Page 7 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

For a moment he seemed taken aback. Then he threw back his head and laughed – how she loved his infectious laughter – and started taking off his jacket.

‘Just cos it’s you, Libby Robson,’ said George. ‘This would never happen in Calcutta.’

Lexy rolled her eyes. ‘She’s a true Robson through and through,’ she chuckled. ‘That lass can get anyone to do anything.’

‘I bet she can,’ George agreed, gazing intently at Libby.

Doreen lent Libby a dress to wear to save her having to go home to South Gosforth to change. In the flat above the café which Doreen shared with Lexy, Libby squeezed into the flowery frock. The short sleeves pinched her fleshier arms and Doreen pinned the front folds of the dress together with a brooch.

‘Stop your bosom falling out,’ the girl giggled. ‘Your hips fill the skirt nicely, mind. Wish I had a figure like yours.’

‘Thanks, Doreen,’ Libby said. ‘You’re much more diplomatic than Mother; she calls me “hefty”. Says I eat too many of Lexy’s pies.’

‘Well, I wish I was your shape. Always turning the lads’ heads, you are.’

‘Don’t be daft!’ Libby laughed, incredulous.

‘It’s true. That George Brewis can’t keep his eyes off you.’

‘Stop it,’ Libby spluttered. ‘He’s just being polite to an old family friend, that’s all.’

But Libby’s hand trembled as she brushed out her wavy hair and applied red lipstick that accentuated the fullness of her mouth. As she descended to the café and the waiting George, she tried to calm her rapid breathing and hoped the thumping of her heart didn’t show.

George and Libby strolled through the park, walking close without touching, while they caught up on each other’s lives. Libby talked animatedly about her time with the Land Army on a farm in Northumberland; how her older brother, Jamie, was now a qualified doctor and younger brother, Mungo, was at university in Durham.

‘My brothers are happy – and Mother’s happy being near them – but this isn’t the life I want.’

‘What do you want?’ George asked, taking her elbow to steer her towards a bench.

Libby gave a sigh of frustration. ‘The War’s been over for a year. I thought by now we’d have gone back out to Assam to be with Dad. Or at the very least he’d take some leave and come to see us. But nothing’s happening. I want us to be a family again. But Mother keeps making excuses not to go. It’s as if she doesn’t want to see Dad at all.’

‘It must be hard for you not seeing your father all this time,’ George said in sympathy. ‘How long has it been?’

Libby’s eyes smarted with emotion. ‘Eleven years.’ Every time she thought of her father she felt an ache of longing. He was larger than life; a big man with a booming voice and laugh, whom she had adored as a child. ‘I miss him so much.’ She looked at George. ‘Have you seen him since you’ve been in India?’

George shook his head. ‘I haven’t been to Assam yet, but I’m hoping to get up there soon.’ He slipped his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze, making her pulse quicken. ‘And if I do, I’ll be sure to tell James Robson that the prettiest lass in Newcastle is longing to see him.’

‘Thanks.’ Libby smiled, looking into his blue eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve been talking ten to the dozen and not letting you say a word about yourself.’

The way George was regarding her made her tingle. Abruptly, he pulled her to her feet and linked her arm through his. ‘Come on, bonny lass; let’s go for that drink, eh?’

Later, after two cocktails, George began to talk about his infant daughter, Bonnie.

‘She’s not mine, you know.’

Libby felt a jolt of shock. She had known the marriage to blonde Joan had been hasty and the baby had followed shortly afterwards, but during wartime such transgressions had been commonplace.

‘Oh?’ Libby didn’t know how to answer.

‘Joan had an affair with a naval officer while I was away. I only married her out of pity – didn’t seem fair on the kiddie to be left without a father, did it?’

‘That was very gallant of you.’

George shrugged and gave his disarming smile. ‘I’m a soft touch when it comes to the lasses.’

‘Won’t you miss her?’ Libby had asked.

‘What, Joan?’