Page 142 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
Adela stood up. She mustn’t lead him on. She had ruined their chance of being happy together when she had chosen to have the affair with Jay. She knew Sam would despise her for what she had done– perhaps not the affair, but her abandoning of her child. That, in the eyes of Sam Jackman, with his fierce sense of loyalty and justice, would be unforgiveable. Suddenly it became clear in her mind as it had never been before: she would never be at peace unless she returned to Newcastle and tried to find her son. If he had remained in an orphanage and not been adopted, then she would claim him back. Her heart yearned for that– perhaps more than the love of any man.
‘There is someone– someone whom I must go back to England for after this war is over.’ She forced herself not to weaken in her resolve. ‘My loyalty lies with him. I’m so sorry, Sam.’
He looked at her, stunned. The confusion on his handsome features made her wince in shame. Sam stood too, trying to put on a brave face.
‘Lucky chap,’ he said.
Adela knew in that moment that she would probably never see Sam again. She could do one last thing for him, even though he might not thank her for it. She told him about visiting his mother in Cullercoats.
‘She was a nice woman– kind. She made me feel at home.’
His expression turned from regret to disbelief. ‘Why would you do that? Why go and see that woman?’
‘I thought it might help reconcile the two of you. She was full of remorse at leaving you behind. She said she’d tried to take you with her, but your father wouldn’t let her. Threatened her with the police.’
‘That’s a bloody lie!’ Sam’s anger ignited. ‘She was just saying that so you wouldn’t think badly of her. I can’t believe you were taken in. You better not have raised her hopes that I wanted anything to do with her. Did you, Adela?’
‘Yes, I did.’ She faced him. ‘I said she could write to Belgooree, and I would send on any post when I found out where you were. Then when I heard you were filming for SEAC, I wrote and gave her the Delhi address. Has she written to you?’
‘No, thank God!’ He glared at her. ‘Please tell me you didn’t just play along tonight so that you could get me to write to my mother.’
‘Of course not!’ Adela reached out a hand. Sam kept his fists balled by his side. ‘Why are you so hard on her? She made a mistake in giving you up, but she longs to be reconciled. Can’t you ever forgive her?’
‘No!’ Sam said, his jaw clenching. ‘When she walked out on me and my father, she tore my family apart. I’ve never known family life– not until I joined the squadron. They’re my family now. I can rely on them to always be there– we protect and look out for each other. That’s what people do when they care.’
That was the last Sam spoke until he had walked her safely back to her quarters. He nodded a curt goodnight. ‘Look after yourself, Adela. I hope you have a happy life and that the man you love deserves you.’
Adela rasped, ‘Take care too, Sam.’
She stood in the dark, watching him go. For a long time she remained there, listening to the harsh sound of jackals calling in the jungle, echoing the desolation in her heart.
CHAPTER 30
The only way Adela knew how to ease her broken heart was to work ever harder. She drove herself relentlessly, pushing the troupe to do extra performances and staying up late being a confidante to homesick and war-weary men. They spent another month on the Burmese border, but she never came across Sam. She heard that 194 Squadron were on operations further into Burma. She prayed that he would stay alive and might one day forgive her for hurting him.
At times, lying awake in uncomfortable billets, she wondered if she had made a terrible error in not giving Sam the full facts about what she had done, to let him choose whether he still wanted to be with her. But she always concluded that his love would have been poisoned by the knowledge; she would have reminded him too much of his inadequate mother. She couldn’t have suffered his contempt.
Prue and Tommy could not fathom what had gone wrong.
‘He was asking for you at the hospital the morning he left,’ Prue told her. ‘One of the nurses said. He’d heard you came to sing to the patients early. What on earth did you say to put him off?’
Adela never replied to her friend’s exasperated questioning.
‘Well, I wouldn’t have let him slip through my sticky paws,’ Prue declared, and gave up asking.
They returned to Calcutta. In October their nine-month tour was at an end. Adela’s spirits revived to discover that Sophie and Rafi were in the city too. Rafi was sourcing goran wood from the Sundarbans for making tent poles as an alternative to traditional hardwoods, which were in short supply since the occupation of Burma. Sophie had secured a transfer so that she could be with her husband and work at the Calcutta Red Cross depot. Adela spent a happy couple of days with them in their cramped temporary quarters. Rafi had aged; the hair at his temples and moustache was grey and his handsome face more hollowed. He looked tired out, but greeted her with his habitual warmth and cheerfulness.
‘You can see my husband is working too hard,’ said Sophie, ‘and worry over Ghulam has produced more grey hairs.’
‘What’s happened to Ghulam?’ asked Adela in concern.
‘Back in prison,’ Rafi said, sighing, ‘for taking part in the Quit India Movement.’
‘Rounded up with other socialists and Congress supporters,’ explained Sophie.
‘I can’t help him this time,’ said Rafi dispiritedly, ‘not until this war is over.’
Adela could see how the subject pained Rafi so asked instead about the Raja. Krishan, Rita and their daughters were well. The Raja had encouraged many of his Gulgat subjects to enlist in the Indian Army to defend the country, though the family spent much of their time in Bombay, where Rita was happiest. Sanjay was married and living in Delhi, but still leading the playboy life. Sophie showed her a recent newspaper photo of him attending a polo match.
