Page 117 of The Girl from the Tea Garden
‘Sorry, dear girl!’ Tilly grabbed her hand and squeezed it. ‘Let’s not talk about the wretched prince. As far as I know, he’s not even living at Gulgat. Gone off to continue his playboy existence in Simla or Bombay.’
Adela’s insides churned at the thought of Jay charming some other naive girl into his bed. She went hot with shame to think of how she had succumbed to him so easily. She turned to the others. ‘Enough talk about India.’ Adela forced a smile. ‘I want to hear all about you chaps and what you’ve been doing at school.’
The summer passed quickly with Tilly and her family around for company. They were a comforting link with home, and Tilly was in high spirits to be back in Newcastle. Twice Adela went round to the Mitchells’ house in Jesmond for Sunday lunch– Ros was a quiet antidote to Tilly, and Duncan a genial host– and once they went on the train to the coast and played beach cricket. Libby was surprisingly quick and had a better eye for the ball than Jamie, and she was just as keenly competitive as her brothers.
But the biggest revelation was taking Libby to The People’s Theatre. Away from her family, she lost her sullen expression and combative manner and became animated and good fun. When she laughed, her dark eyes lit up, and her chubby face was transformed. ‘Bonny’ was how Sophie would have described her. Even Derek was captivated by her enthusiasm for their theatre and her knowledge of the class struggle.
‘A little charmer, that cousin of yours,’ he said approvingly. ‘You can bring her again.’
So Adela did. As the summer advanced, sometimes Libby would go to the theatre alone and help out. She was very organised and had a good head for numbers, so Derek put her to work in the office, sorting out their haphazard filing. Libby took to Josey at once, just as Adela had, and the actress mothered Libby in a way that Tilly didn’t. Rather than nag or criticise, Josey encouraged her. One time, when Adela and Libby went to Rye Hill together, the girl confided in Adela and Josey.
‘I wish I could live with you in Florence’s house, Josey. You treat me like a grown-up. Mummy still treats me like a baby.’
‘From what I hear, your mother is an angel compared to mine, believe me,’ Josey said, laughing.
‘It’s just that Tilly doesn’t want you to grow up too quickly,’ said Adela, ‘not while she’s thousands of miles away from you. She finds that very hard.’
‘It was her choice to have us go to school halfway round the world,’ Libby pointed out.
‘Probably your father’s,’ said Josey.
‘Well, she didn’t try to stop it, did she? And anyway I think she’s glad I’m so far away. It’s only my brothers that she misses. She’s always telling me off, but never the boys,’ Libby complained. ‘I can’t do anything right in her eyes.’
‘It’s a difficult age,’ said Adela.
‘You sound just like Mummy,’ snorted Libby.
Adela laughed. ‘Sorry. It’s just I remember so clearly being your age and desperate to be taken seriously by adults. I was in such a hurry to grow up. But if I’ve learnt anything in the past five years, it’s that it’s best not to rush.’
‘Still,’ Libby said, sighing, ‘I can’t wait to leave school and go and live in a house full of interesting people like you, Josey.’
Libby and Adela were at the theatre on a day in late August when alarming news broke of a non-aggression pact between Germany and the Soviet Union.
‘Stalin’s done a deal with Hitler,’ Libby said in disgust.
Derek was incredulous. ‘I don’t believe it. Must be anti-socialist propaganda.’
‘It’s true, Derek,’ said Josey. ‘The Soviets have got into bed with the Nazis.’
‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Derek railed. ‘The communists hate the fascists more than we do.’
‘It’s obvious,’ said Libby. ‘Miss MacGregor warned it would happen. Both powers want to export their revolutions and dominate their neighbours.’
‘But not if it means supping with the devil,’ Derek protested. ‘The Left have always stood up to the fascists. Look at Spain. Even in Germany itself.’
‘And they’ve lost every time,’ said Libby. ‘This way both Stalin and Hitler get to grab land without the other interfering. Poland will be first. They’ll be carving it up between them just like in the last century.’
Adela was astounded at the girl’s knowledge of current affairs. ‘But that was history. This is 1939,’ Adela exclaimed. ‘We won’t let that happen.’
Libby’s dark eyes looked troubled. ‘No, we probably won’t,’ she answered, ‘and that means war.’
Perhaps Adela had been too eager to ignore what was happening in Europe, so bound up was she in her new life in England. After the distress of her pregnancy and the shameful birth of her baby, all her energies had been channelled into forging a fresh existence with new friends and interests. If news came on the wireless in the flat, she would turn it off or retune it to popular songs or band music. She was always singing. ‘My little nightingale’, Lexy called her. When Adela sang, it made all other thoughts go away.
But after the discussion at the theatre that day, everything seemed to move with dizzying speed. Within a week Hitler was threatening to march on Danzig in Poland, and Britain and France had restated their pledge to protect Poland’s independence. Emergency powers were introduced to put the country on a war footing. Schools practised evacuating children to the countryside, kerbs were painted white in anticipation of night-time blackouts, gas masks handed out and restrictions put on carrying cameras in certain areas. Each day the newspapers and newsreels carried instructions to civilians, while soldiers and sailors had leave cancelled and hurried to report to barracks and ports.
Tilly came round to the café in a panic. ‘They’re saying the Admiralty is stopping British shipping from entering the Mediterranean. It’s out of bounds. What does that mean for boats to India?’
‘I don’t know,’ Adela said, trying not to show alarm, ‘but we could go down to the shipping offices on the quayside and find out.’
