Page 27 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden
Libby bridled at the criticism of her mother, even though she mainly agreed with it.
‘Mother spent the War looking after me and my brothers,’ she replied, unable to hold her tongue. ‘I think she probably had a harder time of it in Britain than any of you in India – even the tea planters.’
After that, Muriel ignored her and talked to Helena about the possibility of sharing a cottage in Darjeeling for the hot season. Libby was left worrying about her father’s health but decided that the waspish Muriel had been exaggerating.
On Sunday, Libby elected to go to the Presbyterian Church on Wellesley Square with her Uncle Johnny rather than with Helena to StPaul’s Cathedral.
‘Don’t linger,’ Helena warned. ‘We always take Papa out to the club for Sunday lunch after church. He hates to be late.’
Libby, who had enjoyed sharing early breakfasts on the veranda all week with the absent-minded Colonel, was doubtful that the old man would know if his lunch were late or not. But to keep her aunt happy, she promised they would be prompt.
Libby relished having an hour or so with just her kind uncle for company. Johnny liked to give their driver, Kiran, the day off on Sundays and drove the car himself. At the Duff Scottish Church, Libby was surprised to find that the Europeans in the congregation were outnumbered by Indians and Anglo-Indians. Many of the women were smartly dressed in European-style clothing and the men were turned out in lightweight suits or dark-blue blazers.
‘I prefer it here to the grand StAndrew’s on Dalhousie Square,’ whispered Johnny. ‘I’m more likely to bump into one of my old Gurkhas.’
Once the service was over, her uncle took little persuasion to detour around the streets of central Calcutta.
At the square outside Hogg’s Market, Libby exclaimed, ‘I’ve been here before! I recognise the clock tower. Dad brought me here, I’m sure of it. I think he was trying to find someone to mend his pocket watch.’
‘The clock is a famous landmark,’ said Johnny, ‘and a place of rendezvous.’
‘Can we stop and have a milky tea, Uncle Johnny?’
‘From a chai stall?’ he asked in surprise.
‘Yes. Dad and I always drank it when we were out in town together. Mother wouldn’t let me drink or eat anything from street stalls, so it was always a treat and a secret that I shared with Dad.’
At once, her uncle pulled over to the curb. ‘Well, it’ll be our little secret from your Aunt Helena too.’
Libby was fascinated by the scene. Even though the indoor market was closed, the surrounding streets were busy with rickshaws carrying elderly men or women in bright saris. Men in white lungis or checked sarongs milled around the pavements, side-stepping the squatting vendors who were crying out for business: ‘Paan, bidis, chai!’
The chai-wallah grinned toothlessly as he poured out steaming tea from a great height into small earthenware cups. Libby sipped at the hot sweet drink, which had been boiled up with milk and something spicy,possibly ginger. For a moment she was a small girl again, standing in the protective shadow of her tall, vigorous father, enjoying an illicit taste of Indian street life. Her eyes prickled with tears. Would she ever be able to recapture that close bond she had once shared with her beloved father? She was impatient for their reunion but also nervous in case they had grown too far apart in the intervening years – half her lifetime.
She was also troubled by Muriel’s words. Could her father’s health really be failing? Libby refused to believe that a man so vital and strong couldn’t cope with plantation life. It was a healthy outdoor life and her father thrived on hard work. She mustn’t let Muriel’s gloomy conversation upset her; the woman had said such things merely in criticism of Tilly.
‘I’ve always liked your father,’ said Johnny, as if somehow reading her mind. ‘I credit myself with his marrying your mother.’
‘Really?’ Libby was amazed.
‘I first met James Robson in Shillong – when I was stationed there in the twenties. Extracted a tooth for him.’ Johnny grinned. ‘And he took me hunting as payment. I had a hunch that he would get on well with Tilly – so I asked him to deliver some of my wedding photographs to my family as he was due some leave. Next thing I heard, my sister was marrying him and coming out to India. Imagine how pleased I was!’
‘Was Mother happy in those days?’ asked Libby.
Johnny nodded. ‘Oh, I think so. No doubt India was a bit of a shock after life in Newcastle but she soon had Jamie and they both seemed besotted parents, judging by her letters at least.’
‘The fact that they had three children together must have meant they were happy, mustn’t it?’ Libby mused.
‘Of course. On the few times we got together, you all seemed the ideal family – boisterous and full of fun – especially you, Libby.’
Libby smiled. ‘Was I?’
‘Yes. Helena and I were always a little envious of Tilly and James,’ admitted Johnny. ‘We would have liked children.’
Libby saw the regret flit across her uncle’s face.
‘I’m sorry you didn’t,’ she said.
Johnny drained off his tea. ‘Still,’ he said, ‘we’ve had a very good life in India. I wouldn’t swap that for anything.’
