Page 31 of The Girl from the Tea Garden (The India Tea #3)

W histling with hands in pockets, Sam walked away from the photographers’ shop on the East Mall with a pack of newly developed photographs in his inner jacket pocket.

He had some duplicates too. Although tempted to splash out his meagre pay on tea at Clarkes Hotel, he bought Sundar’s favourite sticky jalebis from a street stall in the Lower Bazaar instead.

His friend was treating him and Fatima to the theatre that night for the final performance of The Arabian Nights , Simla style.

‘It will be awful, my friend,’ Sundar had promised.

‘All the stoutest matrons of Simla dressed up like dancing girls and all the portly retired colonels pretending to be Errol Flynn. But our dear Adela will save the show with her sweet singing and a flash of shapely leg. At least that’s what they’re saying at the club. ’

Sam could not deny his feeling of anticipation.

It was thoughts of Adela that had plagued him and driven him to town.

The photographs were his excuse, but he knew that he would find no relief until he saw her again.

He had tried and failed to banish her from his mind.

But every morning as the sun came up he remembered riding with her at dawn, and every night when the sun set behind Hatu Mountain he thought of her excitement at meeting the Gaddi nomads.

The Tibetan women who sold trinkets in Narkanda; the children who played by the river; a passing chestnut pony with a bright blanket for a saddle; Nitin’s rice pudding served on the veranda – all these reminded Sam constantly of Adela’s lively presence and how much he missed her.

After the play– when she was able to relax and take time off– he would call round with some photos for her and invite her to tea at Clarkes.

If things went well, he would stay for the Sipi Fair– they could ride out there together– and he would tell her exactly how he felt about her.

Lying alone in his narrow bed at the mission, listening to Hunt snoring in the next room, Sam had questioned his resolve to remain single.

Would his work not be better served with a wife and partner who could be his companion and equal, two of them striving for a better world rather than one?

He had seen how good Adela was in helping at the clinic; she didn’t flinch from any task, however distasteful.

Even the beggar with leprosy outside the hill shrine had not repulsed her; she had greeted the woman and touched the stump of her hand as she put coins in her bowl.

Yet Adela was still so young, despite her mature handling of people.

She might hate the thought of being stuck in the hills far from the bright lights of Simla, its theatre and glittering social life.

Since that time she had stowed away in his car as a rebellious thirteen-year-old, he knew she had burned with the ambition to be an actress.

Now she was doing what she wanted. Why would she give that up to live with him in a leaky mission bungalow in the back of beyond?

Well, unless he asked her he would never know.

And Sam was never afraid to ask awkward or challenging questions.

He gave a self-deprecating laugh as he sauntered back up the hill to Sundar’s quarters, where he was staying.

Whatever happened, he was looking forward to sitting in the comfort of the Gaiety Theatre, sucking on jalebi with Sundar and Fatima and watching the prettiest girl in Simla dancing across the stage.

‘There’s someone at the stage door wants to see you,’ Deborah said as she came rushing into the dressing room.

Adela was still removing her make-up, the clapping and wolf whistles from the army contingent in the stalls still ringing in her ears.

Despite Deborah fluffing her lines in the final scene, Tommy forgetting to come on just before the interval and the stage hands bringing on the magic carpet a scene too early, they had received a standing ovation.

Perhaps it was because it was the last night, but the atmosphere had seemed almost feverish and the audience raucous.

Sanjay had got a clap all to himself when he appeared dressed in his magnificent clothes and turban glinting with jewels.

At the curtain call he had kissed the hands of the leading ladies and caused gasps to ripple through the auditorium.

When the curtain finally fell, the cast dissolved into hysterical giggles and laughter.

‘A male admirer I hope.’ Adela smiled, pausing at the mirror.

‘’Fraid not. She seems rather formidable. Says she was at school with you.’

Adela gave her a puzzled look. ‘Then you should know who she is.’

‘Not StMary’s,’ said Deborah, sitting down and pulling off her stage shoes. ‘She said you were at school in Shillong together. StNinian’s or somewhere.’

Adela felt her stomach clench. ‘What did she look like?’

‘Bit horsey looking. Blonde hair.’

Adela felt sweat break out on her brow. If it was Flowers Dunlop or even Margie Munro, she wouldn’t mind.

But it sounded like the one girl from StNinian’s she hoped never to set eyes on again.

Yet how was that possible? Her mother had told her that Henrietta Davidge and Nina had gone back to England after Nina’s father had died over two years ago.

‘Did ... did she say her name?’

Deborah was pulling off her tunic and wafting perfume under her arms. ‘Oh, just go and say hello. She says you’ll remember her. Nora or Nina I think it was.’

Adela felt sick. A wave of panic rose up inside and stuck in her throat.

At once she was back at school, Nina taunting her and pulling her hair, spitting out cruel words about her parents.

You’re just a two annas; nobody likes you.

Margie never wanted to be your friend. Go and play with stinky Flowers .

Her heart hammered and she struggled to breathe.

This was ridiculous. Nina could do nothing to hurt her; they were grown women.

Even if it was her, she had just come to congratulate her, not to cause trouble, surely.

She swallowed hard. ‘Please, Debs, can you just say I’ve already gone? I really don’t want to see her.’

Deborah laughed as if she were joking. ‘Don’t go all Greta Garbo on me, as if you have so many admirers. I’d pay someone to hang around backstage and ask for my autograph.’

‘If it’s who I think it is, that’s the last thing she wants. She couldn’t stand me at school.’

Realisation dawned on her friend. ‘Is she the girl who was so ghastly to you? The one you told me and Prue about?’

Adela nodded. ‘Sounds like her. Please, Deb, just do this one thing for me and tell her I left out the front entrance. Anyway, Jay is waiting for me.’

Deborah scrutinised her. ‘Are you really going to Wildflower Hall instead of the party?’

‘Yes, I am.’ Adela held her look.

‘What does MrsHogg say?’

‘She’s coming too. It’s all above board.’

Deb arched her eyebrows. ‘That’s not what they’ll be saying in the Simla drawing rooms.’

‘They can say what they like,’ Adela retorted.

Abruptly her friend laughed. ‘Quite right. I wish I had your brass neck. Tommy will be heartbroken at you missing the party though.’

‘Tommy’s heart may break one day,’ said Adela, ‘but it won’t be for me. I’m like his kid sister.’

Deborah pulled on her dress. ‘Zip me up then, and I’ll go and get rid of Horse Face out there.’

Adela went and helped her. ‘Thanks, Deb.’ Adela enveloped her in a hug. ‘I’ll do you any favour in return.’

‘Just find me a rich, handsome prince like your one.’ Deb winked as she sped out of the door.

Twenty minutes later, dressed in a red satin evening gown bought by Jay, Adela stepped into the yellow-and-blue Gulgat rickshaw sent for her and Fluffy and was pulled away into the dark.

At the end of the Mall, they transferred into the Gulgat Bentley and were driven to the exclusive hotel Wildflower Hall, on the wooded hilltop outside the town.

The driveway through the trees was lit with lanterns, and light spilled out of the tall wooden mansion– which had once belonged to Lord Kitchener– on to the lawned gardens.

Jay, who had gone straight there to bathe and change, appeared and greeted them.

He was wearing an expensive cream dinner suit cut with a mandarin collar over a peacock blue silk shirt, which matched his turban.

He was making a statement among the throng of British diners in their formal tails and bow ties, that for all his Westernised ways he was still an Indian prince in his own country and proud of it.

They mingled with others over cocktails. Colonel and MrsBaxter were entertaining three protégées up from Delhi and Lucknow for the hot season, along with polo-playing officer friends of Jay’s. They greeted Adela warmly.

‘You stole the show,’ said a young captain.

‘Wish I could sing like you, Miss Robson,’ gushed one of the girls.

‘Thank you.’ Adela blushed.

‘Don’t let her get too big-headed,’ Fluffy warned.

‘It’s no more praise than she deserves,’ Jay said, smiling and giving a light possessive touch to her elbow.

Adela drank her cocktail too quickly, aware of the looks of speculation passing among the others as they wondered at her relationship with Jay. Only Fluffy’s no-nonsense presence gave it respectability, but she doubted that would stop tongues wagging.

‘Oh, my dear,’ Colonel Baxter said, turning to her, ‘there’s an old friend of yours just arrived in Simla; I served with her father in Mesopotamia. You might remember him, Fluffy: Colonel Davidge. Sadly died a couple of years ago. Married late– pretty wife and one daughter.’

Adela felt the blood drain from her face. So it was true: Nina was back.

‘Davidge?’ Fluffy frowned and shook her head.