Page 62 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
Impulsively, Libby reached out and covered his hand with hers. ‘Tell me what I should do. I want to be useful here but I feel so helpless. It’s as if the world is spinning out of control and everyone’s angry or afraid of something. It should be a new dawn – but it doesn’t feel like it.’
The taxi slowed as it turned into the quiet leafy street in Alipore where the Watsons lived and came to a halt. Libby thought Ghulam wasn’t going to say anything, yet he hadn’t pulled his hand away.
‘Do what is in your power to do, Libby,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t have to be anything big or newsworthy.’
‘Such as?’ she asked, searching his face.
‘Go and see your father,’ he answered. ‘He’s ill and he needs you.’
She was taken aback by his suggestion. She wanted to do something grand and noble that would make a difference to people. She hadn’t meant something small-scale and personal.
‘He hasn’t asked for me to go,’ she countered.
‘He might never ask. Are you going to kick your heels around Calcutta because you’re afraid to face him? Because if so, you’re not the brave woman I think you are.’
His challenge jolted Libby. She thought how Ghulam had been cast out from his own family and it surprised her that he should think it important for her to see her father. Perhaps he had guessed that, despite her insistence on wanting to see her father again, she was also nervous at meeting him. Or maybe Ghulam just wanted her gone from the city. As if reading her thoughts, he added, ‘It is perhaps my only regret that I did not see my mother again before she died.’
Libby’s eyes prickled with sudden emotion. He seemed such a strong man – one who would never show any weakness – and yet his words were edged with a bittersweet tenderness. For all that they had argued and the evening had been fraught, Ghulam still had the humanity to think of her relationship with her father – a man whose position of power in the tea gardens he despised. She was only just beginning to grasp the depth of Ghulam’s wisdom and compassion for people – even for his adversaries.
‘Thank you,’ Libby said.
Instinctively, she leant towards him and pressed her mouth against his in a robust kiss. Then she was pushing open the door and clambering out before he had time to react.
They watched each other as the taxi moved off. Ghulam’s handsome face was impassive. Libby felt a fresh wave of remorse – not only for angering Ghulam with her earlier impulsive behaviour and for causing upset between Fatima and her brother – but now for her foolish kiss. It would make things ten times more awkward between her and Ghulam should they meet again. What on earth had taken possession of her?
Libby retreated up the garden path, her cheeks burning with more than just the evening heat. By the time she had reached the house, she had made up her mind. She would contact Flowers in the morning and if her friend still wanted to come with her to Assam, Libby would make arrangements for their travel as soon as possible. If not, she would go anyway.
Only later, lying in bed, going over the events of the evening, did she remember. She had left her jute bag with the sketching pad and pencils at the Khans’ flat in Amelia Buildings. Libby stifled a gasp of embarrassment. What if Ghulam should flick through it and find the cartoon of him portrayed as a caged sulking tiger? Libby lay back with a sigh. She and Ghulam Khan would probably never set eyes on each other again – no doubt that would be what he wished – so what was the use in worrying?
With a deep sigh of regret, Libby forced herself to think of something else. She would go to her father. Soon she would be back in Assam. After all, that’s why she had come all this way, wasn’t it?
Unable to sleep, Ghulam went up to the flat roof of Amelia Buildings to smoke. Something that Libby had said kept nagging at his thoughts:‘It’s as if the world is spinning out of control and everyone’s angry or afraid of something ...’
That was how he felt – as if things were slipping out of his control. The meeting had been bad-tempered and seething with hostility. People had already made up their minds that the partition of Bengal was coming whether they wanted it or not, and they talked of the Punjab in the same way. There was a fatalistic belief overtaking the Congress Party that the only way to salvage India was to sever its two arms: Punjab in the west and Bengal in the east.
During the meeting, Ghulam had begun to feel dispirited. He had searched around the room for Fatima; his younger sister’s presence always calmed and reassured him. He had come to rely on her more and more. Whatever happened, Fatima always maintained her quiet optimism that things would work out for the best. Then he had spotted Libby standing with Fatima at the back wall. For a moment he had been speechless with surprise, thinking he must have made a mistake. But the large blue eyes with their challenging look and the expressive mouth that curved in a smile of encouragement as their eyes met could belong to no other.
Ghulam felt his heart begin to thud again at the memory. His instant feeling was one of elation that she had come to hear him, followed immediately by anger that she would put herself and also Fatima in danger by coming openly to the rowdy meeting. Of course as a memsahib she would attract suspicion and resentment.
Ghulam took a deep drag on his cigarette. He should never have told his sister about the meeting in the first place. The atmosphere had been openly hostile towards Muslims. Yet Fatima continued to reassure him that once a political settlement was reached then the anger and fear between the communities would dissipate. He had to believe that.
He leant on the parapet, welcoming the evening breeze that licked his hair and face, and looked south towards Alipore. An indistinct mass of dark trees obscured the housing.
‘Oh, Libby,’ he sighed.
He felt such a clash of emotions towards the young woman: annoyance and resentment, admiration and liking. Seeing her being accosted at the meeting by the odious heckler, Ghulam had been astonished by the surge of protectiveness he had felt towards her as he’d rushed to her aid.
He lit another cigarette. He had to admit that it wasn’t just the world slipping out of control that preoccupied him but his feelings for the Robson girl. How many times had the image of Libby in the green satin evening dress come to mind in recent days? Seeing her on the Watsons’ veranda had taken his breath away: her voluptuous figure and lustrous hair, her hypnotic blue eyes and translucent skin that betrayed her emotions as the blood rushed up from her chest to her cheeks at the slightest compliment. She was beautiful.
Ghulam had gone with reluctance to the birthday party just to please Fatima and had intended staying for as short a time as possible. But he had been unable to stop gazing at Libby or to quell the kick of jealousy he felt at seeing her dancing with her other male friends. He had feigned indifference to her plea to dance with him and yet when he took her in his arms he was flooded with a desire that he had not felt in years.
It was ridiculous to feel this way about a Britisher – and one nearly half his age – and yet he could not help it. He found himself thinking about her when trying to write articles, when he heard a snatch of bandmusic on the radio or when over-tired and sleepless in his bed. Restless, Ghulam could not help wondering about other lovers she might have had.
He knew such surges of desire were fruitless; nothing could come of a relationship with Libby and it would be wrong to give her hope. Besides, Fatima had just told him how she had cautioned Libby against developing feelings for her brother and that he was wedded to his causes. He was grateful for his sister’s frankness towards the British girl.
But what about that moment of intimacy in the taxi earlier that evening? His pulse had throbbed at the touch of her hand on his and then that brief electrifying kiss on the lips. If she had stayed any longer, would he have pulled her into his arms and kissed her properly? Ghulam let out a long sigh. He had been genuine in wanting her to be reunited with her father and realised what an ordeal it would probably be for both of them after such a long separation. He had not suggested it as a means of putting her out of temptation’s way but there was a certain relief in thinking Libby would be leaving for Assam. He could get on with his work without worrying about bumping into her – and perhaps he could rid his thoughts of her more easily.
Ghulam stubbed out his cigarette and went below.
