Page 22 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

CHAPTER 5

Calcutta, India, February 1947

As the Dakota aeroplane descended over the swampy Bengali delta, Libby was mesmerised by the view. Tropical green fields and jungle were pockmarked by lakes and canals that shimmered in the setting sun. Settlements clung to the riverbanks and thatched huts peeked through groves of mangoes and palms.

On the last leg of her three-day journey, Libby’s plane had taken off from Karachi by the Arabian Sea and flown over brown barren plains. Looking down now, her senses were assaulted by the lushness of this watery province. She could make out a black bullock being chivvied home alongside a dyke and a white church spire piercing the green canopy.

Then the plane banked and she saw in the distance the dense clutter of rooftops half obscured in a haze of smoke: Calcutta. Libby’s stomach somersaulted. She had never seen it like this before, spread out like a child’s miniature model, with flat-roofed houses and a railway line cutting through fields. Fourteen years ago, she had left by train to Bombay for the long voyage into exile. Now she had a bird’s-eye view of the wide brown Hooghly River, shaped like a dog-leg and studded with ships at anchor. Beyond lay a forest of cranes and factory chimneys.

She held her breath in wonder as the drabness of the river delta was suddenly flooded with golden evening light and the hulks of ships began to sparkle. The sun hovered over the horizon – a throbbing disc the colour of blood orange – and then abruptly sank. As the plane landed, the sky was already a deep mauve and pinpricks of lamplight began to stud the deepening darkness.

Her uncle, DrJohnny Watson, and his wife Helena were there to meet her. She recognised her uncle at once. He had the same lanky gait and broad smile as her brother Jamie and deep-set hazel eyes like her mother. She remembered him as being kind and good fun on a long-ago camping trip near Belgooree. Then, he had been dark-haired; now his hair was peppered with grey. Helena – who had been absent from that trip – was buxomly solid in a lilac pleated skirt and matching twin-set. Permed greying hair was arranged neatly beneath a stiff raffia hat.

‘My dear, you look exhausted!’ Helena greeted her with a gloved handshake. ‘The car’s waiting and dinner will be ready as soon as we get home. You must be hungry.’

‘I’m too excited to be hungry,’ Libby said, smiling. ‘But now you mention it ...’

‘Good,’ said her aunt. ‘You look like a girl who enjoys her food. I approve of that.’ She turned away to summon a porter to carry her cases.

Johnny kissed Libby on the cheek. ‘Flights go all right?’ he asked.

As they followed Helena, Libby gabbled about her journey – the stop-overs in Malta, Cairo and Basra – and the excitement of seeing Calcutta from the air. Johnny answered with a deep amused chuckle that also reminded her of Jamie.

As soon as they emerged from the airport building, Libby felt the balmy evening air envelop her like a soft shawl.

A Sikh driver in a crimson turban held the back passenger door open for Helena and Libby, while Johnny climbed in the front. Libbytried to catch the driver’s eye to thank him but he stared resolutely over her head.

‘Quickest way home!’ Helena ordered. She leant towards Libby. ‘We don’t want to risk driving through central Calcutta after dark – there’s still unrest – constant stabbings. Quite appalling.’

‘No need to alarm Libby,’ Johnny said, craning round with a reassuring smile. ‘Things aren’t so bad.’

‘Still, it’s best to be careful,’ said Helena. ‘Never go out without a chaperone whatever time of the day. But I’m sure your mother has warned you.’

‘Not as such,’ said Libby.

‘How is Tilly?’ asked Johnny.

‘She’s well, thank you. Sends her love to you both.’

‘Such a pity she hasn’t come out with you,’ said Helena. ‘Poor James. It doesn’t do to be without a wife for such a long time in India. Especially stuck on a tea plantation. Not good for a marriage.’

‘Hardly Tilly’s fault, darling,’ said Johnny, ‘that the War broke out while she was home.’

‘If it had been me,’ said Helena, ‘I’d have been on a ship back to India in a jiffy – bringing the children too.’

Libby felt her stomach knot. ‘I wish she had.’

Helena reached out and patted her arm. ‘I’m sure you do. But you’re here now. I bet your father is absolutely thrilled.’

Libby grinned. ‘I got a lovely letter from him before I left Newcastle saying how pleased he is that I’m coming.’

‘Good,’ said Helena. ‘Just as long as we’re given time to spoil you here first. Your uncle sees so little of his family.’

‘Dad hopes to be here in time for my birthday next month and then he’ll take me up to Assam. I’m so excited by it all.’

‘Bravo,’ said Johnny. ‘That means we can give you a party.’

‘Oh, yes, let’s!’ agreed Helena. ‘We’ve never had a daughter of our own to make a fuss of. We’re going to spoil you rotten.’