Page 68 of The Girl from the Tea Garden (The India Tea #3)
‘Aunt Olive,’ Adela appealed to her, ‘Mother thought if you were going to spend a lot of time sitting here, it might cheer you to be reminded of Belgooree.’
Olive looked at her in stupefaction. ‘Belgooree?’
Adela ploughed on. ‘Look, that’s you and Mother leaning on the balcony. And that’s your old khansama, Kamal. I hope it looks something like him.’
Olive gave her a suspicious look and then turned back to the wall. She clutched her chair arms while peering at the mural. She gave a small gasp.
‘Kamal?’
Then abruptly the indignation went out of her. She crumpled forward, head in hands, and began to sob.
Jane rushed at once to comfort her. ‘Don’t be upset, Mam. We can paint over it. I should have known you wouldn’t like it.’
‘No.’ Olive jerked up.
They watched as she got unsteadily to her feet and walked across to the painting. She put out a tentative hand to the figures on the veranda. Adela held her breath.
‘Clarrie and me,’ she murmured, tracing a finger over the dark-haired woman and the red-haired girl. ‘And dear Kamal.’ She stroked the figure of the Indian servant.
‘Yes,’ Adela said. ‘Mother insisted on him being there.’
‘Don’t change it,’ she whispered. She turned and eyed Adela tearfully. ‘Tell Clarrie thank you.’
Instinctively Adela rushed forward and hugged her aunt.
For an instant Olive tensed, and then she responded with a gentle pat on Adela’s back.
It was an awkward gesture, but Adela knew that for Olive it was a brief sign of affection.
For the past two years she had felt guilty for adding to Olive’s worries with the shock of her pregnancy.
Now perhaps they could put that distressing time behind them.
The redecorating was a success. Her mother would be proud, and that filled Adela with joy.
Tilly went to see Adela off at Central Station. The young woman was still euphoric at their transformation of Olive’s lair.
‘How did Mother know Aunt Olive would be so pleased with the painting of Belgooree? I’ve hardly ever heard her mention it all the time I’ve been here.’
‘I suppose it brought back memories of a happier time in her life,’ Tilly mused, ‘when she wasn’t so afraid of everything. It seemed to be the figure of Kamal that had most effect.’
‘Yes,’ Adela agreed. ‘Mother said Olive was particularly fond of their khansama. Took her a long time to get over having to leave him behind when they came to England.’
‘Well, it was a kind and brave gesture.’ Tilly smiled. She took Adela’s hands in hers. ‘Will you stay down in London if you’re accepted?’
‘I don’t know. It depends what they want. If I get accepted.’
‘They’d be mad not to have you. You’ll cheer up the grumpiest of soldiers.’
Adela’s eyes swam with tears. ‘Thanks, Auntie Tilly. I’ll give it my best shot.’
‘I know you will. And I’ll pop in to see Olive now and again for you, so you don’t need to worry about her. Libby’s another matter. I don’t know how I’m going to break it to that girl that you’ve disappeared off to London. She’ll make my life hell.’
Adela hesitated. ‘Be kind to Libby– just like you are to me.’
Tilly flushed at the gentle rebuke. How she wished she could love her daughter as easily as she did Clarrie’s.
It wasn’t just that Adela was pretty and engaging and got on so easily with people; Libby might blossom in time and learn to listen rather than lecture.
But of all her children, Libby was the one with whom she sparked and became too quickly irritated.
Jamie was sensitive and amiable, like her own brother, Johnny.
Even though she hadn’t seen Johnny for several years– a regimental doctor, he was somewhere in Mesopotamia– she had always loved him best of her siblings.
Her youngest son, Mungo, was a boisterous, uncomplicated boy who followed orders and gave her little trouble.
But Libby was single-minded and responded neither to cajoling nor threats.
She was her father’s daughter; Libby was so like James.
Tilly wondered if that was why she was harder on Libby than the others.
Was she jealous of Libby’s adoration of James, even though it was her husband’s insistence and not hers that the children should be sent back to Britain for their schooling?
Oh, James! She didn’t want to think about her husband.
It made her feel wretchedly guilty for failing to return to him.
Yet a part of her felt relief at not having to live the isolated life of a tea planter’s wife.
Here in Newcastle she was her own person again, able to choose where to live and what to do.
She did miss him. Not so much physically– her appetite for sex had dwindled ever since Mungo’s difficult birth– but she missed his companionship and solid, reassuring presence.
She forced her mind back to Adela’s request.
‘I’ll try my best,’ Tilly promised. They kissed cheeks like grown-ups, then Tilly said, ‘Oh, give me a hug, won’t you!’
They clung on for a moment, and then Tilly let her go. As she watched Adela thread her way along the crowded platform, she fought back tears and the fear that she might not see the girl again for a long time.
‘Goodbye, my darling girl,’ Tilly murmured, and blew a kiss as Adela turned one last time to wave before boarding the train.
Four days later a telegram came. Adela was a new recruit in the Entertainments National Service Association.