Page 19 of The Sapphire Child
‘We can look for our cabins later,’ said Stella, knowing Andrew would want to watch his father till the final moment.
She could easily pick out Tom in his crumpled white suit, standing a head taller than anyone else around him, holding his hat aloft as he waved. He continued to stand there as the gangplank was removed and the crew made ready for departure. Stella was startled by three deafening blasts from the ship’s hooter. With a judder, theliner pulled away from the quay. Her heart hammered with excitement and nervousness. There was no going back.
Slowly the shimmering buildings and the Gate of India receded; the din and smells of the dockside lessened. Bombay became a hazy patch of brown at the edge of sparkling sea. But the image of Tom waving and straining for a last glimpse of Andrew was imprinted on her mind like a photograph. How very much he loved his son.
Andrew stood gripping the rail and staring back. ‘Goodbye, India! Goodbye, Dad! Goodbye, Meemee! Goodbye, Frisky...!’ he shouted, seemingly mentioning everyone he could think of that he would miss.
Eventually, Stella put a hand on his arm. ‘Come on, Andy. Let’s go and find our geriatric governess and see if they’re serving afternoon tea.’
At the mention of food, Andrew’s tear-swollen eyes lit up. He smiled and nodded, and together they went below deck.
Chapter 8
SSRajputana, June 1933
Andrew was sprawled in a deckchair flicking through an out-of-date copy ofWisdenthat someone had left behind. Its pages curled in the fierce sun. The heat was furnace-like as they sailed up the Red Sea, and no one had the energy for daytime deck games. Further along the row of deckchairs he could hear Miss Jessop giggling over a game of cards with one of her admirers.
Andrew smiled. What a surprise their chaperone had turned out to be, he thought. Moira Jessop was only three years older than Stella and not particularly pretty – a bit mousy in Andrew’s opinion – but she was gregarious and laughed a lot, so the young men on board were happy to flirt with her.
He’d heard some of the burra memsahibs tutting about her too. ‘Look at that Jessop girl – she’s with a different man every day – she won’t have any reputation left by the time she gets off this boat.’
‘Well, it’s her last chance to catch a man, isn’t it?’
‘What was she doing in India? Does she have family there?’
‘No, I heard she came out with the fishing fleet but blotted her copybook in Calcutta. Hired as a governess but she was quite useless.’ The matronly woman had dropped her voice to an excitedwhisper. ‘Apparently she was caught in a dalliance with the master of the house and was sent packing.’
‘That’s what you get when you employ young girls from the lower-middle class.’
Andrew thought they were being unnecessarily unkind. He liked Moira and her unstuffy attitudes, and he especially liked her complete disinterest in what he or Stella got up to on the voyage.
‘I didn’t want to show my face to your father,’ Moira had told Andrew on first meeting, ‘as I knew he’d think me too young to chaperone either of you. Which I am. So, I’m not even going to try.’ She’d let out a peel of laughter. ‘You’re free to do what you want – as long as you don’t tell tales to your parents and I still get paid.’
Andrew had relished the thought of this journey with Stella and the chance to see her every day. He now felt special receiving so much attention from her, proud to be seen with the prettiest girl on board. In his mind she far outshone all the other young women on the ship in every way, from her lustrous fair hair to the curve of her pink lips. He loved the way her cheeks dimpled when she laughed and the sensual movement of her hips when she walked.
Lately, he’d been unable to get her out of his thoughts even when they weren’t together. Every morning he was filled with anticipation at seeing her and now every evening he lay in his bunk thinking about her. This growing interest was exciting, yet a little confusing for him. He had always loved Stella, always thought they were friends and he could tell her anything, but he had never experienced such a physical reaction to being in her presence. He wanted her to himself now too, and he felt a little jealous of the young men who seemed to shower her with attention, particularly his new cabin-mate.
Andrew was sharing with the man on crutches that they’d seen being stretchered on board at Bombay. His name was Hugh Keating, and he seemed a genial enough young Irishman. He worked forthe Agriculture Department in Quetta, a mountainous outpost in semi-desert. He’d been shot in the leg by a wild tribesman while out riding just before going on furlough, but was determined not to miss out on a trip home. Andrew had been so impressed that he’d asked to see the bullet wound, but the Irishman’s kneecap had been shattered and was well bound up.
Hugh had asked a lot of questions about Stella.
‘Her family works for my father,’ Andrew had told him. ‘Dad has two hotels – one in Rawalpindi and one in Kashmir – the Duboises run the Raj in Pindi. But Stella’s more like a friend of the family, really.’
‘And a very pretty one too,’ Hugh had said with a wink.
Andrew had blushed. ‘I suppose she is.’
He might have felt resentful at his prying into Stella’s life but Hugh was so good-natured and easy to talk to. Besides, he had told eye-popping stories about living among the savage tribes of Baluchistan. They were just the sort of tales that he wished his father would tell him about his army life on the wild North West Frontier.
‘She’s quite elusive, your friend Stella,’ Hugh had said after the first five days at sea.
‘She’s been very seasick,’ Andrew had explained. ‘Never been on a boat before.’
When they’d docked at Aden to take on coal, Stella had emerged from her cabin, and Andrew had introduced her properly to Hugh.
‘It’ll be much calmer all the way up to Port Said,’ Hugh had reassured her.
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ Stella had said with a wan smile.
