Page 120 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
Manzur nodded. ‘Yes. I would have left the Oxford five years ago and taken a teaching job if your father hadn’t persuaded me to stay.’
‘Insisted you stay, more likely?’ Libby said with a quizzical smile.
‘It was thanks to Robson sahib that I became a tutor at Belgooree,’ Manzur reminded her. ‘So he found a way for me to do both. Those times at Belgooree were the happiest I have known. That’s why I know I want to be a teacher.’
Libby touched his arm. ‘You’ll make a very good one. Harry is your fan for life. And an inspiring teacher is the best gift a child can have.’
Manzur grinned at her, his cheeks dimpling. ‘Thank you.’
‘I wish I was as certain about what I wanted to do,’ Libby sighed. ‘I never really thought beyond getting back out to India – and now I find that dream is suddenly coming to an end and I don’t have a home here any more. I want to be useful but I’m not sure how.’
‘You could be a teacher too,’ Manzur suggested. ‘Your father is proud at the way you are teaching typing to the Belgooree clerk.’
‘Is he?’ Libby glanced at him in surprise. ‘He’s never said that to me.’
‘Robson sahib is not one to waste words or flatter,’ said Manzur, ‘so when he does speak, it is praise indeed.’
‘That’s true,’ Libby agreed.
She fell silent, thinking about her father. In his fragile mental state he needed someone to care for him and she worried that her mother would not be sympathetic enough. Perhaps she really could be of some use to her father helping him settle back in Newcastle. She didn’t wantto leave India – her heart felt leaden at the very thought – but in the short term it seemed to be the only course open to her.
‘Perhaps when I get back to Britain and my family, I’ll discover what it is I’m destined to do in life.’ Libby grimaced. ‘I hope it’s not just a return to the typing pool.’
‘You will find your own path.’ Manzur smiled. ‘Just like you always did when we were children.’
Shortly afterwards, James joined them. Her father was red-faced with emotion.
‘I’ll drive first,’ Libby offered. She turned to Manzur and shook his hand. ‘Goodbye, friend,’ she said, ‘and good luck in all you do.’
He held on for a moment, his hand felt warm and had a wiry strength.
He smiled. ‘I hope we meet again, Libby-mem’.’
‘Me too,’ she said and disengaged her hand.
Soon they were driving off down the plantation road and the buildings of the Oxford Estates – where her father had spent all his working years – receded into a sea of green tea bushes until they disappeared completely in the shimmering heat.
‘Good man, Manzur,’ said James. ‘He’s a good man.’
‘Yes, he is,’ Libby replied.
‘He’ll make a fine manager one day,’ said her father. ‘He’s the future here. Good reliable intelligent men like him.’
Libby could hear the emotion in his voice. She kept quiet.
‘We haven’t all been good men out here,’ James said, ‘some bad apples in the barrel. But I’ve tried my best.’
Libby reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘I know you have. Manzur was just saying what a good and courageous manager you’ve been.’
‘Did he say that?’
Libby smiled. ‘Yes.’
James let out a sigh. ‘No, not always.’
Libby waited for him to say more. Perhaps now, on the long journey together, her father might confide in her. But after that, he fell into silence as Libby drove. Was there something that still nagged at his conscience – some secret about his time at the Oxford that he couldn’t bring himself to tell her? She longed to ask him but didn’t want to upset him more than he already was. Perhaps he didn’t want to say anything with Alok sitting in the back of the car. Or maybe there was nothing to divulge and his erratic behaviour was due to the stress of getting too old for his job and knowing that he would have to return to England and face his estranged wife. Part of her wanted him to unburden his secret to her as a fellow adult, but part of her feared what he might say. Libby realised she would probably never know.
As they got further away from Cheviot View and nearer to Belgooree, Libby held on to the secret that Manzur had just entrusted her with, and let her mind wander to what she would do next. There was less than a month till Independence. Her desire to get back to Calcutta to see Ghulam, before she had to follow her father to England, was like a feverish itch.
Libby determined she would not leave India without seeing him again.
