Page 111 of The Sapphire Child
Try as he might, Andrew couldn’t put his mother’s bitter words out of his mind.‘Andrew, the plain truth is that your father would rather be married to that woman than have you live with him. I thought he’d fight harder for you.’
Now they had a child of their own. Had they been trying for years for another son or daughter? He could hardly blame them if they had. It wasn’t so much them being parents to someone else that bothered him; it was the not telling him that hurt.
Andrew pulled out his cigarette case and stepped onto the veranda. As he smoked, he stared into the courtyard below. Someone was peeling vegetables in the shade of the jacaranda. He’d fallen out of that tree as a boy and twisted his ankle. Charlie had carried him into the bungalow and strapped up his ankle while Stella had given him a sherbet sweet and told him a story about giants to take his mind off the pain.
Andrew inhaled smoke furiously. It was futile getting upset over domestic wrangles that no longer mattered. His father and Esmie were entitled to do what they wanted – live how they chose – and enjoy late parenthood. Esmie would make a devoted mother.And he shouldn’t blame Stella for not saying anything on the telephone. It wasn’t her news to tell.
As a boy, all he’d wanted was to be part of a conventional family like his school friends. But life wasn’t like that for everyone. From what he could gather, his parents’ love for each other had been as transient as the bougainvillea petals blowing across the rooftop of the hotel. By the time he was born, they already seemed to be out of love. Life was messy and didn’t always work out as planned.
Andrew would not make the same mistake as his parents. If he survived the war, he would be going back to Scotland and marrying for love. Grinding out his cigarette stub, he retreated to the smaller bedroom, stripped off and lay down on the green counterpane. In minutes he was asleep.
Chapter 41
Andrew woke feeling groggy and thick-headed as if he’d been drinking spirits. For a moment he thought it must be night-time already and then realised the shutters were keeping out the light. Emerging from the bedroom he saw that a tray of food had been left for him in the sitting room; he must have missed tiffin. He lifted the metal lids to be met by wafts of curry and rice. It made him feel a little sick. Instead he glugged down a glass of mango juice – his favourite as a boy – and pressed the semi-cool glass to his forehead.
The startling news he’d heard this morning came back to him: his father and Esmie had a baby daughter called Isobel. He dreaded to think how Lydia would take the news of the Lomax baby. Would she be jealous that Esmie had now completely eclipsed her in Tom’s life, giving him a longed-for daughter?
He would write to his mother and assure her that it made no difference to their relationship – he would always be her son first and foremost – not Esmie’s.
Padding to the bathroom, Andrew saw that Manek had run a cold bath for him. Stripping off, he immersed himself in the tepid water, plunging his head under to banish his feverish thoughts. While he shaved, Andrew tried to steady his nerves at the thought of seeing his father in a matter of hours. Walking through the flat towelling his hair, he found Manek laying out fresh clothes on thebed. His young bearer must have been listening at the door for sounds that he was up and about.
‘Are they treating you well in the compound?’ Andrew asked.
‘Yes, sahib.’ Manek smiled.
‘Have you noticed if they still keep bicycles there? I’m going to go out this afternoon and would like to borrow one.’
‘Yes, sahib, they do. Would you like me to bring one round to the hotel entrance?’
‘Please,’ Andrew said.
Downstairs in the foyer, Ansom was snoozing under a copy of theMilitary and Civil Gazette. Andrew saw a headline about Gandhi telling Indians not to resist the Japanese if they invaded India and to continue their campaign of civil disobedience; they wanted immediate independence.
Andrew felt a flicker of alarm. The last thing he wanted was for his regiment to be dragged into a policing role of rounding up and imprisoning Indians when they had a war to fight. He felt a renewed frustration that he had been deployed to the Frontier rather than to help in the battle over North Africa or in the Middle East. Yet if these rumours were true of their army being pushed back through the jungles of Burma by rapidly advancing Japanese forces, perhaps the spectre of India being invaded was no longer so fantastical.
To take his mind off grim war news and his growing nervousness at seeing his father again, Andrew spent the afternoon cycling aimlessly around the town and the military cantonment. Finding himself in the Anglo-Indian quarter of Lalkutri, he called into Dixon’s garage, run by Stella’s relations, and was greeted warmly by her cousin Sigmund, with whom he had often played cricket as a boy.
‘I didn’t know you were back in Pindi,’ said Sigmund.
‘I’m just passing through,’ said Andrew. ‘I’ve been posted to Taha. I’m with the Borderers.’
Sigmund gave him a cheerful salute. ‘Come upstairs and have some refreshment,’ he insisted. ‘My sister Ada is visiting. This will make her day to see Andrew Lomax dressed in khaki.’
Andrew felt a pang of nostalgia as he climbed the outside staircase to the flat, remembering how Stella used to take him there. It conjured up happy memories of visits to the lively and noisy household – Auntie Rose pressing him to eat mounds of cake and playing raucous games of cards with Stella and her cousins.
As soon as he saw Ada it was obvious she was heavily pregnant. He’d heard she’d married one of the Gibson twins a few years ago.
Ada kissed him on the cheek and laughed. ‘Yes, you are allowed to mention it. I’m expecting in June.’
‘Congratulations.’ Andrew smiled. ‘So, you’ve beaten your cousin Stella to marriage and motherhood.’
Ada rolled her eyes. ‘Stella has always been too fussy. She could have had her pick of the Lalkutri boys but she’s always had her sights set on marrying a pukka Brit.’
‘Now, now, sister,’ Sigmund chided, ‘don’t be unkind about Cousin Stella or Andrew here will have something to say.’
‘Sorry, Andrew,’ said Ada. ‘I’d forgotten how you were always coming to Stella’s defence.’ She laughed. ‘Oh, how sweet; you still blush at the mention of her name.’
Stella’s aunt welcomed him and plied him with afternoon tea while talking proudly of her eldest son Rick being in the Indian Air Force and training down at Walton, outside Lahore. The visit provided a welcome distraction as well as a chance to talk about Stella.
