Belgooree, August
Sitting out on the veranda after dinner on her first night in the hills, Libby caught up with Clarrie’s and Sophie’s news.
Libby had been surprised and delighted to find her childhood friend Manzur was now living on the Belgooree estate. Clarrie, hearing from Libby about his ambition to be a teacher, had swiftly offered him a position as a schoolmaster in the plantation school.
‘I know that the schooling here has always been rudimentary,’ Clarrie admitted, ‘and that it’s high time the education for the pickers’ children was improved.’
‘I’m sure Manzur will be just the man for the job,’ Libby enthused.
‘Oh, he’s already making a difference,’ said Clarrie. ‘The children love him and he’s so full of energy. I really can’t thank you enough for tipping me off about him wanting to leave the Oxford.’
‘I’m glad it’s working out,’ said Libby. ‘Though Dad will probably tell me off for interfering.’
‘Not a bit of it,’ Clarrie had replied. ‘Your father is pleased that Manzur is doing a job he loves.’
‘So you’ve heard from Dad since he’s been back in Newcastle?’ Libby exclaimed.
‘Yes, an airmail came a couple of days ago.’
Libby flushed. She was longing to hear how the reunion between her parents was going. ‘I haven’t heard a thing – except to say he arrived safely. I know he’s not the world’s greatest letter writer.’
‘I’m sure he’ll have written to you too. Perhaps it’s just missed you in Calcutta. James wouldn’t have known that you were staying at Flowers’s flat, would he?’
‘No,’ Libby conceded. ‘So how is he? What does he say? Is he getting on all right with Mother?’
‘Yes, I’m sure he is. They’ve been looking at houses together,’ said Clarrie.
‘To buy?’
‘To rent to start with,’ said Clarrie. ‘They can’t agree on town or country, so they’re going to do both for a short while. James is keen to rent a house on the Willowburn Estate up the Tyne Valley.’
‘He’ll want somewhere he can keep horses and dogs,’ said Sophie.
‘Why does the Willowburn Estate sound familiar?’ asked Libby.
‘According to Adela,’ said Clarrie, ‘it’s where Joan Brewis and her daughter Bonnie have gone to live.’
‘That’s right!’ Libby remembered. ‘Joan’s new husband runs the stables there. George told me. That sounds just the sort of place Dad would be happy.’
Libby caught a look pass between Clarrie and Sophie.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Apparently he still has to persuade Tilly,’ said Sophie.
‘That’s why renting is such a good idea,’ said Clarrie with an optimistic smile. ‘Give them both a chance to see if it’s a suitable family home.’
‘Well, Tilly should just be happy she’s got her husband back and can start afresh on married life,’ said Sophie. ‘I can’t wait to be with Rafi again.’
‘Is that likely to be soon?’ asked Libby.
Sophie smiled. ‘I’m hoping so. He’s more or less certain he’s going to be offered a job in the Rawalpindi Forest Office. Rafi’s old friend Boz is staying on in the new Pakistan too – they trained together in Edinburgh – and Boz has already been guaranteed a post in ’Pindi. It would be grand if they could both be foresters together again.’
‘I’m so pleased,’ said Libby, quelling a familiar pang of longing for Ghulam. Rafi was a different man; he had always put his love for Sophie first rather than his ideals. At heart he was a romantic. And Libby had always admired Sophie for being brave enough to break ranks with the British and marry her beloved Rafi. She felt a stab of envy that the pair of them had had years of happiness together, whereas her bittersweet affair with Ghulam had been so short-lived. ‘Does Rafi say what the situation is like in the Punjab?’
Sophie shook her head. ‘He doesn’t mention the bad things that we hear about in the newspapers. I don’t think he wants to worry me. But he won’t let me travel there yet – not until he’s got the job in the bag and has found somewhere for us to live.’
‘That’s sensible,’ said Clarrie. ‘And I’m sure you won’t have to wait long.’
‘And what about Ghulam?’ Sophie asked Libby. ‘Did you manage to see him in Calcutta?’
Libby felt herself go hot at the question. ‘Yes, I did. I helped out for a couple of days with Fatima’s rescue charity – Ghulam took me.’
‘And?’ Sophie probed.
Libby’s insides clenched. ‘I care a lot for him,’ she admitted, ‘and I know he likes me but he was adamant I should leave Calcutta and go to the hills. I fear for him and Fatima.’
Libby told them about the murder outside Amelia Buildings. The women were aghast.
‘Do you think they will stay in India or go to Pakistan?’ Sophie asked.
‘Ghulam will never leave India,’ Libby said. ‘I’m certain of that.’
Sophie sighed. ‘Yes, he’s always been far more stubborn than Rafi.’
‘It’s not a question of being stubborn,’ Libby said. ‘Ghulam is Indian to the core – to leave would be turning his back on everything he believes in.’
‘Rafi didn’t want to leave either,’ Sophie retorted, her tone sharp, ‘but he’s more or less been forced out of Gulgat. He knows it’s not safe for us to stay there because we’re Muslim. Ghulam shouldn’t be staying if his life is in danger.’
‘Both men are right in their own way,’ said Clarrie swiftly. ‘Rafi is doing what he thinks is best for the both of you – and Ghulam is sticking to his principles. Men like him will be needed in an independent India – the country has always thrived on being a mix of races and religions. It would be a great tragedy if people are driven out because of their beliefs – that’s not what Nehru and the Congress Party want, as far as I can see.’
‘You’re right as ever, Clarrie,’ said Sophie. She stretched out and squeezed Libby’s hand. ‘I’m sorry if I snapped at you, lassie. My nerves are a little frayed at the moment worrying about my husband.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ said Libby quickly. ‘I didn’t mean any criticism of Rafi.’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ said Clarrie with a smile. ‘Now tell me what my nephew George has been up to. Is he ever going to come and visit his old aunt or are we too boring in the mofussil ? I do wish he would. I’ve always been tremendously fond of George.’
‘He’s just as charming and irrepressible as ever.’ Libby laughed. ‘And he hasn’t admitted it but I think he’s smitten with Flowers Dunlop.’