Page 9 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
CHAPTER 2
Newcastle, late January 1947
Libby banged on the front door of the terraced house in South Gosforth, stamping her boots and shaking snow from the old army jacket a one-time boyfriend had given her. Outside, the air was raw and the pavements still hazardous with frozen piles of blackened snow that wouldn’t melt. She was chilled to the bone. Suddenly, she spotted the battered cases filling the narrow hallway. Voices and laughter spilled through the open sitting-room door. Libby’s heart skipped a beat. Had Adela and Sam finally come?
‘Koi hai!’ she called, a grin spreading across her pink-cheeked face.
‘Speak English, darling!’ Tilly, her mother called back. ‘We have visitors.’
She could hear the excitement in her mother’s voice. Pulling off her woollen hat to release a cascade of dark-red hair, Libby rushed into the sitting room. Her mother and friend Josey were sitting in their usual well-worn armchairs, while sitting close together on the sofa were a pretty, dark-haired young woman and a tanned, thin-faced man.
‘Cousin Adela!’ Libby screeched and flung herself at the petite woman as she rose to greet her. They hugged and laughed. ‘Why didn’t you say you were arriving today? I’d have come to the station. Howlong have you been here? We thought you weren’t reaching England for another week, didn’t we, Mother?’
‘Let the poor girl speak,’ Tilly chided.
‘Sorry,’ Libby said with a deep-throated laugh. ‘I’m just so excited to see you.’
‘And so are we.’ Adela smiled, pushing back her wavy dark hair. ‘We took the train from Marseilles to save a few days’ sailing.’ She turned and beckoned to the man who had stood up the minute Libby had entered the room. He was so tall that his receding fair hair brushed the ceiling lampshade. ‘This is my husband, Sam.’
Sam leant across and took Libby’s hand in a crushing handshake.
‘Very pleased to meet you at last, Libby. You’re even prettier than Adela described you.’
Libby laughed with pleasure. ‘And I’m honoured to meet the war hero of the Indian Air Force. According to Mother, you chased the Japs out of Burma more or less single-handedly.’
‘Oh, you do exaggerate,’ Tilly protested. ‘I said no such thing. But we are very proud of you, Sam.’
Sam laughed. ‘I merely dropped a few supplies behind enemy lines. Others were taking far greater risks.’
‘Not true,’ said Adela, slipping her arm around his waist and hugging him. ‘You risked your life every day for months. I’m just thankful the War’s over and I got you back safely.’
Sam kissed the top of her head. ‘Me too.’
Libby felt a pang of emotion at their loving gestures. It was obvious how much they adored each other. She couldn’t remember a time when her parents had been like that.
‘What news of Dad?’ Libby asked eagerly. ‘Did you see him before you left India? He hasn’t written since Christmas. Is he planning on coming over?’
‘Stop badgering poor Adela,’ Tilly said. ‘Your father is fine.’
‘How would you know?’ Libby said pointedly. ‘You haven’t seen him since you came back to visit us just before the War – that’s over seven years ago.’
Tilly sighed. ‘Don’t start.’
Adela gave an encouraging smile and said, ‘We saw your dad at Christmas. We spent it together at Belgooree with Mother and my brother. James was a bit tired – he still works very hard at the Oxford – but he was in good heart. The fresh hill air was just the tonic he needed.’
Tilly sighed impatiently. ‘James has always put work and the Oxford tea plantation before family – even in the early days. He’s nearly seventy but he thinks he can do the workload of a forty-year-old.’
Libby felt her insides knot at the mention of her father’s age. She didn’t want him to grow old. She still imagined him as the vigorous, robust man with the ruddy face and boisterous hugs who had won her devotion in childhood. But she hadn’t seen him since she was eleven years old when her parents had last been on leave together in England. She’d been granted an extra week’s holiday from boarding school so that the family could go to StAbbs for a chilly winter seaside break. Then world war had come and the family had been forced apart from her father for years on end, with him out in India and them stuck in Britain.
Now she was nearly twenty-two, would her father even recognise her? He had missed her growing up and she had missed his taking her side against the rest of the family. Her two brothers had always ganged up against her with their teasing ways, while her mother was endlessly critical and always favouring the boys. But Libby was sure that she and her father would rekindle their former closeness in no time.
Tilly waved at her guests to sit down again. ‘My husband should admit he’s an old man. It’s time he retired and came back home,’ she said bluntly.
‘To this?’ Libby said in derision, squeezing on to the sofa next to Adela. ‘Can you imagine Dad living in a house with no garden and no room for his horses and dogs? He’s just not the city type.’
‘We could afford to get somewhere larger,’ said Tilly, ‘if he wasn’t running two households thousands of miles apart. I’d love a house in Jesmond – I grew up in that part of the city.’
‘But Assam is his home,’ Libby insisted. ‘It’s stillourhome.’
