Page 51 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
CHAPTER 11
Calcutta
‘He’s not coming,’ said Aunt Helena briskly.
‘He’s been delayed, that’s all,’ Uncle Johnny said, trying to break the news more kindly.
‘Dad’s not coming to Calcutta?’ Libby asked in dismay.
‘I’m sure he’ll come as soon as he can,’ said Johnny.
‘But not in time for the party,’ said Helena. ‘You would have thought he might have made the effort for your birthday.’
Libby felt winded.
‘Darling,’ Johnny chided, ‘he’s not well or he would be coming.’
‘Not well? What did Clarrie say?’ Libby asked, suddenly anxious.
‘Well, the line from Belgooree wasn’t very good,’ said Johnny, ‘but she said your father had taken ill a few days ago and was resting at Belgooree.’
‘What sort of ill?’ Libby asked, her insides knotting.
‘Nerves,’ said Helena bluntly.
‘Exhaustion,’ Johnny said. ‘So he needs complete bed rest.’
‘He could do that here,’ protested Libby. ‘I could look after him. It shouldn’t be left up to Clarrie.’
‘The journey would be too much at the moment,’ said Johnny gently. ‘But he’s welcome here to recuperate whenever he wants.’
Libby’s eyes stung with tears. How much she had been looking forward to his arrival! ‘I wish I’d been here when she’d called.’
‘She rang from the factory telephone,’ said her uncle, ‘so your father wasn’t there. Perhaps you could ring in a day or two and see how he is. You really mustn’t worry; it’s nothing life-threatening – Clarrie insisted on you knowing that.’
‘Do you still want the party to go ahead?’ asked Helena. Her aunt seemed more concerned at James spoiling the party by not turning up than about his health.
‘Of course it must go ahead,’ insisted Johnny. ‘We can still make a fuss of our lovely niece on her birthday, can’t we?’
Libby did her best to hide her hurt at her father’s failure to turn up in Calcutta. She couldn’t believe he was suffering from nerves – that was the excuse of the work-shy to men like her dad; surely he was merely over-tired. It was probably Clarrie being ultra-cautious and making a fuss at the thought of James undertaking a long journey. It wasn’t his fault. He would have come if he could.
Swallowing her bitter disappointment, Libby determined to put on a brave face and make the most of her birthday party.
‘It’s not as if I’m used to having Dad there on my birthday,’ she said breezily at breakfast, ‘and there’ll be plenty of others to spend together.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ encouraged the Colonel. ‘Carry on!’
The day was spent pleasantly, starting with a ride across the Maidan, tiffin with the Colonel, a swim at the club and a rest before the party.
She decided to wear the green satin evening dress that Josey had retrieved from the theatre wardrobe and helped her have altered. It was pre-war fashionable, strapless and figure-hugging with a slit showing leg up to the knee. At twenty-two, she was not going to let Helena bully her into wearing something more demure. Libby wore her wavy hairlong and unbound, applied mascara to embolden her blue eyes and red lipstick to accentuate her full mouth. She sprayed herself liberally with French perfume that Colonel Swinson had instructed Helena to buy as a gift from him. She wanted to look her most sophisticated for George – and for Ghulam.
By seven the guests had started to arrive. Libby was a bundle of nerves inside but she greeted them with as much composure as she could muster. There were friends and neighbours of the Watsons, including the Percy-Barratts, and a dozen new friends from the Tollygunge and Saturday Clubs. George came with his chummery friends, Flowers with her parents and a couple of fellow nurses, and a handful of young people arrived from the Duff Church. Nearly thirty people were expected. Danny Dunlop was positioned in a bath chair on the veranda next to the Colonel and they fell into deep discussion about the railways.
George kissed her on the cheek. ‘You are looking like a film star, Miss Robson. I hope you’ve missed me half as much as I’ve missed you.’
Libby gave him a cool smile. ‘That depends.’
‘On what?’ His grin was quizzical.
