The Tea Planter’s Wife (9 page)

Gwen favoured violet, not just because it matched her eyes, but because she loved and wore all the English summer colours. Sweet-pea colours, Fran called them. Her dress tonight was the palest green, and though she hadn’t had a chance to change, she still felt fresh. A typical outdoors man, Laurence didn’t care what he wore, and liked nothing better than to stride about the estate in his shorts and an old cream short-sleeved shirt, with a battered
hat on his head. Tonight, looking self-assured and happy, with no trace of that unsettling look in his eyes, he wore something resembling evening wear.

After supper Laurence threw a couple of logs on the fire, and Verity sat at the piano; on it a dozen or more photographs in silver frames showed Laurence gazing out, with a mixture of dogs around him, and silhouetted men in plus fours leaning on their rifles.

Verity played, singing quite tunefully, and seeming to have recovered from Fran’s slight. As Gwen read the words over Verity’s shoulder, she noticed for the first time that her sister-in-law was a nail biter.

It was Fran who made them laugh when they began a game of charades and Gwen developed a knot in her throat from laughing.

‘What to do about Fran,’ had been a constant refrain throughout Gwen’s childhood. For as long as she could remember, Fran had liked to perform, either by constructing a puppet theatre and using papier-mâché puppets to relate a tale, or by leaping on to a makeshift stage of orange boxes and flinging her arms about while singing an operetta. Her choice of clothes usually matched her dramatic performances: crimson dresses, sequinned jackets or sunflower-yellow gowns.

The family were used to it, and though Laurence was ready to accept Fran, it seemed Verity didn’t quite know how to take her. Gwen knew Fran was, in reality, a sensitive and clever woman, and that her behaviour was just a defence against an unjust world. But by the look of Verity’s slightly raised brows, Gwen worried that her sister-in-law might think Fran brazen, especially when, with a small smile, she interrupted to speak to her brother.

‘Laurence, shall we take a ride round the lake tomorrow? We could take the estate horses. I’m sure Nick wouldn’t mind.’

Laurence pointed at the rain.

‘Well, we could swim, just you and me, remember, like we used to when we were children? I’m sure Gwen wouldn’t want to come.’

Gwen overheard. ‘Come where?’

‘Oh, I was wondering about riding or maybe swimming.’ She smiled. ‘I thought you wouldn’t want to come … but of course you must join us.’

‘We never swam during the monsoon,’ Laurence muttered.

Verity clung on to his arm. ‘We did swim. I’m sure we did.’

Laurence’s relationship with his sister was complex. Gwen knew that after their parents died, he had become responsible, giving her an allowance and generally protecting her. Gwen thought Verity, at twenty-six, should really be married and not relying on her brother. Yet from what Laurence had said, when a wedding had eventually been announced, Verity had cried off at the last minute.

Gwen couldn’t help wonder how Caroline had got on with her. Her sister-in-law seemed friendly enough, but Gwen sensed that that might not always be the case. She went to the window and looked out. The rain was falling in silver sheets, lit by the sheen from the house lamps. There would be puddles in the dips and hollows of the lawn by morning, she thought as she turned back to face the room. Laurence winked at her. She couldn’t resist and walked over, then seated herself on the arm of his chair. He unhooked Verity from him, and put his hand on Gwen’s knee, gently stroking, but as soon as no one was looking, slid his hand beneath her underskirt. It made her feel light-headed and she longed to be alone with him. While Tapper’s death had been terrible, because of it everything had changed. Laurence had opened up and was himself again, and she was determined to do everything she could to keep him that way.

In the mornings when she woke, and the light was pale and lemony, Gwen felt that life couldn’t get any better. It had been over a week now, and every single night Laurence had stayed with her. Something had released its grip on him and he was as passionate as he’d been before they arrived at the plantation. They made love at night and then they made love in the mornings too. While he slept, the sound of his breathing was comforting, and if she woke before him she just lay listening and marvelling at her luck.

She heard the sound of a distant cockerel and watched as Laurence’s lashes flickered.

‘Hello, darling,’ he said, opening his eyes and reaching for her.

She snuggled in to him, luxuriating in the warmth.

‘Shall we get food sent in and stay in bed all day?’ he said.

‘Really? Aren’t you going to work?’

‘No. This is a day entirely for you. So what would you like to do?’

‘Do you know what, Laurence?’

He grinned. ‘Tell me.’

She whispered in his ear.

He laughed and pulled a face. ‘Well, I wasn’t expecting that! Bored with me already?’

She kissed him hard on the mouth. ‘Never!’

‘Well, if you’re serious, I don’t see why you shouldn’t see how the tea is made.’

‘I knew all about making cheese at Owl Tree.’

‘Of course, I’ve tasted it … so you really want to get up now?’

He stroked her hair and neither of them moved.

He began to bite her ear. Every day Laurence seemed to find a new part of her body, and once he’d found it, she experienced
feelings she’d never known were possible. Today, from her ear his mouth travelled all the way down past her breasts, round her waist and to the place between her legs, where she felt the shock of wanting him. But he ignored her as she pushed against him, and carried on to the soft sensitive place at the back of her knees. When he’d finished kissing them he examined the scars on the front of her knees.

‘Heavens, girl, what have you done to yourself?’

‘It was the Owl Tree. When I was a child, I used to look for the ghosts in the tree, but I kept falling out before I found them.’

He shook his head. ‘You are impossible.’

Whoever would have thought this would be so heavenly, she thought as they made love, and, feeling the warmth of his skin against her own, all thoughts of tea vanished from her mind.

Two hours later, with the rain holding off but a heavy mist still circling the land, Laurence walked her up the hill and along a track she hadn’t spotted before. When they could see the lake, Gwen noticed the water was still brown where red earth had washed down. The woods were unusually hushed, the trees dripping and ghostly, and for a moment Gwen believed in the devils that Naveena said still took cover there. All along their route, the rain had intensified the scent of wild orchids and the smell of the grass. Spew, who had become singularly attached to Gwen, ran on ahead, sniffing and snuffling.

‘What are those flowers?’ she asked, looking at a tall plant with white blooms.

‘Angel’s Trumpets, we call them,’ he said, and then pointed at a large rectangular building with rows of shuttered windows, high up on the hill behind their house. ‘Look, there’s the factory.’

She touched his arm. ‘Before we go in, I’ve been wanting to ask if you’d found out who did that to Tapper?’

There was a flicker of distress on Laurence’s face. ‘It’s hard to prove. They close ranks, you see. It’s not helpful when it becomes a question of us against them.’

‘So why was Tapper killed?’

‘Revenge over an old injustice.’

She sighed. It was so complicated here. She had been brought up to be kind to people and animals. If you were kind, people usually responded the same way.

When they finally reached the building she was out of breath, and watched dark-skinned men squatting on an exterior ledge and washing the multiple windows. Laurence opened the door to the sounds of Hindu worship in the distance, and ordered Spew to wait outside.

He showed Gwen in. There was the clunking noise of machines from the floor above, and a slightly medicinal smell.

He noticed her listening. ‘There are a lot of machines involved. Everything used to be powered by wood, and on many estates still is, but here, I’ve invested in fuel oil. Was one of the first, in fact, though we have our wood-burning furnace for drying. Blue gum wood we use. It’s a kind of eucalyptus.’

Gwen nodded. ‘I can smell it.’

‘The building is on four floors,’ he said. ‘Do you want to sit down to catch your breath?’

‘No.’ She scanned the spacious ground-floor room. ‘I didn’t realize it would be so big.’

‘Tea needs air.’

‘So, what’s happening here?’

His eyes lit up. ‘You really want to know?’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s a complicated process, but this is where the baskets of green leaves come in and get weighed. Though there are other weighing stations too. The women are paid by the pound, you see. We do have to keep an eye that they don’t include anything they shouldn’t to bulk up the weight. We only want the very tips of the bushes. Two leaves and a bud is what we say.’

She noticed how warm and friendly he was with a man who came up and spoke in Tamil. After Laurence had replied, also in Tamil, he proudly put an arm round her shoulders.

‘Gwen, let me introduce you to my factory manager and tea maker. Darish is in charge of the entire manufacturing process.’

The man nodded rather uncertainly and bowed before heading off again.

‘He’s only ever seen one Englishwoman in here.’

‘Caroline?’

‘No, actually, it was Christina. Come upstairs and I’ll show you the withering tables. When there’s a large amount of leaf, Darish and his withering supervisor will be working from two in the morning, but because of the weather it’s quiet at the moment.’

To Gwen it didn’t seem quiet at all, but a medley of activity, movement and background noise. Whether it was the mention of Christina that made her feel uneasy, or the intoxicating smell of leaf, strong, slightly bitter and rather strange, she didn’t know. She told herself not to be silly. Laurence had said it was over.

They walked past piles of baskets and various bits of paraphernalia, tools, rope and the like, and then went on up the stairs.

‘These are the withering lofts where we allow the leaves to wither naturally,’ he said as they reached the top. ‘The tea plant is actually called Camellia Sinensis.’

Gwen looked at the four long platform tables on which the tea was laid out. ‘How long does it take to wither?’ she asked.

He put an arm round her waist and she leant against him, enjoying being with him in his world.

‘It depends on the weather. If it’s misty, as it is now, it withers slowly. The leaves need warm air to circulate through, you see. The temperature has to be just right. Sometimes we have to use artificial heat from the furnace to dry the leaf. That’s what you can hear. But in fine weather, if the shutters are properly adjusted, the wind coming through the open windows is enough.’

‘And what’s on the floor below?’

‘Once it’s withered adequately, it will go under rollers to bruise the leaves. Do you want to see?’

She watched as the withered leaf was sent down large chutes and into another machine on the floor below. As Darish joined
them again, Laurence rolled up his sleeves and, striding around, checked the machines, looking so much in his element she couldn’t help smiling.

He said something in Tamil as he turned to Darish. The man nodded then shot off to do as he’d been asked.

‘Shall we go down?’ Laurence took her arm and they headed for the stairs. ‘The leaves will be compressed in the roll breakers.’

‘And then?’

‘A rotor vane chops the tea, then it will be sifted to separate the larger particles from the smaller.’

She sniffed the air, which now smelt rather like dried mown grass, and gazed at tea that looked like chopped tobacco.

‘It will be fermented in the drying room. It’s the fermentation that turns it black.’

‘I never realized so much went into my morning cup of tea.’

He kissed the top of her head. ‘That’s not the end of it. It’s fired to stop the fermentation, then it’s sifted into different grades, and then, only after the final inspection, is it packed and sent off to London or Colombo.’

‘So much to do. Your man must be very skilled.’

Laurence laughed. ‘He is. As you can see, he has assistant tea makers, and dozens of workers, but he’s been on this estate since he was a boy. He worked for my father before me, and he really knows the job.’

‘So who actually sells the tea?’

‘It’s auctioned, either in Colombo or London, and my agent fixes up my financial affairs. Now, I think the midday horn will be going off very shortly and you’ll find it unbearably loud from here.’

He grinned and she couldn’t help see what a powerful man she had married. He wasn’t just lean and strong from the physical work he did, he was also determined and very much in charge. And though he was having trouble implementing some of the changes he talked about, she had absolute confidence that he would succeed.

‘I love it that you’re interested,’ he said.

‘Wasn’t Caroline?’

‘Not really.’ He took her arm and led her out.

The mists had lifted and the sky had cleared. It almost looked as if it wasn’t going to rain.

‘Laurence, I was wondering, why hasn’t your sister married?’

He frowned, and a serious look came into his eyes. ‘I still have hopes.’

‘But why hasn’t she?’

‘I don’t know. She’s a complicated girl, Gwen. I hope you understand that. Men fall for her but then she pushes them away. It’s a mystery to me.’

Gwen didn’t say that she thought Verity sometimes seemed to set herself up to look unattractive to men. She took a breath and sighed.

When they were a hundred yards down the track, the horn blew. She clapped her hands over her ears and tripped over a branch that had fallen across the path.

He groaned. ‘I did say.’

She picked herself up and began to run. Laurence and Spew raced after her, then Laurence swooped down and lifted her into his arms.

‘Put me down at once, Laurence Christopher Hooper. What if someone sees!’

‘You cannot be trusted to get down a hillside without scratching, grazing or cutting yourself, so I am going to carry you.’

That afternoon the sound of shouting distracted Gwen from the post-luncheon book she was reading. A nice little detective story. She reluctantly put the book down and got up to see what was going on.

She heard Laurence call for Naveena. Out in the hallway, he was attempting to comfort Fran, who was sitting with swollen angry eyes and tears streaming down her flushed cheeks.

Gwen went straight to Fran. ‘Darling, what on earth has happened? Is there bad news?’

Fran shook her head and gulped but, unable to speak, began to sob again.

‘It’s her charm bracelet,’ Laurence said. ‘It’s gone missing. But I have no idea why she’s so upset. I told her I’d buy her a new one, but it only made her cry the harder.’

Fran stood, turned on her heels and fled.

‘See what I mean.’

‘Oh, Laurence. You are an idiot. That was her mother’s bracelet. All the charms are individual and were collected over her mother’s entire lifetime. Every charm meant something to Fran. It is utterly irreplaceable.’

Laurence’s face fell. ‘I had no idea. Is there nothing we can do?’

‘Organize a search, Laurence. That’s what you can do. Get all the servants to search. I’m going to comfort my cousin.’

The next day, Fran had not turned up for breakfast, so Gwen knocked on her door and tiptoed in. In the room, the shutters were closed and the sour odour of overnight sweat hung in the air. She marched over to the window to let in fresh air.

‘Is something wrong?’ she said, glancing across at Fran. ‘You’re not even up. Didn’t you remember we’re going out for lunch?’

‘I feel awful, Gwen. Really awful.’

Gwen glanced at Fran’s full lips, her long lashes and the two spots of pink on her otherwise flawless complexion. How was it that Fran still looked lovely even when she was unwell, whereas at the first sneeze of a cold, Gwen looked ethereal at best and ghostly at worst.

She sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on her cousin’s forehead. It was rare to see Fran looking sorry for herself.

‘You’re awfully hot,’ Gwen said. ‘I’ll get Naveena to bring you some porridge and tea in bed.’

‘I couldn’t eat a thing.’

‘Maybe not, but you must drink.’

Gwen couldn’t pretend she wasn’t disappointed. This was the day she and Fran were due to go to Nuwara Eliya to lunch with Christina and Mr Ravasinghe. She wanted to see Christina again, partly out of curiosity and partly to put her own mind at rest, but now that Fran had woken up feverish, they most certainly could not go.

‘It’s because you were so upset yesterday,’ Gwen said. ‘And the weather doesn’t help.’

Fran groaned. ‘I don’t think my bracelet will ever be found. It has been stolen, I’m sure.’

Gwen thought about it. ‘Did you still have it after the ball?’

‘Definitely. You know I wear it almost every day and I’d have noticed if it was missing.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

Fran sniffed.

‘Well, don’t worry about today. We can go another time.’

‘No, Gwen, you go. Savi is unveiling his painting. At least one of us must be there.’

‘You like Mr Ravasinghe, don’t you, Fran?’

Fran’s face coloured. ‘I do like him. Very much, as it happens.’

‘Trust you. I know he’s attractive, and it might be fashionable in some circles to patronize artists, but the parents will have a fit.’ Though she had spoken with a smile, her words were scolding.

‘Your parents, Gwen.’

There was a short silence.

‘Look,’ Gwen said. ‘I can’t possibly go without you. I don’t think Laurence would like it. I don’t know why, but he’s not too keen on Savi.’

Fran made a small gesture of irritation. ‘It’s probably just because he’s Sinhalese.’

Gwen shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think it’s that at all.’

‘Anyway, you don’t have to tell him. It would be dreadful to let Savi down. Please say you’ll go.’