Page 37 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
‘Gee, you Brits just love making up rules.’ Micky chuckled.
He organised games of softball at picnics, taught them jive steps on Fluffy’s veranda and smuggled in cigarettes and bottles of gin. Deborah basked in his attention– ‘He thinks I look swell in my maid’s outfit!’ she snorted with amusement– and on his final evening took her out to dinner at the Grand Hotel.
‘Write to me and be my girl?’ Micky pressed her before he left. She knew her parents probably wouldn’t approve– her mother was a bit of a snob about colonials and Americans– but she knew he was lonely in his jungle posting, and she had fallen a little bit in love with his enthusiastic charm. He’d kissed her under a cloudy night sky, the air about them moist and chill.
‘Who needs stars when your pretty eyes light up the night?’ said Micky.
After he left, Deborah pined for him more and more and was still repeating his romantic words to her friends by the time term started.
Prue and her mother left for Jubbulpore in early October.
‘Tommy and I are going to miss you so much,’ said Adela, hugging her friend goodbye. ‘The Simla Songsters won’t be the same without you.’
As the first snow flurries of November arrived, the foresters came plodding back from camp into Simla on tired ponies and laden mules. By this time Edith Bracknall was chivvying her husband back to temperate Lahore and their winter social calendar of dinner dances, polo matches and tennis tournaments.
‘He’s Master of the Lodge,’ MrsBracknall told Adela on the last of her many casual calls to the office to check up on her husband, ‘so it’s very important for him to be there for the start of the cold season. And everyone’s leaving now the weather is turning. Will you be staying here or coming to Lahore HQ, dear?’
The older woman eyed her keenly. She was thin, almost scrawny at the neck and arms, her face deeply lined under greying hair. She must have been pretty once, thought Adela; her blue eyes still were.
‘Staying here, MrsBracknall.’
She saw the relief on the woman’s face. ‘Oh well, no doubt we’ll see you next season– unless you’ve gone off in search of stardom.’
‘You never know.’ Adela smiled.
Suddenly Edith leant forward and dropped her voice. ‘Our son Henry works as a radio presenter for the BBC in London.’
‘Really?’ Adela’s eyes widened. ‘MrBracknall’s never mentioned it.’
‘No.’ Edith looked sad. ‘He’s not very proud of poor Henry Junior. Wanted him to join the ICS or at least the forces. Doesn’t think much to entertainment.’
‘Well, I think it’s marvellous,’ said Adela. ‘Lucky Henry, I say.’
For a moment Edith covered her hand with cool bony fingers. ‘Thank you, dear.’
The snow came in earnest, and the British residents of the town who remained through the winter– Boz and Guy among them– took to the slopes of Prospect Hill with tin trays for tobogganing and skated on the frozen pond at Annandale. Guy showed interest in Adela, but she kept him at arm’s length, knowing how Prue would never forgive her; she valued her friendship far more than any liaison with the handsome forester.
It galvanised her to arrange a trip home to Belgooree for Christmas. She hadn’t been home since the previous one; Scout, their beloved hill dog, had died in March, and by staying away she kept him alive in her mind. She knew it was nonsensical and, once she saw her parents’ delight at her homecoming, Adela felt guilty for staying away.
Clarrie squeezed her daughter so tightly, Adela squeaked that she couldn’t breathe.
Wesley protested, ‘You’ve cut off all your lovely hair!’
‘No, I haven’t, Dad.’ Adela laughed. ‘It’s still down to my shoulders.’
‘I’m Dad now, am I?’ Wesley raised an eyebrow.
‘Daddy sounds a bit babyish, don’t you think?’
‘Your hair is lovely,’ said Clarrie. ‘It suits you that length. You look so grown-up, my darling.’
‘Too grown-up,’ Wesley chuntered. ‘I bet all the boys are chasing you like bees around honey.’
‘Do bees chase honey?’ Adela teased. ‘I thought they made it.’
‘You know what I mean, you cheeky girl.’
Adela hugged him, breathing in the dusty tea smell of his jacket, and was glad to be home. Four-year-old-brother, Harry, after some initial shyness, followed like her shadow, even when she retreated to the bathroom for some privacy. He was much more talkative and less solemn than a year ago.
