Page 12 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
‘Hop up front then and I’ll take you there. But only if you promise that we ring the school and let them know you are safe as soon as you are home.’
Her pretty, slim face broke into a smile of relief that made his heart squeeze.
‘Thanks, Sam.’
She vaulted into the passenger seat without opening the door, wrapping the blanket around her and a squealing Nelson. Sam climbed back into the driver’s seat, fleetingly tempted to turn around and take her back to school. That would be the sensible thing to do. But he would lose her trust for ever. And Nelson would never forgive him. Sam started up the engine and set off towards the tea plantation, wondering how much trouble he was heading into with his rash rescue.
CHAPTER 3
Adela awoke as the car bumped up the familiar track, passing the squat factory, gleaming white in the moonlight, and lurched towards the bungalow. The air smelt of woodsmoke and the sweet scent of night-blooming flowers. She sat up, pulling hair out of her eyes.
‘I take it that’s the burra bungalow?’ Sam nodded towards the gateposts smothered in bougainvillea, with a glimpse of red tin roof beyond.
‘Yes, we’re home.’ Adela grinned and hugged Nelson. Then her smile faltered. ‘You will stay, won’t you? Please stay and help me explain.’
On the journey she had told him everything about her unhappy time at school and the hurtful things that Nina Davidge had said. Sam had been sympathetic, but hadn’t understood. He’d tried to mollify her as if she were a child: ‘Best to take no notice. Bullies get bored if you don’t rise to their baiting. You’re a great girl– you’ll find other friends.’
She studied him now, his face in profile: the long nose and smooth jaw that looked like he never needed to shave, the firm mouth and the battered hat perched on his short, thick hair. Under the tweed jacket with leather patches at its elbows, his shoulders looked strong and comforting. Sam’s hands on the steering wheel were large and dextrous– a sportsman’s hands– and she had an overwhelming urge to touch their roughened edges. With a gasp, Adela realised that she was smitten with Sam Jackman.
‘What’s wrong?’ He glanced over. ‘It’s okay. I’ll stay and back you up.’
Adela gulped. ‘Thank you.’
Passing the servants’ compound, their arrival set dogs barking. The bungalow, ghostly in the bright moonlight and covered in creepers, emerged out of the dark. Lamps glowed from a room beyond the veranda.
‘Scout!’ Adela cried and was out of the car the moment they stopped.
Her tan-coloured dog, with bushy tail wagging, came bounding down the steps to meet her. She fell on him, cuddling and stroking as he licked and barked in excitement.
‘Who’s there?’ a strong voice bellowed from the veranda above. ‘Good God, Adela! My darling, what are you doing here?’
Wesley Robson dashed down the creaking veranda steps. Adela stumbled into her father’s arms, burying her head in his warm chest, breathing in the smoky smell of his waistcoat. She burst into tears.
‘What’s happened?’ he demanded. ‘You’ve hardly got a stitch of clothing on.’ He swivelled to the man climbing out of the car, a monkey clinging to his shoulder. ‘And who are you?’ He peered into the shadows. ‘Would you like to explain what the devil is going on?’
Sam came forward, hand outstretched and smiled. ‘Sam Jackman of theCullercoats,’ he said, ‘and happy to deliver your daughter safely home. She’s not harmed in any way, but we need to ring the school and tell them where she is.’
‘Do we indeed?’ Wesley stared at him, dumbfounded.
‘Who is it, Wesley?’ a woman called from above.
Adela was too overcome with relief and tears to answer.
‘It’s Adela,’ Wesley shouted, ‘and ... and Jackman the boatman’s boy.’
Sam bristled to be addressed as a boy. ‘MrsRobson, if I could just come in for a moment and explain—’
‘You’ll certainly do that,’ Wesley blustered, steering his daughter towards the house.
Adela looked up to see her mother staring down from the top of the steps, clutching her stomach. ‘Darling!’
‘Clarissa, you should be resting,’ Wesley chided.
Adela expected her mother to hurry down to meet her, but she hung on to the veranda railing as if she’d been winded.
‘Mother,’ Adela cried, running up the stairs and flinging out her arms.
Clarrie embraced her, but her hold was awkward. Her mother felt fat, she had put on so much weight. Adela blurted out her woes.
