Page 186 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
‘Train to Delhi, yes,’ said Fatima. ‘But he promised me he would fly from there to Lahore and not risk crossing the border by train.’
Libby felt nauseated at the thought that Ghulam could have risked going on one of the notorious trains of death between Delhi and Lahore. Surely he would not be so reckless when his aim was to reach his father before he died? She saw how agitated Fatima was over the subject. The doctor looked worn out, her face gaunt and eyes smudged with exhaustion. Libby searched for words of comfort.
‘He’s probably in Lahore but unable to get a message to you,’ she said. ‘As you said, things are so chaotic. You’ll hear something soon.’
Fatima’s frown of anxiety eased a fraction. ‘Yes, I’m sure you’re right.’
Libby didn’t like to voice her worry that even if Ghulam was in Lahore, how would he get safely back to Calcutta? Or would he decide to stay in the city of his birth and help his family and fellow Punjabis who were suffering so greatly?
Fatima said, ‘I must return to the ward but perhaps we can meet before you leave? I haven’t even asked you about your time at Belgooree.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Libby. She told the doctor where she was staying. ‘You must come for a meal – the Roys would make you very welcome and you could see Sophie before she leaves for Pakistan.’
They walked back to the entrance together. As Fatima turned to go, Libby asked, ‘So Ghulam wouldn’t have got my letter?’
Fatima gave her a look of pity. ‘I’m sorry, Libby, but if you sent it to Amelia Buildings then I doubt it.’
Libby’s heart ached to think he hadn’t read it – might never get to read it. She had to face the truth that her relationship with Ghulam was fated never to be more than a transient affair. Standing watching Fatima walk away through the entrance, Libby was engulfed by regret. How she had longed for so much more!
She turned away, anxiety for Ghulam twisting inside. Where was he? She would find no peace of mind until she knew what had happened to her lover.
Libby couldn’t sleep. She spent the long humid night worrying over Ghulam, trying to keep at bay the spectre of him being dragged off a train and butchered. Had he been attacked before he even reached Delhi? If he’d got to Delhi and flown to Lahore then he would have arrived at his family’s house over two weeks ago. Perhaps he had heard about his father’s death and had decided to go no further. He might still be in Delhi.
Libby was hit by an uncomfortable thought. Ghulam’s former lover had come from Delhi. What if he had taken the opportunity to go and see her, repair their friendship? What if the spark between them had been rekindled and Ghulam had decided to stay in India’s capital? She imagined him helping to build a just, egalitarian India with the woman he had loved so strongly and whose ideals he had shared in their days of struggle against the British.
Libby felt desolate at the thought. But she would rather that Ghulam was alive and safe, even if it meant he had returned to this woman. She would put up with the pain of never seeing Ghulam again just as long as no harm had come to him.
Restless and tossing under the mosquito net, Libby realised all of her speculation was fruitless. Earlier in the day, Sophie had been horrified to learn that Ghulam had attempted the hazardous journey but she had calmed Libby with her rational words.
‘There’s no point thinking the worst,’ she had said, ‘when it’s quite possible that Ghulam arrived in Lahore and is with his family. You said Fatima hadn’t actually been able to get through to them, so we have to be optimistic.’ She had squeezed Libby’s hand. ‘I’ll write at once to Rafi in ’Pindi, assuming he’s now back there. I’ll ask him to ring me here at the Roys’.’
Libby held on to that encouraging thought, that word would soon come from Rafi that Ghulam was at the Khans’ home in Lahore. She determined that she would make no travel plans until she knew about Ghulam. She couldn’t possibly leave India until she did.
The next day, Libby sent a message to the Dunlops to say that she was once again in Calcutta and a chit came back from Flowers inviting her round for afternoon tea the following day when she would be off work.
Libby was welcomed enthusiastically by Danny and Winnie Dunlop, who apologised that Flowers would be a little late. Libby was surprised to find them in such good spirits; after her last visit they had been so anxious about looming Independence. Libby relished being once more in their cluttered, fussily decorated sitting room with Winnie plying her with sandwiches and cake, while Danny demanded to hear every detail of her time at Belgooree. Libby told him about their Independence Day party but avoided any mention of the traumatic siege by the Gulgat men or her daring escape with Sophie.
‘Tell me about the plantation,’ Danny said eagerly, ‘before Flowers gets here. She ticks me off for badgering you about the tea planting life. I don’t suppose your father has been able to discover more about the Dunlops?’
Libby felt pity at his hopeful look. ‘I’m sorry, MrDunlop, I don’t think he has. I did send on the details and he promised he was going to see his old planter friend, MrFairfax, and ask him. I’m sure he will have tried.’
Danny looked dashed but tried to put on a brave face. ‘I know your father will have done his best. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. Not now that—’
‘Danny!’ Winnie cut him off with a cry of warning. ‘It’s not your news to tell.’
Before Libby could ask what she meant, the door swung open and, with a waft of perfume, in walked Flowers. Libby stood to greet her and then saw with delight that she was followed by George.
Libby smiled. ‘How lovely; I didn’t think I’d get to see you both.’
The women kissed cheeks and then Flowers held up her left hand for inspection. An emerald and diamond ring glinted in the electric light.
Libby gasped. ‘You’re engaged to be married?’
Flowers’s pretty face creased in a broad smile as she slipped her arm through George’s. ‘Meet my fiancé.’
‘That’s wonderful news!’ Libby cried.
She gave George a peck on the cheek; he was grinning foolishly.
