‘Thank you for the fresh flowers,’ I noted.
‘Matron thought it would be a pretty welcome into a daunting world you probably couldn’t imagine from London.’
‘She is right,’ I admitted in an arch tone.
‘Well, I hope you’ll be very happy in this lovely space. And this is the hospital phone number. I’ll leave it here,’ she said, putting a small chit on a sideboard. ‘The telephone is on the ground floor.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Are you sure you’ll be all right? I can stay longer?’
‘No, really, Lily, you’ve been wonderful and I think I’ll just take some time to get my bearings here, unpack a little – thank you for organising the luggage,’ I said, nodding towards my trunks and belongings sitting in the corner.
‘Drinks at five in the Palm Court of the Grand Hotel.’ She pointed out of the window. ‘Don’t be confused. Opposite you is the Great Eastern Hotel – you’ll enjoy it, I’m sure. But the Grand is around the corner. Step out of your building, turn left, turn left again on the main road of Chowringhee and then you can’t miss it. It’s the huge, glamorous and colonnaded building where all the main shops reside. The horses and carriages will be queuing for space to drop off or pick up people.’
‘Most convenient,’ I said in a breezy tone. I hoped it would reassure Lily and permit her to leave without any guilt or sense of abandonment.
‘Tomorrow morning, someone will collect you, Dr Fenwick, just so that you can get used to getting to and from the hospital . . . get your bearings properly when you’re not so tired.’
‘What time shall that be?’
‘I believe it’s arranged for eight. Probably the same driver you’ll recognise. You can breakfast near the hospital and then after tomorrow we can help organise provisions, but I’ve ensured you have some tinned milk, tea-leaves and bread and cheese in case you feel hungry. Boiled water is in the small refrigerator. You’ll need to boil water daily.’
‘I’ll get myself into a routine, I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Good afternoon, Dr Fenwick,’ Lily said, just short of curtseying. Her deference was unsettling and I was unhappy with myself to feel a slight rush of relief when I finally closed the door behind her. The release was fleeting, however, for now I was instantly isolated: finally alone in Calcutta, far from every aspect of life I knew or had taken for granted. Every sight would now be unfamiliar so I knew even in those first alarming unaccompanied moments that my life raft would be my work. Although conditions might be vastly different to what I was used to, the situation of pregnancy was happily familiar. I had already been confronted by so many variations that I didn’t feel intimidated about the work ahead. If I lost myself in my role as medical consultant to the pregnant women or mothers with new babies who came to the clinic, then I could embrace this new life.
Making a sound of resolve that seemed louder than I meant as it echoed around the empty room, I straightened, even nodded to myself that I was finally in motion, achieving the oath I’d made to myself as a much younger person watching my mother die from the disease she acquired here, in India.
Would I break my promise to my father and deliberately seek out the sick and needy suffering from TB? I didn’t trust myself to answer that question so soon after arrival. If I could immerse myself entirely in the obstetrics wards, I was sure there was more than enough work to keep me fully occupied for the next eight months.
Seven months. Just twenty-eight weeks. Not even the length of a pregnancy.
Jove had a few old contacts that he’d leaned on to help me organise accommodation from long-distance. We’d come the closest that Jove’s mild manner would permit him to an argument over this topic. I’d discovered that my fiancé avoided confrontation, instead finding methods of negotiation to reconcile both parties’ viewpoints into common agreement. He was good at it too and I had begun to fully appreciate his diplomacy skills and why he was clearly a popular representative in Westminster for his constituents. And yet those skills began to fail him when it came to the topic of my home in Calcutta, and his calm manner had become almost heated. He was certainly impassioned. He was determined that I stay with an English family of some standing while I remained stubborn about avoiding just that scenario.
‘But why, Isla?’ he’d pleaded.
‘Jove, I’m not a child. I refuse to be treated as though I’m helpless.’
‘Heavens! Who would dare suggest such a thing?’
The sarcasm was not lost upon me and I bristled. ‘And still I get the feeling that you believe I need to be supervised, or within the bosom of a nurturing family that can spy on me.’
I remember how he’d stood up, frustrated, then sat down immediately to take my hand and press his point.
‘What are you talking about, Isla? Spying? Don’t be ridiculous. If I wanted to spy on you, you certainly wouldn’t know about it, and what’s more I’m offended that you consider me that insecure.’
‘I don’t. I’m sorry I said that.’ My contrition was written across my face and in the slump of my shoulders. I felt genuinely ashamed at the childish response. ‘I’m nervous, Jove, but I really do want to do this my way, not the cottonwool way that you want.’
My apology softened his expression still further. ‘You need to understand how hard this is for me that you’re going to such a far-flung place. I’ve become stupendously needy, I think, now that I’ve found you.’
He was so generous the way he took the blame upon himself.
‘My darling Jove,’ I remember saying as I stroked his cheek. ‘I’m not going into the Kalahari, or the jungles of Borneo —’
‘You might as well be, as far as I’m concerned. You are gone from me and so far away that I cannot reach you easily and I cannot protect you.’ He held up a hand to stall me. ‘Uh . . . and before you jump down my throat, I realise you feel you don’t need protection. And, Isla, I know you see yourself as a pioneer but you’re still a lone, unmarried woman, travelling without escort into a region that is fraught with incalculable dangers.’
I shook my head and could see from his flattened lips that this irritated him. ‘No, I don’t accept that. I’m betrothed,’ I said, perhaps unnecessarily waggling my ring before him. It was due back in its box but I was enjoying wearing it until I left British shores. ‘What’s more, I’m a doctor with a job to do at the hospital. I positively refuse to be attached to the household of a chortling woman, married to some dignitary who is going to drag me to endless rounds of Pimm’s parties and vacant talk.’
He sighed out his exasperation and then laughed sadly. ‘Can you not allow that there may be some women of your status with a similar attitude in Calcutta?’
‘All right, I’ll accept that, but you and I both know how the society types seem to find one another in the colonies, Jove. I’ve been to enough events with expats newly returned from Africa or India, the Levant, even the Orient, to find them often tedious. My time is short – I will not give it up to parties or feel obliged to attend events. I don’t want to have to dress for dinner or make small talk. I am there to research, to practise medicine, to heal, to learn, and I want to come and go as I please.’
‘What if you get lonely?’
I laughed. ‘You are jesting, aren’t you? I’ll be at the hospital every waking hour, be sure of it. With such limited time on the ground in India, I have to make every day count. I will not be making time to play.’
‘And you can’t do that by living safely, setting my mind at peace, by living within the comfort of a family home?’
‘No.’
‘I won’t force you,’ he finally said.
‘You made a good fist of pretending you were about to,’ I risked.
‘No, I can see there’s no point . . . ’
I can still feel the warmth of his hands as I cupped them in mine and kissed them. ‘You mustn’t worry so much about me. This is 1932 and there are women who have suffered through the previous century to earn me
the freedom I now enjoy. Don’t take it away.’
I hadn’t meant to appeal to his political ideals but I could see I’d ignited a spark. His eyes flared with shame. ‘You’re right.’
I’m sure I surprised him and indeed myself by playfully moving to sit on his lap so I could kiss him long and tenderly. He was hesitant to respond at first, probably thinking of my father, or our housekeeper or any number of other reasons why in this moment two people engaged to be married shouldn’t be caught kissing in private. All I could think of was relief and how he tasted so deliciously of raisins from the sherry.
‘What was that for?’
I grinned lazily. ‘To show you that I adore you all the more for your concern and that I’m not ignoring it; I just want to feel free of other people’s rules while I follow this dream briefly.’
He nodded. ‘I can’t deny you anything. I love you so, so much, I’m going to let you go and I hope that’s a measure for you of the depth of my feeling. I put no constraints on you, except one.’
Another condition. I stiffened slightly. ‘And what’s that?’
‘That you never sit on my lap again and kiss me unless we have a bedroom to move to.’
Now the housekeeper could certainly have heard my squeal of laughter.
I could hear it now echoing in my memory as conversation floated around me in the Grand Hotel. Perhaps I was smiling to myself; I was definitely lost in my thoughts deliberately because I was trying to avoid the party small talk. I’d made sure to say hello to everyone on arrival, share a few words, accept their welcomes and good wishes, repeatedly go over my journey, the weather, the food, the inevitable upset belly I could look forward to and my promise not to forget to boil the water I consumed.
‘Dr Fenwick? Everything all right?’
I blinked my attention back to the present and the enquiring look of one of the doctors from the hospital, Miles Baird. He was younger than me, I reckoned, with a nervous smile worn on chapped lips, ears that stuck out like jug handles from beneath a shock of flame hair, and he spoke with the soft brogue of the Scottish borders.
‘Yes, just trying to acclimatise.’
‘This is hardly the real Calcutta,’ he admitted, turning to look over his shoulder at the salubrious surrounds, lush and green, where I could guess the city’s elite gathered.
It was a Sunday and apparently this was the main day to gather at the Grand. Pale, delicate-looking women dressed in various shades of ivory didn’t seem at all bothered by the oddity of sipping what looked to be strong beer. It was obvious I had been staring.
‘There’s plenty of claret downed too,’ my companion said, noting my interest. ‘The beer is actually quite good for the constitution out here,’ he said, seemingly unaware of his patronising tone.
‘Yes, I suppose it would be,’ I admitted.
We were standing in the gallery that ran along the rim of this cavernous room and we were able to look down upon the merry-making.
‘A lovely nurse called Lily met me today,’ I continued.
‘I know Lily. Anglo-Indian. Pretty girl.’
I contrived a puzzled expression. ‘Why don’t I see her here?’
He looked at me. ‘Generally someone like Lily wouldn’t come to an event in a hotel like this.’
‘I see,’ I said, not understanding any of it. ‘Someone like Lily . . . as in her skin colour, you mean?’
‘I don’t know if it’s written down anywhere,’ he said, his freckled skin flushing slightly at my scrutiny. ‘But the Anglo-Indians tend to keep to their own.’
‘But we are their own. Lily has a full English father, is a Church of England girl, went to an Anglican school, is highly educated . . . ’ I could hear how bossy I sounded.
He raised his hands in a plea for mercy. ‘I don’t make the rules, Isla. May I call you Isla?’
I shrugged. ‘We’re off-duty.’
‘For what it’s worth, there are no rules as such, although somewhere like the Bengal Club is only for whites.’
I blinked at how disgraceful that sounded in this day and age.
‘Personally, I’m very happy to mix with the Anglo-Indians in the clubs or gatherings like this. I have many Anglo-Indian friends,’ Miles eagerly added.
‘That’s good to know,’ I said, tempering the sarcastic tone as I gathered that he was feeling accused of something that was not of his making. However, it explained Lily’s awkwardness earlier. ‘Is it always like this?’ I said, nodding towards the merry crowd.
‘They call this “Palm Sunday”,’ he said with a soft chuckle. ‘Happens each week.’
I smiled politely at the jest and that we were surrounded by palm trees.
‘Have you been to Paris, Dr Fenwick?’
‘Indeed I have.’
He tipped his head towards the various groups of people below us. ‘In the evenings, the Palm Court seems to reorganise itself into the Grand’s Café Royal society.’
I frowned.
‘It’s extremely popular at interval time with the theatre-goers from the Empire. This place is strategically situated between that and the Globe Opera House. All terribly French.’
‘Good grief.’
He thought I was impressed but my exclamation was over the fact that my apartment was almost equally strategically placed to the fashionable social centre.
‘And they’re all owned by the same family,’ he added for intrigue. ‘The acquisition was begun by one man, he was a jeweller, originally from Persia and barely out of his teens when he arrived poverty-stricken in Calcutta.’
I smiled, enjoying him more now that we were not making small talk and he had relaxed into his storytelling.
‘Sounds like you admire him.’
‘I admire his ability to make money.’
I had to admit that this honest glimpse into his character caught me by surprise.
‘How long have you been here, Miles?’
He blew out his cheeks. ‘Nearly three years. Always surprises me when I say it aloud.’
‘Do you miss home?’
He shrugged. ‘Not really. This is a very good life for a bachelor and you can probably tell I enjoy the history of this place.’
‘No prospects for a wife?’ I don’t know why I asked that. I was probably feeling suddenly a little too relaxed from the sparkling wine and the convivial atmosphere and my general fatigue. I wished I could take it back.
‘Always looking, Dr Fenwick.’ He glanced at my bare ring finger. ‘Is there a lucky man in your life?’
‘Soon to be and he is lucky, let me assure you,’ I said, hoping the flippancy would amuse. He obliged. ‘Jovian Mandeville and I shall be married at the end of this year.’
‘He let you come here?’
‘He didn’t let me do anything, Miles. I make my own decisions.’
‘Forgive me. I meant —’
I touched his arm. ‘I know what you meant and it’s sweet. But I hope to take every advantage of this next seven months and make a difference.’
‘Oh, you will, you will. We need your expertise here and especially more women doctors because a lot of the local men won’t let their wives come to hospital.’
I looked at him, astonished. ‘But it’s free, isn’t it?’
He gusted his disdain. ‘It’s not about money. It’s about religion and, please, if I may offer some advice, do your best to avoid caste issues. Make sure you have a good understanding about the latter because it’s going to crop up in much of your dealings with patients.’
My father had mentioned this briefly but we’d both waved the topic away as though it was something to be learned about later. But it seemed later was now, as Lily had referred to it once too on our journey into the city but I hadn’t paid much attention. ‘So what happens to the women whose faith won’t allow hospital care?’
He lifted a shoulder as if helpless. ‘They go without medical care, consult local female healers or family, friends . . . So another woman doctor on the staff is a boon
. You are most warmly welcomed.’ He raised a glass and I followed suit. ‘How’s the champagne?’ he asked. ‘You know we’re all here to honour the arrival of two new doctors and a midwife.’
‘I only gathered that as I arrived. I’m flattered but I’m also weary and perhaps I was a little overenthusiastic to meet my colleagues.’
He nodded. ‘I remember how I felt when I got off the ship and took that long train journey.’ He noted me putting my glass down, lifting my small bag from a nearby table. ‘Would you like me to escort you home, Dr Fenwick?’
‘No, no, I’m perfectly fine, thank you.’ He looked dubious. ‘Honestly, it’s probably not even a hundred steps away,’ I lied. It had to be two hundred, but the point was being made.
‘How did you manage that?’
‘Jove is much too well connected, I fear.’ I laughed. ‘So, are these all the main staff?’
He cast an eye over the gathered. Bursts of laughter erupted from below while our group chatted jovially on the balcony, the champagne slipping down easily, I noted. I hoped no one was on an early shift.
‘Well, there are some very senior people missing but your main colleagues are present,’ he said, smiling at me. His round-shaped head really did look like a novelty mug with those marvellous ears of his attached either side. ‘Oh, except one, of course, and he’s rarely missed on these occasions.’
I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders. ‘Oh, yes?’ I said absently, not really interested.
‘Mmm, the great man himself.’ He sounded tense suddenly; his tone had become oddly cutting.
I looked back at him in enquiry. ‘Not someone you like, I’m guessing.’
‘Not someone any of us particularly like, I suspect, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t repeat that.’
I shrugged to say it meant nothing to me.
‘And not someone who cares about being liked anyway, so it’s an even equation.’
‘You called him “the great man” as though you admire him.’
The Tea Gardens Page 11
