Newcastle, September
On the day following Bonnie’s party, Adela felt so wretched and sick that Sam and his mother confined her to bed. Mrs Jackman was delighted to discover the reason for her daughter-in-law’s bouts of nausea.
‘My first grandchild! I wish you could stay till after the baby’s born,’ she said with a pleading look at Sam.
Adela was grateful to hear Sam reply, ‘I know you do but our passage is booked and Adela wants to be with her own mother when the time comes. We promise to come back and visit.’
But all Adela could think about was whether anyone had returned to Herbert’s Café to claim the necklace. She felt guilty about such thoughts and was hesitant to voice her feelings to Sam and risk provoking old arguments. Sam though was being concerned and attentive towards her, one moment anxious that she rested, the next grinning with happiness at her pregnant state.
After four days in bed, Adela couldn’t bear to be confined to the Cullercoats flat a moment longer.
‘I’m not ill,’ she insisted, ‘and I’m feeling much better.’
They returned to the café to help, though it was becoming apparent to Adela that the efficient Jane and extrovert Charlie didn’t really need them. Jane had persuaded a former waitress, Nance, to come back and work for her. Nance greeted Adela with cries of delight and they swapped news. Adela remembered her as friendly, competent and mildly flirtatious with the shipyard workers.
‘I got engaged twice during the War but they both got away!’ said Nance with her infectious giggle. She nodded towards Sam. ‘I might have known you’d end up with a bonny-looking lad.’
After a week, when no one had come in for the necklace, Adela had to admit that Charlie was probably right. Whoever had lost it didn’t think it worth returning to reclaim it. The stone had only ever been precious to Adela and her mother.
Adela was at the allotment picking green beans, while Sam pulled up onions, when Joan appeared.
‘Jane said I’d find you here,’ she said, pushing back a strand of blonde hair.
‘Hello,’ Adela said, putting down her basket of beans and glancing around for Bonnie. ‘Have you brought Bonnie for a visit?’
‘No, I’m in town on my own doing some shopping,’ said Joan. ‘Just wanted to come and thank you both for the party.’
Sam leant on his spade, pushing his hat back to wipe his forehead. ‘No need for thanks,’ he said. ‘We enjoyed it too.’
‘Bonnie’s not stopped talking about it,’ said Joan. ‘Don’t know what we’re going to do on her actual birthday. It’ll be so dull for her. I don’t know many folk up at Willowburn yet.’
‘I’m sure Mrs Gibson will make a fuss of Bonnie,’ said Adela.
Joan’s look darted from Sam to Adela. ‘Yes.’ She stood there, hesitating. ‘You see, that’s the other thing.’
‘What is?’ Adela asked, wondering if Joan was here to extend an invitation to meet her new friend.
‘I – er – well,’ Joan floundered. ‘I sort of borrowed something from Mrs Gibson so Bonnie could wear it at the party. It went with her dress, you see. And Jane said Charlie found it but you have it so I wanted to have it back.’
‘The necklace?’ Adela gasped. ‘Bonnie was wearing it?’
Joan went puce. ‘Yes, I know it’s just an old trinket but it looked so sweet on her—’
‘Whose is it?’ Adela demanded, her pulse racing. ‘Where did you get it from?’
Joan looked startled by her abrupt questions. ‘There’s an old box in Mrs Gibson’s bedroom,’ Joan said. ‘I looked in it one time I was doing her hair.’
Adela’s heart drummed. ‘Tell me about the box: did it have old photos in?’
‘Yes,’ said Joan, bemused. ‘How did you know?’
Adela scrabbled in her pocket and pulled out the swami’s necklace. ‘Is this what you took from Mrs Gibson’s box?’
‘That’s it,’ said Joan in relief, reaching out for it. ‘I’ll have it back, ta very much.’
Adela held on to it. She was aware of Sam coming to her side. She began to shake. She clamped her teeth together, unable to speak. Sam put a reassuring hand on her back. Alarm flitted across Joan’s face.
‘Please, Adela,’ she said, ‘I need to put it back in the box before Mrs Gibson finds out it’s gone.’
‘You took it without asking?’ Sam said in disapproval.
‘Yes, but I was always going to put it back after the party,’ said Joan, tears springing to her eyes. ‘I’m not a thief.’
‘Did Mrs Gibson tell you where the box came from?’ Sam asked.
Joan shook her head. ‘But she keeps it on her dressing table so I know it must be special. She’s bound to notice the necklace is gone sooner or later. Please, Sam, make Adela give it back. I don’t want to get in any trouble and Mrs Gibson’s been so good to me and Bonnie.’
‘Her son,’ Adela said, her voice shaking. ‘How old is he?’
Joan looked baffled. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘He’s eight, I think.’
Adela felt her knees weaken. Sam gripped her around the waist.
‘What’s he called?’ Sam asked.
‘Jack. Except they say it in a funny way.’
Adela let out a soft moan.
‘What’s the matter?’ Joan looked at her in alarm. ‘What have I said?’
Adela’s teeth began to chatter as if she was freezing, yet the day was mild and warm. Sam hugged her to his side. He didn’t speak. He wasn’t going to tell her what to do. Adela saw tears trickling down Joan’s face and knew she was terrified of being found out and losing the friendship of the well-to-do major’s wife.
After a moment’s hesitation, Adela held out her arm and opened her clenched fist.
‘Take it,’ she said in a hoarse voice.
Joan snatched at the necklace in relief. ‘Ta very much.’ She looked contrite. ‘You will come and see us before you go to India, won’t you?’
Neither Sam nor Adela answered as Joan turned and hurried away. After she was out of sight, Sam said, ‘That was kind of you to give her back the necklace.’
She turned and looked at him in distress. ‘It’s him, isn’t it? The boy they call Jack or Jacques,’ she whispered. ‘It’s John Wesley.’
In a tight voice Sam said, ‘It sounds likely.’
‘Oh, Sam, what should I do?’
He put his hands around her face and held her look. ‘I think you have to go and see for yourself if it’s your son. It may not be the right thing to do but I know you will always regret it if you don’t.’ His eyes were full of sadness. ‘I won’t try and stop you. It will only come between us if I do.’
Adela gulped down tears. ‘Come with me,’ she beseeched him. ‘Please, Sam. I can’t do this without you.’
He let go a sigh and nodded. She put her arms about him and held on tightly.
‘Thank you.’
It was Sam who suggested that they ask James to take them up to Willowburn to visit the Gibsons. It meant waiting till James got back from St Abbs, but he swiftly arranged for them to go riding on the following Monday, pleased that they wanted to go with him. Adela was dismayed to see James looking pinch-faced and subdued after his holiday, but his interest was immediately sparked by the suggestion of a ride at Willowburn. She felt embarrassed at his eagerness but couldn’t bring herself to tell him about her ulterior motive for wanting to go to the Gibsons’ home. She assumed Tilly would never have told him about her having an illegitimate baby, knowing he would disapprove of scandal in the family.
All week, Adela tried to keep herself busy and control her nervous excitement but could hardly settle long to any job. Jane was quick to notice her distraction so Sam kept her away from the café by finding Adela lightweight jobs to do on the allotment. As the day of the visit drew nearer, Adela became beset with doubts. What if it turned out not to be John Wesley after all? There might be some other explanation as to how Mrs Gibson came by the swami’s necklace. Then an old anxiety resurfaced: what if she didn’t recognise her son?
On the Sunday evening, Sam took her for a late walk along the promenade towards Whitley Bay, knowing she would hardly sleep a wink that coming night. Adela unburdened her greatest worry.
‘If it is John Wesley,’ she said, ‘how will I know it’s him? I mean really know. He’s an eight-year-old boy. He won’t look anything like the baby I last saw.’
Sam stopped and regarded her with tired eyes. Adela was suddenly struck by how this waiting and not knowing must be taking its toll on Sam too. She knew all he wanted to do was plan for their future family life back in India, and yet here he was, standing by her once more as she searched for her son.
‘Adela, I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘We just have to take things as they come. But we’ll face it together.’
Adela felt a grateful pang. She slipped her arms around his waist. ‘Thank you, Sam. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.’
He encircled her in his arms and laid his chin on her head. ‘Oh, Adela,’ he sighed, ‘I don’t want to lose you over this. That is my biggest fear. That’s why I’ll come with you tomorrow and do what I can to support you.’
She was jolted by his words. ‘Oh, darling Sam, you will never lose me – I love you far too much. Whatever happens tomorrow, my future is with you and our baby – I promise you that.’
He squeezed her to him and they stood in silence watching the evening stars prick the darkening sky, expectant and fearful of what the next day would bring.
Adela found James preoccupied as he drove them west up the Tyne Valley. She coaxed him into talking about the family holiday at St Abbs.
‘It wasn’t altogether a success,’ he admitted. ‘Tilly was still annoyed at Libby for not coming back in time and just sending a telegram with no explanation. I got it in the neck all week as if I’d somehow been party to her delay. Johnny told her to stop going on about it and that Libby was obviously having a good time up at Belgooree.’ James sighed. ‘Of course that just made Tilly crosser. But thank goodness Johnny was there. We spent most of the week out fishing. He’s got a boat. We caught some cod on the long line. Mungo said it was better sport than sitting with a rod thigh-deep in a river for hours. He’s enjoying having his uncle around and Johnny seems to know what to say to Mungo better than I do.’
They passed Corbridge and then turned north and uphill.
‘I’ve left Tilly rearranging furniture for the umpteenth time,’ he said glumly. ‘And she’s acquired a dog – a foolish fluffy thing that will need washing after every walk and be absolutely no use to me as a gun dog.’
Adela gave distracted replies, thankful that she was sitting in the back while Sam kept up the conversation in the front of the car. By the time they drove through the gates to the Willowburn Estate, Adela was sick with nerves. She feared she might be unable to control her emotions in front of the Gibsons; she seemed to succumb to tears so easily since becoming pregnant again.
Up the drive lay a Gothic mansion with battlements and towers which, according to James, had been built by a Victorian who had made his money in iron production and shipbuilding. James drove past the main entrance and carried on under an archway bearing a clock tower and parked up in the stables’ courtyard.
A small, slim woman with permed pale-fair hair, dressed in riding jodhpurs and jacket and wearing dark glasses against the bright late-summer sun, met them with a wave and a ‘Hey!’ James introduced them to Martha Gibson. The woman pushed her sunglasses on to her head and gave them a gleaming smile. So this was John Wesley’s adoptive mother! Adela’s heart drummed and she couldn’t stop staring. The American had pretty grey eyes, Adela noticed.
‘So nice to meet you,’ Martha said, shaking Sam and Adela by the hand. ‘Can I call you Adela?’ she asked. Adela nodded, too tongue-tied to answer. ‘And you must call me Martha. We don’t stand on ceremony here. Gus won’t be riding with us I’m afraid – he has a meeting with the land agent or some such. But we’ll catch him later. You will stay for tea after our ride, won’t you?’
Martha turned from Adela and slipped an arm through James’s. Adela tried to slow her rapid breathing. ‘And James,’ said Martha, ‘I want to hear all about St Abbs and the fishing. Did you catch anything big? And did you dive off the harbour wall with the youngsters?’
James laughed. ‘I’m afraid my days of swimming in the North Sea are long over.’
‘James!’ she admonished. ‘You’ve become such a softie since living overseas. I thought a man of your vigour would be bathing in the sea before breakfast every day.’
Adela saw him flush with pleasure at her teasing. No wonder her cousin enjoyed coming to Willowburn, being flattered by the attractive American. Martha seemed friendly and extrovert, but was she kind and loving? Sam seemed charmed by her too. Within minutes, she had him telling her all about his time with the mission in the Himalayan foothills and his planting of apple orchards.
‘Some of the saplings came from America,’ he told her, as if she was personally to be thanked.
‘Well, isn’t that wonderful?’ she cried. ‘I know missionaries in India too: the Hakings. Now where is it they live? Madras, I think. Have you heard of them?’
Adela couldn’t stop herself saying, ‘India is a very big country.’
‘Of course, how stupid of me,’ said Martha with a laugh.
Sam flashed Adela a look before smiling at Martha and saying, ‘No, I don’t know them but tell me more. Have they been in India long?’
Adela took a deep breath to calm herself. She wanted to like this woman: if she was John Wesley’s adoptive mother then it was important that she liked her. The American woman was unstuffy – just as Joan had indicated – yet there was something mildly irritating about her over-familiar manner. She was so self-assured, while Adela now found herself completely at a loss for words and unable to make any small talk. But what was Martha like with her son? Adela kept looking about for any signs of the Gibson boy but there were none.
Tommy greeted them cheerfully and supervised the stable boys readying the horses. Joan, it appeared, had gone into Hexham for the day with Bonnie. Adela wondered if Joan was deliberately keeping out of their way, still too embarrassed by the incident with the necklace.
They rode out of the grounds, James and Martha leading, and headed up on to the high ground to the north. Adela’s anxiety began to subside as they rode further, enjoying being on horseback for the first time since they had left Belgooree in January. She filled her lungs with the clear air and emptied her mind of everything but the sound of skylarks and bleating sheep.
As they skirted a copse of wind-blasted trees, Adela allowed herself to ponder a future where she and Sam didn’t return so soon to India. Perhaps she could help him with his photography business on the sales side, promoting his work and making new contacts. They could come regularly to Willowburn to ride and she would have the chance to see her son growing up, even though she could never be more to him than a friend of his American mother’s . . .
Adela looked at Sam riding ahead of her, easy in the saddle, his long lean back and muscled legs at one with the animal that he rode. Would Sam be able to keep up the charade of them being an ‘uncle’ and ‘aunt’ to Sanjay’s son? Adela felt heavy-hearted at the thought of the tension that might arise between her and her husband over John Wesley and where the boy would fit – if at all – into their future life together. How soon would Sam grow to resent her abandoning a future back in India and plans for him to become a tea planter?
‘Sam tells me that you were a Toodle Pip.’
Adela was so lost in thought that she hadn’t been aware of Martha falling into step beside her as they emerged below the wood.
She blushed and dragged her thoughts from her son. ‘Yes, during the War I sang with ENSA – that was the Entertainments wing of the Services.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Martha. ‘I saw the Toodle Pips perform in Newcastle. You were terrific. I remember one with a great voice – dark-haired – so it was probably you.’
Adela gaped at her in astonishment and laughed. ‘Did you really?’
She smiled. ‘Yes, Gus used to give me a night off once in a while and I would high-tail it into town to see a show.’
‘A night off from what?’ Adela asked.
‘From the kids.’
Adela’s stomach flipped. ‘You have more than one child? I know from Joan that you have a son.’
Martha shook her head. ‘No, I mean the evacuees. Gus and I took in dozens of children during the War – and a few of their moms. Gus was like the Pied Piper, leading them all over the estate picking mushrooms and giving piggy-backs and showing them how to climb trees. My husband is just a big kid himself at heart.’
Adela had a sudden vision of the major carrying a young John Wesley on his back and the boy giggling in delight. Her pulse raced as she asked, ‘How did your son Jack get on with the other children? Wasn’t he a bit jealous?’
Martha didn’t reply straight away. Adela couldn’t read her expression behind her dark glasses. Her tone became less jocular and more confiding.
‘Jacques was one of the evacuees too,’ she said quietly. ‘His parents were killed in a raid over Tyneside. We felt so sorry for him. He cried and wet the bed for a long time – even after being potty trained – but he has such a sunny nature that he became a favourite with the other kids and the moms. We couldn’t bear to see him go; we’d come to love Jacques the best of them all. So Gus and I adopted him. I can’t have children, you see. He knows we’re not his blood parents – we’ve been upfront about that. I don’t believe in keeping secrets like that from a child, however young.’
Adela gripped the reins; she was shaking so hard that she feared she would faint and fall. She managed to ask, ‘S-so there was no extended family on Tyneside who could take him?’
‘No.’ Martha sighed. ‘All we were able to discover were that his parents were from Belgium and they were called Segal. Jacques has a box of mementoes that his parents had collected. I’m keeping it safe until he’s older.’
Adela had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself crying. This was the proof she needed: Jacques Gibson was her long-lost son. Now was the moment to tell Martha about the boy’s true parentage. Adela’s proof lay in the Segals’ box; an Indian stone on a gold chain that she had gifted at birth. She would tell Martha everything; Martha, being an open-minded woman, would believe Adela. The American’s sense of fairness would allow Adela to reclaim her son; Martha would be sad to see him go but if the major’s wife loved Jacques as much as she claimed she did, she would give him up. Adela felt heady as she pictured the future: she and Sam bringing up John Wesley with their child-to-be. The boy would be a half-brother to their baby – and he would have a brother or sister and not have to grow up as an only child. Sam would grow to love him just as much as their other child, because John Wesley was sunny-natured and easy to love. Her family would be complete and her life full of joy.
Adela looked away and blinked back tears. She was deluding herself! If Martha was the woman she thought she was, she would fight like a tigress to keep her Jacques. There was strength beneath the outward show of bonhomie. If Adela confided in her now, Martha might be so alarmed that she would refuse to let her even meet John Wesley. Martha might send her away and tell her never to come near Willowburn again. Adela knew that she could not bear to leave this place without having set eyes on her son.
She cleared her throat and asked as calmly as she could, ‘Where is Jacques today? Is he keeping the major company?’
‘No,’ said Martha with a fond smile, ‘he’s at school.’
Adela’s heart sank. Of course he would be on a Monday. Why had she not thought of that? Would she have to wait now until the weekend to make an excuse to return? Or perhaps he was at boarding school and would be away all term. The thought of leaving for India without ever seeing him was unbearable.
‘Boarding school?’ Adela asked in a breathless voice.
‘Good heavens, certainly not!’ Martha exclaimed. ‘I told Gus that no son of mine was going to be sent away from me for weeks on end. It might be your British way but I simply couldn’t bear it. No, Jacques is at prep school near Hexham. He’ll be home at tea time.’
A sob rose up in Adela’s throat that she had to disguise as a cough. After that, she was incapable of speech and slowed her pony to a walk so that Martha went ahead and was soon chatting to James again. Sam dropped back to keep her company. He could tell by the look on her face that something had happened.
‘Tell me,’ he murmured.
With Martha out of earshot, Adela told Sam all she had discovered. She couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her cheeks; they dried in the wind, making her skin feel tight and her eyes gritty.
‘So you haven’t said anything?’ Sam asked gently.
Adela shook her head. Sam nodded and put out a hand to squeeze her shoulder. ‘Are you going to manage this?’ he asked. ‘You mustn’t break down in front of the boy. It wouldn’t be fair on him, Adela.’
Adela gulped back tears. ‘I know,’ she rasped, ‘but I have to see him.’
Major Gibson, smiling broadly, strode towards them as they emerged from the stable yard. He reminded Adela of a younger James, his physique stocky and complexion ruddy. His handshake was bone-crushing and his laugh loud. He apologised for missing the ride.
‘Martha, I’ve ordered tea on the terrace,’ he boomed. ‘It’s far too nice to be sitting indoors on such a day.’
‘I quite agree, darling,’ she said, pecking him on the cheek. ‘Let our guests freshen up first.’
The men were shown into a downstairs cloakroom, while Martha led Adela to a bathroom on the first floor. ‘Come downstairs when you’re ready,’ she said and left her.
Adela splashed her face with cold water and dried it on a worn linen hand towel. Some of the bathroom tiles were cracked and the plumbing clanked. There was an air of faded grandeur about the place; it was more scuffed and homely than she had imagined it would be. It didn’t fit the cliché that all Americans who married British gentry were heiresses with lots of money. From what she had seen and heard about the Gibsons, their marriage was definitely a love match.
Adela emerged on to the landing feeling faint and nauseated. She craved something sweet to eat – preferably with ginger in it – to keep her sickness at bay. Just then, she heard a door slam somewhere behind her and footsteps came thumping along the passage. She turned to see a young boy running towards her in grey shorts and a grey shirt that had come untucked. He stopped breathless in front of her.
‘Hello, I’m Jacques. Are you the lady who’s been riding with Mummy?’
Adela froze on the spot. She stared down at him. It was like looking at her brother Harry a few years ago. He had dark unruly hair and thick eyebrows. The eyes that gazed back at her in curiosity were the same green as hers. That startled her. She had remembered John Wesley as having Sanjay’s dark, almost inky black eyes.
‘Hello, Jacques,’ Adela said, her voice hoarse with emotion, ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.’
He grinned. ‘Have you?’
She reached out to hug him. Confusion crossed his face and he stuck out his hand. Adela stopped herself just in time and shook his hand instead. Her heart twisted to feel the boy’s warm hand in hers, the fingers bony – fragile yet dextrous – and the skin the colour of hers.
‘My name’s Adela,’ she said.
‘Am I not supposed to call you Mrs-something?’ he asked, his brow furrowed with a faint frown, the way Harry’s did when he was thinking.
Adela laughed. ‘I suppose you are. I’m Mrs Jackman, if you prefer.’
His hand wriggled out of hers. ‘Oh, are you related to Mr Jackman downstairs?’
Adela nodded. ‘He’s my husband.’
‘Daddy says he’s a war hero who flew aeroplanes and beat the Japs,’ Jacques said in excitement. ‘I want to be a pilot when I grow up. Does Mr Jackman have his own plane?’
‘Not any more,’ said Adela, ‘but I’m sure he’d talk to you about them.’
The boy asked, ‘Does he play cricket?’
‘Yes, Sam loves cricket.’
‘Oh, good.’ He grinned. ‘Do you think he might play with me after tea?’
‘I’m sure he would.’
The way he was scrutinising her made Adela breathless. ‘Have you been crying?’ he asked.
Adela swallowed. ‘It’s just the wind on the ride,’ she answered. ‘It made my eyes water.’
‘Oh, that’s all right then,’ he said.
Suddenly Martha shouted from below. ‘Adela, are you lost?’
Her stomach clenched. ‘No,’ she called back, ‘I was just meeting Jacques.’
‘Coming, Mummy!’ the boy shouted.
Adela put a hand briefly on her son’s head as he moved past her. ‘Will you show me the way to the terrace, Jacques?’
‘Come on, Mrs Jackman,’ he said brightly. ‘Follow me.’
As she did so, Adela was hit by the thought that Jacques sounded just like Major Gibson.
Adela was not sure how she got through teatime. She see-sawed between wanting to rush away to vomit and staying put so that she didn’t miss a second of watching John Wesley. He chattered non-stop about school and games and about a pet squirrel called Bunty. He asked Sam dozens of questions about cricket and aeroplanes. His parents looked on indulgently and laughed at his observations; they were completely devoid of the old-fashioned attitude that children should be seen and not heard when in adult company.
As tea drew to an end and James made the comment that they probably ought to be leaving, Adela felt panic grip her.
Jacques protested. ‘But Mrs Jackman said Mr Jackman would play cricket with me.’
‘I’m afraid there isn’t time for that,’ said James. ‘Perhaps another time.’
‘Well, can I show Mr Jackman my treehouse before you go? Please, Mr Robson; it won’t take a minute.’
‘I suppose we can delay a little bit longer,’ James relented, with a smile.
Adela breathed in relief. James was probably in no great hurry to get back to Tilly and her fussing over the new house and dog.
Jacques clapped his hands and sprang off his chair.
‘Wait a minute, you little scamp,’ said Martha. ‘What have you forgotten to say?’
Jacques sat back down quickly. ‘Please may I get down from the table?’
‘You may,’ said Martha with a wink.
Jacques scrambled off his chair again. ‘Come on, Mr Jackman.’
‘Can I come too?’ Adela asked, holding her breath.
Jacques squinted at her in the late sun. ‘Of course. As long as you aren’t scared of heights like Mummy is.’
Adela laughed. ‘I used to climb trees all the time as a girl in India.’
Jacques’s eyes widened. ‘Gosh, really? Were they as big as houses? Did monkeys and tigers live in them?’
Sam and Adela exchanged amused glances. ‘Monkeys, yes,’ said Adela.
They quickly said their thanks for tea and followed Jacques, who bombarded Adela with fresh questions about wild animals in India. Her heart swelled with love to see his animated face and hear his quick-talking voice. He was so bright and inquisitive. She searched for traces of Sanjay in her son. Perhaps the shape of his eyes and the straightness of his nose – certainly the beige tone of his skin – but there was no doubting that he was a Robson.
Sam abruptly said, ‘I’ll race you to the tree.’
Jacques laughed in excitement as they sprinted the last few yards and Sam made a pretence of almost getting to the treehouse first but slowing up to allow the boy to win. Adela hurried to catch up. Each climbed the ladder into the treehouse, a platform built at the level of the lower branches with a protective wall and no roof. They sat cross-legged, catching their breath. Adela noticed Sam’s camera hanging round his neck; she hadn’t seen him pick it up.
‘This is where Bunty lives,’ Jacques told them. ‘Soon she’ll be collecting nuts and putting them in her nest for winter. Do they have squirrels in India, Mrs Jackman?’
‘Yes,’ said Adela, ‘we have palm squirrels in our garden at home.’
‘What do they look like?’ he asked. ‘Are they sort of red like ours?’
‘No, they have brown and white stripes,’ she said, ‘and make a noise a bit like a rattle.’
He gazed at her in wonder. ‘Golly gosh! I wish I could see them.’
Adela glanced at Sam, her eyes stinging. ‘So do I,’ she murmured.
Sam’s look was full of compassion. He said, ‘Perhaps one day you’ll come out to India and visit us?’
Jacques gave a broad smile. ‘Do you think I could? That would be swell.’
Adela felt her insides twist at the Americanism. Jacques picked up his enthusiastic phrases from both his parents.
‘Yes,’ said Sam, ‘it would be.’
‘Can you show me how your camera works, Mr Jackman?’ Jacques asked.
‘Of course.’ Sam slipped it over his head and put the strap around the boy’s neck, taking off the case. Sam showed him where to look and which button to press, helping Jacques keep it steady.
After a couple of shots Jacques said, ‘Say cheese, Mrs Jackman!’
Adela laughed and did so. Then Sam took back the camera and said, ‘I’ll take one of you and Adela, shall I?’
‘All right,’ Jacques agreed.
He shuffled up to Adela and she put her arm about his narrow shoulders. She leant close, breathing in his boy smell of unwashed hair and jam on his chin. She resisted the urge to lick her finger and wipe it off as her mother used to do with her and Harry. For one brief idyllic moment, as they grinned at Sam for the camera, Adela was a mother again, sitting with her son tucked in the crook of her arm.
It was over in an instant as Jacques wriggled out of her hold and began telling them about how he’d made a pin camera at school.
Too soon, Major Gibson was calling for his son. ‘Jacques, old boy, time to let our guests go home.’
Adela’s heart weighed like a stone as she climbed back down the ladder. Sam held out his hand to her as she reached the bottom. Jacques was already dashing ahead, waving a shiny horse-chestnut that he’d found on the ground. ‘Look, Daddy, my first conker! Can we put it on a string?’
Sam gripped Adela’s hand in his all the way back to the house, only letting go so that they could shake their hosts by the hand in farewell.
‘I’ve so enjoyed today,’ Adela said to Martha, fighting back tears.
Martha smiled, giving her a quizzical look. ‘It’s so nice to meet you. You’ll visit again before you leave for India, I hope? Jacques has quite taken to you and Sam.’
Adela forced herself to say, ‘We may not have time to come again, but thank you.’
She turned away quickly and braced herself to say goodbye to Jacques.
‘Thank you for showing us your treehouse. Would you like me to send you a photograph of a palm squirrel when I get back to India? Sam could take one with his camera.’
Jacques grinned. ‘Yes please, Mrs Jackman. Then I can take it into school and show my friends.’
‘Good,’ said Adela, putting on a brave smile.
She gazed at her son, trying to memorise every little detail about him to store away and think about later. She had to restrain herself from grabbing him and pulling him to her in a fierce hug. How she longed to kiss him and tell him that she loved him – always had and always would. Instead she briefly put out her hand and touched his head – the soft, silky dark tufts of hair that grew in the same haphazard way that her father Wesley’s had and her brother Harry’s did.
Then Adela turned from him and Sam was taking her arm and guiding her towards the car. Moments later, she was sitting in the back of the car with Sam beside her. James didn’t question why Sam didn’t sit in front as before.
As the car pulled away from the house, Adela stared out of the window, drinking in the sight of her son waving and smiling. Before they were halfway down the drive, Jacques’s interest had been caught by something else and the boy was dashing off across the terrace and out of view.
As they journeyed rapidly further away from Willowburn and her son, Adela sat back, engulfed in sorrow. Sam held her hand tightly in his. She looked into his face and saw that his eyes were brimming with tears too.
‘He’s a fine boy,’ Sam murmured.
‘He’s happy,’ whispered Adela, though it broke her heart to think that another woman would be bringing him up as her own. But she had seen how completely the Gibsons loved John Wesley and she knew that in time, the knowledge of how much they cared for the boy would come to be some consolation to her aching heart.
Sam put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. He whispered into her hair. ‘He looks just like you, Adela.’
She smiled through her tears. ‘Yes he does, doesn’t he?’
She wondered if Martha had seen the similarity and whether she pondered how that could be.
Adela closed her eyes. Today she had found the son for whom she had been searching and the questions that had tortured her for so long had finally been answered. She had always known that to find out the truth was likely to bring as much pain as it did relief; having to tear herself away from John Wesley had been almost intolerable. But at least now she knew what had happened to him and that he was secure in a loving home. She had to cling on to that thought. She would do anything for her son – and the biggest sacrifice of all was to let him go into the hands of others. Adela knew that that was what her love for John Wesley demanded of her. For the first time, she had it in her heart to forgive her eighteen-year-old self her immaturity. She couldn’t change the past but – however painful – she would find a way to accept and bear it.
Crushed by her sense of loss, there was another emotion that gave balm to her raw feelings – gratitude to Sam. Her husband had supported her today, although it must have been difficult for him too. More than that: Sam had liked John Wesley and been kind to the boy. In other circumstances, she knew that generous-hearted Sam would have taken on her illegitimate child without hesitation.
Adela reached up and kissed Sam on the lips and then laid her head on his shoulder. They didn’t need to say anything more. Both knew what the other was thinking and how much they loved one another. James, perhaps sensing their sadness, drove on without any prying questions. They travelled back to Newcastle in silence.