Home is Goodbye

by Isobel Chace

  Kamala smiled happily.

  ‘We glad you come,’ she said simply, and broke off into her own language, while her husband nodded agreement.

  ‘We offer you pan,’ she said at last in English. A mischievous smile flickered across her lips. ‘While we wait for Mr. Halifax,’ she added slyly.

  ‘For Matt?’ Sara exclaimed unable to hide her dismay. ‘But—’

  ‘Kamala thought it would be impossible to celebrate without him,’ the doctor reproved her. ‘He comes often to see my sons and it is only right that he should come with you to tea.’

  Fortunately for Sara’s confused state of mind, Mrs. Cengupta produced a beautiful, intricately wrought silver box out of the corner of the room and set it down beside her.

  This is the pan-dan,’ she explained seriously. ‘We eat much pan in India, where you would perhaps offer drink.’

  Sara watched fascinated as her tiny hands extracted from the box a leaf and began to smear it with a variety of spices.

  ‘What are those?’ she asked.

  Kamala looked helplessly at her husband.

  ‘Betel,’ he translated, pointing to the red mixture, ‘flavoured with many things. Lime, cardamon, areka nut, and maybe tobacco or something else—’

  ‘Oh, please!’ Sara exclaimed. ‘I’m no wiser now!’

  They laughed and Mrs. Cengupta handed her a leaf.

  ‘What do I do with it?’ Sara asked.

  ‘You chew it,’ they told her.

  The taste was exotic and exciting. She could see that she might well acquire quite a taste for this strange delicacy.

  ‘You like it?’ Kamala asked anxiously, feeding her husband with the next leaf.

  ‘I certainly do!’

  ‘It is not often to eat before tea, you understand,’ Kamala went on. ‘But you interested in India, yes?’

  ‘When do you eat it mostly?’ Sara asked.

  ‘After meals.’

  Kamala gave her another leaf which she accepted eagerly. She turned to say something to the doctor, but the words died on her lips. For there, standing in the doorway, watching the scene with an amused expression on his face, was Matt.

  I must behave normally, Sara told herself. That awful tingling expectancy that gripped her in his presence must be kept well under control. Deliberately she bent over her leaf and popped it into her mouth.

  ‘You look very much at home,’ Matt teased her. He came over to her chair and dropped a kiss on to her cheek under the approving eyes of his host.

  Sara dropped her eyes hastily.

  ‘I am,’ she declared. ‘Have you ever eaten pan? It’s wonderful!’

  He grinned and accepted a leaf from Kamala’s hand.

  ‘I have, and I agree that it’s delicious. Kamala, I love you, this is just what I need to refresh me. I’ve been driving all day and the dust has been abominable.’

  ‘Getting ready for the relations?’ Dr. Cengupta asked dryly.

  Matt nodded. ‘Uncle David has a plan for a new drying plant,’ he said wearily, ‘and I had to go and have a look at one of the latest ones in action.’

  ‘He is the one with two daughters!’ the Indian put in, his eyes dancing.

  Sara felt her face burn with embarrassment. Was it common knowledge then that that was why Matt was marrying her? She felt Kamala’s eyes on her, a little puzzled.

  ‘Was it any good?’ she asked loudly.

  Matt shook his head.

  ‘Hopelessly uneconomical and much too small for our purposes!’

  Kamala gave a soft, feminine little laugh.

  ‘I go and get tea,’ she said gently. ‘I understand nothing of machinery.’ Sara made a movement to get up to help her and was gratified when her offer was accepted. Matt gave her a little nod of approval and she felt suddenly happy. It was with a light heart that she followed her hostess out of the room.

  It was interesting to see how English afternoon tea looked to Indian eyes. It was obvious that Kamala had gone to a lot of trouble for her guests; the sandwiches were neatly set out and a choice of two cakes had been put out on the trolley, and yet nothing was quite as Sara would have expected in an English house. She stood and watched as the Indian girl made the tea, weaker than she would have done, but with some green substance added that intrigued her. Then they wheeled the trolley into the sitting-room between them to the waiting men.

  First they were each handed a face flannel, slightly dampened, the use of which became quite clear when they reached the cake stage! But before that they were offered sandwiches filled with some curried substance and quite delicious.

  ‘How long before you get married?’ Kamala asked them, without curiosity but nevertheless giving the impression that she was interested.

  Sara looked a little flustered. ‘I — I don’t know.’

  ‘As soon as possible,’ Matt broke in. ‘We have nothing to wait for and I want to get everything settled before the rains come.’ He was quite calm and matter-of-fact. It was all so sensible, Sara thought rebelliously. Not that she really understood why he should take sudden fright of his female relatives. They must have come to Kwaheri before!

  She took another sandwich and bit into it deliberately, not realizing that she had taken it from a different plate. The hot curry exploded into her mouth and the tears poured into her eyes. Callously they laughed at her.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Kamala sympathized, ‘I should have warned you. Drink some tea quickly.’

  A little more cautiously Sara finished her sandwich and the whole party went on to the cakes. There was very little actual cake, for the filling was thick and creamy and the frosting on the top so smooth to the tongue that Sara could not help wondering how it had been made. It was very sweet, but went well with the weak unsweetened tea that was served with it.

  When tea was over they sat on chatting about the estate until Kamala got reluctantly to her feet. She had been sitting for most of the time beside her husband’s chair and she smiled regretfully at him now.

  ‘Miss Wayne and I will leave you men to talk,’ she said. ‘She will want to see the garden.’

  A little surprised, Sara went with her out on to the verandah and down the few steps into the garden.

  ‘My husband wish to ask Matt something,’ Kamala explained, ‘and I very happy to talk quiet with you,’

  She led the way through the overflowing flowerbeds, full of flowers that clashed madly one with the other.

  ‘I think you not very happy,’ she said suddenly. ‘No mother in Tanzania.’ Her dark eyes looked inquiringly at Sara. ‘I see no one on estate. It is good you talk to me, yes?’

  It was perhaps ridiculous that this exquisite little woman, who looked years younger than Sara herself, and of another race, should suggest that she should be able to advise Sara, but Sara herself saw nothing incongruous in it.

  ‘I should be happy,’ she burst out. ‘I want to marry Matt more than anything! But I wish he were just a little in love with me too.’

  ‘And he is not?’

  ‘No.’

  Kamala looked doubtful. A demure smile crossed her face and a flash of amusement came into her eyes.

  ‘In England you find love important, no?’

  And didn’t they in India? There was no doubt about how fond the Cenguptas were of each other! But before Sara could put her bewilderment into words, Kamala had gone on speaking.

  ‘Karim and I were chosen by our parents. We never meet—’ she paused, frowning in her concentration to find the right words — ‘but after we like very well. I love Karim because he is my husband.’

  But — in Sara’s mind a thousand difficulties presented themselves. How lucky Kamala must have been, for she could see nothing to recommend such a system! She would never have consented at all to becoming engaged to Matt had she not been in love with him. Half a loaf was better than no bread, or at least, that was what she was hoping.

  ‘I couldn’t do that,’ she said out loud.

  Kamala looked surprised.
‘You will see,’ she affirmed confidently. ‘You have children — you find he love you very much.’

  And that was an end of the matter. If she were an Indian, Sara reflected, perhaps she would be able to follow such a simple approach, but things were so complicated. Why had Matt asked her to marry him? She sighed, for more than ever she wished she really knew.

  The men were still talking when they returned to the house and the girls began to discuss the differences of their national dress. To Sara the sari seemed a miracle of cool practicality and she envied the Indian girl such a graceful garment, when she herself felt hot and sticky in her neat cotton frock.

  ‘The only thing that bothers me is how you keep it together,’ she said.

  For a moment Kamala didn’t understand her, but when she did she laughed with genuine amusement.

  ‘I show you,’ she offered. ‘Very simple!’

  She led her into the bedroom and opened her wardrobe. Hanging one beside the other were yards and yards of many coloured materials. Reflectively she glanced at Sara and began to bring out a number that she threw carelessly on to the bed.

  ‘First you wear top,’ she told her. She pointed to her tight-sleeved blouse. ‘Then skirt.’ Quickly she unwound her own sari and showed her petticoat, that was loosely gathered in at the waist with elastic. She pushed a large part of the material into the petticoat, looping it in attractive folds in front of her, before winding it round her waist and throwing the remainder over one shoulder.

  ‘Like that!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘And it stays in place?’ Sara asked disbelievingly.

  ‘Yes. I give you one.’

  Sara’s protests were brushed firmly on one side. ‘I have so many!’ Kamala assured her. She held some of the ones she had chosen from the wardrobe up against Sara and chose one in a pinky blue, decorated with silver round the edges. ‘This one, I think?’

  She pushed it into Sara’s arms, together with the blouse and petticoat that went with it.

  ‘You like?’ she asked with pretty hesitancy.

  ‘I love it,’ Sara assured her, ‘but I’m not sure that I should take it.’

  Kamala grasped her hand and pulled her back into the sitting-room. Both men looked up and smiled at the scuffle.

  ‘You tell her, Matt,’ Kamala commanded. ‘She is to take sari!’

  Matt’s eyes rose comically and he grinned at Sara.

  ‘Don’t you want it?’ he teased her.

  ‘Of course I do!’ she exclaimed. ‘But it’s so beautiful that I can’t believe that Mrs. Cengupta really means me to take it!’

  Kamala giggled and everyone began to speak at once assuring her that they would be delighted for her to have it.

  ‘Carried unanimously!’ Matt said firmly.

  ‘Very democratic!’ Dr. Cengupta agreed, grinning broadly.

  Blushing a little, Sara held the cloth up against her, fingering the beautiful material as she did so.

  ‘It’s beautiful!’ she said.

  Matt looked up at her and his eyes darkened.

  ‘Beautiful,’ he agreed.

  For one breathless instant Sara thought that he meant her as well as the sari, but the next moment he was getting up to go and she realized that she must have imagined that intense personal glance that she had thought she had seen.

  ‘Shall I drive you home, Sara?’ he asked, and his voice was quite normal.

  ‘Please,’ she said. She smiled firmly at him. Nothing was going to dim her pleasure in her gift.

  They left amid cries from Kamala begging them to come again soon. Sara waved until they were almost out of sight and then settled herself comfortably in her seat.

  ‘I have enjoyed myself,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t it kind of them to ask me?’

  Matt chuckled.

  ‘You’ve made quite a hit with them,’ he told her. ‘I’m glad. It’s not always very easy for them living on the estate. Quite a number of people won’t have much to do with them.’

  ‘But I thought them charming!’ Sara exclaimed.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘But can you see your aunt inviting them to tea?’

  ‘No,’ she admitted. ‘But I liked them all the same!’ If her aunt were ill, she thought, she would be glad enough to have Dr. Cengupta’s help — and Nurse Lucy’s too! And in modern Tanzania these things matter less and less.

  Matt glanced at his watch. ‘Do you mind if we go the long way home?’ he asked her. ‘I want to call in at the drying plant to make sure that it’s going as well as it’s able to.’

  She shook her head, more than content to drive on for ever so long as it was beside him.

  ‘When are all the family arriving?’ she asked sleepily.

  ‘The first batch will arrive any day now.’ He paused. ‘Sara, I’m sorry not to have seen more of you lately, but I have to make sure that they can’t pick too many holes in the running of the estate. That’s the trouble with having one’s own relatives as shareholders!’

  ‘Doesn’t any of it belong to you?’ she asked.

  ‘The buildings do.’

  ‘Both the houses?’

  ‘Yes. And the drying shed.’

  ‘Then you own more shares than anyone else?’

  ‘I suppose I do. But that doesn’t seem to count very much. Between them they have the majority of the shares, and they gang up rather, you now.’

  ‘It doesn’t seem right to me,’ Sara objected, ‘You spend your whole life here on the estate. You must know more about it than they do!’

  ‘I do!’ he said grimly. ‘But the price of sisal is falling all the time. It’s going out. At least I think it is. And the family blame me for the drop in profits. But between us, Mother, James, my sister and I have pretty well a controlling interest. Uncle David tried to buy James out, but I wouldn’t let him sell. The time will come for that when the soya beans are really going ahead!’

  So that was the truth about Matt forbidding James to leave the estate! Sara wondered whether Felicity knew that and if so whether it would make any difference to her plans. His share of the profits would surely keep them until they were settled in England.

  ‘Matt, where will we live after—’ she broke off.

  ‘After we get married?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘In the manager’s house, I thought,’ he said, without any hesitation. ‘It’s more convenient than the house, and your garden has made it look a hundred times better!’

  Sara’s heart sank. What would become of Mrs. Wayne? she wondered. She knew that she had no legal right to the house, but somehow it was going to be very difficult to dispossess her. She had made it hers by living in it, by mourning her husband there, and by her complete inability to live apart from it.

  ‘Couldn’t we build a new house?’ she suggested.

  Matt gave her a quick glance that told her that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  ‘It isn’t worth it, my dear,’ he explained to her gently. ‘One day we’ll be moving to Arusha. Joe is only staying there until I’m ready to move. His wife wants to go back to England.’

  ‘Leave Kwaheri?’ Sara demanded. ‘But I thought the estate was your whole life!’

  ‘Africa is my life. I don’t much mind whether it’s here or at Arusha. I didn’t suppose that you would mind either.’ He gave her an apologetic look.

  ‘Not mind!’ she repeated. ‘Kwaheri is Africa to me! I love it!’

  ‘It’ll always be here,’ he reminded her gently. ‘We’ll come back often — whenever you feel that you want to.’

  ‘And what about Aunt Laura?’ she asked, somewhat mollified.

  ‘She’s a bit of a problem,’ he admitted. ‘I’m not going to have her upsetting you, so she won’t be able to stay on. But to tell the truth I think she might well decide to go to England with Felicity when it comes to it!’

  But this Sara just could not believe! She was prepared to accept that James was as free as air to return to England; she had accepted with reasonable calm the
fact that she was not to live at Kwaheri; but that Mrs. Wayne would go to England with her daughter — that was too much!

  Matt appeared quite unconcerned at the consternation he had caused in her mind. He contented himself with saying, ‘I’ve known her for quite a time, you know, that’s why I think the pair of them are being so silly not telling her. Of course she knows! She always knows everything! She has the best spy system in Tanzania and it only hurts her to think that they don’t trust her enough to confide in her.’

  Sara thought back to her aunt sitting on the verandah, watching her working in the garden, and her remark: ‘You have more courage than the two of them put together, I shall miss you when you go back to work.’ It seemed likely that she might know that John and Felicity were getting married. Sara wondered whether she was lonely. She made very little effort to be friends with any of the neighbours. She might be better off in England where she would no longer be continually reminded of her life with her husband.

  Sara brought her thoughts up with a sharp jerk. She could not believe that Mrs. Wayne really had any such intention. It was just foolish wishful thinking to suppose anything of the sort!

  The stink from the drying plant greeted them from a long way off.

  ‘Smells healthy enough!’ Matt said with satisfaction.

  Sara wrinkled up her nose in distaste.

  ‘I can’t pretend it’s my favourite spot on the estate,’ she laughed. ‘The stench of decay is not my idea of a healthy smell either, come to that!’

  Matt sniffed the air.

  ‘I love it!’ he claimed untruthfully, and they both laughed.

  It came as a surprise when he stopped the car and sat looking at her for a moment. She stopped laughing and gave him a quick, inquiring glance.

  ‘Are you happy about our getting married?’ he asked her, his voice suddenly rough. She felt her mouth going dry and licked her lips. She didn’t know what to say, and then there was no need to say anything, for he pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard on the lips.

  The smell of the sisal seemed to disappear and they were back at Sonjo, roasting the meat over a fire that smelt of smoke and the great outdoors. Then it was over and Sara found herself released as suddenly as she had been embraced. She watched in silence as Matt got out of the car and walked over to the plant. She knew then as surely as she had ever known anything that she would never be able to marry him. He would know, she thought breathlessly. She would never be able to hide her feelings. But she was glad that she had had just that one moment out of time. One moment to keep in her heart always.