Page 191 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
CHAPTER 41
Calcutta, early October
Libby and Sophie were taking tea on the Roys’ veranda when a telephone call came through for Sophie from Rawalpindi. Libby’s heart lurched as she watched her dash indoors. Her pulse raced until she felt faint. She wanted to follow. The wait was interminable. Kind Bijal Roy tried to distract her with conversation.
‘You mentioned how you were teaching typing at Belgooree,’ she said. ‘Well, I have a friend whose niece is looking for a clerical job but she needs typing skills. I know it’s a bit of an imposition to ask but ...’
‘Of course,’ said Libby at once, ‘I’d be pleased to help. I can’t promise for how long but while I’m still in Calcutta I’d be happy to teach her – and if you don’t mind me staying longer?’
‘We like having you here, Libby. It’s so quiet now that our own daughters are married and living elsewhere.’ Bijal smiled. ‘You don’t have to go when Sophie goes.’
Libby felt a wave of gratitude. ‘There’s one problem though,’ she said. ‘I left my typewriter in Belgooree so I’d have to buy a new one.’
‘Let us do that,’ Bijal insisted.
Libby was about to protest, when Sophie reappeared. It was impossible to read the expression on her face. Her cheeks were flushed and hereyes glinting as if she’d been crying. But were they tears of happiness or upset?
‘How is Rafi?’ Libby asked, rising to her feet.
‘He’s well,’ Sophie said, relief flitting across her face. ‘He’s been in the new job a week. He got my letter.’
‘And?’ Libby’s heart pounded.
‘Walk with me,’ Sophie said, holding out her hand as if to a child.
Libby hurried over. Sophie slipped her arm through Libby’s and led her into the garden. Out of earshot, she turned to Libby and cleared her throat.
Quietly she said, ‘Rafi says Ghulam never arrived in Lahore. They didn’t even know he was on his way – no messages had got through. The first Rafi knew about it was from my letter. He drove straight back down to Lahore to see if Ghulam was there but he’s not. No one has seen or heard from him. Rafi’s very upset. He’s blaming himself for telling Ghulam about his father’s heart attack, never thinking for one moment that Ghulam would attempt to see the old man.’
Libby thought she would be sick. All her worst imaginings assaulted her anew.
‘That doesn’t mean that Ghulam’s ...’ Sophie let her words trail off.
Libby looked at her in distress. ‘Ghulam wouldn’t have let Fatima worry about him all this time. He would have got a message to her. It can only mean that something dreadful has happened.’
Sophie put her arms about Libby’s shoulders and hugged her. ‘I’m so sorry, lassie,’ she whispered. ‘I know how much you care for him.’
Libby’s resolve to be brave dissolved at Sophie’s tender gesture and words. She buried her face in Sophie’s shoulder and let out a sob. Sophie held her and rubbed her back while Libby wept. After a moment, Libby tried to compose herself. She pulled away and wiped her eyes.
‘Oh, Sophie,’ she said, her heart leaden, ‘how am I going to tell Fatima?’
In the end, both Sophie and Libby went to break the bleak news to Fatima about Ghulam’s failure to turn up in Lahore. Fatima collapsed in shock. Libby berated herself for blurting out the news so quickly but Sophie said there was no other way. Fatima had reached complete exhaustion, driving herself relentlessly at work and carrying the burden of grief over her estranged father, as well as worry about Ghulam.
The Roys insisted that Fatima be brought to their house to rest and recuperate. Libby kept a close watch over the doctor, keeping her company when she wanted it and leaving her in peace when she slept. As for herself, Libby only slept fitfully, remaining awake for long hours of the night thinking about Ghulam. She was filled with desolation. She believed something terrible had happened to her lover. She was haunted by the memory of the Gulgat mob, baying for Sophie’s blood and ready to lynch her for being a Muslim. Had Ghulam been caught and butchered by a similarly vengeful gang? Libby had to stuff her tearstained handkerchief into her mouth to gag her sobs. With daybreak, relief came in getting up and keeping busy, and pushing the horror of her thoughts to the back of her mind till night-time came again.
Gradually Fatima’s strength began to return and with it her dogged belief that her beloved brother might still be alive.
‘He could be helping in some refugee camp,’ she suggested. ‘That would be just like him. He used to disappear for months without a word in his campaigning days.’
Libby wanted to believe her. But the grim reality of the weeks following Partition were that tens of thousands of people were missing and unaccounted for because they had been slaughtered in the bloodbath of forced migration. It was far more likely that Ghulam had perished like countless others. She admired Fatima for her optimism but her heart was leaden with sorrow. Deep down, she knew that Ghulam was lost to her. She knew she couldn’t stay indefinitely at the Roys’ or in India but she couldn’t think of leaving India just yet – not while Fatima neededher and she could be of use to others – and while there was still a glimmer of hope of discovering what had happened to Ghulam.
Libby coped with the strain of Ghulam’s disappearance by keeping as busy as possible. She had started teaching the niece of the Roys’ friend to type. Eighteen-year-old Parvati came to the house in Ballyganj each morning for lessons and, with Libby’s encouragement, was soon competent and increasing her speed.
On Sundays Libby resumed attendance at the Duff Presbyterian Church, where her Uncle Johnny had taken her in the early days of her return to India. There had been an exodus of British members of the congregation but several of the Anglo-Indian and Gurkha families who had befriended her in the cold season welcomed her back.
At the end of each service, when Libby stood on the steps in the sunshine listening to people chatting, she would have a pang of longing for the time she had sat there with Ghulam eating cake. It made her feel closer to him for a few precious, bittersweet moments.
After a couple of weeks, Fatima revived and was determined to resume her duties at the hospital. Libby hid her reluctance to see the doctor go. More than with anyone else, being with Fatima made Libby feel Ghulam’s presence strongly. They would talk about him and Libby would encourage Fatima to reminisce and tell her stories about her brother. Occasionally they would laugh as some small incident was recalled – his voracious toffee-eating or the way he swung his arm in bowling practice without ever realising he was doing it.
