Newcastle, February 1947
What if your father can’t come immediately to Calcutta to meet you?’ fretted Tilly.
‘I’ll be staying with Uncle Johnny and Aunt Helena,’ Libby pointed out. ‘Adela says they live in a very safe part of the city – Alipore. There’s been no trouble there at all.’
‘I suppose I can rely on my brother Johnny to keep an eye on you,’ Tilly said, ‘and Helena’s always seemed the sensible type.’
Libby turned and winked at Adela. It had been Adela’s inspired suggestion that Libby spend the last few weeks of the cold season in Calcutta with Tilly’s older brother Johnny, a retired Indian Army doctor, and his wife Helena. Tilly had always looked up to her big brother, so once he had written enthusiastically inviting Libby to stay with them, then Tilly’s opposition to her daughter’s ‘India escapade’ had begun to weaken.
Tilly still had reservations. ‘You promise me you won’t go gallivanting around the city on your own or getting involved in any politics?’
‘Of course I won’t,’ said Libby.
‘Or upsetting Helena with your anti-colonial views. She’s from a pukka army family, you know – they’ve been in India for several generations. I can just hear you spouting off—’
‘I won’t upset Helena, I promise. I’ll be a proper little memsahib.’
‘And don’t say things like that,’ Tilly warned, ‘with that naughty grin of yours. People will think you’re making fun of them.’
Libby pulled a face of mock-shock. ‘Stuffy colonial memsahibs in imperial capitalist Calcutta – what’s there to make fun of?’
‘Adela, speak to her,’ Tilly pleaded.
‘It’s no good asking me,’ said Adela. ‘Our branch of the Robsons has never been pukka as far as the British are concerned.’
Tilly gave her an awkward glance. ‘That’s ancient history.’
Adela gave a dry laugh. ‘I’m afraid not. Some people at the planters’ club still cut me and mother dead at the Christmas race week.’
‘Just “hen-house” spitefulness,’ Tilly said, trying to explain it away. ‘Some of the wives have always been jealous of Clarrie for being more beautiful and clever than them.’
Libby was indignant. ‘You know that’s not the reason, Mother. It’s pure racial snobbery. They don’t like Clarrie because she’s quarter Indian. They’re petty and mean minded – the worst kind of Britisher.’
‘All right, all right,’ Tilly said, turning pink and flustered. ‘Adela doesn’t want to hear it spelled out. And it won’t do any good to antagonise people who hold those views – however repugnant – they’re too old to change their ways now. And don’t use that word Britisher – it smacks of the Quit India brigade – you’ll upset your father and uncle.’
‘Okay then, not Britisher,’ said Libby, ‘just the worst kind of imperialist, bigoted memsahib.’
Tilly rolled her eyes at Libby and Adela started laughing.
It was decided that Libby would fly to India so that she would arrive before the hot season and not have to contend with arriving in Bombay and a long, hazardous train journey across the Indian plains to Bengal. Tilly imagined all manner of dangers – blown-up tracks, robberies at knife-point, being caught in a riot, contracting typhoid, getting bitten by a rabid station dog – and insisted on her daughter flying into Dum Dum airport in Calcutta.
Once Tilly had accepted Libby was not going to change her mind about going, she had busied herself with arrangements.
‘You must have new dresses,’ she insisted. ‘You can’t possibly be seen around the clubs of Calcutta in that old utility frock or – heaven forbid – trousers.’
Josey took her up to the theatre and got the wardrobe mistress to help adapt some pre-war dresses.
‘Green’s your colour, sweetie,’ said Josey. ‘You’ll look knockout in this.’ She held up a satin evening dress. ‘Can you believe I used to wear this?’
‘Yes, I remember you in it,’ said Libby. ‘You looked so glamorous.’
Josey gave a throaty laugh. ‘You used to like me when you were younger, didn’t you?’
‘I still do,’ Libby replied.
‘Liar,’ smirked Josey.
‘I would never lie. I just used to like you more then than now,’ Libby said, giving Josey a playful nudge. ‘You were kind to me. I remember wanting to go and live in your digs with all those eccentric women. I loved the way you did what you wanted and said what you thought. I never understood why you came to live with us instead. We were all so dull.’
Josey lit up a cigarette. ‘I lost my digs when I joined ENSA. Your mother was kind enough to take me in whenever I was in the area. After a while it just became home.’
Libby took Josey’s cigarette, drew on it, blew out smoke and handed it back. ‘You’re very fond of Mother, aren’t you?’
‘Of course.’ Josey eyed her through smoke. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘You could persuade her to come back out to India.’
‘You haven’t been able to.’
‘No, but she’d listen to you, Josey. She has to face Dad sooner or later.’
Josey picked a fleck of tobacco from her tongue. ‘I’ve told her much the same thing. I’m not standing in her way, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really,’ Josey insisted. ‘Tilly’s frightened to go back. She once described the Oxford plantation as a green prison. She’s terrified that if she returns she’ll never get away again.’
Libby felt her stomach clench. ‘That’s ridiculous. You make it sound like Dad is a gaoler. They just need to spend some time together. It’s the years of separation that’s bad for their marriage – not India.’
Josey ground out her cigarette. ‘Well, maybe that’s a conversation you better have with your father.’
Libby took that to be a criticism of James for not returning to see Tilly at the end of the War. But he still had a job to do, whereas Tilly had no such excuse. As far as Libby was concerned, it was her mother who was in the wrong.
Josey touched her arm lightly. ‘Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you pinned into this gown. It’s going to show off your lovely curves. Calcutta ballrooms won’t know what’s hit them.’
A few days before her departure, Libby and Adela went round to the flat above Herbert’s Café to spend the evening with Lexy. Doreen had gone out to the pictures with a friend. She had been mollified by Libby’s abrupt plans to leave by Adela promising to pay for Doreen to continue typing lessons.
‘Oh, Lexy, how it takes me back, to sit here with you,’ said Adela with a wistful smile. ‘Everything’s the same – even the brown sofa and the green-and-gold curtains.’
‘Do you remember when we all bedded down on the floor one Christmas?’ Libby joined in the reminiscing. ‘When you and Lexy said it was too dangerous for Mother to walk us back home in the blackout. I loved that night. It was so cosy camping beside the fire.’
‘Aye,’ chuckled Lexy, ‘and you looked so bonny and happy singing along with George. I could see then you were ganin’ to grow into a beauty.’
Libby put hands to her burning cheeks. ‘Don’t be daft.’
‘It’s true,’ Adela agreed. ‘Will you get in touch with George once you’re in Calcutta?’
Libby felt a kick of excitement and said, ‘I’d like to.’
‘Make sure he’s not courting some other lass,’ Lexy warned. ‘I love that lad but I know he’s got a wandering eye.’
‘Not as wandering as his wife’s,’ Libby retorted. ‘George said Bonnie wasn’t his baby – that Joan had an affair even before they were married.’ Libby saw a look pass between the older women. ‘Did you know?’ she asked in surprise. ‘You did, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ admitted Adela. ‘I admired George for taking on the baby as his own – despite what Joan had done. She couldn’t have stood the shame of not being married.’
‘She trapped him,’ Libby said.
‘At least she got to keep her baby,’ said Adela.
‘Why didn’t she marry the real father?’ asked Libby. ‘Instead of taking advantage of George’s good nature.’
‘Maybe’s the lad couldn’t or wouldn’t,’ suggested Lexy. ‘Or maybe’s he died in action. There was a war on, remember – and she needed a ring on her finger.’
‘Why?’ Libby demanded. ‘If I was her, I’d have gone ahead and had the baby alone and not bothered what the wagging tongues said. Rather than forcing a man that didn’t love me to marry.’
Adela and Lexy fell silent. Libby saw that look of understanding pass between them again. She wondered what it meant and hoped she hadn’t been too outspoken.
When Adela spoke, her voice was oddly shaky. ‘Can I have one of your cigarettes, Lexy?’
Lexy passed her the packet and matchbox. Libby watched Adela light up the cigarette and inhale deeply. She thought her cousin had given up smoking.
‘Have I said something to upset you?’ Libby asked. ‘I wasn’t blaming George – far from it.’
‘No, you haven’t,’ Adela said, immediately stubbing out the cigarette.
To Libby’s alarm, Adela’s eyes flooded with sudden tears. Libby leapt out of her chair and rushed to put an arm around her cousin.
‘I’m sorry; tell me what I’ve said. I’m always putting my foot in it.’
At this, Adela dissolved into tears. Shocked, Libby wrapped her arms tighter around her. Adela’s shoulders felt fragile and bony, shaking under Libby’s hold. Libby let her cry against her hair, not minding. Yet it upset her to see Adela in such a state, and she felt terrible that it was obviously something she had said that had reduced Adela to tears. On so many occasions it had been the older cousin who had comforted Libby, never this way round.
Adela made an effort to stop weeping. Pulling back from Libby and fumbling in her skirt pocket to produce a man’s large handkerchief – no doubt Sam’s – she blew her nose.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Adela tearfully. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I’m still a bit emotional about leaving India and Mother.’
Lexy gave a bronchial cough. ‘Tell her, hinny,’ she said gently. ‘Libby’s not a bairn any more – she’s a woman of the world. She knows about men who promise the earth and then leave you in the lurch.’
Libby blushed deeply. She remembered how eighteen months ago, sore-hearted over Lorenzo, she had poured out her troubles to a sympathetic Lexy. She sat on the floor at Adela’s feet, watching the dark-haired woman struggle with her emotions. Her slim, pretty face was full of anguish. Libby realised her upset was nothing to do with George or Joan but something much more personal.
‘You know you can trust me,’ said Libby. ‘I won’t say anything you don’t want repeated. But only tell me if you want to.’
‘Gan on,’ Lexy encouraged. ‘A burden shared is a burden halved. Libby’s broad-minded and won’t judge you.’
Adela wiped her nose again. She sat clutching the handkerchief as if it gave her strength. Libby thought she was never going to speak.
Abruptly, Adela said, ‘When I was eighteen, I had an affair with a man in India and got pregnant. He never knew about the pregnancy. By the time I knew, I was back in Britain and had to deal with it alone. Except, thanks to Lexy, I wasn’t on my own for long.’
Libby reeled from the revelation. Adela pregnant? What man in India?
‘Oh, Adela, you poor thing,’ Libby gasped. ‘How on earth did you cope?’
Adela swallowed hard before continuing. ‘It was a few months before war broke out. I was living with Aunt Olive but she found out and said I had to go.’
‘She threw you out?’ Libby exclaimed. ‘How awful!’
‘It was Lexy who got me somewhere to live until the baby came.’
Libby gaped at her, searching back in her mind. It must have been when she was fourteen and railing against boarding school.
‘That Christmas term,’ said Libby, ‘I remember being disappointed you never came to visit. The boys and I had to go to Auntie Mona’s in Dunbar for the Christmas holidays. All that time I was feeling sorry for myself, you were having to deal with that terrible situation. I wish I’d known. Everyone said you were in panto in Edinburgh.’
Adela nodded, her eyes welling with tears again. ‘But I wasn’t. I was living with friends of Lexy’s in Cullercoats, keeping out of the way so no one would know my shameful secret. The women were so kind and looked after me well – it was a little haven – I can’t imagine what I would have done without them.’
Libby’s insides twisted. She hardly dared ask. ‘And did the baby . . . ? What happened to it?’
Adela’s chin wobbled as she answered. ‘I had a son. A beautiful boy. I gave him away – for adoption – just wanted it all over and forgotten. I was so young. I had no idea. But I’ve thought of him every day since.’
Fresh tears trickled down Adela’s cheeks and she balled the handkerchief in her fist. Libby reached up quickly and put a comforting hand over hers.
‘So you never told the father?’ Libby asked.
Adela shook her head, too overcome to say more.
Lexy answered for her. ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference – the lad led her on with talk of getting wed but he was never in a position to marry her.’
Libby wanted to ask who the father was but didn’t want to upset Adela any more than she already had.
‘And Sam?’ Libby asked. ‘Have you told—?’
‘Sam knows everything,’ Lexy cut in. ‘He knows about the bairn and all the carry-on Adela’s been through.’
Libby realised how crass her remarks about having a baby out of wedlock and brazening it out must have sounded. Before the War it would have been unthinkable for a middle-class girl like Adela to have lived as an unmarried mother and kept her baby.
‘I’m sorry for my stupid remarks earlier about Joan and all that.’
‘You weren’t to know, hinny,’ said Lexy, her look kindly.
‘Who else knows?’ asked Libby.
Adela found her voice again. ‘Mother knows – and just a couple of people here apart from Aunt Olive. I confided in Josey before I went back out to India – and Joan Brewis found out.’
‘George’s wife?’ Libby was surprised.
‘Yes – she saw me at the coast just before I had the baby. But as far as I know she’s never told anyone. Neither has Josey.’ Adela gave Libby an anxious look. ‘I’ve never told your mother and I’d rather she didn’t know.’
‘That must be hard for Josey,’ said Libby, ‘keeping such a secret from Mother all this time. They’re the best of friends.’
‘Perhaps it’s wrong of me,’ said Adela, ‘but Tilly would be shocked by it all and there’s no point in upsetting her.’
‘That’s true,’ said Libby. ‘She’s the last person I would tell about my affairs of the heart. That’s why I always come running to Lexy.’ She looked at the older woman with a fond smile.
‘I don’t know what I’d have done without Lexy either,’ Adela said. ‘She’s one in a million.’
‘Stop it, you two,’ Lexy protested, ‘or I’ll not get me big head out the door tomorro’.’
‘It’s true.’ Adela gave a sad smile. ‘And you don’t know how comforting it is for me to be here with you – being with someone who knew and cared for my baby.’
Libby felt awkward. She had forced Adela to come back to Newcastle, a place that must conjure up so many unhappy memories of being pregnant and having to hide an illegitimate birth.
‘I’m sorry I upset you,’ said Libby. ‘And if I’d known about this terrible situation I would never have suggested that you return for the café. And dragging Sam here too.’
‘No, you did the right thing,’ Adela said. ‘We would have come back sooner but Sam’s sister Sophie was so upset at the thought of us going so far away from her. She and Sam are very close.’
‘But it must be difficult being in Newcastle, surely?’ said Libby. ‘Being reminded of such an unhappy time. Doesn’t it bring it all back?’
Adela looked at her with puzzled green eyes. ‘It’s not a matter of bringing back memories – I’ve never stopped thinking of my boy – ever! That’s why we’ve come back – to try and find him. I live in hope that John Wesley might still be in an institution in the area so that I can claim him as mine.’
Libby was flabbergasted. Was Adela really serious in wanting to track down an illegitimate baby she’d given up years ago?
‘And Sam agrees?’
‘Of course,’ said Adela. ‘I couldn’t do this if he didn’t want it too.’
‘You have an amazing husband,’ Libby said in admiration.
‘I know I do.’ Adela smiled broadly for the first time since her confession. ‘Sam is my rock. I’ve never loved anyone so much – apart from my baby.’
‘But you said you’d given John . . . ?’
‘John Wesley.’
‘Given him up for adoption,’ Libby pointed out. ‘Won’t he be living with another family now?’
She saw the wince of pain on Adela’s face and felt bad for mentioning the adoption. ‘Even to know that would be better than not knowing what happened to him. But the problem is I don’t know. And it’s possible he was never chosen for adoption.’
‘Why wouldn’t he be?’ Libby asked gently. ‘You said he was a beautiful boy.’
Adela glanced away. It was Lexy who spoke. ‘The bairn might not have been so easy to place.’
‘Why not?’ Libby was baffled.
‘’Cos he’s coloured,’ said Lexy. ‘Not much; but he wasn’t as white as you or me. And you know how some folk are prejudiced that way.’
Libby flushed. It hadn’t occurred to her that the father wasn’t British.
Adela met her look with a glint of defiance. ‘John Wesley’s father was Indian. He was from Gulgat, near Belgooree.’
‘Where Sophie and Rafi live?’ Libby asked in astonishment.
Adela nodded.
Lexy said, ‘And not just any Indian. The bairn’s father was an Indian prince – Sanjay, they called him.’
Libby gaped at her cousin. It sounded like something out of a Hollywood film: ill-starred lovers in exotic India. But this was real life. She could see from the deep pain in Adela’s eyes how ashamed and hurt she still was. While Libby had been fretting over petty school restrictions at the age of fourteen, life for her cousin had been one traumatic incident after another. She recalled how Adela had only just lost her father a few weeks before she returned to Newcastle in 1938. It made Libby feel immature in comparison and she doubted she could have coped with so much at such a young age.
Something nagged in Libby’s mind: Gulgat? Then it hit her. Adela’s father Wesley had been killed in a hunting accident in Gulgat. Had Adela been carrying on her affair with this Sanjay at the same time? Had Wesley known? Her cousin had come back on the ship with Tilly later that summer. At the time, Libby had been told not to mention Adela’s father in case it upset her cousin, though everyone knew Adela had come to Newcastle to get over her grief for her parent. Libby had been delighted to have Adela around – more pleased to see her than she was her own mother. Perhaps it hadn’t just been the loss of her father that had brought Adela to Newcastle but the desire to escape an unhappy affair.
Whatever the truth, Libby felt deeply sorry for Adela. She would never judge her. It could just as easily be she, Libby, who had fallen pregnant from her affair with Lorenzo. She knew what it was like to be passionately in love with a handsome man and to believe all his seductive words and false promises.
Libby sat holding on to Adela’s hand. With her free hand, Adela began stroking Libby’s unruly hair. No one spoke. Lexy heaved herself out of her chair and went to refresh the teapot. There was an intimacy between the three women – a strong atmosphere of togetherness – which no one wanted to dispel with trivial words. Libby was touched that Adela had confided her secret in her and that both women trusted her like an equal.
Libby wondered if she would ever find friends as dear to her as these two women when she returned to India. She had a momentary pang of misgiving at what she was embarking on, but it was fleeting. She had been fending for herself since she was eight years old. Libby was used to making new friends to fill the aching void left by her absent family.
Somewhere in India, new friends awaited – as well as her beloved, dearly missed father.
The day of leave-taking came on a dank grey day in mid-February. Libby’s brothers, Jamie and Mungo, had come to see her off at the cavernous Central Station, along with Tilly, Josey, Adela and Sam. Libby had already had a tearful goodbye with Lexy earlier that morning, neither knowing if or when they would see the other again.
‘I’m not ready for me grave yet,’ Lexy had wheezed. ‘You’ll be back before then, hinny. You take good care and don’t go falling for the first bonny lad who pays you compliments. You deserve a canny man who treats you right, hinny.’
Now Libby was bracing herself for more hasty goodbyes on the crowded platform. Jamie busied himself supervising the luggage on to the London train while Tilly fussed around Libby, brushing imaginary specks of soot from her coat and readjusting the jaunty angle of her black hat.
‘You would think I was going back to school,’ teased Libby with a roll of her eyes. She tried to answer her mother’s anxious questions without showing her irritation.
‘Yes, I’ll get a taxi to the airport. No, I won’t speak to strange men.’
‘And you’ll send a telegram as soon as you reach Calcutta,’ Tilly ordered. ‘And give my love to Johnny and Helena, won’t you?’
‘Shall I tell them you’ll be joining us soon?’ Libby challenged. ‘Then you can give them your message in person.’
‘Darling, do try and behave,’ Tilly said, ignoring the question.
Then her brothers were pushing their way in and giving her bashful kisses on the cheek. The others followed. Adela gave her a fierce hug.
‘Give my love to Mother when you get to Belgooree,’ she said. ‘And be happy.’
They exchanged knowing looks. ‘And good luck to you in all you do here,’ Libby said with meaning. She dropped her voice and added, ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for.’ She felt her eyes sting with sudden emotion.
‘Hurry up and get on the train,’ Tilly cried, ‘or you’ll miss it.’
For a moment Libby and Tilly looked at each other, hesitating. Libby was overcome with a sensation she hadn’t felt since she was a bewildered eight-year-old, the enormity of being parted from her mother. For a brief instant she remembered what a gut-wrenching moment that had been. One minute she’d been sobbing and clinging to her mother, and the next, Tilly’s plump, warm, lavender-smelling arms had been pushing her away.
Libby fought to control her voice. ‘Goodbye, Mother.’
She wanted to fling her arms around her mother’s neck in a hug. But she knew Tilly would only be embarrassed. Instead, Libby leant forward and pecked her mother’s cheek. Tilly gave a distracted smile and a light pat on Libby’s shoulder.
‘Go on, darling. Be good.’
Libby swallowed down tears, annoyed at herself for minding that her mother appeared to feel no sadness at her departure. She turned away and mounted the steps into the train. The guard slammed the door closed. Libby pulled down the window and leant out as the train shunted out of the station.
There was a chorus of good luck and bon voyage. She grinned and waved back. Sam, the tallest, was raising his hat in farewell. It was the last thing she could see clearly before they were enveloped in a blast of smoke from the engine.
Libby waited till she had closed the window and could no longer be seen, before succumbing to tears. She felt the familiar wrench of being parted from her family. Yet seeing them standing there together, she had been struck by the feeling that they were incomplete without her father. He was the vital heartbeat of the family.
Libby comforted herself with the thought that she was finally on her way to being reunited with him. It was the first step in putting the family back together again.
Adela stood on the platform gazing after the train. She felt such a clash of emotions: excitement for Libby embarking on a new adventure and fear that she might not find in India what she desperately wanted – a father’s love that was as strong as in childhood. Adela worried that Libby’s nostalgic memories of India were a little rose-tinted. She tried to hide her upset at Libby’s going. She had no right to keep her here. But in the few short weeks they had spent together again, Adela had been impressed with her young cousin.
Libby was mature beyond her years: capable, caring, still as outspoken as ever but with a deep intuition and empathy for others. She had grown up so much in the war years. And she was guileless; Libby seemed unaware of how attractive she was with her dark-blue eyes, lustrous hair and sensual body. She wished Tilly could see Libby’s good qualities, but both mother and daughter seemed to bring out the worst in each other.
Sam slipped his arm around her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
‘She’ll be fine,’ he said in reassurance. ‘Libby has twice the common sense of any of us – and courage in spadefuls.’
Adela smiled up at him and nodded. She looked round to give Tilly a sympathetic smile too. But she was already turning away.
‘Of course you must stay the night, darling,’ Tilly was telling Mungo. ‘Jamie can run you back to Durham tomorrow . . .’
Adela had a sudden pang of loss. It wasn’t just about Libby. For a moment she stood and wondered. If she had been able to keep John Wesley with her, would she have been just as single-mindedly besotted about her son as Tilly was about both of hers?