Page 20 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
Adela glanced away. It was Lexy who spoke. ‘The bairn might not have been so easy to place.’
‘Why not?’ Libby was baffled.
‘’Cos he’s coloured,’ said Lexy. ‘Not much; but he wasn’t as white as you or me. And you know how some folk are prejudiced that way.’
Libby flushed. It hadn’t occurred to her that the father wasn’t British.
Adela met her look with a glint of defiance. ‘John Wesley’s father was Indian. He was from Gulgat, near Belgooree.’
‘Where Sophie and Rafi live?’ Libby asked in astonishment.
Adela nodded.
Lexy said, ‘And not just any Indian. The bairn’s father was an Indian prince – Sanjay, they called him.’
Libby gaped at her cousin. It sounded like something out of a Hollywood film: ill-starred lovers in exotic India. But this was real life. She could see from the deep pain in Adela’s eyes how ashamed and hurt she still was. While Libby had been fretting over petty school restrictions at the age of fourteen, life for her cousin had been one traumatic incident after another. She recalled how Adela had only just lost her father a few weeks before she returned to Newcastle in 1938. It made Libby feel immature in comparison and she doubted she could have coped with so much at such a young age.
Something nagged in Libby’s mind: Gulgat? Then it hit her. Adela’s father Wesley had been killed in a hunting accident in Gulgat. Had Adela been carrying on her affair with this Sanjay at the same time? Had Wesley known? Her cousin had come back on the ship with Tilly later that summer. At the time, Libby had been told not to mention Adela’s father in case it upset her cousin, though everyone knew Adela had come to Newcastle to get over her grief for her parent. Libby had been delighted to have Adela around – more pleased to see her than she was her own mother. Perhaps it hadn’t just been the loss of her father that had brought Adela to Newcastle but the desire to escape an unhappy affair.
Whatever the truth, Libby felt deeply sorry for Adela. She would never judge her. It could just as easily be she, Libby, who had fallen pregnant from her affair with Lorenzo. She knew what it was like to be passionately in love with a handsome man and to believe all his seductive words and false promises.
Libby sat holding on to Adela’s hand. With her free hand, Adela began stroking Libby’s unruly hair. No one spoke. Lexy heaved herself out of her chair and went to refresh the teapot. There was an intimacy between the three women – a strong atmosphere of togetherness – whichno one wanted to dispel with trivial words. Libby was touched that Adela had confided her secret in her and that both women trusted her like an equal.
Libby wondered if she would ever find friends as dear to her as these two women when she returned to India. She had a momentary pang of misgiving at what she was embarking on, but it was fleeting. She had been fending for herself since she was eight years old. Libby was used to making new friends to fill the aching void left by her absent family.
Somewhere in India, new friends awaited – as well as her beloved, dearly missed father.
The day of leave-taking came on a dank grey day in mid-February. Libby’s brothers, Jamie and Mungo, had come to see her off at the cavernous Central Station, along with Tilly, Josey, Adela and Sam. Libby had already had a tearful goodbye with Lexy earlier that morning, neither knowing if or when they would see the other again.
‘I’m not ready for me grave yet,’ Lexy had wheezed. ‘You’ll be back before then, hinny. You take good care and don’t go falling for the first bonny lad who pays you compliments. You deserve a canny man who treats you right, hinny.’
Now Libby was bracing herself for more hasty goodbyes on the crowded platform. Jamie busied himself supervising the luggage on to the London train while Tilly fussed around Libby, brushing imaginary specks of soot from her coat and readjusting the jaunty angle of her black hat.
‘You would think I was going back to school,’ teased Libby with a roll of her eyes. She tried to answer her mother’s anxious questions without showing her irritation.
‘Yes, I’ll get a taxi to the airport. No, I won’t speak to strange men.’
‘And you’ll send a telegram as soon as you reach Calcutta,’ Tilly ordered. ‘And give my love to Johnny and Helena, won’t you?’
‘Shall I tell them you’ll be joining us soon?’ Libby challenged. ‘Then you can give them your message in person.’
‘Darling, do try and behave,’ Tilly said, ignoring the question.
Then her brothers were pushing their way in and giving her bashful kisses on the cheek. The others followed. Adela gave her a fierce hug.
‘Give my love to Mother when you get to Belgooree,’ she said. ‘And be happy.’
They exchanged knowing looks. ‘And good luck to you in all you do here,’ Libby said with meaning. She dropped her voice and added, ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for.’ She felt her eyes sting with sudden emotion.
‘Hurry up and get on the train,’ Tilly cried, ‘or you’ll miss it.’
For a moment Libby and Tilly looked at each other, hesitating. Libby was overcome with a sensation she hadn’t felt since she was a bewildered eight-year-old, the enormity of being parted from her mother. For a brief instant she remembered what a gut-wrenching moment that had been. One minute she’d been sobbing and clinging to her mother, and the next, Tilly’s plump, warm, lavender-smelling arms had been pushing her away.
Libby fought to control her voice. ‘Goodbye, Mother.’
She wanted to fling her arms around her mother’s neck in a hug. But she knew Tilly would only be embarrassed. Instead, Libby leant forward and pecked her mother’s cheek. Tilly gave a distracted smile and a light pat on Libby’s shoulder.
‘Go on, darling. Be good.’
