Page 17 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
‘I hope you’re not accusing me of being overprotective and selfish like your father was,’ cried Wesley.
‘That’s not fair! And you know I don’t mean that.’
‘Because if I ever start turning into Jock Belhaven, you have my permission to take me out and shoot me.’
‘Oh, honestly!’ Clarrie exclaimed. ‘You can be just as stubborn.’
‘I would never stand in the way of my daughter’s happiness.’
‘And neither would I,’ Clarrie said. ‘Anyway, the Robsons and Khans have both accepted our invitation—’
‘Your invitation.’
Clarrie gave an impatient sigh. ‘You should be pleased they want to come and make a fuss over Harry– Tilly’s dying to see him.’
‘It’s not Tilly I object to, it’s that pompous husband of hers.’
‘James is your cousin,’ Clarrie reminded him, ‘and you used to get along fine when you were business partners.’
‘James and his bullying father always made it perfectly clear that I was very much the junior partner. He’ll relish the chance to come here and lord it over us, tell us how well they’re doing at the Oxford Estates compared to us.’
‘We’re not doing so badly, surely.’
‘How would you know?’ Wesley accused. ‘You haven’t been near the factory for months.’
‘You haven’t let me! You’ve wrapped me in cotton wool since Harry’s birth and treated me like an invalid.’
‘You know you haven’t been well,’ Wesley blustered, ‘and DrHemmings said a woman of your age will take longer to get over—’
‘I’m perfectly fine.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re tired all the time, and now you want to overdo things by having all these people to stay.’
‘The only thing I’m tired of is being stuck in this bungalow with a baby that feeds like a tiger while you and Adela ride off and enjoy yourselves around the tea garden.’
‘But you refused a wet-nurse when I suggested it.’
‘I know I did.’ Clarrie sounded tearful. ‘I just want some adult company for once. Is that too much to ask?’
In alarm Adela heard her mother break into a sob. At once Wesley was contrite.
‘Oh, Clarissa, my darling! I’m so sorry. The last thing I want to do is upset you.’
Her mother’s voice was muffled, as if her face was buried into Wesley’s shoulder.
‘Of course your friends must come and stay,’ he relented. ‘My insufferable cousin probably won’t hang around long– he’ll be itching to get back to the Boxing Day drinking and horse racing at Tezpur.’
‘Thank you.’ Clarrie brightened. ‘It’s ages since we’ve had anyone to stay.’
‘Well, Tilly and Sophie are so busy with their own lives,’ Wesley said.
‘Yes, I know. It’ll be so good to see them again– have a house full for Christmas. And I’m sure they will have good advice on what to do with Adela.’
Adela went straight back to the stables and got the syce to saddle up her pony, Patch, again. The mid-afternoon sun lit the steep hillside of emerald tea bushes as she cantered up through the gardens and into the forest. She only stopped when she reached the clearing with the fallen-down temple and the derelict hut where Ayah Mimi had once lived when she had no children to look after.
Adela had been overjoyed to hear that her special aunties, Tilly and Sophie, were coming for Christmas. They were her mother’s friends, not proper aunties. Her only real auntie was Aunt Olive, who lived in England and ran a teahouse, but Adela hadn’t seen her since she was two years old and had no memory of her. This had never bothered Adela, as her pretend aunties were more than enough; she adored them. Tilly was plump and talkative, a mother hen who loved children and gave wonderful hugs like a huge, soft hot-water bottle. Uncle James, her husband, was not the least bit cuddly; he was square and pugnacious, with a laugh like a bark who teased Tilly for overindulging their offspring.
‘Pack the little devils off home to school as soon as they can catch a ball,’ he would decree, and then roar with laughter at his wife’s cries of protest. He had got his way, however. Tilly had had to part with two out of the three, Jamie and Libby, taking them back to the North of England to be schooled.
