Page 26 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

‘I think it’s rather a depressing place,’ she said. ‘I’m more interested in the living.’

Helena took that to mean that Libby would like to go shopping.

‘You’ll need some decent summer clothes,’ her aunt said. ‘I can’t believe your mother sent you out with so little. And it really isn’t done to wear trousers.’

Helena got her driver to deposit them on Chowringhee Street, a wide thoroughfare of shops, hotels and restaurants, its arcaded pavements busy with street vendors. Crowded trams swayed up the centre of the road, clanking and sounding their bells. Libby had a frisson of remembrance: she had been here before. Her mother had relished the rare trip to the big city to buy clothes and visit the theatre. Libby remembered being fascinated by two boys on the wide pavement doing a levitation trick under a grubby sheet.

Before she could work out where that could have been, her aunt was marching Libby into a grand department store where saluting doormen were dressed in immaculate white uniforms.

Despite Libby’s protests, Helena insisted on buying and paying for three old-fashioned summer frocks with matching gloves, two sensible buttoned-up blouses that didn’t show any cleavage, a parasol, a white handbag and two pairs of court shoes with heels.

‘I’m not very good in heels,’ Libby said.

‘You can’t slop around in those terrible old gym shoes, dear,’ said Helena. ‘Keep them for tennis.’

As they emerged again into the bright sunshine to their waiting driver, Libby gave a longing glance up the street to where Chowringheedisappeared into the melee of central Calcutta. How she yearned to explore the lanes and bazaars that led off into the teeming city.

‘Perhaps we could visit Hogg’s Market tomorrow?’ she suggested.

‘Goodness me, no,’ replied Helena with a shocked expression. ‘I never go there.’

‘But they sell everything, don’t they? Surely you must buy some things there?’

‘I send the servants with a shopping list.’ Helena bustled her towards the car. ‘Tomorrow your calling cards will be ready. We’ll spend the morning delivering them, then you’ll be able to do some visiting.’

Immediately, Libby’s spirits lifted; tomorrow she could get in touch with George.

After a few days, Libby was tiring of Helena’s constant commentary on the laziness of Bengalis, the corruption of the city corporation and the tittle-tattle of Calcutta’s European society. But she bore it with good grace, remembering Tilly’s words of warning not to upset her aunt. Her favourite activity was being taken for a ride across the Maidan.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you liked riding?’ Helena had exclaimed on Libby’s second day in Calcutta.

‘I’m not very expert,’ Libby had admitted, ‘but some of my fondest memories are of early morning rides with Dad around the tea gardens – just the two of us. And I used to love exercising the old horses on the farm where I worked during the War.’

One afternoon Johnny took them to Eden Gardens – another beautifully laid-out central park – to watch a cricket match. Libby wore one of the matronly dresses that Helena had bought for her. She tried to make it more shapely by wearing it with a wide belt. Libby kept a look-out for George, hoping to see him. But frustratingly, since leaving her calling card at his digs in Harrington Street, there had been no reply.

‘Not very polite of your young man,’ Helena had said.

‘I imagine George is away from the city on business,’ Johnny had suggested, with a smile of reassurance.

‘Yes, that’s more than likely,’ Libby had agreed. Only to herself did she admit the wave of disappointment that so far George had failed to get in touch.

Each day, Helena organised Libby into attending tea parties or dinners, either at New House or at the homes of their friends. They were mostly ex-army or in business, nearly all were middle-aged and none of the women appeared to have ever done a job, apart from running their households or volunteering during the War. Libby found herself comparing them to her mother; at least Tilly thought her work outside the home more important than housekeeping. Helena and one of the other women were active in the Guides but the rest of Helena’s friends appeared to fill their days with socialising and playing bridge or tennis at their clubs, and reminiscing about their army days in cantonments across India.

One retired couple, the Percy-Barratts, Libby remembered from Assam; Reggie had worked with her father on the Oxford Estates and thin-faced Muriel had been the burra memsahib of the tea-planters’ club. Libby recalled her as being a bit of a dragon with a permanently sour expression of whom all the children had been wary. But on meeting them again, Libby encouraged them to talk of the old days, interested to hear their memories of her parents. Muriel, now white-haired, still had a mouth which pulled down at the corners when something displeased her.

‘I took your mother under my wing when she first came out to India,’ Muriel Percy-Barratt said. ‘She was such a town girl, not suited for life in themofussilat all. I had to give her quite a talking-to, I can tell you. I always had a soft spot for your father – a lifelong friend – ever since Reggie and James joined the company as young men.’

‘Lifelong friend,’ her husband echoed. ‘Could tell you a few tales.’

But to Libby’s frustration he didn’t. Muriel dominated the conversation.

‘So when is your mother coming back out?’ Muriel asked.

‘Soon, I hope,’ Libby answered.

‘Your father is terribly lonely at Cheviot View. I think the War years have taken their toll on his health – he looked ghastly the last time we saw him.’ Muriel’s glum look filled Libby with sudden alarm. ‘Of course he should never have been left alone for so long. Poor James. Still, if Tilly is really intending on coming out then that is good news.’

‘Good news indeed,’ Reggie said.