Page 78 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
‘Not when you’re on holiday,’ said Libby. ‘But shall we go somewhere more exciting?’
‘Such as?’
‘Dad says Manzur lives at The Lodge with the oldmohurer, Anant Ram. He’s a sweetie. The bungalow is just further up this road and has one of the biggest verandas on the plantation. We could call in there if you like?’
‘Won’t Manzur still be at work?’
‘Probably,’ said Libby, ‘but we could visit Anant Ram in the meantime and wait for Manzur to come home.’
Flowers’s mouth twitched in a coy smile. ‘Won’t your father disapprove?’
‘Why should he? Anant Ram is an old friend from my childhood and I haven’t had a chance to see him yet. Come on. I’ll send achaprassyto let Dad know where we’ve gone.’
The women borrowed bicycles from the clubhouse and cycled along to The Lodge as the sun began to lose its strength. Even though it only took minutes, Libby was beetroot red and panting as they wheeled their bicycles up the garden path towards the secluded red-roofed bungalow.
Flowers stopped suddenly, her look alarmed. ‘Do you think this is a good idea?’
‘Dad really won’t mind,’ Libby reassured her. ‘And I’m not cycling any further.’
Anant Ram, bald, skinny and in wire spectacles – looking ridiculously like pictures of Gandhi – welcomed Libby enthusiastically and summoned his youngest daughter, Charu. Libby had a vague memory of Charu from years ago and it now appeared that she was looking after her aged father. They ushered their guests on to the deep-set veranda and produced a refreshing jug of lime and soda, along with spicy snacks.
Libby did all the talking, answering the old bookkeeper’s questions about the family and life in Britain. Only after a while did she realise that Flowers was sitting tensely on the edge of her chair, her drink almost untouched. She was still perspiring.
‘Are you feeling unwell, Dunlop-Mem’?’ asked Charu. ‘Perhaps you would prefer tea?’
‘No, no ... thank you,’ Flowers said, her voice breathless. ‘I just feel a little faint.’
‘Would you like to go and bathe your face?’ Libby suggested.
Flowers didn’t answer.
‘Come, please,’ said Anant’s daughter. ‘I will show you. And then you will have sweet tea.’
Flowers followed her into the house, glancing back at Libby with an anxious expression. Libby was baffled as to why her friend should feel so uncomfortable among the affable Rams. She wondered if she should go with her but just then she heard the toot of a car horn. Minutes later, James and Manzur were joining them.
‘So this is where you’ve got to,’ James said, his voice affable but his look annoyed.
Anant offered him a drink but James declined, turning to Libby. ‘Where is Miss Dunlop?’
‘She’s gone inside – she’s not feeling well – I think the bike ride was too much for her.’
‘You shouldn’t have made her cycle in the heat,’ her father chided. ‘Manzur or I could have driven you here.’
Manzur stood glancing awkwardly between them but said nothing.
‘Anyway, it’s time to go home,’ said James, ‘I want to be back up the hill before sunset.’
Libby got up. ‘I’ll go and find Flowers then.’
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom of the shuttered interior. The layout was simple: a large central sitting room with doors at either side leading off to what Libby assumed were the bedrooms. As with all the old tea bungalows, the kitchens would be in a separate building around the back.
The walls creaked. She heard a sigh.
‘Flowers?’ Libby called out. There was silence. Perhaps their hostess had taken Flowers to lie down. Libby crossed the room and opened the door on the right. A ghostly light filtered through the shutters. Her eye half caught sight of a figure in the corner.
‘Flowers, Dad’s here and wants to go.’
But when she turned fully towards the person, she saw that it was merely a shadow. Heart thumping, Libby retreated swiftly from the room to find Flowers hurrying out of the opposite door. All colour had drained from her face; her dark eyes were wide and her hair was stuck to her skin with sweat. She stood rigid.
