The Tea Planter’s Wife (26 page)

The weeks that followed remained tense, with a kind of gloom settling about the house. Gwen bravely attempted to behave as normally as possible for Hugh’s sake, though it soon became clear Verity was drinking to excess. Almost overnight she became withdrawn, brooding in her room for hours on end, and at times Gwen heard her sobbing. At other times, she seemed brittle, even losing her temper with Hugh. Once or twice, Gwen had to admonish her, and afterwards she heard her moving about in Laurence’s room in the middle of the night. Melancholy hung about Verity when she did come down, and then, tall and thin, she loped around the house like a creature dispossessed.

There were no shortcuts to understanding her sister-in-law, and now Gwen worried for the girl’s state of mind. Mood swings were one thing, but this! When she tried to ask what it was about, Verity squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. It seemed as if her sister-in-law was trying not to give in to her feelings and, in the end, Gwen felt it better to let it run its course. If Verity’s unhappiness could be regarded as her just desserts, equally Gwen’s ‘revenge’ – if that is what it was – was not so sweet, and something about the girl drew her pity.

Gwen also felt bruised by what had happened with McGregor and kept out of his way, though with Naveena’s help she had managed to contact the dead man’s family. In the empty detached weeks until Laurence came home, she attended to her household duties, agreed the menus, ensured no laundry was being stolen and kept a firm eye on the accounts. But still she tormented herself over the man’s death and it left her feeling insecure and guilty.

On breezy days when the timbers of the bungalow creaked and groaned, she heard the footsteps of her absent child. Then
she’d stand completely still as if waiting for the wind to bring some news, or, in order to break the spell, she’d compile a list of the contents of the storeroom, though anything mind-numbingly practical would do.

One morning she went to the kitchen and found only McGregor there, looking morose.

‘Mr McGregor,’ she said and turned to leave.

‘Have a cup of tea with me, Mrs Hooper,’ he said in a tone less brusque than usual.

She was surprised and hesitated.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t bite.’

‘I wasn’t thinking that.’

As he fetched a second cup and then poured the tea for her, she seated herself at the opposite side of the table.

‘All my life, I’ve worked in tea,’ he said, not looking up at her.

‘Laurence told me.’

‘I know these workers. But you come over here and you want to change everything. How is it that, knowing nothing, Mrs Hooper, you want to change everything?’

She started to reply, but he held up his hand, and she smelt a trace of whisky on his breath.

‘Let me finish. The thing is, the terrible thing is, the thing that has started to keep me awake at night …’

There was a long pause.

‘Mr McGregor?’

‘Is that, after everything, you may have been right about the flogging.’

‘Is that such a bad thing?’

‘For you, maybe not …’

Gwen cast around for an appropriate response. ‘What is it that really worries you?’

He hesitated and shook his head. There was another stretch of silence while his jaw worked and he appeared to be thinking. With no idea what went on inside this man, Gwen had only ever seen his gruff exterior.

‘What worries me, if you must know, is that I may not be able to adjust. I’ve given my life to tea, been part of the way it has been for so long … it’s in my blood, do you see? In the beginning we never thought anything of flogging the blacks. We hardly even thought of them as people, at least not people like you and me.’

‘But they are people, aren’t they, and one of them has lost his life.’

He nodded. ‘I changed my view a long time ago. I am not a cruel man, Mrs Hooper. I try to be fair, I hope you realize that.’

‘I believe we are all capable of change if we want it badly enough,’ she said.

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘If we want it. I have been happy here but, like it or not, our days are numbered.’

‘We have to move with the times.’

He sighed. ‘They won’t want us, you know, when it comes. For all we’ve done for them, it’ll be the end of everything.’

‘And maybe because of what we’ve done
to
them.’

‘And then I do not know what I shall do.’

Gwen watched, feeling the sense of resignation in him as his shoulders drooped.

‘How are things with the labourers now?’

‘Quiet. I think the man’s death shocked them as much as it did us. Nobody wants to lose their job.’

‘And the ones who started the fire?’

‘No one is talking. I have either to make a big show of involving the authorities or make it widely known that I believe it was an accident. It goes against the grain, but I have decided to let it pass as an accident.’

‘You don’t think there will be further trouble?’

‘Who knows? But it’s my bet the real trouble will begin in Colombo. The workers here have too much to lose.’

She sighed. Neither of them spoke for a while after that and, realizing there really wasn’t anything else to say, Gwen got up.

‘Thank you for the tea, but now I must find Hugh.’

She spent most of her free time with Hugh. Sometimes they played soldiers advancing on the enemy, usually one of the dogs. Sadly, the dogs didn’t understand their roles as vanquished soldiers and ran round in circles instead of lying down to die. Hugh shouted at them and stamped his feet.

‘Lie down, Spew! You too, Bobbins. Ginger, you’re supposed to be dead!’

Today Hugh whirled around the drawing room with his arms outstretched, pretending to be a British triplane and making himself dizzy.

‘Mummy, you be a plane too. You can be a German Albatros, and we can have a dog fight.’

She shuddered at the thought of air-to-air eruptions in the skies. ‘Darling, I don’t think I’m quite up to that. Why not let Aunty Verity read to you?’

Verity picked out a book and Hugh settled on the sofa beside her.

‘Which book is it?’ Gwen asked, and frowned when she looked over Verity’s shoulder. Gwen preferred Beatrix Potter, and claimed Verity’s choice, Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales, might frighten him. It was a long-standing difference of opinion.

Verity stood her ground. ‘He’s not a baby. Hasn’t he just been rushing around pretending to be a bomber aircraft?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, then. The Andersen stories are sometimes sad, but it’s such a wonderful imaginary world. I don’t want Hugh to miss out.’

‘And I don’t want him scarred for ever.’

‘But, Gwen, they are so much better than Grimm’s.’

‘You have a point. Maybe when he’s a little older.’

Verity threw down the book of fairy tales. ‘I can never do anything right for you, can I?’

Gwen was taken aback and felt a little exasperated. ‘Why not try
Alice in Wonderland
?’

Verity shrugged.

Gwen passed the book over. ‘Come on, Verity. Please don’t spoil things.’

Verity stared at the book, but didn’t reply, and when Gwen noticed tears in her eyes, she wondered if she was missing her brother.

‘What’s wrong?’ Gwen asked.

Verity shook her head.

‘Nothing can be that bad, can it?’

As Verity hung her head, Gwen went across to her and held her hands, squeezing them gently. ‘Come on, old thing. Chin up.’

Verity raised her head. ‘You do know I love Hugh, don’t you?’

‘Of course. It goes without saying.’

Verity sighed and no more was said.

A little later, just as Alice was sliding down the rabbit hole, the phone rang. All three looked up, but Gwen was first on her feet. When she answered it, a crackling voice told her that it was Laurence’s agent in Colombo, and that he’d received a wire saying that Laurence would be arriving in exactly one week’s time. Would McGregor pick him up from the docks? She said a silent prayer and went back into the drawing room. Watching her sister-in-law with her son, she wished she could keep the warm feeling to herself for a little longer.

Verity glanced up. ‘Who was on the phone?’

Gwen grinned.

‘Come on, tell. You look as pleased as punch.’

She couldn’t hold it in. ‘Laurence is coming home.’

‘When? He’s not already in Colombo, is he?’

Gwen shook her head. ‘He’s arriving in a week. He wants McGregor to pick him up.’

‘No,’ Verity said. ‘We’ll do it.’

Not sure if she wanted to go with Verity, Gwen pulled a face. ‘You’d have to drive.’

Hugh jumped up and down and clapped his hands.

Verity stood up, lifted Hugh off his feet and spun him round.

‘I’d love to throw a party to welcome him home,’ Gwen said. ‘It’s been so grim, and we all deserve a little fun.’

‘We’re supposed to be tightening our belts.’

‘It doesn’t have to be lavish.’

As Verity put Hugh down and stepped back, Gwen considered for a minute or two.

‘The food can just be canapés and we’ll have massive bowls of fruit punch, with honey from the hives and plenty of fruit from the trees. That’ll disguise the cheap alcohol. We don’t need a string quartet, we can play the gramophone.’

Verity smiled and Gwen realized she hadn’t seen her sister-in-law this happy for weeks.

‘We’ll spend as little as possible. Laurence will be furious if he comes home to a big display. And we’ll need to be here to oversee the preparations, so maybe McGregor had better fetch him after all.’

Verity shook her head. ‘You don’t want McGregor getting in first and telling tales. Because of the injured girl, he still blames you for the fire, and the man’s death.’

‘I thought he’d come round a little.’

‘Who knows? But do you want him speaking to Laurence before you have a chance to put your side of the story?’

‘I suppose I could drive myself.’

‘Gwen, I know you’ve got the hang of driving out and about around here, but all the way to Colombo? It’s not an easy route. What if you had an accident?’

She knew Verity was right.

‘Tell you what. The servants are accustomed to the old parties here, those opulent, money-no-object affairs. Why not stay to make sure it’s done your way? Keep an eye on the arrangements, and I’ll pick Laurence up on my own.’

‘I want terribly to go, but I don’t see how I can leave Hugh, when everyone will be so busy.’ And, not wanting to burst Verity’s happy bubble, Gwen decided to let her go.

‘Good. Now that’s decided, let’s draw up a list.’

Two days later, Gwen rose early. She stood outside her bedroom in her dressing gown and gazed at the mist curling between trees of the deepest green imaginable. She loved the lake, the views of the hills around it and the sound of the water lapping against the small inlets. And whatever happened in the future, she prayed with all her heart that they would not have to leave Ceylon. It had become the most beautiful place in the world to her, and though she missed her parents, Hooper’s Plantation was her home.

A little later she walked round to the top terrace, where the boys were already setting the table for breakfast. She sat down in a comfy rattan chair and watched the birds hop along the gravel pathways. Verity joined her briefly to say she was leaving for Colombo sooner than they had planned. She had some personal shopping to see to before she met Laurence at the harbour. In fact, while she was there, she hoped to see an exhibition of Savi Ravasinghe’s. He’d been taken up by the New York art crowd, so wouldn’t often be in Ceylon now. It meant she’d be away for about five days and she hoped Gwen didn’t mind.

Gwen shook her head. Though pleased that she was less likely to see Savi, she still felt a chill at the mention of the painter. ‘You go. Just bring your brother back in one piece.’

‘There’s talk of another harbour strike, so that’s another reason to go early.’

Gwen sighed. The expanding population of Colombo had led to a scarcity of rice, which had caused a tramway strike earlier in the year, and another harbour strike would be even worse. But she was also well aware that Verity’s early departure gave her no chance to change her mind about going too, unless she wanted to sit in a car alone with McGregor all the way to Colombo.

‘So, I’ll leave you now.’ Verity got up, kissed Gwen lightly on the cheek, waved at Hugh who was playing on the grass with Ginger, and she was gone.

Gwen had been living with her secret for so long that the initial heartbreak over the loss of her daughter had settled down into a
dull but persistent sorrow. Occasionally it felt good to be alone, for, without Verity, she was free to allow her heart some space. She wondered what her daughter looked like now. Was she stocky like Hugh or fine-boned and petite like herself?

She longed to go to the village again and paced the room, crossing and uncrossing her arms, shaking her head and stopping to listen to the sounds of the house as she weighed it up. In her mind she pictured the peace of the village and all the noises of nature that surrounded it, but although she was tempted to try to find the way, the memory of the last time stopped her. She folded herself up in the chair by the window and, closing her eyes, imagined Liyoni swimming in the lake. Then she pictured her little girl running to her to be enfolded in a soft towel and smiling up at her mother as she gave her a cuddle.

She cried until the sadness passed, and then, after she’d wiped her eyes, she splashed her face. Maybe one day when Hugh was older and at school. Then she’d persuade Naveena to take her.

Gwen sent two houseboys up to the loft, instructing them to hunt for anything that might brighten up a party. While they were up there, she rummaged around a rarely used and rather shabby guest room. Under the bed she found the fireworks and, in a wardrobe, a pile of dusty paper lanterns. One or two were torn, but the others just needed a brush down with a feather duster.

When she looked in an old chest of drawers, she noticed a large flat package that had been pushed to the back. She took it out and laid it on the bed, then slid off the string and paper. The most beautiful red sari lay folded inside, made of silk and embroidered with silver and gold thread. She lifted it to the light and examined the intricate pattern of birds and flowers all along one edge. This was Caroline’s sari – the one she was wearing in the painting. She stared at it for a while, thinking of Caroline and Thomas, and felt a little unnerved as tears stung her eyes, but neither wanting to disturb the past, nor complicate the present, she wrapped it up again and put it back.

The boys brought down bunting. It looked dingy but Gwen told them to wash it and hang it out to dry. The gardener dug up flowers from the banks coming into bloom at the side of the garden and replanted them in tubs on the back terrace, and Naveena brought out satinwood bowls full of spices and incense to dot around the place.

Gwen turned her attention to the food. They would keep it plain, using the typical breads of the Ceylonese: flower bread, coconut rice bread, kiri roti and other simple dishes.

Once the household was sorted out, she considered what to wear. She wanted to look particularly nice for Laurence’s
homecoming, and decided on a dress that exactly matched her eyes: a lovely shade of deep violet. Some time before, she’d bought the silk in Colombo, and had taken along a picture of a dress in
Vogue
magazine, and asked the Sinhalese man who made many of their clothes to copy it. The finished dress had yet to come back from Nuwara Eliya, but if she had no opportunity to collect it herself, she still hoped it would be delivered in time.

In the exciting build-up, the few days passed rapidly, filled with last-minute adjustments, decisions, a minor crisis and a servants’ quarrel to deal with. Naveena took care of Hugh, while Gwen oversaw where the flowers would go and how many candles should be lit. She hoped the party would raise everybody’s spirits, McGregor’s included.

When the day arrived, Gwen spent it nervously seeing to final arrangements and choosing what Hugh would wear to welcome his father. When she put him in the light of the window and tried to cut his fringe with her sewing scissors, he could barely sit still.

‘Don’t squirm,’ she said, ‘or I’ll have your eye out.’

He giggled and pretended to remove an eye.

She laughed. It was the longest any of them had ever been apart, and Hugh’s unrestrained excitement was infectious.

In the late afternoon, only an hour or so before the start time, Naveena rushed in with a large flat box. Gwen’s dress had arrived. She opened the box, unwrapped the white tissue paper then held her breath as she carefully lifted the beautiful silk creation out. It was perfect. Not too short, flared, and with a bodice beaded with tiny pewter pearls. She would wear her matching pearl earrings and necklace. Luckily, she’d paid for the dress before their financial losses had begun, so she couldn’t be accused of wasting money. She held it up against her and spun round.

Naveena smiled. ‘You will be looking beautiful, Lady.’

Gwen saw to Hugh as he played with his boats in the bath. When he was eventually persuaded to get out, she enveloped him in a large towel and pulled his warm body to hers, but – not a baby any more – he wriggled away. After he was dressed in a
little white suit, just like a proper gentleman, she sat at her dressing table with a fluttering heart.

Bang on six, just as the light was changing, Gwen was dressed, with a spray of her favourite perfume in her pinned-up hair. The bunting was raised, the candles were lit, the punch concocted, and a delicate fragrance of burning cinnamon blew about in the air. As the guests began to arrive, the butler led them to the terrace and the outdoor room at the side of the house.

It wasn’t a large party, just other tea planters and their wives, some of Verity’s friends and Laurence’s pals from the Hill Club in Nuwara Eliya. By seven most had already arrived. People were milling about and standing in knots around the house and down by the lake. Hugh went among them, offering roasted cashew nuts from a silver bowl, and charming everyone with his perfect manners and beatific smile. The only person missing was Laurence – and Verity, of course. As they should have turned up well before six, Gwen began to feel apprehensive.

She played the part of a dutiful hostess, nodding at guests, helping them to mingle, asking Florence about her health and chatting with Pru. But as time went on, eight o’clock, then nine o’clock, her heart began to pound and she felt sick with nerves. The food had been served and there was still no sign of them. She now began to see that the evening might have been a dreadful mistake and struggled with the conflicting feelings going on inside her: her desire to see Laurence, her fear over what Verity might have said about the fire and the man’s death, and her worry about whether she was doing the right thing by having a party.

The roads were treacherous, especially at night, and Verity drove too fast. Gwen began to worry that something awful had happened to them. They were lying dead in a ditch after a collision, or upended in a ravine. With a panicky feeling, she sat down to gaze at the lake. Something about the timelessness of the lake flattened out her spiralling anxiety. And then, just as she was giving up the expectation that they would arrive at all that night, she
heard a car pull up at the front of the house. This had to be them. No further guests were expected.

She ran round to the front of the house with a few guests in tow, Doctor Partridge, Pru and Florence among them.

‘There they are,’ Florence remarked.

‘Better late than never,’ the doctor said.

Gwen couldn’t speak. The sight of Laurence climbing from the car sent tears spilling down her face. He looked about stiffly and her heart seemed to still. She didn’t move and what could only have been moments felt like an age. While nobody spoke, she held her breath. Verity has blamed me, told him everything, and he’ll never trust me with anything again, she thought. Her whole life seemed to flash before her, hundreds of memories, thousands of moments. She clutched at excuses, tried to think of ways to explain her actions, but, when all was said and done, because of her a man lay dead.

Laurence took a few steps round the car and she felt so small she wanted to turn on her heels and run, or else for the ground to open up. She just could not bear for Laurence to think so badly of her. She brushed the tears from her cheeks then looked at him properly. His face was soft and his eyes creased up as he broke into a wide grin. She released her breath and, instead of running away, she ran to him. He wrapped his arms round her, then lifted her into the air and spun her round.

‘I have missed you so much,’ he whispered in her ear.

Gwen still could not speak.

‘I see you have got me up a little welcoming party,’ he said as he put her back on the ground. ‘I ought to change. It’s been an arduous journey.’

‘Never mind that,’ she said and hugged him again through his dirty sweat-soaked shirt. ‘There are more people round at the back.’

‘Wonderful,’ he said. ‘The more the merrier.’

Verity, standing on the other side of the car, looked on
expressionless, but Gwen breathed a huge sigh of relief. It was going to be all right.

Later that night when Laurence and Gwen were alone, he told her how things had gone. Though the copper-mining shares were currently worthless, a partner had been found to invest in the new plantation. They were not out of the woods by any stretch, and the times ahead might be tough, but as long as they made the necessary changes, it looked like they would survive.

‘You didn’t tell me how bad it really was, did you?’ she said.

‘I couldn’t, Gwen, and to be honest I didn’t really know.’

‘So all that talk about never selling up …’

He put a finger to her lips.

‘I thought you said an investor couldn’t be found in the current climate.’

‘And that was true, but this is someone you know well.’

She raised her brows. ‘Surely not my father? He doesn’t have that kind of money; he’d have to sell Owl Tree.’

‘Not your father.’

She put a palm to his unshaven cheek, feeling the roughness as she stroked. ‘Then who? Tell me.’

He grinned. ‘My new partner is your cousin, Fran.’

She pulled a face. ‘I don’t believe you. Why would Fran invest? She knows nothing about tea. She doesn’t even like it.’

‘One day she’ll get a good return, but she did it for you, Gwen. So that we wouldn’t lose the plantation. She’s only investing in the newly acquired part, not my old family plantation, but by investing in the new plantation, it means I don’t have to sell this one, and our home with it.’

Gwen’s relief was overwhelming. ‘Did you ask for her help?’

‘No. We met for lunch, I told her about our situation, and there and then, she offered. Anyway,’ he said as he stroked her hair, ‘enough of that. How have you been here?’

‘There was some trouble. I –’

He tangled his fingers in her hair and gently pulled her head
back so that he could look in her eyes. ‘If it’s about the fire, Verity’s already told me.’

She inhaled sharply. ‘Verity hasn’t been happy. I’m worried for her.’

‘She seems all right. A bit unsettled maybe. But I am actually very proud of you.’

‘Really?’

‘Gwen, you helped an injured child in the only way you knew how. You are a good, kind woman.’

‘You didn’t think I was interfering in labour business?’

‘It was a child.’

‘You know about the kitchen boy then? The one who died.’

‘Any death on the plantation must be taken seriously, and it was very unfortunate –’

‘It was awful, Laurence.’

‘But not your fault. You acted from your heart, and I shall speak to McGregor in the morning.’

‘I think he’s struggling too.’

‘As I said, I shall speak with him. Sometimes events spiral out of control in ways we cannot foresee. It isn’t necessarily a case for blame, but for realizing that even a slight lack of judiciousness can trigger something terrible.’

‘My lack of judiciousness?’

‘No, Gwen, I don’t think it was.’

She felt so relieved he wasn’t angry that all the frazzled nerves and anxiety of the past weeks finally seemed to unlock. He held her while she wept, and afterwards when she looked into his eyes, she saw they were damp too.

‘It has been a difficult time for all of us, and loss of life is always very upsetting. I think my biggest task will be improving morale, beginning with you.’

She smiled as he removed the pins from her hair and the ringlets fell past her shoulders.

‘I tried so hard, Laurence.’

‘I know.’

She touched the cleft in his chin and felt the stubble again.

‘Shall I shave?’

‘No. I want you just the way you are.’

‘You look very beautiful tonight,’ he said as he wrapped a ringlet round his middle finger.

At first Gwen held back, feeling self-conscious in the way that she had been when they first met all that time ago in London. She smiled, thinking of that, then yielded, allowing him to undress her.

He was gentle and tender, and they took it very slowly. Afterwards they lay in each other’s arms and, at last, she felt her heart settle in stillness.

‘You are precious to me, Gwendolyn. I don’t always express myself as I might wish, but I hope you know that.’

‘I do, Laurence.’

‘You are such a tiny thing, aren’t you? Even after everything, as slim and sweet as a girl. You always will be my girl, no matter what.’

She noticed his voice had taken on a serious tone, and with his eyes inches from hers, he seemed to be scrutinizing her.

Laurence summoned such a depth of love in her and that mattered more than anything. She smiled at the thought of those minute tokens of their life together: his warm hand when she was worried in the night, his off-key singing when he thought he was alone, and the strength of his trust in her. When he touched her heart in the way he did, she felt safe and completely protected against all misfortune. To think if she had not met him she might never have known what it was to love, and with that love she had flourished as a person and as a wife. The struggle had been worthwhile, and now they would face whatever lay ahead together. It would be a new start. She didn’t ask if he had seen Christina while he was away.