Page 53 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

Afterwards there was dancing in the garden to the jazz band and people drifted between the house and the veranda, drinking and laughing, sitting and chatting. Libby saw Fatima talking to Danny Dunlop and wondered if he was asking her for medical advice. At least the Khans were still here; she had lost sight of them since the charades. While George went off for more drinks, Libby went in search of Ghulam.

She found him smoking under the trees with a young hillsman from the Duff Church whose father had been in Johnny’s regiment.

‘Putting the world to rights?’ Libby asked.

‘Talking cricket,’ Ghulam answered, offering her a cigarette.

‘No thanks,’ said Libby. ‘To be honest, I don’t really like smoking.’

They stood chatting for a few minutes about the party and then the young Gurkha excused himself.

‘I was hoping for a dance,’ Libby said after he’d gone.

‘I’m a hopeless dancer,’ said Ghulam.

‘Well, I’m quite good,’ she said, ‘so we stand a chance of getting it right.’

He eyed her. ‘There are men queuing up to dance with you tonight who are younger and far more suitable than me.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said, holding his look, ‘but I want to dance with you. It would be bad manners to refuse me on my birthday.’

Ghulam ground out his cigarette. ‘Very well, Miss Robson.’ He held out his arm.

‘Please call me Libby.’ She curled her fingers around his arm, enjoying the feel of muscled strength beneath the thin shirt.

‘Comrade Libby,’ he said with a twitch of a smile.

On the shadowed lawn, they attempted a waltz to the strains of ‘Smoke Gets in Your Eyes’. Libby could hardly believe she was being held close by this man who had dominated her thoughts for the past week. She leant into his shoulder, thrilling at the feel of his warm hand on her back and the soapy smell of his chin as it brushed against her cheek. She felt desire surge inside her. If only the dance could go on forever.

‘I’m sorry your father couldn’t be here,’ Ghulam said. ‘Will you still go to Assam this week?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure what’s wrong with him. He needs to rest. Perhaps it’s just an excuse not to come to Calcutta.’ She looked into his eyes. ‘Have you heard any more about your family in Lahore?

‘No,’ said Ghulam.

‘But you haven’t had bad news?’

‘No, nothing.’

‘Well, then that’s something. I hope you get good news soon.’

His grip on her tightened a fraction as they continued to waltz. She thought her heart would burst out of her chest it was thudding so hard.

The tune came to an end. Ghulam dropped his hold. Libby didn’t step away. ‘Dance to the next one?’ she suggested.

‘I think Fatima wishes to go,’ he said, glancing over her head. ‘And that red-faced sahib is making a bee-line for you again.’

Libby’s heart sank as, looking over her shoulder, she saw George approaching.

‘Can I see you again?’ Libby said quickly.

His look was guarded. ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Libby.’

‘You offered to be my guide around Calcutta, remember?’

‘This is your Calcutta here,’ he said, an edge to his voice. ‘Safer if you stick to it.’

‘I don’t care about safety,’ she replied. ‘I want to see what’s going on beyond this world. I had a glimpse of it with you the other day – please show me more. How can I adapt to the new India if I stay confined to the old?’