Page 33 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
‘The hundred and tenth mention tonight,’ Deborah said. ‘Let’s make it our code word for action with any boys this evening.’
The three friends spat on their palms, shook hands and hurried downstairs shrieking with laughter.
Davico’s Ballroom was ablaze with electric lights, perched on its steep slope like a sentinel overlooking the lamplit native bazaar and the shadow-filled valleys. The night air was warm and scented with roses and pines.
Colonel Baxter greeted them and ushered them into the ballroom, introducing Fluffy’s party to his own and making a fuss of Adela.
‘I first met this beautiful young lady when she was three years old,’ he announced, ‘and I was ADC to the Raja of Gulgat. We were camping at Um Shirpi at the invitation of her father– tea planter and excellent shot, Wesley Robson.’
Adela laughed. ‘I remember a huge dog on a gold chain that I thought was a wolf. And I was so excited to have a prince camping close to the gardens.’
‘Ah, soyouare the girl from the tea garden.’ A tall, distinguished-looking man with iron grey hair and pale blue eyes viewed her with interest. ‘Boswell has talked about you. Bit of an actress, I hear.’
Boz, red-faced, leapt forward and introduced them. ‘Adela, this is MrBracknall, the Chief Conservator of Forests in the Punjab.’
Adela noted Boz’s discomfort and tried to remember what he’d said about his boss. Some complaint about MrsBracknall refusing to let her husband retire because she didn’t want to return to England and do without the luxury of servants. Promotion for men like Boz was being denied as long as Bracknall stayed in post.
‘How do you do, MrBracknall?’ Adela shook his hand. He had a crushing grip, and she tried not to wince.
‘Very well.’ His smile was brief, his eyes assessing. ‘Let me put my name on your dance card before all the young bucks fill it up, eh? I insist on the first waltz– leave the more energetic dances to the youths.’
Adela hid her dismay; she had hoped to waltz with Sam. ‘Of course,’ she agreed, taking her card out of her evening bag and writing his name with the short pencil attached to its gold cord.
Soon all three girls were being booked for dances and whirled around the floor to the beat of the ten-piece dance band. Theatre friends, army subalterns and junior officers of the Indian Civil Service flocked around Colonel Baxter’s lively party. There were a smattering of Indians in the room: magistrates and their wives up from Delhi, a maharajah from Bengal and a film producer from Bombay, along with some middle-ranking officials in the Indian branch of the ICS.
Bracknall complained about it as he pulled Adela around the dance floor. ‘Would never have been allowed when I was starting out in the service. First World War was when the rot set in. It’s not that I object to mixing with Indians– I work with them all day long with absolutely no problem– but it’s a class thing, isn’t it? You just want to socialise with your own kind, don’t you?’
‘I would have thought that a maharajah ranks rather higher than any of us, MrBracknall,’ Adela replied.
‘Oh well, yes,’ he blustered. ‘There’s always an exception to the rule. Indian royalty is quite acceptable.’
Adela wondered if it was attitudes like Bracknall’s that kept Fatima away from social events like the Full Moon Dance, even though there was no bar to Indians entering Davico’s. Sundar had also stayed away, insisting on escorting Fatima safely home to her flat in Lakkar Bazaar. It was only a five-minute walk from the ballroom, and he could have joined them later, but for all that Sundar championed the institutions of the British Raj, Adela suspected he still felt an outsider when it came to socialising with its elite.
‘And now that you are out in Simla society,’ Bracknall said, winking, ‘no doubt you’re planning a full season of balls and picnics.’
‘Not really,’ Adela said, ‘apart from performing in the musical next month. In fact I’ll have to go home to Assam before the summer ends if I don’t find a job here. MrsHogg has been so kind to me; I don’t want to take advantage of her generosity more than I already have.’ She decided to be bold. ‘MrBracknall, do you need any clerical help in your office? I’m very tidy and organised.’
For a moment he seemed taken aback. ‘Well, hiring menial staff is not really my concern.’ Then his hold on her tightened, and he smiled. ‘But I’m sure we can find something here to keep you occupied.’
‘I’d be so grateful,’ Adela enthused. ‘I really want to be able to stay.’ She didn’t like to admit how her desire to remain in Simla had now increased tenfold since discovering Sam was living a few hours’ ride into the hills.
Bracknall gave her that assessing look again, which made her feel acutely aware of his hot hand on her back and the way he brushed his barrel chest against her breasts as he twirled her around.
‘We can always do with some extra help in the Forest Office,’ he suggested. ‘Though I can’t promise you’ll get paid much. Can you bash away at a typewriter?’
‘Oh yes. I used to help my father with letters,’ Adela exaggerated, having only done so a couple of times.
‘I’ll have a word with Boswell; see what we can do, eh?’
‘Thank you, MrBracknall, you’re so kind.’ She smiled. ‘That would be wonderful.’
As soon as the waltz was over, she disengaged quickly. ‘Just need to powder my nose.’ She grabbed her bag and slipped from the hall.
Outside, Adela stood under a deodar tree and gulped in the cooling night air, thrilled that she had so easily found a way of staying on in Simla. Lifting over the dark forested hills, the huge shimmering disc of the full moon lit the earth below, casting shadows like sunlight. She sighed at its beauty.
‘Not running away again, are you?’ The voice, so close by, startled her. Her hand flew to her chest. Sam stepped round the tree.
She laughed with a mix of relief and excitement. ‘No, but it looks like you are.’
