Page 160 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

Sophie’s face lit up. ‘He’s got the ’Pindi job! It’s definitely his.’

‘That’s great news,’ said Clarrie.

‘Well done, Rafi,’ said Libby.

‘And he’s got a house,’ Sophie continued in excitement. ‘Oh dear, it’s one that used to belong to an engineer with the Public Works department – a Sikh.’ Sophie glanced up with a guilty look. ‘Do you think that’s happening a lot? Abandoned houses being requisitioned?’

‘I’m afraid it’s all too likely,’ Clarrie said, sighing.

‘But Rafi shouldn’t feel guilty,’ said Libby. ‘He hasn’t chased anyone out of anywhere.’

Sophie carried on reading. Libby waited to open her own letter in case Sophie had more news of the Khans. Suddenly, Sophie was gasping and sinking into a chair.

‘What’s the matter?’ Libby asked.

Sophie gave a cry of dismay. ‘Oh, no! Rafi’s father is very ill. Rafi’s going to Lahore. I wish he wasn’t ...’

‘How ill?’ Libby demanded. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

Sophie read the letter again. ‘Heart attack. He’s at home. The hospitals are too overwhelmed with casualties. That’s what Rafi says: too overwhelmed.’ Sophie screwed up her eyes.

Libby and Clarrie both hurried to put their arms about her shoulders.

‘I should be with him,’ Sophie exclaimed. ‘Rafi shouldn’t have to face all this on his own. He hasn’t seen his family in years. And Lahore! It’s so dangerous.’

‘What does he say about you joining him?’ asked Clarrie.

‘He says I mustn’t yet,’ Sophie admitted. ‘But how can I stay here knowing how much he needs me? Clarrie, what should I do?’

‘Stay here,’ said Clarrie firmly. ‘I know it’s hard and all your instincts are to go rushing to Lahore. But if something happened to you on the way, how would that be helping him?’

‘The trains aren’t safe,’ said Libby. ‘People are being butchered on the Delhi to Lahore line – there are stories in the newspaper every day.’

‘I know!’ Sophie cried. ‘But I could get to Calcutta and fly.’

Clarrie squeezed her hand. ‘Don’t do anything just yet,’ she advised. ‘Write to Rafi and suggest it but please don’t go rushing off into danger before things are clearer. Perhaps his father has already recovered or ...’

Clarrie and Libby exchanged looks. Libby knew she was thinking the same thing: perhaps Rafi’s father was already dead and rushing there would prove to be futile.

Sophie let out a long sigh. ‘You’re right. I mustn’t do anything to cause Rafi any more worry.’

Libby asked, ‘Does he say whether Ghulam and Fatima know about their father being so ill?’

Sophie shook her head. ‘No, he doesn’t.’

Libby’s insides twisted. ‘Do you think I should write and let them know?’

‘Surely Rafi will have done that?’ said Clarrie.

Sophie shrugged. ‘His father may not want him to. MrKhan hasn’t spoken to Ghulam since he banished him from home as a youth – and he wiped his hands of Fatima too when she refused to get married. He’s not the type to forgive and forget.’

‘But they have a right to know,’ insisted Libby. ‘Ghulam might pretend he doesn’t care but I know he’s troubled by his estrangement from his father. He encouraged me to go and see Dad when he was recuperating here and not to let a rift open between us. I think Ghulam would want to send his father a message before it’s too late.’

‘Then write to him,’ said Clarrie. ‘He and Fatima ought to know.’

Libby started a letter to Ghulam several times but the right words wouldn’t come. They either sounded too formal, as if she were an official passing on information about his father, or they were too alarmist, as if he ought to rush at once to his father’s bedside. She didn’t want him to do that – was strongly against him going in person – given thecarnage going on in the Punjab. Yet she knew he would want to know. What if his father should die before he had a chance to make his peace with him? How terrible would it be for Ghulam to find out later that she had known and yet made no attempt to tell him?

The trouble was that Libby wanted to pour out her heart to Ghulam but didn’t want to do so in such a letter. Should she write two separate ones? In exasperation with herself, she abandoned her writing pad and lay back on her bed re-reading her father’s letter.