Belgooree, early December
At dawn Clarrie rode along the path through the jungle up towards the temple clearing. She knew it so well that every tree and bend in the track was familiar. The jungle was alive with birdsong. As she reached the shadowed glade, dew was already glistening on the ferns and grass as the sun spread across it.
She dismounted and went to lay a posy of flowers on one of the stones from the monkey temple that had collapsed into ruins long ago.
‘For you, dear Ayah Mimi,’ Clarrie murmured.
She gazed at the tumble-down hut where Sophie’s old nursemaid had once lived as a holy woman before Clarrie had brought her to live at Belgooree well over twenty years ago. The old woman had never recovered from her exertions on the night of the Gulgat attack. Exhausted, the sadhvi had been carried back to her hut. She had never emerged again. Two weeks later, when Clarrie had taken her daily bowl of milk, eager to let Ayah Mimi know that Sophie was safely in Calcutta, she had found the old woman cold and lifeless on her sleeping mat.
The ayah had protected her beloved Sophie right to the end. Perhaps she had felt able to let go of life, knowing that Sophie had got safely away. Clarrie was sure that the sadhvi had known without being told.
Clarrie sat down on a damp stone and breathed in the earthy smell of vegetation, watching the sky lighten in the east to a vivid peacock blue.
How long ago it seemed when she had ridden here on her pony, Prince, as an impulsive eighteen-year-old and fallen from the saddle – only to be rescued by the handsome Wesley Robson.
Clarrie smiled wistfully. How infuriating and arrogant he had been that day – yet so attractive and full of life. They had both been so young and foolishly confident, not guessing at all the trials ahead of them – separation and war, loss and heartbreak. Yet Clarrie would have gone through it all again rather than miss a minute of her precious time with Wesley. Sitting here in the place where they had first met, forty-five years later, Clarrie still felt as alive and young at heart as she had then.
How she missed him! She wished he could have known about Adela marrying kind Sam – and that the young couple were expecting a baby. Clarrie felt her heart lift at the thought of a new life being born at Belgooree in the spring. The start of the next generation. She had so much still to be thankful for.
She knew how her passionate daughter grieved for the son she had left behind in Britain. Adela had shown her the precious photograph that Sam had taken of Adela with John Wesley – the likeness to his grandfather Wesley was heartbreaking. Yet Adela had been cheered by a letter from Martha Gibson promising that when Jacques turned twenty-one, he would be told about his true parentage and the origin of the swami’s stone. None of them knew how the boy would react to discovering he was John Wesley, the son of an Indian prince and a tea planter’s daughter. That was far in the future but she knew how it gave Adela comfort and hope.
Clarrie felt the winter sun warming her face as it strengthened. Harry would be home soon for the Christmas holidays. She felt a familiar fierce tug of love for her dark-haired, lively son. Then there was James . . .
Clarrie had been unnerved by Libby’s letter – kind, interfering, generous-hearted Libby – telling her of James’s return. She had not been able to settle for days for thinking about this development. What did it mean? Why Shillong? Was it to be near his old tea planting friends for fishing and hunting? Or was it because it was a couple of hours from Belgooree and her?
She would know soon enough. Clarrie had taken Libby’s hint that she invite her and James to Belgooree over Christmas. She had replied at once, insisting that Libby and her father must join them on Christmas Eve for the holidays. Just two days ago, she had received a phone call from a joyous Libby telling her excitedly of Ghulam’s miraculous return and their swift engagement. At once, Clarrie had invited Ghulam too. How Libby deserved her happiness! Despite the uncertain times, there was so much to be thankful for and celebrate this Christmas. Little had she thought she would be seeing James again so soon – if at all.
Clarrie’s stomach fluttered with excitement. She gave a laugh of embarrassment that echoed against the rocky cliff that sheltered the glade. She was behaving like eighteen-year-old Clarrie Belhaven again and not the matron approaching sixty-two that she was! She stood up. She had lingered long enough. There were jobs to be done. The last of the autumn pickings had to be processed before she shut down the machines for the cold season.
Just then she heard a crackling of twigs and the soft thud of hooves. Clarrie turned to see if Adela or Sam had come to join her. The rider appeared on the edge of the clearing, a man in shadow with the light streaming in behind him. Clarrie gasped. For a shocking moment she thought it was Wesley. He sat up in the saddle, a silhouette of wavy hair and broad shoulders. Clarrie pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.
A deep voice disturbed the quiet. ‘Clarrie? Are you all right?’
Clarrie felt a flicker of sadness. Wesley would have called her Clarissa.
It had never struck her quite so strongly as it did in that instant that the Robson cousins were passably alike.
‘James,’ Clarrie said, suddenly breathless. ‘What are you doing here?’
He dismounted and walked into the light. Now she could see that his thick hair was white and his bullish face was not as handsome as Wesley’s. Yet the penetrating gaze of his blue eyes was unsettling; it was the look of a much younger man.
‘I’m looking for you of course,’ he replied. ‘Adela told me you’d be here but I’d already guessed.’
‘You must have set off very early from Shillong,’ she said, trying to slow the thumping of her heart.
‘So you know about Shillong?’ James asked in surprise.
‘Libby wrote and told me,’ said Clarrie.
James grunted. ‘Of course she would.’
He stood several feet away, as if fearing to come nearer. It struck Clarrie that James was as unsure about her feelings for him as she was about his for her.
‘What else did she tell you?’ he asked.
‘Everything,’ said Clarrie. ‘At least about you and Tilly. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ said James. ‘Tilly isn’t and neither am I.’
Clarrie felt suddenly awkward. ‘Well, then I’m glad to see you back,’ she admitted. They stood regarding each other. ‘Have you had breakfast? You must be hungry after the journey,’ she gabbled. ‘You were up so early. Shall we—’
‘Clarrie,’ James blurted out, ‘Libby said you’d confided in her about me – that you missed me – missed me a lot.’
Clarrie blushed. ‘She shouldn’t have. I said those things in confidence and asked her not to . . .’
‘No, she was right to,’ James said eagerly. ‘Libby is usually right about matters of the heart. She knew I would do nothing unless I had a little encouragement.’
‘Do nothing about what?’ said Clarrie.
‘About telling you how much I care for you,’ James said, stepping nearer. ‘I know I’m not half the man that Wesley was – can never replace him in your heart – but I love you, Clarrie.’ He reached out and took her hands. ‘I don’t expect anything in return – I just hope you might hold me in a little affection – enough to put up with me coming over to visit now and again and for us to spend some time together.’
Clarrie felt a flood of love towards him. He was so boyishly gauche in her presence. She knew that inside this seventy-year-old man, a young, vigorous James was declaring his passion for her. She moved closer.
‘Dear James.’ She smiled. ‘Of course I want us to spend time together.’
‘Do you?’ He looked amazed.
‘Yes,’ she laughed. ‘A lot of time.’
She leant up and drew his face towards hers, giving him a lingering kiss on the lips, so that he would be in no doubt about how she felt. She saw the desire light in his eyes. James let out a cry of exultation.
‘God, what a lucky man I am!’
He pulled her to him, wrapping strong arms about her slim body, and kissed her roundly. Clarrie felt suddenly light-headed. She had never thought to feel such a physical response again for a man. Strange that it should happen in this same romantic glade where she had first fallen in love so long ago. She gave thanks for second chances and for the spell that this magical place cast over the young at heart. She gave thanks too for Belgooree, her beloved Belgooree.
They broke apart, but she held on to his hands as she gazed at him lovingly.
‘I want to share this place with you,’ said Clarrie, ‘if you want to. There’s no other man alive who understands what Belgooree means to me as much as you do, James.’
She saw his eyes shimmer. ‘Share it with me? What are you saying?’
‘Come and live here with me,’ Clarrie urged. ‘I don’t want to be alone any more.’
When he replied, his voice was full of emotion. ‘Oh, my darling, nothing would give me greater joy. If you’re sure that’s what you want?’
Suddenly Clarrie was very sure. She loved James – not with the deep passion she had felt for Wesley, but with a tenderness that had grown out of strong friendship. They had gone through so much together and she knew they would make each other happy. Clarrie was also certain that her family would welcome this dear man into their home too – Harry would be ecstatic at the news.
Clarrie gave him a broad smile. ‘Yes, James, that’s what I want more than anything.’ She leant up and kissed him again.
James laughed in delight and, like a man half his age, swept her up into his arms and carried her towards her pony.
The sun was filling the whole glade and warming their backs as Clarrie and James made their way down the jungle path towards the tea garden and the Belgooree bungalow – towards home.