Page 180 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
She blushed and dragged her thoughts from her son. ‘Yes, during the War I sang with ENSA – that was the Entertainments wing of the Services.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Martha. ‘I saw the Toodle Pips perform in Newcastle. You were terrific. I remember one with a great voice – dark-haired – so it was probably you.’
Adela gaped at her in astonishment and laughed. ‘Did you really?’
She smiled. ‘Yes, Gus used to give me a night off once in a while and I would high-tail it into town to see a show.’
‘A night off from what?’ Adela asked.
‘From the kids.’
Adela’s stomach flipped. ‘You have more than one child? I know from Joan that you have a son.’
Martha shook her head. ‘No, I mean the evacuees. Gus and I took in dozens of children during the War – and a few of their moms. Gus was like the Pied Piper, leading them all over the estate picking mushrooms and giving piggy-backs and showing them how to climb trees. My husband is just a big kid himself at heart.’
Adela had a sudden vision of the major carrying a young John Wesley on his back and the boy giggling in delight. Her pulse raced as she asked, ‘How did your son Jack get on with the other children? Wasn’t he a bit jealous?’
Martha didn’t reply straight away. Adela couldn’t read her expression behind her dark glasses. Her tone became less jocular and more confiding.
‘Jacques was one of the evacuees too,’ she said quietly. ‘His parents were killed in a raid over Tyneside. We felt so sorry for him. He cried and wet the bed for a long time – even after being potty trained – but he has such a sunny nature that he became a favourite with the other kids and the moms. We couldn’t bear to see him go; we’d come to love Jacques the best of them all. So Gus and I adopted him. I can’t have children, you see. He knows we’re not his blood parents – we’ve been upfront about that. I don’t believe in keeping secrets like that from a child, however young.’
Adela gripped the reins; she was shaking so hard that she feared she would faint and fall. She managed to ask, ‘S-so there was no extended family on Tyneside who could take him?’
‘No.’ Martha sighed. ‘All we were able to discover were that his parents were from Belgium and they were called Segal. Jacques has a box of mementoes that his parents had collected. I’m keeping it safe until he’s older.’
Adela had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself crying. This was the proof she needed: Jacques Gibson was her long-lost son. Now was the moment to tell Martha about the boy’s true parentage. Adela’s proof lay in the Segals’ box; an Indian stone on a gold chain that she had gifted at birth. She would tell Martha everything; Martha, being an open-minded woman, would believe Adela. The American’s sense of fairness would allow Adela to reclaim her son; Martha would be sad to see him go but if the major’s wife loved Jacques as much as she claimed she did, she would give him up. Adela felt heady as she pictured the future: she and Sam bringing up John Wesley with their child-to-be. The boy would be a half-brother to their baby – and he would have a brother or sister and not have to grow up as an only child. Sam would grow to love him just as much as their other child, because John Wesley was sunny-natured and easy to love. Her family would be complete and her life full of joy.
Adela looked away and blinked back tears. She was deluding herself! If Martha was the woman she thought she was, she would fight like a tigress to keep her Jacques. There was strength beneath the outward show of bonhomie. If Adela confided in her now, Martha might be so alarmed that she would refuse to let her even meet John Wesley. Martha might send her away and tell her never to come near Willowburn again. Adela knew that she could not bear to leave this place without having set eyes on her son.
She cleared her throat and asked as calmly as she could, ‘Where is Jacques today? Is he keeping the major company?’
‘No,’ said Martha with a fond smile, ‘he’s at school.’
Adela’s heart sank. Of course he would be on a Monday. Why had she not thought of that? Would she have to wait now until the weekend to make an excuse to return? Or perhaps he was at boarding school and would be away all term. The thought of leaving for India without ever seeing him was unbearable.
‘Boarding school?’ Adela asked in a breathless voice.
‘Good heavens, certainly not!’ Martha exclaimed. ‘I told Gus that no son of mine was going to be sent away from me for weeks on end. It might be your British way but I simply couldn’t bear it. No, Jacques is at prep school near Hexham. He’ll be home at tea time.’
A sob rose up in Adela’s throat that she had to disguise as a cough. After that, she was incapable of speech and slowed her pony to a walk so that Martha went ahead and was soon chatting to James again. Sam dropped back to keep her company. He could tell by the look on her face that something had happened.
‘Tell me,’ he murmured.
With Martha out of earshot, Adela told Sam all she had discovered. She couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her cheeks; they dried in the wind, making her skin feel tight and her eyes gritty.
‘So you haven’t said anything?’ Sam asked gently.
Adela shook her head. Sam nodded and put out a hand to squeeze her shoulder. ‘Are you going to manage this?’ he asked. ‘You mustn’t break down in front of the boy. It wouldn’t be fair on him, Adela.’
Adela gulped back tears. ‘I know,’ she rasped, ‘but Ihaveto see him.’
Major Gibson, smiling broadly, strode towards them as they emerged from the stable yard. He reminded Adela of a younger James, his physique stocky and complexion ruddy. His handshake was bone-crushing and his laugh loud. He apologised for missing the ride.
‘Martha, I’ve ordered tea on the terrace,’ he boomed. ‘It’s far too nice to be sitting indoors on such a day.’
‘I quite agree, darling,’ she said, pecking him on the cheek. ‘Let our guests freshen up first.’
The men were shown into a downstairs cloakroom, while Martha led Adela to a bathroom on the first floor. ‘Come downstairs when you’re ready,’ she said and left her.
