’
‘Really?’ Sophie sighed. ‘I just wish I could remember him being like that.’
Buttoning up her cycle jacket, a thought struck her.
‘Auntie, did you keep any of my mother’s letters?’
Amy paused. ‘There may be one or two,’ she gave a vague shrug, ‘but she wasn’t a great correspondent – and after you were born she only wrote at Christmas and birthdays.’ She kept to herself the suspicion that Logan intercepted his wife’s letters and that some never got sent, for Jessie referred to events and people in her Christmas cards that she expected Amy to know about. And there was that last despairing letter from her sister that she shouldn’t really have kept. Guilt that she hadn’t kept in better touch with Jessie overwhelmed her anew.
‘I hadn’t heard from your mother in months that year that she died,’ Amy confessed. ‘But then your father had moved you all to somewhere more remote and I assumed the postal service was non-existent.’
‘We moved away from the Oxford estate?’ Sophie asked in surprise. ‘Where to?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Amy frowned. ‘Somewhere further into the hills. It was your father who wrote and told me – said your mother’s health was growing delicate and the cooler air would do her good. That’s why it was even more tragic that they both died of enteric fever there.’
Sophie had a sudden vivid picture of peering through a sun-bleached balcony overgrown with flowering creepers with nothing beyond but trees and jungle. Dressed in a party frock, she’d been waiting impatiently for something or someone. There had been a lot of loud drumming and fireworks; she’d thought they were especially for her.
‘I think I remember a bungalow in the hills,’ Sophie struggled with the fading image. ‘Yes, it was my birthday because I wanted a party but Mother told me I couldn’t – it was too far for anyone to come. That must have been the place, mustn’t it? The place where my parents died?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘Can you remember where my father said it was, Auntie Amy?’
Amy shook her head. ‘Not the area – but I remember the name of the house because it was pretty: White Blossom Cottage.’
‘White Blossom Cottage,’ Sophie murmured. ‘Doesn’t sound very Indian.’
‘Come on,’ Amy became brisk, ‘it doesn’t do to dwell on the past. I wish your mother had never gone to India, but it’s no good having regrets for things you can’t undo. Scotland is your home, dearie, so be thankful for that.’
***
The Tuesday tennis was rained off but Sophie invited Tam back to tea to meet Auntie Amy anyway. He was charming and talkative and very admiring of her woodwork, promising to source some beech wood for her next commission. They talked about trees and Switzerland while Sophie refilled the teapot and buttered more scones. He didn’t seem to mind the barrage of questions from her aunt.
‘And why have you chosen India for your forestry career?’ Amy asked.
‘It’s my second choice,’ Tam was candid. ‘I had hoped to go to America but that didn’t come off. But India offers very good prospects; they have the best forestry service in the Empire. I expect to be a full conservator by the time I’m thirty and an expert in silviculture by thirty-five. I’m already writing articles on all aspects of forestry and getting paid for it. I plan to become an authority so that my expertise will be in demand anywhere in the world.’
Sophie was surprised at the passion with which he spoke about
his future and she envied him his single-mindedness. Her aunt though, had that steely look in her eye.
‘I must say, I like a man who knows his own mind,’ Amy said, ‘and there’s nothing wrong with a wee bit of ambition ...’
‘But?’ Tam cocked his head. ‘You think I’m getting ahead of myself?’
‘All you young people seem impatient these days,’ Amy laughed. ‘Just take time to enjoy life too.’
‘I intend to,’ Tam grinned. ‘There’s plenty of tennis and dancing in India, from what I hear. Work hard, play harder; that’s Telfer’s motto.’
Sophie avoided her aunt’s enquiring look; she had no idea if she fitted into Tam’s grand plans at all. The thought of going back out to India was both frightening and thrilling. She hardly dared hope it might happen.
Yet after that meeting with Auntie Amy, Sophie saw Tam almost every day for the next two weeks. She took time off work so they could play tennis and walk along Salisbury Crags; if it rained they went ice-skating at Murrayfield ice rink. He took her to tea dances at the North British hotel and she took him to a concert at the Usher Hall.
‘Not very keen on this classical stuff,’ Tam was frank, so they left at the interval. But when her employer Miss Gorrie gave her spare tickets to Gilbert and Sullivan’s Pirates of Penzance, Tam clapped and whistled with enthusiasm. On the Saturday, they took off on The Memsahib for a trip to the beach at North Berwick, ate fish and chips, and then dashed back in time to change and go dancing at The Palais. For above all, they loved to dance together. Each was as passionate as the other. With no other partner had Sophie felt as if she was melded together with another being as much as she did gliding and swirling around the dance floor in Tam’s arms.
Sometimes they would meet up with Tam’s other friends but Sophie was always impatient to have him to herself. It was after their long day out to North Berwick and the dance hall that Tam, walking her home across The Meadows in the summer half-dark, pulled her under a tree and asked, ‘Sophie, can I kiss you?’
‘Oh Tam, I’ve been longing for this!’
‘You have?’
‘Yes,’ she smiled.
He put his arms around her, squeezing her close, and fastened his mouth onto hers. His kiss was firm and energetic and went on for so long that Sophie was light-headed and gasping for breath when he finally broke away.
THE PLANTER'S BRIDE: A story of intrigue and passion: sequel to THE TEA PLANTER'S DAUGHTER (India Tea Series Book 2) Page 9
