Page 52 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
‘On what you’ve been up to in Dacca,’ she answered, turning away to meet the next guest and leaving him gaping.
She milled around, cocktail glass in hand, chatting to the new arrivals. She was touched that her aunt and uncle had gone to such trouble for her: the hallway was cleared for arrival drinks, the dining room laid out for a buffet and the garden and veranda decorated with balloons and strings of coloured lights that kept flickering faultily. Three jazz musicians from the Saturday Club had been hired to play music and were positioned under an awning on the lawn.
Libby deliberately kept her distance from a bewildered George while keeping an eye out for the last of her guests. As it drew near to seven-thirty, she doubted that the Khans were going to come. Libby didn’t like to admit that the knot of disappointment in her stomach was as much for Ghulam’s absence as for her father’s. Of course he wouldn’tcome. Fatima probably hated parties and Ghulam would be thankful not to have to accompany her to a Britisher celebration in the heart of wealthy Alipore.
Johnny clapped for people’s attention and beckoned her into the centre of the hall. The hubbub died down.
‘This last month has been one of the happiest we’ve spent in Calcutta since retirement,’ said her uncle. ‘And it’s all because we’ve had our niece Libby staying with us. You’ve all got to know her too so you will agree with me that she is a wonderful girl – fun to have around, interesting to talk to and our croquet has improved no end thanks to her competitiveness in all things sporty.’
Shouts of ‘Hear, hear!’ punctuated his speech.
‘It’s a disappointment that her father, my brother-in-law James Robson, can’t be with us for the occasion. But let’s raise our glasses to the birthday girl – as well as to absent family and friends.’
‘To Libby!’ they chorused. ‘Absent friends!’
Libby took a sip of her drink. ‘And can I just say,’ she added, raising her voice, ‘a big thank you to my very generous aunt and uncle – and to Colonel Swinson – for hosting the party and being so very kind to me in Calcutta. Please enjoy the evening.’
‘We will! Well said!’ people cheered and conversation broke out again.
Libby, turning to smile at her uncle, caught sight of Fatima standing in the doorway dressed in a beautiful peacock-blue sari. Her heart knocked to see Ghulam beside her, immaculately turned out in a knee-length black silk kurta and white trousers. She rushed over to greet them, taking Fatima’s hand.
Libby beamed. ‘I’m so glad you could come.’
‘I was delayed at the hospital,’ said Fatima, ‘or we would have been here sooner. Sorry.’
‘Don’t be; you haven’t missed anything. I love your sari.’
‘And your dress is fabulous,’ said Fatima. ‘Did you have it specially made?’
‘Sort of.’ Libby smirked. ‘It’s from a theatre props cupboard – but don’t tell anyone.’ She glanced up at Ghulam. ‘A socialist theatre group,’ she said with a smile, ‘so it’s not a degenerate bourgeois dress.’
He smiled and shook her hand. Libby felt a tingle go up her arm at the contact. ‘We can forget the revolution for one evening,’ he said with an admiring look, ‘especially for such a dress.’
He looked more handsome than ever with his hair groomed and his chin freshly shaven. He smelt of sandalwood or something musky. She let go of his hand with reluctance.
‘What would you like to drink?’ Libby asked. ‘The gin cocktails are good but there’s fruit juice if you prefer.’
A waiter with a tray of drinks appeared beside them.
‘Fruit juice for both of us, thank you,’ said Ghulam, lifting two tumblers. ‘You go and mingle with your friends, Miss Robson. There’s someone over there wanting your attention.’
Libby turned to see George waving her over. She tensed. Her feelings about him were still very mixed and she was yet to have the conversation about Dacca.
‘He can wait,’ she said. ‘Let me introduce you to Flowers Dunlop – she’s a nurse and a friend of Adela’s but I don’t think you know her.’
Libby steered the Khans on to the veranda where Flowers was keeping her mother company and introduced them. Soon Libby was being led away by Helena to go and speak to one of her acquaintances from the club.
‘She remembers your mother from Assam – name’s Bradley.’
Libby hid her reluctance. MrsBradley was sitting with the Percy-Barratts in the sitting room and she knew it would be hard to get away.
‘What an interesting mix of people you know, dear,’ said Muriel, her tone disapproving. ‘Would never have happened when we were young.’
‘It’s the face of the new India to come,’ said MrsBradley, ‘and I think it’s rather fun.’
It turned out that MrsBradley had been a good friend of Tilly’s when she’d first arrived in Assam. The reminiscing made Libby ache for her absent father. She had tried to speak to Clarrie on the telephone that morning but had only got Daleep the factory manager, who promised to pass on a message that she had called.
The evening passed quickly. A large buffet was served mid-evening and then her aunt and uncle organised a game of charades on the veranda. George kept seeking her out and paying her special attention. He made sure that they were chosen in the same group and they acted outA Midsummer Night’s Dream, with Libby playing a sleepy Titania and George doing a slapstick Bottom. Although she was flattered by the fuss he made of her, it also left her feeling uncomfortable. She didn’t want Ghulam to assume she was George’s girlfriend.
