Page 181 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
Adela splashed her face with cold water and dried it on a worn linen hand towel. Some of the bathroom tiles were cracked and the plumbing clanked. There was an air of faded grandeur about the place; it was more scuffed and homely than she had imagined it would be. It didn’t fit the cliché that all Americans who married British gentry were heiresses with lots of money. From what she had seen and heard about the Gibsons, their marriage was definitely a love match.
Adela emerged on to the landing feeling faint and nauseated. She craved something sweet to eat – preferably with ginger in it – to keep her sickness at bay. Just then, she heard a door slam somewhere behind her and footsteps came thumping along the passage. She turned to see a young boy running towards her in grey shorts and a grey shirt that had come untucked. He stopped breathless in front of her.
‘Hello, I’m Jacques. Are you the lady who’s been riding with Mummy?’
Adela froze on the spot. She stared down at him. It was like looking at her brother Harry a few years ago. He had dark unruly hair and thick eyebrows. The eyes that gazed back at her in curiosity were the same green as hers. That startled her. She had remembered John Wesley as having Sanjay’s dark, almost inky black eyes.
‘Hello, Jacques,’ Adela said, her voice hoarse with emotion, ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.’
He grinned. ‘Have you?’
She reached out to hug him. Confusion crossed his face and he stuck out his hand. Adela stopped herself just in time and shook hishand instead. Her heart twisted to feel the boy’s warm hand in hers, the fingers bony – fragile yet dextrous – and the skin the colour of hers.
‘My name’s Adela,’ she said.
‘Am I not supposed to call you Mrs-something?’ he asked, his brow furrowed with a faint frown, the way Harry’s did when he was thinking.
Adela laughed. ‘I suppose you are. I’m MrsJackman, if you prefer.’
His hand wriggled out of hers. ‘Oh, are you related to MrJackman downstairs?’
Adela nodded. ‘He’s my husband.’
‘Daddy says he’s a war hero who flew aeroplanes and beat the Japs,’ Jacques said in excitement. ‘I want to be a pilot when I grow up. Does MrJackman have his own plane?’
‘Not any more,’ said Adela, ‘but I’m sure he’d talk to you about them.’
The boy asked, ‘Does he play cricket?’
‘Yes, Sam loves cricket.’
‘Oh, good.’ He grinned. ‘Do you think he might play with me after tea?’
‘I’m sure he would.’
The way he was scrutinising her made Adela breathless. ‘Have you been crying?’ he asked.
Adela swallowed. ‘It’s just the wind on the ride,’ she answered. ‘It made my eyes water.’
‘Oh, that’s all right then,’ he said.
Suddenly Martha shouted from below. ‘Adela, are you lost?’
Her stomach clenched. ‘No,’ she called back, ‘I was just meeting Jacques.’
‘Coming, Mummy!’ the boy shouted.
Adela put a hand briefly on her son’s head as he moved past her. ‘Will you show me the way to the terrace, Jacques?’
‘Come on, MrsJackman,’ he said brightly. ‘Follow me.’
As she did so, Adela was hit by the thought that Jacques sounded just like Major Gibson.
Adela was not sure how she got through teatime. She see-sawed between wanting to rush away to vomit and staying put so that she didn’t miss a second of watching John Wesley. He chattered non-stop about school and games and about a pet squirrel called Bunty. He asked Sam dozens of questions about cricket and aeroplanes. His parents looked on indulgently and laughed at his observations; they were completely devoid of the old-fashioned attitude that children should be seen and not heard when in adult company.
As tea drew to an end and James made the comment that they probably ought to be leaving, Adela felt panic grip her.
Jacques protested. ‘But MrsJackman said MrJackman would play cricket with me.’
