Page 119 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
Adela xxx
Clarrie’s eyes smarted at the tender farewell. Her daughter was safe and sounded happy. She noted the date. It had been written a month ago. Her stomach clenched in fresh anxiety. Anything could have happened since then. She knew from crackling bulletins on the wireless that since the fall of France in June the Luftwaffe had begun dropping bombs over British cities. Tyneside had been mentioned.
It amazed Clarrie that any letters got through these days. Now that Italy had declared war on Britain, no ships coming through the Mediterranean were safe from attack, and flights were now almost impossible. Mail came by sea around the Cape, but how much mail had been lost along with devastating numbers of merchant shipping? Adela had referred to some earlier letter about Josey joining ENSA that she’d never received.
For an instant she felt again the hurt that her daughter had chosen to stay in England instead of returning to India and safety. At first she had been disbelieving and then angry at the decision, wondering unfairly if Tilly had put pressure on her to stay. But her anger had turned swiftly to guilt. She had pushed Adela away. Was it any wonder that she hadn’t come rushing back to her? For a time she had worried that her daughter was unhappy in Newcastle– for a couple of months the previous year Adela had not written to her at all– but since the outbreak of war her spirits appeared to have revived. Perhaps she had a new sense of purpose.
Clarrie went to change out of her sodden clothes. There was no sign of Harry, who would still be with Banu, the garden overseer. If Clarrie allowed it, the boy would spend every daylight hour out riding with the patient Khasi manager or playing with Banu’s children. Perhaps she was wrong to let the boy run free, but he was not yet seven, and she wanted him to enjoy his childhood at Belgooree and be accepted by the local hill people in the way that she had been.
Ayah Mimi, frailer now, still kept an eye on him at the house when Clarrie was busy at the factory, and between them they were teaching him the basics of reading and counting. He loved Ayah’s stories of Hindu gods and goddesses. Formal education could wait. She wanted to keep Harry with her as long as possible. He was her final link with Wesley and each year grew more like his father: the unruly waves of dark hair, the lively green eyes that creased when he laughed and his passion for the outdoors.
Adela was so far away and might never want to live at Belgooree again. Was she being selfish wanting to hang on to Harry and not send him to school, Clarrie wondered? Adela! What was life really like for her vivacious daughter? She knew that Adela was playing down the danger she was in; after all, the tea rooms were close to the munitions factories and shipyards of the Tyne, which would surely be a target for enemy planes.
Her anxious thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car engine grinding up the drive. She quickly stepped into a loose cotton frock and pulled a brush through her wavy damp hair. Minutes later James was striding up the steps, looking dishevelled, as if he hadn’t slept for days, his expression grim.
‘Whatever’s happened?’ Clarrie asked, her stomach knotting. ‘Is it news from Tilly?’
‘Lack of news,’ James growled, thrusting his hat at Mohammed Din. He accepted a glass of nimbu pani, which he downed thirstily.
‘Please, James,’ Clarrie urged. ‘Sit down and tell me why you’re so upset.’
‘Tilly’s not answering my telegrams.’ James plonked himself down in a battered cane chair. It creaked under his solid frame.
‘When did you last hear from her?’
‘Two weeks ago. She’s refusing to bring the children out here; says the risk of travelling is worse than staying put.’
‘Perhaps she has a point.’
‘Do you have any idea of what’s happening at home?’ James demanded. ‘Tyneside is in the firing line with its shipyards and ammo factories. Last week the Germans were bombing Newcastle in broad daylight. The BBC reported that squadrons operating in the North East had brought down seventy-five bombers. But they never said how much destruction they managed before our boys destroyed them.’
Clarrie felt sick with anxiety, but she tried to calm him. ‘I just received a letter today from Adela.’
His haggard face brightened for an instant. ‘You have?’
‘Yes, and she says they are all safe and well– told me to tell you especially that Tilly and the ... the children were staying with Mona on their Berwickshire farm. So well out of harm’s way.’
‘When was it written?’
‘July,’ Clarrie admitted.
James let out an oath. ‘She should have got out in June, when I told her to,’ he fretted. ‘Jean Bradley managed to get back safely to Assam with her two children– the Oxford Estates moved heaven and earth to get our employees’ wives and families on to planes. But not Tilly.’ He stood up and paced to the balcony. ‘I never knew she could be so stubborn– or so irresponsible.’
‘Isn’t it of some comfort that she’s there with the children?’ Clarrie asked. ‘At least they’re all together.’
He turned and glared. ‘I want them here with me, damn it! How can I protect them when they are thousands of miles away? Britain’s on the verge of being invaded. I don’t even want to think what that might mean! They’re completely isolated– Denmark, Norway, Holland all under the Nazis’ jackboots, and now France. It’s just a matter of time. Good God, woman! Don’t you worry about Adela?’
‘Of course I do!’ Clarrie jumped up, stung by his accusation. ‘But there’s nothing we can do out here.’
‘There must be something.’ James gave her a desperate look.
‘Hope and pray, that’s all,’ Clarrie answered, digging her nails into her palms to stop herself breaking into tears.
James turned away, gripped the balcony rail, and bowed his head. His broad back and thick shoulders, straining in his crumpled linen jacket, began to shudder. In alarm Clarrie went to him.
‘James?’ She put a hand on his shoulder. He let out a low howl. He tried to shake her off and hide his face, but she pulled him around. His craggy features were flushed and streaked with tears.
She rubbed his arm. ‘Don’t give up. We’ll be strong for each other.’
