Page 182 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

‘I’m afraid there isn’t time for that,’ said James. ‘Perhaps another time.’

‘Well, can I show MrJackman my treehouse before you go?Please, MrRobson; it won’t take a minute.’

‘I suppose we can delay a little bit longer,’ James relented, with a smile.

Adela breathed in relief. James was probably in no great hurry to get back to Tilly and her fussing over the new house and dog.

Jacques clapped his hands and sprang off his chair.

‘Wait a minute, you little scamp,’ said Martha. ‘What have you forgotten to say?’

Jacques sat back down quickly. ‘Please may I get down from the table?’

‘You may,’ said Martha with a wink.

Jacques scrambled off his chair again. ‘Come on, MrJackman.’

‘Can I come too?’ Adela asked, holding her breath.

Jacques squinted at her in the late sun. ‘Of course. As long as you aren’t scared of heights like Mummy is.’

Adela laughed. ‘I used to climb trees all the time as a girl in India.’

Jacques’s eyes widened. ‘Gosh, really? Were they as big as houses? Did monkeys and tigers live in them?’

Sam and Adela exchanged amused glances. ‘Monkeys, yes,’ said Adela.

They quickly said their thanks for tea and followed Jacques, who bombarded Adela with fresh questions about wild animals in India. Her heart swelled with love to see his animated face and hear his quick-talking voice. He was so bright and inquisitive. She searched for traces of Sanjay in her son. Perhaps the shape of his eyes and the straightness of his nose – certainly the beige tone of his skin – but there was no doubting that he was a Robson.

Sam abruptly said, ‘I’ll race you to the tree.’

Jacques laughed in excitement as they sprinted the last few yards and Sam made a pretence of almost getting to the treehouse first but slowing up to allow the boy to win. Adela hurried to catch up. Each climbed the ladder into the treehouse, a platform built at the level of the lower branches with a protective wall and no roof. They sat cross-legged, catching their breath. Adela noticed Sam’s camera hanging round his neck; she hadn’t seen him pick it up.

‘This is where Bunty lives,’ Jacques told them. ‘Soon she’ll be collecting nuts and putting them in her nest for winter. Do they have squirrels in India, MrsJackman?’

‘Yes,’ said Adela, ‘we have palm squirrels in our garden at home.’

‘What do they look like?’ he asked. ‘Are they sort of red like ours?’

‘No, they have brown and white stripes,’ she said, ‘and make a noise a bit like a rattle.’

He gazed at her in wonder. ‘Golly gosh! I wish I could see them.’

Adela glanced at Sam, her eyes stinging. ‘So do I,’ she murmured.

Sam’s look was full of compassion. He said, ‘Perhaps one day you’ll come out to India and visit us?’

Jacques gave a broad smile. ‘Do you think I could? That would be swell.’

Adela felt her insides twist at the Americanism. Jacques picked up his enthusiastic phrases from both his parents.

‘Yes,’ said Sam, ‘it would be.’

‘Can you show me how your camera works, MrJackman?’ Jacques asked.

‘Of course.’ Sam slipped it over his head and put the strap around the boy’s neck, taking off the case. Sam showed him where to look and which button to press, helping Jacques keep it steady.

After a couple of shots Jacques said, ‘Say cheese, MrsJackman!’