Page 62 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
‘Marry you? Now you are teasing me!’
‘I mean it.’
‘Surely you have a wife chosen for you already,’ she challenged.
‘I can do what I want,’ he retorted. ‘My uncle Kishan married that woman from Bombay. We’re in a changing world.’
‘I’d never be acceptable to your family, Jay.’ She laughed in disbelief.
‘Why not?’ He seized her hand. ‘I can make you the Rani of Gulgat. With you at my side, even Rafi Khan couldn’t object to my becoming the next Raja, could he?’
‘And your mother and grandmother?’
‘They will do anything to make me happy,’ Jay declared.
Adela pulled away. ‘I can’t deny I’m attracted to you– flattered by your words– but what you say is impossible.’
But the more she set up obstacles, the keener he seemed to be on the whole fantastical idea.
‘At least think about it,’ pleaded Jay. ‘I want you, Adela. I’ve never wanted anyone as much.’
That night Adela hardly slept, tossing in her feather bed, disturbed by memories of Jay’s thrilling touches and kisses, wondering if anything he said could be taken as true. Deborah had warned her about Jay’s reputation for falling in and out of love with women. Fatima had been filled with worry about her getting involved with someone of Jay’s status. So why did she allow herself to be tempted by his sweet words? Was it because being chosen by Jay would bury for ever her feelings of inferiority to the Ninas and Margies of this world? As wife of an Indian nobleman, her parentage would never matter again. And women married across the racial barrier– Sophie had shown how it could work.
How shallow and pathetic she was! She didn’t love him. She would only be using him to win herself status, security and a ticket to the world. Falling asleep finally as the dawn crept in at the cracks between the curtains, Adela woke exhausted but with sudden clarity. She would resist Jay’s advances, return to Simla after the fair and throw her energies once more into helping Fatima at the hospital.
Sam’s temples pounded like tom-toms. He had gone on a drinking binge– he wasn’t sure for how many days– until Fatima and Sundar had found him wandering confused around Sanjauli. He had a vague memory of trying to find the old dairy where he had helped out in his school days, when he had still had hopes of working for the Agriculture Department. He had been swamped in a tidal wave of remorse for causing them worry and for falling so easily off the temperance wagon.
If Hunt or – God forbid – his mentor, DrBlack, ever got to hear of it, he would probably be dismissed from the mission. How often had he heard his fellow missionary fulminate against excessive drinking and opium smoking among some of the natives? Hunt had been offended by Sam’s suggestion that often the porters and coolies took opium to deaden their hunger and help them through long days of gruelling marching and carrying.
But he, Sam, had no such excuse. He had allowed anger and despair to overwhelm him simply at seeing Adela enjoying the sumptuous surroundings of Wildflower Hall and the attentions of Prince Sanjay. When he had sobered up, he had been profuse in his apologies to his long-suffering friends. He would head straight back to Narkanda. Sundar had clapped him on the back like an indulgent uncle.
‘Let’s enjoy a day out at the Sipi Fair, Jackman; then you can run for the hills,’ he had said and laughed.
Sam had agreed. They set off along the road to Mashobra, joining the crowds of holidaymakers heading for the forest glade at Sipi and jumping aside for cars full of British residents going to watch the spectacle too. The sun was bright and the sky cloudless; Sam was glad he wore dark glasses. As they drew near, his head began to pound in time to the noise of the drums and horns of local bands.
A temporary camp of tents and awnings had been erected under the trees; the air was filled with woodsmoke and the smell of pots bubbling with spicy stews. Pans sizzled as cooks dropped balls of dough into hot smoking oil, transformed in seconds into puffs of puri like magic balloons.
Fire-eaters and jugglers entertained the crowds, and children ran squealing from Tibetan dancers dressed up in hideous masks. The hill women sat apart on a grassy slope, dressed up in their finest clothes, bedecked in glinting silver necklaces, bangles and earrings, heavy with jewels, their delicate noses pierced with huge hooped rings. When the sun struck, they dazzled the eye, their chatter excited as they surveyed the scene and passed ribald comments on the British come to gawp at them.
Sam chain-smoked, trying to throw off his edgy mood; usually he enjoyed the fair, but this year he detected an excited tension about the place. Perhaps it was nothing and it was just his own nerves that were jangling.
‘Come, Jackman,’ Sundar said jovially, ‘let’s go and inspect the ponies. Then you can help me choose a shawl for Fatima. She never spends anything on herself.’
Sam followed obediently and they jostled through the crowds. The British were picnicking on a slope adjacent to the hill women with a good view over the proceedings. They were being attended to by dozens of servants, cooking and serving food and drink. The smells made him nauseous. It was then that he spotted Ghulam. He was dressed in a white tunic and a Congress cap, with no attempt to blend in among the hill people. He was moving towards the women’s section. Sam couldn’t believe Ghulam would risk being seen so publicly at a country fair. This was no political rally. Unless he was going to turn it into one, Sam thought grimly. He was startled by Sundar’s sudden cry.
‘Look, there’s Adela and MrsHogg.’
Adela was sitting on a camping chair, slim legs crossed, wearing a summer frock of bold orange flowers and a topee, chatting animatedly with Fluffy. Sundar called out. Adela turned, waved and jumped out of her chair. Sam was torn between excitement at seeing her and trying to keep an eye on Ghulam.
Adela beckoned them over.
‘Come on,’ Sundar encouraged. ‘Now is your chance to impress Miss Robson.’
Sam hesitated, but Sundar pushed him forward. Adela met them halfway and greeted them warmly.
‘Hello, Sam.’ She smiled up at him quizzically. ‘I hoped you might be here today. Will you be staying for a few days? Auntie and I are returning to Simla after this.’
Sam shook his head. ‘I’m on my way back to the mission– I’ve been in Simla for a week.’ He glanced back to see if Ghulam was still in sight.
