Page 133 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

For a moment her father’s face looked serene, wiped of his habitual frown and haunted look. Libby thought how much younger he looked – more like the man she remembered, with the strong chin and vital blue eyes. Her eyes stung at the bittersweet thought that she had found her father again just at the moment his time in India was coming to an end.

In the distance they heard a call to prayer. Then the gong went for breakfast and, with a sigh, James straightened his broad shoulders and turned back to the house. Libby walked by his side, still holding on to his arm.

The day her father left Calcutta, Libby had planned to help the Watsons with sorting out their possessions for packing. But the scenes she had witnessed at the railway station were too disturbing. With the two weeks she had before returning to Belgooree, she knew she had to spend them helping the refugees in any way she could.

A distracted Helena offered to put her in touch with the Guide commissioner.

‘Thanks,’ said Libby, ‘but I’m going to find Fatima at the hospital and see if I can help her women’s charity.’

‘That sounds far too dangerous,’ said Helena, frowning.

‘It’s really not,’ Libby assured her. ‘They’re just distributing food and clothing.’

‘Well, our driver Kiran will take you over there,’ Helena insisted.

That afternoon, when Libby was dropped off at the Eden hospital, she told Kiran she would ring the house if she needed collecting.

After half an hour of trying to track down Fatima, she was told that the doctor was not at the hospital. She was running a mobile clinicdownriver. Libby recalled that Ghulam had written about his sister’s work there and how refugees were arriving on overcrowded country boats from East Bengal almost daily.

Libby got the administrator to write down the name of the clinic and draw a map. Returning to the street, she hailed a taxi.

‘Chowringhee Square, please,’ she instructed. ‘TheStatesmanoffices.’

In the lobby of the newspaper office, Libby asked to see Ghulam. While a message was sent upstairs, she retreated to a seat by the wall, her insides churning. Libby saw Ghulam before he saw her. Her heart thumped at the sight of his handsome face and unruly dark hair as he clattered down the stairs, shirtsleeves rolled up over muscled hairy arms, searching the hallway for her. She got up and hurried towards him.

‘Libby!’ The smile he gave her made her legs go weak. ‘What are you doing here?’

She felt breathless as she replied in a gush. ‘Dad left today. I was looking for Fatima at the hospital. I want to help. I saw so many refugees at the station. I thought you might be able to take me ... to the clinic, I mean ...’ Her words dried up as he scrutinised her with his vivid green eyes.

‘It’s good to see you,’ he said.

‘And you too,’ she said huskily. ‘I’ve really enjoyed your letters – and writing to you.’

‘So have I.’ He held her look for a moment before glancing round distractedly. ‘Listen, I’m sorry but I have to report on a meeting now. Fatima will be back home this evening. Why don’t you call on her tomorrow at the hospital and tell her you’d like to help?’

Libby felt a pang of disappointment. ‘I could call round this evening.’

‘It’s not safe to be out after dark,’ he said. ‘Things are very tense in certain parts of the city. Tomorrow would be better. I’ll let Fatima know you’ll be coming.’

Libby nodded. ‘Tomorrow then.’

He touched her arm briefly. ‘I’ll walk you to the tram.’

As they stepped into the sweltering heat, Libby tried to think of things to say to keep him beside her as long as possible. But most of her news she had already told in her letters. Now that they were together, face-to-face, they were strangely bashful.

As they reached the tram stand, Ghulam asked, ‘So you decided not to go home with your father? Does that mean you’re staying on in India?’

Libby’s insides twisted. ‘Only temporarily. I promised Sophie I’d spend Independence Day with her at Belgooree as she doesn’t think she’ll be able to join Rafi before then. And then I’ve agreed with Dad that I’ll go back to Britain to be with the family.’

Ghulam nodded. She couldn’t read his expression.

‘But I’ve got two weeks in Calcutta before all that,’ Libby added hastily.

‘Two weeks,’ he echoed, giving a half-smile. ‘We’ll have to make the most of them then, won’t we?’

Libby’s heart raced at his words. ‘Yes,’ she agreed, smiling back.

Yet too soon, she found herself waving Ghulam goodbye and clambering on to the tram for Alipore. Frustration overwhelmed her at seeing him so briefly.