She shrugged, staring over his shoulder at the twenty-foot white spray flying against the wall and bouncing back as foam. The fierce movement of the sea and the pounding noise echoed her own restless anxiety. He kissed the top of her head and seemed to be trying to keep the worry from his voice.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ she said as they walked along the sandy carriageway that edged the lawn, and with their backs to the sea watched a perfect scarlet sunset. When they turned round the ocean had turned to liquid gold, though further out black clouds were slowly gathering again.
‘Please don’t worry, Gwen. Just look after yourself and Hugh. I can do the worrying for both of us. Have faith. We will withstand this blow.’
The next morning, the weather was too inclement to take breakfast on the long hotel verandah overlooking the lawns; the sunrise over the sea had been unexceptional and now they sat among the potted palms of the lounge. She listened to the clink of teacups on saucers and watched well-fed Europeans chatting as they sipped their tea and buttered their toast, smiling and nodding without a care. She had hardly slept. The ocean had been too loud and so had the thoughts in her head. She glanced at her own untouched breakfast, at the egg congealing and the bacon drying out. She attempted a bite of toast, but it tasted flavourless and felt like cardboard in her mouth.
She poured the tea and handed Laurence a cup.
For a moment she felt angry with him for listening to Christina. None of the other planters had followed suit, so why had he? Why did it have to be them who faced an uncertain future?
‘Time is getting on,’ he said as he picked up his hat, and then stood. ‘Aren’t you going to give me a farewell hug?’
She stood abruptly, ashamed of her flash of anger, and knocked over her full cup of tea. As a waiter hurried over to clear up the mess, Gwen hung back, keeping her eyes lowered to the ground and blinking rapidly. She had promised herself she would show Laurence a confident happy face, and under no circumstances was she going to cry.
‘Darling?’ Laurence said with raised brows. He held out his arms.
She barely noticed people looking, and wishing so much that he did not have to go, she ran to him then clung on with a kind of desperation. They drew apart and his fingertips brushed her cheek, solicitous and loving. Her heart filled with love for him and she felt the pain of his going.
‘We will be all right, won’t we?’ she whispered.
Did she imagine it or did he turn his head away before he answered? She needed him to be strong in a way that wasn’t really fair. Nobody could be sure where the world was heading now. Only yesterday a New York banker had thrown himself from the roof of the stock exchange. And though she longed to tell Laurence about the sadness she felt, and how she dreaded the way it would slip round her heart the moment he was gone, she kept her mouth shut.
‘Of course we will be all right,’ he said. ‘Just remember, no matter how you feel about it, there are set ways of doing things.’
She frowned and, tilting her head to the side, stepped back. ‘But are they always the right ways, Laurence?’
He puckered his chin. ‘Maybe not, but now is not the time for change.’
She didn’t want to argue just as he was leaving, but couldn’t help feeling irritated. ‘So, my opinion doesn’t count?’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘You implied as much.’
He shrugged. ‘I’m only trying to make things easier for you.’
‘For me or for you?’
He put on his hat. ‘I’m sorry, darling, let’s not quarrel. I really do have to go.’
‘You said I’d be in charge.’
‘Ultimately, you are. But allow yourself to be guided by Nick McGregor on matters of the estate. And, above all, remember I have faith in you, Gwen, and I trust you to make the right decisions.’
He hugged her again, while glancing at his watch.
‘And Verity?’
‘I’ll leave her to you.’
She nodded, fighting back the tears.
He moved off quickly, then, with a wide grin, he twisted back to wave. Her heart lurched, but she managed to lift her hand in return. For a moment after he had been driven away, she pretended he’d just gone for a stroll round the garden. But then her shoulders drooped. She’d miss him so much. Miss the familiar pattern of his breathing, miss the little looks that sometimes passed between them and the warmth she felt when he held her close.
She gave herself a talking to. There was no point wallowing, and their financial situation was something that had to be seen through until the end, though it seemed amazing that something that had happened as far away as America could have such a profound effect on her life, tucked away as she was on the little pearl drop that was Ceylon.
In the grand hall of the hotel, she glanced through the open doors again and, with some surprise, she saw Christina climbing into one of the new smaller-style Rolls-Royce cars. Part of her wanted to rush after Laurence to ensure the American wasn’t travelling on the same ship. The other part of her knew it would only make things worse and Laurence would think she didn’t trust him. She took a deep breath and decided to stock up on a few essential items for Hugh. Naveena skilfully cut down Laurence’s clothes for Hugh, but the child needed crayons and paper.
A little later, and just before she walked through the doors of the fancy red and cream brick-built building that was Cargills, a gnarled and wrinkled Tamil woman sidled up to her. She spoke rapidly and grinned, revealing a few black teeth with red tips. She spat on her palm then rubbed it against Gwen’s hand. The woman spoke again but still Gwen felt confused and glanced at the arched frontage of the store, itching to make her escape. As she turned away, the woman said ‘money’ in English. Gwen glanced down and saw the old lady carried a large curved bush-cutting knife under her arm. She delved into her purse and handed over some coins, then rubbed her hand on her skirt to remove the old lady’s spittle.
The incident stayed with her as she watched the team of brass polishers working on the metal vacuum tubes that slid the money up and down to a cashier on a higher floor. She bought the crayons and left.
With a general air of depression in the streets, the hum of the city had lessened somehow. It still smelt aromatic, of coconut, cinnamon and fried fish, but people looked thinner and more than usually dispirited, and fewer tea stalls lined the streets. She tried not to worry about what Laurence might be having to face alone – if he was facing it alone – but couldn’t help feel he hadn’t told her everything. She just hoped it was true that he would never have to sell the plantation. It had become her home, Hugh’s too, and they all loved it. Much as she missed England in a nostalgic sort of a way, she couldn’t imagine going back to live there, and could barely admit one of the reasons was that, if it happened, she would never know anything more about her daughter and would certainly never see her again.
As she walked through the Chinese bazaar on Chatham Street, she passed small fabric shops laden with silks, two or three herbalists and several shops selling lacquered goods. Pru Bertram was sitting in the window of a tea shop and waved at Gwen to come in, but Gwen tapped her watch and shook her head. Further on, more shops displayed Sinhalese brassware and delicate patterned glasses. Eventually she stood outside a jewellery shop, and from there could see McGregor drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited in the car a few yards down from the clock tower. She glanced at the shop window and paused. She looked a little closer; surely it couldn’t be, not after all this time? It couldn’t be. She narrowed her eyes to see more clearly, and held up a hand to protect her eyes from the sunlight. There had to be dozens that looked more or less the same, but still. She marched into the shop.
The jeweller handed her the bracelet for examination. She hesitated over the expense and haggled, but she could not leave it to be bought – and worn – by someone else. Hang the cost, she thought as she handed over the cash, and, after examining the
catch, she fastened the bracelet round her own wrist for safekeeping. Puzzled by how it had turned up like this, she carefully turned over each silver charm until she found Fran’s little Buddhist temple. Perhaps it was a good omen.
22
On the drive back home, Gwen couldn’t stop thinking about Fran. She missed her indomitable spirit and the way her chestnut hair shone as it swung. She missed her laughing blue eyes and would have given anything for a chance to bridge the gap that had opened up between them in London. Gwen felt as if something infinitely precious had been lost. She had no sister. Fran had been her sister, perhaps even more than a sister. They had, after all, shared much of their childhood, and had continued to be best of friends until Mr Ravasinghe had turned up in their lives.
She wanted to get the thought of that man out of her head, so while the rain held off for most of the way, she attempted to engage Nick McGregor in conversation, but with the engine vibrating so much, especially where the roads had been affected by the weather, it wasn’t easy.
‘I’m sorry we haven’t always seen eye to eye,’ she said during a lull.
‘Indeed,’ he said and changed the subject. ‘The state of these roads! They have improved over the years, but look at them. The monsoons break them up.’
‘So how are the labour lines in this kind of weather?’
‘It can be difficult, I’ll admit. The children do sicken.’
She frowned. ‘I thought we provided a medical clinic.’
‘It’s very rudimentary, Mrs Hooper. Just an estate pharmacist really.’
‘It’s not Doctor Partridge who runs it?’
He laughed. ‘Not for the Tamils. It’s a Sinhalese chap, up from Colombo. They don’t like him, mind, the Tamils.’
‘Why not?’
‘He’s Sinhalese, Mrs Hooper.’
She sighed with irritation. ‘Then get a Tamil doctor instead, one who maybe understands them better.’
‘Oh, he speaks Tamil all right.’
She glanced sideways at McGregor. ‘I wasn’t referring to their language. It was their culture I was speaking of.’
‘I’m afraid there is no Tamil doctor available. The next thing you’ll be wanting is to provide them with sickness pay when they aren’t able to work.’
‘Is that such a bad idea? Surely the welfare of the people matters.’
‘You don’t understand the native mind, my dear. If you give them what you suggest, they’ll all be complaining of some imaginary illness and lie about all day. We’d never get the tea plucked and processed.’
Gwen realized that, whatever she said, it would make no difference. Nick McGregor’s obstinate conviction in his own rightness was absolute.
‘And now with all the cuts I’m going to have to make, there’s no money for anything extra. No, my dear lady, best leave the labourers to me.’
‘Cuts, Mr McGregor?’
‘To the workforce. We’re going to be laying off two hundred, maybe more. A few have already gone.’
She shook her head. ‘I didn’t know. What will they do?’
‘Go back to India I expect.’
‘But some of them were born here. India isn’t their home.’
He glanced across at her and their eyes met briefly. ‘That isn’t my problem, Mrs Hooper.’
She thought of the beggar woman with the bush-cutting knife and felt a little ashamed. Perhaps the woman was one who had already been displaced. ‘I should like to learn their language.’
He inclined his head.
For several miles of tortuous hairpin bends and uphill roads there was silence, during which she looked out of the window at the heavy mists and thought of Laurence.
McGregor was the first to speak again.
‘You will miss your husband,’ he said.
She nodded and felt the tension building round her eyes. ‘I will, indeed. But what about you, do you have any family?’
‘My mother is still alive.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Edinburgh.’
‘But you’ve never been back in all the time I’ve been here.’
She glanced at McGregor as he shrugged. ‘We’re not close. The army was my family, until I injured my knee.’
‘That’s how you met Laurence?’
‘Yes, he gave me a job here, then during the war he left me in charge. I’m sorry if I may sometimes appear a little brusque, but I know the plantation inside and out. I ran the place for four years, and it’s sometimes difficult to accommodate the opinions of others.’
‘And you never married?’
‘If you don’t mind, Mrs Hooper, I’d rather not talk about it. We are not all lucky enough to find the right partner in life.’
The rest of the journey passed slowly, but they managed to arrive back by nightfall. Gwen was surprised to see Verity’s car still parked outside, and as she stood in the hall, she heard voices in the drawing room. Verity and a man, it seemed. Heels clicking, she marched to the drawing room and flung open the door.
Spew steamed quietly in his basket on the floor beside Mr Ravasinghe, who sat on a sofa, looking very relaxed and smoking a cigar. The shock of seeing him in her home jolted her and, suddenly disorientated, she wanted him gone.
‘Mr Ravasinghe,’ she managed to say. ‘I didn’t expect you to be here.’
He stood and bowed. ‘We took the dog for a walk. He does rather pong.’
She was shaking inside, so much so that she couldn’t believe it didn’t show, but when she spoke her voice remained level. ‘He normally stays in the boot room until he has dried off.’
‘Oh, that was my fault,’ Verity said with a smile. ‘Sorry.’
Gwen turned to face her sister-in-law. ‘I thought you’d have already left for Nuwara Eliya, Verity.’
‘Nuwara Eliya? Whatever for?’
‘To start your new job.’
Verity waved her hand in the air dismissively. ‘Oh, that! It all fell through.’
Already rattled by the glimpse of Christina in Colombo, and now horrified at seeing Savi Ravasinghe, Gwen drew in her breath. She had worked hard to get over her illness, had ensured that life at the plantation ran smoothly again, meals happened on time, rooms were cleaned in the correct order and the accounts all tallied, and yet Verity still managed to get under her skin.
‘Is it all right if Savi stays the night?’ Verity said with a wide grin. ‘I know you’ll say yes, because I’ve already asked one of the boys to make up a bed in the room next to mine. It would be too embarrassing if you said no now.’
Defeated for the moment, Gwen did not smile. She would have to choose her battles very carefully. She clasped her hands behind her back and dug a nail into the fleshy part of her hand, then, keeping very still, she replied. ‘Yes, of course Mr Ravasinghe must stay. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’ve had a rather long and tiring day. Is Hugh in bed?’
‘Yes. I gave Naveena the evening off and put him to bed myself. He and Wilf sung “Baa Baa Black Sheep” together.’ Verity glanced at Gwen’s wrist. ‘Goodness, that isn’t your cousin’s lost charm bracelet, is it? The one she made such a song and dance about?’
‘I’m very surprised you recognized it. Doesn’t one look much like another?’
‘I noticed the temple, that’s all. Was it here all the time?’
Gwen shook her head, making a mental note that Verity had paused before replying.
‘So where did it turn up?’
‘In a shop in Colombo.’
‘If you ask me, I think you should keep a watch on Naveena.’
Gwen clenched her jaw and left the room, not trusting herself to speak. The gall of the girl, she thought as she walked down the corridor. Naveena indeed! You might fool your brother, Verity, but I wouldn’t put it past you to have taken the bracelet yourself.
The next day the heat was building up earlier than usual, and the refreshing early-morning air had already thickened. Seeing Savi Ravasinghe had left a sour taste in Gwen’s mouth and brought
frightening memories flooding back. With her heart pounding for most of the night, she had barely slept, but anxious to avoid seeing him again before he left, she wanted to keep busy.
Though her body ached with tiredness, she decided to check on the cheesemaking, before it grew too hot. The kitchen boy who’d taken over from her while she had been ill had made a pretty good fist of it, but it was time she took charge again. In any case, she’d missed the sense of pride it gave her to actually produce something more than an embroidered cushion.
As she closed the side door and looked around the courtyard, it was with some satisfaction that she noticed the banks of bulbs she had planted were now in flower. It was surprising how well some of the English varieties grew here: roses, carnations, even sweet peas.
Hugh had come out with her and was pushing a trolley around.
‘Come on, Hugh,’ she said, still feeling jumpy but doing her best to contain it. ‘Do you want to see Mummy make the cheese?’
‘Nooooo. I want to play out here with Wilf.’
‘Very well, darling. But you know not to go into the trees, don’t you?’
‘Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.’
She laughed. ‘All right, I think I got that. Come and tell Mummy if you want to go back inside.’
She unlocked the door of the cheese room and then left it slightly ajar, so that she could hear Hugh, who was happily singing to himself. She looked about her. There was something indefinably soothing about making cheese and she smiled, happy to be in her own domain. Everything was tidy. The marble slab they stirred the milk on was spotlessly clean, but a faintly sour smell hung in the air and somebody had left the window open. That’s odd, she thought, we never leave it open.
She closed the window to stop flying insects contaminating the milk, then wiped down the surfaces to be sure they were still hygienic. She went over to the heavy milk churn, and only managing to shift it to one side, she noticed a spillage on the floor, just behind where it had been. She cleaned up and then tilted the container to pour a day’s supply of milk into the large pan they used for heating. Afterwards she went out to ask a kitchen coolie to carry it for her, but once outside she realized the courtyard was quiet. Too quiet.
The Tea Planter’s Wife Page 24
