Page 77 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
CHAPTER 15
Assam, May
For the first few days Libby relished being back at Cheviot View. She went out riding before breakfast with her father, who was always up and awake before her, leaving Flowers to lie in.
‘I’m not keen on horses,’ Flowers had said, ‘but drinking tea in bed and reading your mother’s old books is a real treat. So don’t worry about me.’
Libby suspected her friend was allowing her time alone with her father and was grateful. It was the best time of day, when the sky was a pearly grey and before the heat grew fierce. They rode through the jungle and crossed the tea gardens at the outer edge of the Oxford Estates as the air filled with raucous birdsong. In the distance they could see the tea pickers wending their way to work through the bushes in their brightly coloured headscarves, baskets strapped to their backs. Libby forced from her mind Ghulam’s sour words about their exploitation; Manzur had assured her that they were adequately housed and given medical treatment.
Libby cherished this moment alone with her father; it conjured up the happiest part of her childhood when they had gone riding and he had pointed out birds and wildlife and taught her the names of trees. She was certain he was enjoying it too – he seemed more relaxed thanin the house – yet he said little. She had steered clear of talking politics since their first evening but, frustratingly, Libby couldn’t get him to talk about himself.
‘Nothing much to tell – same old routine, year in, year out. I’m much more interested in hearing about you, dear girl. Tell me about that farm you worked on during the War.’
Libby chattered happily and was delighted when her father laughed at her anecdotes about her fellow Land Girls. She decided it was best not to mention Lorenzo.
By the time Libby and her father got home, the dew-sparkling lawns were steaming in the morning sun. While Flowers had breakfast in bed, Libby sat with her father on the veranda eating scrambled egg on toast and drinking tea poured from a huge china teapot that had been a wedding gift to her parents from a retired tea planter called Fairfax.
‘Nice to get the old teapot out,’ said James. ‘Never bother when I’m on my own.’
‘It’s one of the things I remember,’ said Libby, ‘Mother insisting on pouring the tea from this and not letting the servants do it. “I’m quite capable of presiding over my own teapot,” she used to say.’
Libby hoped that talking about her mother would coax her father into fond reminiscing or at least curiosity about what Tilly’s life was like in Newcastle. But all week her father avoided talk of her mother. Every time Libby mentioned Tilly he went quiet or changed the subject. Not that he was particularly chatty about anything. Mostly Libby talked and he half listened, his gaze wandering off beyond the veranda as if his mind was far away. Perhaps he had always been like that and she just hadn’t realised it as a child. Was that one of her mother’s frustrations with James – that he just didn’t listen?
Libby noticed that her father seemed uneasy around Flowers, watching nervously for her to appear and making excuses to go shortly after she joined them.
‘Work to do,’ he would mutter and hurry away.
Libby felt embarrassed and hoped it wasn’t because Flowers was Anglo-Indian. Flowers made no comment and seemed content just to sit around on the veranda between meals, reading and dozing. Libby chivvied her into playing games, hunting out the croquet set and, with themali’s help, having the old tennis court mowed and a net erected. In the godown she found a spare racket for Flowers but the ground was too uneven and the balls had lost their bounce.
‘It’s really far too hot for tennis anyway,’ sighed Flowers, retreating back to her favourite veranda long chair to sipnimbu paniand read.
‘Perhaps we could go down to the clubhouse and play there when it’s cooler in the late afternoon,’ Libby suggested one day. ‘We could get Manzur and DrAttar to make up a foursome – Dad says the new doctor is mad about tennis.’
Flowers showed immediate interest. ‘That would be fun.’
The next day, James promised to mention it when he left for the office but returned that evening with nothing arranged. By the end of the week, Libby was growing bored and restless.
‘Dad, please let us come with you today,’ she said on their morning ride. ‘You can drop us off at the club. Flowers is going to go home having seen nothing but Cheviot View.’
‘She seems happy enough,’ he answered.
‘She’s very easy going,’ said Libby, ‘and too polite to complain but I don’t feel we’re being very good hosts. And we still haven’t done the trip to Shillong.’
That seemed to galvanise James. ‘Very well, I’ll drive you down to the club later.’
The afternoon trip to the clubhouse was not a success. By the time James had driven them down the hill and dropped them off, the temperature had soared and there was not a lick of a breeze. Libby’s dress was sticking to her as if she’d been caught in the rain. Despite Libby’s protests, the young women were not allowed into the main club room and had to sit and take tea in the ladies’ room, which was deserted.They whiled away the afternoon playing half-heartedly at cards and backgammon.
‘Mother used to call it the hen-house,’ Libby recalled. ‘She couldn’t bear it. Said the so-called library had nothing to read except out-of-date magazines.’
‘It still hasn’t,’ said Flowers with a dry smile.
‘We kids loved coming here for socials though,’ said Libby. While the grown-ups danced and had too much to drink, we’d watch cine films and eat so much ice cream and cake that one of us was always sick on the way home.’
‘Sounds delightful.’ Flowers laughed. ‘We did much the same thing in the railway colony – there were always parties and dressing-up, especially at Christmas and Easter.’
‘It’s so hot,’ Libby sighed, fanning herself with a magazine. ‘I can’t imagine how I thought we could play tennis in this. I’ve hardly got the strength for cards. Do you want me to order more tea?’
‘No,’ said Flowers, ‘but I wouldn’t mind achota peg. Is it too early?’
