Page 111 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

Ghulam stubbed out his cigarette and reached into his pocket for the last uneaten toffee from a tin that Libby had sent with the letter. He had been saving it for just such a moment. Ghulam sucked on the toffee, his mouth filling with the delicious sweetness, and read Libby’s latest letter again.

Dearest Prodigal,

I hope you don’t mind me calling you dearest? Perhaps it is the only way I can convince you that you are very dear to me – far more than a certain assistant tea planter (no matter how kind and passably handsome he may be!). I shan’t mention his name again, as you accused me of overuse in my previous letter. As for toffees: rest assured, I haven’t shared sweets with M since we were children. I seem to remember he preferred coconut, which is far below toffee in the hierarchy of best sweets.

You wanted to know more about Belgooree. It’s probably the nicest place I’ve ever been to. The bungalow is old and almost completely covered in bougainvillea and other flowering creepers I don’t know the names of, and it has an upstairs veranda with a beautiful view over the garden and the track down to the tea bushes and the forest beyond. It’s almost like living in the jungle. In theevening, you can see the Khasi boys herding the cattle back into the village and everything smells perfumed from the wood fires and the night-flowering creepers.

I’m getting to know and like my cousin Clarrie more and more. I have to say I’ve been a bit jealous of her because my father is so obviously fond of her when he should be thinking about my mother and saving his marriage. Sorry, does that sound very bourgeois of me? I can’t help it–they’re my parents and I want them to be together because I know it’s only the years of separation that have made them grow apart. They deserve to have a few happy years together to make up for the time they’ve missed. At least that’s what I think.

I know now, first hand, how damaging being apart can be. I love my dad dearly but he’s not how I remember him. As a child I adored everything about him but meeting him again as an adult, I see that we have very different opinions about life. Also, I can’t help feeling he’s deliberately keeping something back from me – perhaps because he thinks I’ll disapprove – and it’s created this distance between us. I know he’s unwell and I shouldn’t judge him too harshly – I feel disloyal even writing this – but I can’t deny our reunion has been a bit of a disappointment. I think it’s the same for him too – he’s not used to a young woman answering him back in the way I do! It’s made me more sympathetic to my mother – I think life with my dad was probably quite difficult out here at times. She’s independently minded too but I keep remembering times when she would have to pacify my father and try and keep the peace amongst the family. I’d forgotten how much we all argued as kids! But she was never the least bit snobby or prejudiced. Perhaps my outlook onlife is more thanks to her than I’ve ever realised. I hope you don’t mind me telling you all this – I’ve not admitted it to anyone before.

Anyway, I’ve been helping Clarrie at the factory. She’s teaching me tea-tasting. There’s a lot more to it than I ever imagined and she’s very skilled. I’ve never done so much sipping and spitting in my life! I’m also teaching a boy called Nitin to type so that he can do the office work for themohurerwho is getting old and his eyesight’s going. I know it’s not much in the great scale of things but I was going up the wall with nothing to do and at least I’m feeling more useful while I have to be here.

Sometimes I wish I could climb on our magic carpet and fly down to Calcutta and sit on the roof with you and discuss the matters of the day. No one here wants to talk about what’s happening. Clarrie won’t let me mention politics in front of Dad in case he gets anxious. I think it’s a mistake as he will have to make a decision soon about what he’s going to do. And so, I suppose, will I.

My fondest regards,

Libby

PS I have indeed told Dad that I’m writing to you. When he began huffing and puffing, Clarrie told him to be quiet and said it was nice that I’m keeping up with my friends in Calcutta!