Sophie squeezed his hand, her eyes filling with gratitude. ‘Thanks Tam, of course I’d love to meet them.’
***
The days that followed were a blur to Sophie. The Watsons stayed to help sort the flat which was rented and had to be cleared by the end of the month. Sophie, who could no longer afford to stay on in Clerk Street, was to move to two rooms above Miss Gorrie’s office, kindly provided rent-free by her employer. Walter removed the wood from her aunt’s workshop, while Mona and Tilly packed up Amy’s clothes and books to be sold or go to charity. Their mother declared it was too much of a strain to have to dismantle her cousin’s household having just done so to her own, and sat by the sitting-room window crying into a lace handkerchief and bemoaning their family fate.
‘My dear husband gone – and now Cousin Amy,’ she sniffled, ‘and Johnny so far away. I know I’ll not live long enough to see him again!’
‘Nonsense Mother,’ Mona scolded, ‘you’ll outlive the rest of us. You should be thankful for small mercies; you have Walter and I looking after your every need. Sophie’s on her own now and look how brave she is being.’
Sophie didn’t feel brave; she felt numb and empty like the small girl who had sailed back from India, shocked at how quickly life could change for the worse and anxious at what new terror lay ahead. She had forgotten those deep feelings of fear and loss – she managed to smother them during the daytime and put on a stoical face – but at night they rose up and threatened to overwhelm her once more. When she did fall into exhausted sleep, she would wake feeling suffocated as if she were buried alive in a hot tomb.
Tilly would hush her and calm her with comforting words. ‘You’ve just had a bad dream; you’re quite safe. Go back to sleep.’
What she could say to no one was her dread of going to live in two small rooms by herself. The claustrophobia that had plagued her as a child had returned and the thought of living hemmed in by other tall, soot-blackened tenements with no view of the crags in the King’s Park, filled her with dread. Yet she felt ungrateful for even thinking it.
But it was Tam who saved her sanity. He came often to visit; breaking off from his revision at the library to take her for a walk or a picnic tea. The Sunday after the funeral, Sophie went over to the Telfers’ home in Roseburn – a spartan first floor flat – where she was welcomed by two tall beaky-nosed women with the same startlingly direct blue gaze as Tam’s. Sophie was surprised at their dowdy appearance and modest surroundings; Tam was always dressed immaculately in expensive clothes and spending freely. But Mrs Telfer fussed around her while Flora served up a tea of salad and baked potatoes.
‘We’re vegetarian,’ Flora told her, ‘and we enjoy very good health. That’s also because we practise Christian Science. We’d be happy to work on you in our prayers. You must be feeling very lost and bereft just now.’
Sophie gulped, her eyes filling with tears. She hadn’t expected such directness.
‘Flora,’ Tam warned, ‘you promised not to mention C.S. for at least the first half hour. You’re not to frighten Sophie away.’
‘I don’t mean to be frightening,’ Flora said, looking surprised. ‘I’m not frightening you, am I, dearie?’
‘No,’ Sophie said, then a sob heaved inside. It was her use of Amy’s endearment that made her crumble.
Flora rushed around the tea table and thrust a white napkin at Sophie. ‘Go on, dearie, let it out. It’s your inner self telling you to let go of your sorrow. You haven’t lost her,’ Flora assured, putting an arm about her shoulders, ‘her spirit still lingers keeping watch over you.’
Tam looked on anxiously as Sophie cried and the women took command and prayed over her. Within minutes, Sophie felt as if a huge weight had been dislodged from deep inside. She felt light-headed and suddenly hungry for the first time in over a week.
After that she ate everything they put in front of her and talked for an age about her aunt.
‘I feel so guilty that I left her,’ Sophie confessed. ‘We’d had a disagreement and I was cross with her, so left her out of our trip. If only I’d come back sooner or hadn’t gone at all ...’
‘You can’t be to blame,’ said Mrs Telfer, ‘it was your aunt’s decision too.’
‘That’s what I’ve been telling her,’ said Tam. ‘Sophie’s aunt was quite strong-minded enough to have gone if she’d really wanted. She was just giving you and Tilly a trip to yourselves, while you can still see each other.’
‘What was the disagreement about?’ Flora asked.
Sophie blushed; she could never admit it had been over Tam.
‘Nothing important,’ she replied. Flora gave her a penetrating look.
‘Well, you’ll have no peace of mind if you can’t forgive yourself. So you must try. And we will keep you in our thoughts when we are doing our Science, and think positively about you so you will be able to bear your loss.’ She gave a sudden flash of a smile. ‘Now, more stewed rhubarb and shortbread?’
Later, as Tam walked her home, Sophie slipped her arm through his. ‘What kind people you Telfers are. Your mother is sweet and I do like Flora; she’s refreshingly different. I must admit I was nervous at meeting her – Boz made it clear your sister’s approval was very important to you.’
Tam snorted. ‘So you weren’t put off by my relations?’
‘Not at all,’ Sophie said, ‘they were delightful.’
‘Well, I can tell Flora likes you too,’ Tam smiled, kissing her forehead.
The following week, Mona took her mother back to Dunbar, Walter having gone a few days earlier. Tilly agreed to stay on until Sophie moved into her smaller quarters further into town. ‘It’s too sad without Auntie,’ Sophie admitted, ‘and I can’t bear to go into her workroom – the thought of her lying in that room–’
‘I understand,’ Tilly said, ‘I’ll stay as long as you need me.’
With a few days to go before Tam and his fellow forestry students took the train to Oxford to sit their exams, Tam came rushing round at the end of the day.
‘It’s a perfect evening,’ he enthused, ‘I’ve got a flask of coffee and some of Flora’s shortbread and we’re going to climb the crags and see the sun setting. I’ve had enough of studying.’
At once, Sophie’s spirits lifted and she grabbed her jacket.
‘Tilly, do you want to come too?’ Tam asked.
Tilly saw the look on Sophie’s face and saw her eagerness to be alone with Tam.
‘No thanks, you know I hate walking unless it’s into shops or the theatre. I’ll be happy here with Auntie Amy’s Walter Scott novels.’
Sophie smiled. It had been a source of amusement for her – and argument with Mona – that Tilly had unpacked most of Amy’s novels and was re-reading them. Sophie had overruled Mona and said Tilly was to keep whichever ones she wanted.
Tam blew Tilly a kiss, took Sophie’s hand and pulled her impatiently from the flat.
***
Quarter of an hour later, Tilly was disturbed by a knock at the door. She opened it saying, ‘What did you forget then–? Oh,’ she stopped in mid-sentence, ‘sorry, I thought it was Sophie returning.’
The broad-shouldered good-looking Indian from Tam’s course stood on the doorstep.
‘I’m Rafi Khan,’ he gave a nod that wasn’t quite a bow. ‘If Miss Logan’s out I can return another time.’
‘No, please come in. I’m Cousin Tilly Watson – no that’s wrong – Tilly Robson now – I’m still not used to my married name.’
‘Yes, I thought so.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m just returning a book.’
‘What book?’
He held it up. ‘Poetry. A collection of Scottish ballads.’
‘Oh, I love ballads. Sophie and I used to act them out when we were children. She always gave herself the hero’s part and I’d be the one who got drowned in a bog or fell off a horse.’
Rafi smiled at this. ‘Sounds like me and my brothers – we’d act out the battles of Alexander the Great or the Moghul em
perors – and I’d always be the messenger or foot soldier who got killed at the start.’
‘A fellow peasant like me,’ Tilly laughed, ‘please come in. As I’m a happily married woman there’s nothing improper in visiting without Sophie here. I have cold tea or homemade lemonade for weary foot soldiers.’
Rafi chose lemonade and Tilly served it at the table in the window. He took a gulp and said, ‘delicious. Miss Anderson gave me this the last time I called – told me her recipe.’
‘You’ve been before?’ Tilly asked. ‘Sophie never mentioned it.’
Rafi studied his glass. ‘No, I came when she was out. It was Miss Anderson who invited me – she was your aunt too?’
‘My mother’s cousin actually,’ Tilly corrected, ‘though I always called her Auntie.’
‘I played tennis with your Auntie against Boz and Miss Logan a few weeks ago. I walked Miss Anderson home and she invited me in for lemonade. We talked about poetry and music – she was very knowledgeable and good company – and she invited me back on a couple of occasions.’
‘So it was Auntie Amy who leant you the book of ballads, not Sophie?’
Rafi nodded. ‘I gave her a translation of Persian poems and she gave me the ballads.’ He glugged at his drink. ‘I thought I should return the ballads – they belong to Miss Logan now.’
‘I think you should keep them,’ Tilly said, ‘after all, Auntie Amy wanted you to have them and Sophie won’t have room to store very much in her new lodgings.’
‘So she won’t be staying here?’ asked Rafi; he’d noticed the bare bookshelves when he’d entered the room.
‘No, she can’t afford it. Her employer is giving her a smaller flat. I wish I could offer her a home,’ Tilly sighed, ‘but I’m going to be starting a new life in Assam soon. That’s where Sophie lived till she was six. You did know her parents died of fever in the tea gardens, didn’t you?’
Rafi nodded. ‘Yes, I got the impression she’d like to go back there one day. She said something once about laying ghosts to rest.’
‘Did she? That’s interesting. Poor Sophie.’
‘It surprised me, as I thought she disliked all things Indian.’ He reached for a squashed packet of cigarettes and offered her one, asking, ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
‘I don’t smoke, thank you – but please go ahead.’ She fetched a small brass ashtray.
‘Made in Benares,’ Rafi said, taking it from her and tracing a finger across the metalwork. ‘I don’t think your aunt was keen for her to go. Mind you, Miss Anderson was fascinated by Indian politics and wanted to discuss the Quit India campaign and women’s emancipation. I’m afraid I was a big disappointment,’ Rafi gave a wry smile, ‘as I knew more about what was going on in politics here than in India. After that we stuck to poetry.’
Tilly laughed. ‘Dear Auntie Amy.’ She poured him some more lemonade. ‘But what did you mean by saying Sophie dislikes things Indian?’
Rafi blew out smoke and considered his reply. He shrugged. ‘Just her manner. She may not have lived in India since she was six but she has imbibed the ethos of the Raj – the way of looking down her nose at us colonial subjects – we’re not quite pukka.’ His tone was self-mocking.
‘I’m sure you’re wrong about that,’ Tilly defended her friend. ‘Sophie is the most warm-hearted person I know. Not stuffy at all. You must have got her on a bad day.’
Rafi laughed. ‘I’m glad to hear it. And I’m happy to be proved wrong. You know her far better than I.’
‘She’s out with Tam just now,’ Tilly confided, pointing at the crags, ‘having a picnic in the gloaming. Isn’t that romantic?’
Rafi gazed out at the rocky precipice glowing in the dying September sun. He felt envy twist his guts. ‘Very.’
‘Do you think Tam might pop the question?’ Tilly asked excitedly. ‘It would be the answer to my prayers if he did, then Sophie wouldn’t have to go and live in that poky flat and she could come out to India and be near me. Wouldn’t that be just grand? Perhaps he’s told you his plans? Is Tam going to propose to Sophie? Please tell me if you know!’
Rafi’s eyes widened in shock. ‘I’d be very surprised. I think Tam is–’
He stopped himself.
‘Tam is what?’ Tilly frowned.
Rafi thought of the argument between Boz and Tam over a woman they both knew in France with whom Tam was in love. Rafi had stayed out of it but he knew it was a source of friction between the two friends. Boz thought Tam was stringing Sophie along and wasn’t serious about her.
‘Tam is his own man,’ Rafi said hastily. ‘He wouldn’t confide such things in me, I’m sure.’
He stubbed out his cigarette and immediately lit another one, annoyed with himself for minding. It was obvious Sophie Logan hardly noticed his existence, whereas he couldn’t get her lively brown eyes and sensual smile out of his mind, try as he might. He was sure that her shrewd aunt had understood.
‘Sorry,’ Tilly said at once. ‘I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position.’
‘You haven’t. I don’t know what Tam’s intentions are, though nothing would surprise me – he’s a very impulsive man.’
‘So is Sophie,’ Tilly said. ‘Impulsive, not a man obviously.’
Abruptly Rafi laughed. ‘It must run in the family – I hear you married very quickly too, Mrs Robson?’
Tilly blushed and giggled. ‘Yes, I did. I can’t wait to go out to Assam and join my husband. It all sounds so romantic out there – tiger hunts and tea parties and glorious sunsets while sipping chota pegs on the veranda. You see, I’m already learning the lingo. And there will be so many exciting new stamps.’
‘Stamps?’ Rafi asked in bemusement.
‘Yes, postage stamps. I collect them you see.’
‘Ah,’ Rafi nodded, ‘I used to collect them as a boy too.’
‘Did you? Perhaps we could swap some?’
‘I’m afraid I threw mine away.’
‘Threw them away!’ Tilly looked scandalised. ‘How could you?’
Rafi looked sheepish. ‘Well, they lost their gum in the heat and the album went mouldy in the humidity.’
‘Oh dear,’ Tilly was dismayed.
‘But then I discovered poetry,’ he smiled. ‘At least if you learn it by heart, it doesn’t matter if the book rots.’
Tilly laughed and hoped he was joking about books rotting.
‘Well I’m sure that won’t happen where I’ll be living. Mr Robson says the climate is perfect. Are you looking forward to going home, Mr Khan?’
He studied her. He felt as at home in Edinburgh as anywhere; this was where he had come on leave from the war with his comrade McGinty and been accepted into his family. It’s where his social conscience had been pricked and where he had learnt his politics from McGinty’s socialist and bohemian friends. It’s where he had learnt about jazz and to dance the foxtrot and drink beer and flirt with women (though the first woman he had ever made love to was the daughter of a French farmer in whose half derelict house he had been billeted before Passchendaele). But it was useless to try and explain; people got embarrassed when he declared Scotland was his home.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing my family again,’ Rafi said, then immediately changed the subject. ‘Tell me what you are reading at the moment. I noticed that Walter Scott’s Waverley was open on the table when we came in.’
‘Oh, Walter Scott,’ Tilly enthused, ‘isn’t he just one of the most romantic writers that ever put pen to paper?’
***
Tam and Sophie sat at the top of Arthur’s Seat, the hill that dominated the city’s skyline, catching their breath after the steep climb and gazing at the fiery horizon. The houses lay in a smoky haze but beyond was a clear view to the Firth of Forth and the distant hills.
‘I’ve never seen it so beautiful,’ Sophie gasped, seating herself on a rock. Tam poured coffee into two beakers and handed her one.
‘Nor I,’ he smiled. The look he gave her made her heart
continue to race.
They shared out Flora’s shortbread from a battered tin while Tam talked animatedly about nearing the end of his degree and the job to come.
‘I’ve been reading up as much as I can about India and the forestry service; there is so much that can be done. Do you know there are over a hundred and fifty different types of timber tree growing there? And those are the ones they know about. There are vast untapped areas in the Himalayas and beyond. One of the challenges is how to extract the timber once it’s grown, of course; these places are so remote. But I can’t wait to travel to the mountains; it’ll be like Switzerland but on a much grander scale.’
He blew hard on the hot coffee and slurped. ‘Old Downs, my Hindustani teacher, says there’ll be ample work for me in the Punjab without having to go trekking into the wilds,’ Tam said, ‘but I’m not going to make a name for myself by sitting in some dusty office compiling figures, am I? I’m going to get out into the forests and learn as much as I can. And there’ll be plenty of opportunity for sport – bird shoots and game hunting – and getting back in the saddle.’
‘It all sounds wonderful,’ Sophie murmured.
She saw how his face came alive when he talked of his future work and felt a bitter-sweet longing. She was glad he had found his calling in life, yet was envious that he had such an opportunity. She too felt excitement at his talk of exploring the Himalayas, of riding and sport in the hills. Yet, her future would be confined to office work with the occasional spin on her ancient motorcycle at weekends. Suddenly she couldn’t bear the thought. The strength of her yearning to go back to India was overwhelming.
‘Oh, Tam – take me with you.’
A breeze was stiffening around them and a crescent moon lifting into the darkening sky behind. The coffee was finished. She felt foolish for asking; it wasn’t how things were supposed to be done. His silence told her he was embarrassed to be put on the spot.
Tam said nothing as he packed away the empty beakers. He had set out this evening to tell Sophie that although he cared for her, his heart had been lost to another long ago. Better for her to find a kind man like Boz who could give himself wholeheartedly for that’s what she deserved. But the more he talked about his pending adventure, the more he saw how suitable the Logan girl would be as his wife. She understood India; she was attractive and sociable and appeared to be in love with him. It would bring his sore heart a bit of solace after his rejection in France by the beautiful, unattainable Nancy.
THE PLANTER'S BRIDE: A story of intrigue and passion: sequel to THE TEA PLANTER'S DAUGHTER (India Tea Series Book 2) Page 12
