Page 30 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
CHAPTER 6
Libby was exultant when, two days later, an invitation to afternoon tea arrived by post from Fatima Khan. It helped lessen her disappointment that she still hadn’t heard from George.
‘Who is it from?’ Helena asked, intrigued. ‘Is it your young man?’
‘No, it’s from a friend of Adela’s – a lady doctor,’ said Libby. ‘She’s inviting me for tea tomorrow.’
‘Kiran can drop you off and pick you up.’
‘That’s kind,’ said Libby, ‘but I’ve decided to go into town earlier and have another look at the art gallery – take my sketch pad. I’ll get the tram to the Maidan.’
‘Not on your own, surely?’ Helena looked worried. ‘Your uncle can go with you.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Libby firmly. ‘And I’ll get a rickshaw to Hamilton Road.’
When her aunt protested, Johnny intervened. ‘Libby can look after herself, darling. She’s used to being independent and at her age she doesn’t need our permission to leave the house, does she?’
‘I suppose not,’ said Helena doubtfully. ‘You will wear one of your nice new dresses, won’t you, dear?’
Libby’s heart quickened with excitement as she mounted the staircase inside Amelia Buildings. Thechowkidarhad told her that DrKhan lived at the top, on the fourth floor. The mansion block must once have been a desirable place to live; it had marble pillars in the entrance and large arched windows, but the tiled floors were cracked and some of the ornate shutters hung loose on rusted hinges. There was a strong smell of spicy cooking as she took the stairs two at a time.
A small, dark-skinned woman opened the door to her knocking. Beyond the door was a faded green curtain which the servant pulled aside, with a slim hand beckoning Libby into a large, airy, high-ceilinged room. Seeing a rack of shoes near the door, Libby pulled off her new court shoes.
‘Miss Robson.’ A handsome bespectacled woman who looked to be in her late thirties came forward with an outstretched hand. She was wearing a calf-length buff-coloured dress and a gauzy cream shawl. ‘Welcome. I’m Fatima. No need to take off your shoes.’
Libby shook hands and smiled. ‘They’re killing my feet anyway. Aunt Helena insisted on buying them. And please call me Libby.’ Libby reached into her new handbag and drew out a tin. ‘These are for you – Scottish toffees. Adela said you’d like them.’
Fatima exclaimed, ‘How kind! I love toffee – ever since my brother Rafi brought them back from Scotland when I was a girl. I’ll have to hide them from Ghulam or he’ll eat them all. He has a terribly sweet tooth.’
‘Is your brother here too?’ Libby asked.
‘He’s still at work,’ said Fatima. ‘He’s a journalist withThe Statesmannewspaper. Perhaps you will meet him another time.’
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ said Libby, feeling a flicker of disappointment. He sounded like the sort of man who would have interesting views on the current situation.
‘Please, come and sit down. Are you ready for tea?’
‘Thank you, yes.’
‘Sitara will bring it in then.’
Fatima turned to the servant, handed over the tin of toffees and spoke in a language Libby didn’t understand. Perhaps it was Punjabi, as the Khan family hailed from Lahore. Adela had told Libby about Fatima’s devoted servant, a Hindu widow that the doctor had rescued from the streets years ago.
Libby glanced around the room. It was whitewashed and simply furnished with table and chairs, two cane seats with blue cushions, a desk scattered with papers next to a long bookcase and another pile of books propping up a radiogram. The room smelt of sandalwood and the polished floor was partly covered with a blue-and-gold Persian carpet.
Libby sat in one of the cane chairs, tucking a stockinged leg under her. It was a habit she had picked up at boarding school and which irritated her mother, but Tilly wasn’t there to chastise her. Libby wondered what her mother would think of her visiting an Indian home and decided she wouldn’t mind. She was less sure what her father might think; she didn’t really know his views on a range of matters.
As they waited for tea, Fatima spoke in a calm soft voice, probing Libby with questions. How had her journey been? What had she done so far in Calcutta? What news of Adela and Sam? How were her mother and brothers, her father? Libby was surprised at how much the doctor seemed to know about her family. Adela must have spoken of them all.
Sitara brought in a tray loaded with food: open sandwiches – cucumber and tomato – a Madeira cake, a selection of Indian sweetmeats, and the toffees displayed in a pretty blue-glazed bowl. The servant returned with another tray with a tea set and a large china teapot, beautifully decorated with green and yellow birds.
Libby tucked into the tea. The sweetmeats tasted of rich, creamy fudge. After sugar rationing in Britain, Libby was not used to suchsweetness and found them almost too sickly. But Fatima pressed her to eat more.
Halfway through tea, Libby heard a pounding of feet on the stairs to the flat and then the door was swinging open and a stocky dark-haired man in a crumpled linen suit was barging through the curtain.
‘They’re leaving!’ he cried. ‘It’s just been announced! The Brit—’
Abruptly he caught sight of Libby and stopped, his face registering surprise.
