Page 193 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

With burning cheeks, Libby said, ‘I know the big love of his life was a woman who came from Delhi. Perhaps he took the opportunity to find her and that’s why he never made it to Lahore.’

‘Cordelia?’ Sanjeev said in astonishment.

‘I suppose so – I never knew her name – just that she was very special to him but she rejected him for his stance over the War.’

Sanjeev retorted, ‘She gave him the run-around, that’s for certain. Ghulam was in love with her once, but that was a long time ago.’

‘Fatima seemed to think ... She warned me that Ghulam couldn’t commit to another.’

‘Fatima, like all sisters, was being protective of her brother. She had seen him get badly hurt. But she didn’t know Ghulam’s true feelings.’

‘So how are you so sure that he no longer cared for this Cordelia?’

‘Because he told me so,’ said Sanjeev. ‘We talked about it before he left for Lahore.’

‘Did you? What did he say?’ Libby held her breath.

Sanjeev didn’t answer immediately. He got up and crossed the room, opened a desk drawer and rummaged inside. He came back holding an envelope.

‘Before Ghulam went, he gave me this letter. He said if he didn’t make it back safely and you ever came to look for him, I was to give you this.’ He held it out.

Libby’s heart punched in her chest. ‘For me?’

‘Yes,’ said Sanjeev, ‘take it.’

Libby reached for it with trembling fingers. At the sight of the familiar handwriting she almost broke down. For a moment she couldn’t speak.

Sanjeev said gently, ‘I know he wouldn’t have gone to find Cordelia because he confessed to me how he was in love with you, Libby. He said he had to tell someone. He knew what a hazardous journey he was undertaking. The last night he was here, he sat up writing that. Whatever it says, it was from the heart. I thought about sending it to you but he was very insistent that I should only give it to you if you came to seek him out.’

Libby tucked it into her trouser pocket. ‘Thank you, Sanjeev,’ she said, her voice hoarse with emotion.

She got up quickly to go. She wanted to be alone to read Ghulam’s words. At the door she hesitated. ‘Did he get a letter from me before he left? I wrote from Belgooree and told him about his father.’

Sanjeev shook his head. ‘I’m sure he would have mentioned it if he had.’

Libby nodded, heartbroken that Ghulam had never read her declaration of love. As she went she said, ‘If I can be of any help to the refugees you are helping – perhaps free typing lessons or arithmetic – then please let me know.’

‘I will,’ Sanjeev agreed. ‘Thank you.’

It was only a short walk from Hogg’s Market to the Duff Church. Libby retraced the steps that she had taken with Ghulam the day she had realised she was falling in love with him. On the steps of the church she pulled out the letter and with shaking hands tore open the flimsy envelope.

My darling Goddess

Tomorrow I set off for Lahore to see my ill father. I suspect I might already be too late to find him conscious and make my peace with him, but I must try. Tonight I willget no sleep for I have decided to fill the dark hours thinking of all the people who are most dear to me.

My special sister Fatima – she has kept me strong through so much. Rafi and his faithful Sophie – I wish I’d got to know her better. My good comrade Sanjeev who keeps my spirits up on the bad days. Kind Sitara who has cared for Fatima and me so well and continues to serve my sister at the hospital. Other good and true friends at the newspaper and in the Party. But there is one person who keeps barging her way into my thoughts and won’t let me sleep. She has been the cause of many sleepless nights and not just this last one in Calcutta. You must know that it is you, Libby – my goddess in the green satin dress.

I love you with all my body and my whole heart – every part of me yearns for you just now. I wish that you were lying here beside me, loving me with that intensity that we shared so briefly but so utterly. I still think of those two occasions that we lay together and made love. I never felt so alive. I will always cherish those moments.

But more than that, Libby, you have been a true friend. I think, given time, we could have gone on to do good things together in this world. Perhaps I could have started a newspaper and you could have done the satirical cartoons! Or maybe we could have set up a school here in Calcutta where there is so much injustice and need – the streets are full of lost or abandoned children. I could teach them to read and write and you their sums and times tables.

Since you left me for Belgooree I have often dreamt of what a future together might have been. I imagine by now you have returned to Britain. I half hoped you might write before you did so – or turn up at my door. I knowI promised to write to you, but it seemed unfair to do so when you had decided to go home.

I don’t imagine you will ever get to read this letter. I write it more for myself – a way to pour out my heart in the depths of night. But I shall leave it with Sanjeev just in case you ever try to find me – or him. For if you have done so and are reading this, then it means that you have decided to stay in Calcutta at least for a while – and that means that India is still important to you and not just a place of nostalgia that existed only in your memory of childhood.

But it also probably means that I have not succeeded in returning safely to Calcutta. I know there are risks ahead but I am so much luckier than many of my fellow Indians. The senseless killings of the past weeks make me almost give up in despair.

Yet I will not allow myself to give up – not while there are people of passion like you and Sanjeev and Fatima in the world who get up every new morning intent on making this a better place.

My darling Libby, the dawn is beginning to creep in at the window. I must get ready for the journey ahead. Wherever you are – and wherever you go in the future – enjoy your life, Libby. Please know that I treasured our friendship and that you were dearly beloved by me.

Ghulam x

Libby sat on the steps, with tears streaming down her face, rereading the letter over and over again. His words of love – the depth of his feelings for her – took her breath away. If only he had been able to express them when they had been together! She might never have left him in Calcutta or gone to Belgooree. She would have opened her heartto him too, instead of waiting to put her true feelings in a letter that he had never received.

It grieved her beyond words that Ghulam would never read her love letter to him. Yet there was comfort in her sore heart to know that he had written such tender words without any prompting from her or feeling of obligation that he should respond in kind. His passionate message had come from his heart. She was in no doubt now that Ghulam Khan had loved her, loved her deeply and completely.

Libby stood up on shaky legs, shattered and comforted in equal measure by what she had read and now knew of Ghulam’s feelings. She kissed the letter and slipped it into her blouse so it could lie close to her heart. Then Libby walked away from the shade of the palm trees and into the late October sunshine.