Page 201 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

‘Yes!’ Fatima cried, half sobbing, half laughing.

Libby was suddenly choked with emotion. Ghulam alive? It wasn’t possible! She clutched Fatima.

‘How do you know?’ Libby demanded. ‘Where is he?’

‘Come!’ Fatima said. ‘Come now. He’s at Sanjeev’s. He’s asking for you.’ Fatima began pulling her through the door.

The street children crowded around them, peering in astonishment at the crying women. Libby stumbled after Fatima, loosing a torrent of questions in between sobs of emotion.

‘How is he? Is he all right? How did he get here? Where’s he been?’

‘He’s very weak,’ Fatima said tearfully, hurrying along the street. ‘He’s had a terrible time. Robbed in Delhi. I’ve dressed his wounds again.’

‘Wounds?’ Libby cried in horror.

‘But he’s alive,’ Fatima repeated in triumph. ‘I never gave up hoping.’

In minutes they were at Sanjeev’s flat. Fatima almost pushed Libby through the door. The room was already lit with a lamp. Libby stared. Half prone on Sanjeev’scharpoy, propped up on a bolster, was a man resembling Ghulam. He was thinner – his gaunt face bearded – and his hair was long and unkempt. But when he caught sight of her and smiled, Libby’s heart swelled with emotion.

‘Ghulam!’ Quickly she went to him.

‘Libby,’ he whispered, attempting to sit up. He winced in pain.

‘Don’t move,’ she said, sitting down gently on the edge of the bed and taking his hand. The skin was rough and nicked with cuts. She put it tenderly to her cheek, tears stinging her eyes. ‘How is this possible?’

He gazed at her, his green eyes huge in his drawn face. ‘You stayed,’ he said in wonder. ‘I thought you would have left long ago.’

‘This is where I belong,’ she answered. She kissed the palm of his hand.

She held his look, not wanting to blink and miss a moment of seeing him, proving to her disbelieving eyes that it was her beloved Ghulam and he was really alive.

‘What happened to you?’ she asked. ‘I thought you were d-dead.’ She sobbed over the word.

Ghulam took her hand and kissed it in return. ‘By rights I should be,’ he said, pain passing over his face. ‘I was left for dead ...’

‘You don’t have to speak of it now,’ Libby said hastily. ‘It’s just enough that you’ve come back to me – to us.’ She looked around but Fatima and Sanjeev had left them alone. She could hear them talking in the corridor.

Libby leant closer to Ghulam and smoothed the hair from his brow.

‘Sanjeev gave me your letter,’ she said with a tender smile. ‘I know it by heart. It’s the most precious thing I possess. I missed you so much – I would read it whenever my spirits were low. Just to know that you loved me ...’

Tears spilled down Libby’s face.

‘You stayed,’ he repeated, brushing at her tears with his roughened fingers. ‘Does that mean you won’t be going back to Britain?’

‘No, I won’t be,’ said Libby. ‘I’ve made up my mind to live in Calcutta. I have work here and friends – and now I’ve got you.’

‘So you feel the same way?’ Ghulam asked, his look searching.

‘Of course I do,’ Libby replied. ‘I wrote you a letter from Belgooree to tell you about your father being ill – but also to say how much I loved you and always would love you. I sent it to Amelia Buildings, thinking you were still there.’

Ghulam smiled his broad uneven smile and Libby’s heart melted.

‘Then we love each other,’ he said simply.

‘Yes.’ Libby smiled and leant towards him, kissing his cracked lips.

He reached for her and she put her arms about him. Suddenly he flinched and Libby realised he was bandaged under his shirt.