Page 30 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
The girls groaned.
‘You never have a bad word to say about anyone, do you?’ Adela rolled her eyes.
‘Maybe we should practise some hymn singing before he arrives.’ Prue smirked.
‘What a friend we have in Jesus!’ Deborah began at once.
‘Honestly, you girls,’ Fluffy cried. ‘You would think you were seven, not seventeen.’
‘Some of us are eighteen,’ Prue corrected.
‘Because some of us,’ Deborah mimicked, ‘have had a year in ...’
‘Jubbulpore!’ Adela chimed in with Deborah.
The friends burst out laughing.
A deep Scottish voice called out of the dark: ‘Good evening! Glad to see the party’s already started.’
‘Boz!’ Adela cried, rushing forward to the veranda steps, while her friends stifled their giggles. His tall, wiry frame loomed out of the shadows dressed in kilt and black jacket, his long craggy face scored by years in the sun and his red hair receding, making him look older than Rafi, his contemporary and friend.
‘Thank you for coming.’ Adela greeted him with a warm handshake, half hoping that he had decided against bringing the missionary with him.
‘Wouldna miss it for the world, lassie,’ Boz said with a grin. ‘And neither would ma friend here when he heard it was Miss Adela Robson’s birthday.’
‘Oh?’ Adela gave a quizzical smile. ‘I didn’t think I knew any missionaries from Narkanda.’
Boz stood aside as his companion leapt up the steps behind him. Adela’s instant impression was that the man was not old at all and that his shoulders were too broad for the suit that Boz had obviously lent him.
‘Adela.’ He gave a generous smile, and she found herself looking up into familiar laughing hazel brown eyes. He held out a large hand. ‘Happy birthday.’
For a moment she just stood there winded, staring at him in disbelief. How was this possible? Fluffy gave a polite cough, which galvanised her out of a state of shock.
‘Sam?’ Adela gulped, reaching out a hand to meet his. His warm, roughened fingers closed around hers, sparking off an electric storm in her chest.
‘You know each other?’ Fluffy asked in surprise.
‘Yes, from Assam,’ Adela said, her voice husky as she held on to Sam’s hand a fraction more than was polite.
Sam disengaged and stepped towards his hostess, thrusting a jute bag at her. ‘Sam Jackman.’ He smiled. ‘Some cherries from the orchard. Sorry I don’t have anything more exciting.It’s very good of you to invite me.’
‘Well, it’s good of you to come at such short notice,’ Fluffy answered graciously.
‘I realise I’m the understudy for the lead man, MrFellows,’ Sam joked. ‘So sorry to disappoint, ladies.’ He bowed to Prue and Deborah. Adela noticed their looks of amazement. Then Sam caught sight of Fatima. ‘Ah, DrKhan. How delightful.’
‘How do you do, MrJackman?’ she said, smiling in greeting and introducing him to Sundar.
As they made introductions around the room and fell to small talk, Adela felt ridiculously tongue-tied. Fatima had mentioned the mission on a couple of occasions, but Adela had never been curious enough to ask about the missionaries themselves. She tried not to stare at Sam, but failed. It was nearly four years since she had last seen him, and he had lost his boyish looks: his chin was nicked from a recent shave with a blunt razor and there were new lines about his eyes and mouth. He had broadened out– perhaps from manual work– his shirt buttons straining at his chest and the collar digging into his ruddy neck. Sam’s hair was still as brush-like and unruly as before, and the teasing familiar smile came just as easily to his firm lips. Her heart hammered from the shock of his sudden arrival, and she felt breathless at his nearness.
For the first year after her flight from StNinian’s, she had thought about him every day, wondering what had become of him, especially after the scandal of him losing his steamboat in a card game. But even Auntie Tilly and her network of gossips in the tea gardens had been unable to find out where he had gone. Some rumours had put him in Calcutta; others that he had joined the Merchant Navy or gone home to England. None had come anywhere close to guessing that the wild Jackman boy had become a missionary. She had never forgotten him, but as time had gone on she had resigned herself to never seeing him again. Yet here he was, conjured up like a magic trick on Fluffy’s veranda.
Then Adela’s euphoria at seeing him again suddenly deflated. If Sam had found God, perhaps he had also found a missionary wife to help him in his vocation. Wasn’t that what most missionaries did?
‘Well, Adela dear,’ Fluffy said briskly, throwing her a curious glance, ‘why don’t you lead our guests into dinner?’
Adela took a deep breath. Whatever Sam’s situation, nothing was going to stop her enjoying her birthday celebrations. ‘Of course.’ She smiled, and led the way into the dining room.
It was the pudding course before Adela plucked up the courage to ask Sam how he had ended up in the hills beyond Simla. Prue had dominated the conversation early on with chatter about life in the cantonment in Jubbulpore, with trips to the Smoke Cascade,a dramatic waterfall,and dances at the Gun Carriage Factory Club. Deborah had switched the conversation to the forthcoming show at the Gaiety, and Adela had found her voice and joined in with amusing stories about clashes on stage and off. The men had discussed road-widening schemes for the route up to Kufri and unrest in some of the princely states. Sundar had been critical of interference from Congress activists stirring up dissent among the labourers.
