Page 38 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

‘She’s trying her best, by the sounds of it,’ said Libby. ‘She’s even got MrsJackman helping with the cooking.’ She eyed him before continuing.

‘What does that look mean?’ asked George.

‘Adela says she’s twisted Joan’s arm to come in and help with waitressing,’ Libby answered. ‘Don’t you hear from her at all?’

‘From Joan?’ George asked in surprise. ‘No, why should I?’

‘Doesn’t she tell you how Bonnie’s getting on?’

George hesitated, a forkful of sausage and mashed potato halfway to his mouth. ‘Bonnie’s not my bairn,’ he said, ‘so I don’t need to know, do I?’

Libby felt uncomfortable. She would have understood if George had been bitter about Joan’s infidelity but his indifference struck her as odd – perhaps not towards Joan but towards three-year-old Bonnie. After all, George himself had said how much his mother Olive adored the child and Adela was fond of her too, saying she was a sunny-natured little girl. Libby wondered if Adela found comfort in having Joan’s daughter around to spoil or if it just made her hanker after her lost child? But did George really feel no affection towards Bonnie at all? Or was he pretending not to care so that he could start a new life out in India without any emotional ties?

She watched him carry on eating with his usual relish. George did everything with enthusiasm; it was one of the things she liked about him. Libby decided not to mention Bonnie again. Strange how different people could be: Adela had travelled halfway round the world to try and find her illegitimate baby, whereas George appeared to feel nothing for the child he had taken on during the War.

His plate cleared, George leant closer and took her hand across the table.

‘Enough talk about Newcastle,’ he said, giving her one of his disarming blue-eyed looks. ‘I promised to give you a good time in Calcutta, didn’t I?’

‘You did’ – Libby smiled – ‘and you are.’

‘That’s grand.’ He grinned. ‘So when would you next like to go dancing, bonny lass?’

The moment George finally kissed her took Libby quite by surprise. After every dinner-dance, Libby had been hopeful that George would take her in his arms and kiss her goodnight but there had always been others around sharing the taxi, dropping her off in Alipore first.

One Sunday afternoon, on a picnic in the Botanical Gardens, while their friends dozed and chatted, George and Libby wandered off to look at the lake. She began talking about what concerned her; the ominous rumours that violence was erupting in the Punjab.

‘Do you think it’s possible that hundreds of Hindus have been massacred near Rawalpindi?’ Libby asked. ‘Or is it scaremongering? I know it’s over a thousand miles away but the killing could spread to Bengal as well, couldn’t it? It sounds too awful. Was it very terrible here last summer?’

‘Luckily I was in England for most of August,’ said George.

‘Oh, of course,’ Libby said, remembering. ‘That’s when we met up again.’

Perhaps it was the sudden memory of their night out in Newcastle that prompted George or perhaps he just wanted her to stop dwelling on the grim news. But the next moment he was taking her by the hand and pulling her behind the dense foliage of a tree. Tilting her chin, he leant towards her and covered her mouth with his in an eager embrace.Libby’s heart jolted in astonishment, then she was kissing him back with enthusiasm. His moustache smelt of curry and cologne and he tasted of beer as his tongue explored her mouth.

‘Oh, lass,’ he murmured, taking a breath, ‘you’re just as tasty as I remember.’

Libby stifled her amusement. He made her sound like a steak and kidney pie. He pressed her up against the trunk of the tree and kissed her again. Libby’s heart hammered. Was he a little drunk?

‘Brewis!’ a voice called from a few yards away. ‘Brewis, where’ve you gone?’ It was Eddy Carter, one of his fellow lodgers from Harrington Street. ‘We’re going to play croquet – need you to make up the numbers.’

George and Libby broke apart. He gave her a wry look.

‘To be continued,’ he said with a conspiratorial grin.

Libby couldn’t speak; her feelings were a mix of arousal and frustration – and something else she couldn’t quite name. How far would they have gone if Eddy hadn’t interrupted them?

Libby, her heart still hammering, had no idea how George managed to play croquet with his usual casual banter as if nothing had happened under the willow tree. She caught his look a couple of times and he gave her the slightest of winks but apart from that, he didn’t single her out for attention.

She was aware of Flowers eyeing her during the game and knew that she must have seen them wander off together. Libby tried not to blush under her scrutiny. Had Flowers sent Eddy to look for George, jealous of them being alone?

At the end of the afternoon, when Libby was being dropped off in Alipore, Flowers said to her, ‘I’m off work on Tuesday – come round for tiffin. You still haven’t met my dad.’

Libby felt a pang of guilt that she hadn’t done so; she had been too obsessed with George and trying to see him as much as possible.

‘Thanks, I’d like that,’ she agreed.

George saw her to the gate of New House. ‘I have to go away this coming week,’ he told her.