Page 73 of The Secrets of the Tea Garden

‘We’ll take you round the estate later in the week,’ Libby promised.

Manzur swung the car past the gates and headed for the un-metalled road that wound up to Cheviot View.

Half an hour later, Libby was queasy with anticipation as they rounded the bend and her old home appeared through the trees, perched on the hillside among flowering bushes. Its weathered upstairs veranda was choked in creepers.

‘When did you have the roof replaced?’ Libby asked, with a twinge of disappointment at seeing the green corrugated roof in place of the old thatch.

‘Goodness, it’s been like that for years,’ said James.

Almost before the car had stopped, Libby was flinging open the door and scrambling out. She rushed round to the front of the house – the lawns were still well cut and the borders were a riot of pansies, violets and wall-flowers. A black flat-coated retriever came bounding across the lawn, barking loudly.

‘Breckon!’ James shouted, hurrying across on stiff legs. The dog leapt towards his master, dancing around him in excitement. ‘How I’ve missed you, you rogue!’ James bent down and patted him vigorously. The dog licked his hand and thumped his tail.

‘Mother’s canna lilies are still here,’ Libby said in delight as her father fussed over his beloved dog.

‘I’ve kept everything as your mother likes it,’ he said.

Libby’s eyes watered at the tender remark. Just then she saw a movement on the bungalow steps: the servants had lined up to greet her. Manzur’s parents, Aslam the bearer and Meera, her old ayah, were among them. Aslam’s beard was silver-grey but Meera still looked remarkably young for a woman in middle age. Libby ran up the stepsand threw her arms around Meera. Her former nurse rubbed her back and then gently pushed her to arm’s length.

‘It’s so good to see you all again,’ Libby said, tears spilling down her cheeks.

‘Come, come,’ said James, ‘no need to get upset.’

‘Not upset’ – Libby smiled tearfully – ‘just very happy.’

She turned back to Flowers who was saying something to Manzur; the young manager was giving an embarrassed smile. Libby waved her over.

‘Come on, Flowers! Let me show you around.’

Libby rushed between the rooms, relishing their familiarity; the highly patterned floor rugs and veranda cushions had faded to muted browns but the sitting room was still cluttered with brass ornaments, bookcases and tables crammed with family photographs. Even her mother’s stamp collection was still gathering dust on a shelf under an oil painting of a Scottish Highland scene. It was all sweetly familiar and yet there was a neglected air about the place – a smell of mildewed books and decaying flowers – that highlighted the absence of her mother and brothers. How the house needed a family to breathe life back into it! Why had her mother kept them away for so long?

‘Your bedroom should be shipshape,’ said James, perhaps catching the regretful look on her face. ‘I sent a message to Aslam to unpack all your things from the trunk in the godown – as long as the ants haven’t made a meal of them.’

‘Thanks, Dad,’ Libby answered, though she couldn’t remember what possessions of hers could have been stored all this time.

Her bed under the mosquito net was covered in her old pale-green counterpane and two dolls with china faces and Edwardian clothing were propped on the pillows.

‘Milly and Dilly!’ she cried in astonishment. ‘I’d forgotten all about them.’ On closer inspection, it appeared that moths had eaten away at their outfits.

Libby saw that old toys were displayed on top of a rusted black tin trunk: a collection of metal cars that she had once won off Jamie in a dare, a spinning top, a cracked solitaire board with metal balls and a tennis racket. Libby picked up the racket and curled her fingers around the peeling leather handle.

For a moment she was transported back to a hot afternoon playing tennis with Jamie on the makeshift court at the side of the house. Manzur was acting as their ball boy. Her mother was sitting reading in the shade while Ayah Meera pushed Mungo in his pram up and down the terrace. Libby and her brother must have been arguing over the rules because she remembered Tilly shouting,‘Oh, do be quiet! You’re giving me a headache.’Shortly afterwards, Libby, infuriated at her brother for cheating, had thrown down her racket in protest and stomped off.

Libby gave a sigh of amusement as she put the battered racket back down on the trunk; she’d forgotten how much indignant stomping off she had done as a child.

Turning to the window, she gasped. Sitting on top of the table was her mother’s gaudy musical box. She opened it up and wound the key. The tinny strains of Swan Lake played for a few seconds.

‘I was always getting into trouble for playing with this,’ Libby told Flowers. ‘Mother kept it on her dressing table but I used to sneak in and take it to bed. It helped me get to sleep. Meera must have remembered.’

Flowers was given Jamie’s old room. ‘It’s got the best view,’ Libby told her. ‘Gets the morning sunshine too before the heat – so you can open your shutters and listen to the birdsong.’

After washing and changing, they met on the veranda for drinks. Manzur was staying the night to visit his parents in the compound and James invited him to take supper with them in the bungalow. Libby thought how such a thing would have been unheard of before the War – having an Indian employee dine with them – but she was glad at the change. Her father seemed far less hidebound by social etiquette than she had remembered. Perhaps it was because people like thePercy-Barratts were no longer keeping a watchful eye on his household. Libby could almost hear Muriel admonishing them:‘Mustn’t let the side down by mixing with the natives.’But such notions would soon be obsolete once Independence came, surely? At least Libby hoped they would.

Flowers and Libby drank gimlets, while Manzur had a lemonade. Libby sensed the young Indian was ill at ease having his father, Aslam, bustle about overseeing thekhitmutgarin the pouring of drinks. James downed a large whisky and immediately ordered another.

Libby sat contentedly, gazing out over the garden and jungle to the tea plantations in the distance, as the sky turned from gold to orange to red to purple. James and Manzur talked about work. The sky went green then darkness fell abruptly. The air pulsed with the sound of insects and the stars came out in abundance. Before they went into the dining room, Libby saw her father pour himself another large whisky. With dismay she realised he must have drunk half a decanter already. She never remembered him drinking this much.

James ordered a bottle of champagne to be served with the main course.