Page 85 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
‘Of course you must come,’ she urged on the crackly telephone line. ‘It will be wonderful to see you – and Flowers too.’
It was arranged that Manzur would share the driving with Libby. Two days later, they loaded up the car and waved farewell to Aslam and Meera, leaving them in charge of the bungalow.
‘We’ll be back soon,’ Libby promised, though more to pacify her father who, at the last minute, grew agitated that neither Aslam nor his faithful hound Breckon were going with him. ‘Manzur can always bring Aslam over to Belgooree if you find that he’s needed. And the servants will spoil Breckon here.’ Libby knew that Flowers was wary of dogs and would hate a long car journey confined with the boisterous Breckon.
They drove all day, the steering wheel too hot to touch without driving gloves, and stopped only to picnic at dak bungalows along the way and to get temporary relief in the shade.
It was dark by the time they began the ascent up to Belgooree, the car headlights catching fireflies in their beam and a welcoming breeze cooling the travellers. Manzur was driving so Libby was able to hang out of the window and see the familiar outline of the Belgooree factory come into view, as they bumped up the pot-holed track through the tea garden. Her father had been asleep since their tea stop an hour ago.
The nostalgic heady scent of flowers and pines made Libby’s eyes prickle with emotion. It brought back memories of family trips to see her father’s Belgooree cousins and how ridiculously excited she would become.‘Sit still!’her mother would cry. But her father would let them out at the bottom of the track and allow Libby and Jamie to run all the way from the factory up to the house. Libby resisted the urge to jump out and do so now in the dark. But as they pulled up outside the old bungalow, gleaming silver in the moonlight, Libby was leaping out of the car and up the veranda steps.
Clarrie was waiting on the veranda to welcome them. Her black hair now held a few silver threads, but at sixty-one, Libby thought the woman still beautiful. Her fine-featured face glowed in the lamplight and her dark eyes were lively. Despite her old-fashioned frock, Clarrie still had the figure of a young woman.
Libby hugged her warmly. ‘This is very good of you, Cousin Clarrie. Dad’s not well.’
‘You know I would do anything for Tilly’s family.’ Clarrie smiled. ‘I’m so happy to see you.’ She turned. ‘Harry, darling, go and help Uncle James out of the car.’
It was then that Libby saw a tall youth standing in the shadows. ‘Cousin Harry?’ she gasped. ‘We’ve never met – but you look so like your dad, it couldn’t be anyone else.’
The boy gave a bashful smile and an awkward handshake before jumping down the steps to help his elderly cousin. ‘Manzur!’ he cried in delight, on catching sight of his former tutor.
‘That was kind,’ murmured Clarrie. ‘Harry loves to be compared to his father, though I’m afraid he has little memory of Wesley ...’
‘I meant it,’ said Libby. ‘He’s got his father’s dark good looks. In a few years the tea planters’ daughters will be fighting over him at the club dances.’
Clarrie laughed softly and put a hand on her arm. ‘And you have grown so pretty, Libby – you have the lovely Robson eyes.’
Libby blushed with pleasure; none of her family had ever said that.
As Harry led a disorientated James up the steps, Libby noticed Flowers sharing a cigarette with Manzur. They made an attractive couple. On the journey while James had slept, the nurse had been quizzing Manzur about The Lodge but he seemed vague about its previous occupants. She wondered what Flowers was talking to him about now.
‘Clarrie!’ James exclaimed.
‘James.’ Clarrie smiled and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Come and make yourself comfortable. How was your journey?’
Libby watched in amazement as her father followed her meekly to a cane sofa and sat down beside her. But it was the look on her father’s face that surprised her the most: a tenderness that she had not seen before. It was the sort of expression that Libby had longed to see pass between her parents. The concern that she had felt in England, that her father and Wesley’s widow might have grown close during Tilly’s long absence, resurfaced. How intimate had they grown during the War?
Libby banished such thoughts; Clarrie was merely being kind. That’s the sort of generous person she was. Libby was over-tired from the driving and the past few days of little sleep and was reading too much into a couple of glances and a kiss on the cheek.
Declining supper, Libby went thankfully to bed in the small back bedroom which she used to share with Adela on long-ago holidays. She dozed off to the sound of crickets and muted conversation and slept soundly.
Two days later, as Libby walked with Flowers in the garden, Flowers told Libby of her decision to get a lift to Gowhatty with Manzur and take the train back to Calcutta.
‘Your father is in good hands here,’ she said to Libby. ‘I think you should have time together as a family and not worry about having to entertain me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Libby, ‘it’s been no holiday for you at all.’
‘I’ve enjoyed a lot of it,’ said Flowers, ‘so you mustn’t feel guilty. I just hope your father’s health improves quickly.’
‘He already seems calmer here,’ said Libby. ‘Perhaps all he needs is a change of air.’
Flowers looked sceptical. ‘Try and get him to talk about what’s concerning him.’
Libby, silently hoping that recuperation was all her father needed, changed the subject. ‘What about our trip to Shillong? We still haven’t been to the orphanage. Are you sure you don’t want to stay a little longer?’
‘I’m not sure I want to find out about Daddy’s past any more,’ said Flowers. ‘I think it’s more important to decide what our future is going to be.’
Libby gave her a teasing smile. ‘And you’d rather spend a car journey with a certain assistant manager than visit orphanages?’
