Page 137 of The Sapphire Child
Stella smiled. ‘Yes, he will.’
Jimmy added, ‘There’s no need to worry about Ma – I’ll look after her.’
‘I know.’ She kissed his cheek.
‘What was that for?’
‘Because Pa would have been so proud of you – and so am I.’
‘Stop being sentimental!’ He laughed and then kissed her back.
Chapter 50
New Delhi, January 1943
On the dot of half past seven in the morning, Major Maclagan breezed into the small, cramped office that had been lent to his operation by the Director of Armaments. Stella was already at work, knowing how enthusiastic her new boss was for punctuality.
‘Morning, Miss Dubois!’
‘Good morning, Major. There’s tea in the pot, sir. Would you like some?’
‘Aye, don’t mind if I do,’ he said, rubbing his hands. ‘It’s a raw day.’
Taking his coat and military cap, Stella hung them on the stand by the door and then proceeded to pour out tea into his favourite large china cup while her boss sat down to work. She had never known anyone who drank as much tea as he did – gallons of it – and he was happiest drinking it lukewarm, well stewed and with three heaps of sugar.
As she placed it before him, he asked, ‘I hope you’re settling in well, lassie?’
‘Yes, thank you, Major.’ Stella smiled. ‘My room at the YWCA is quite comfortable and I can cycle easily to work – thanks to you finding me that bicycle.’
Stella wondered if she sometimes chattered on too much to the major – her mother had warned her against it – but he was an easy man to talk to as long as it didn’t interfere with work.
She was beginning to get to grips with her duties: hours of typing up his half-illegible notes on timber supply, sending letters, wiring telegrams and making sure he had his lecture notes for training ordnance officers in timber duties.
She typed letters about grades of timber and rough planking to meet the demand for air screws for the ever-expanding Indian Air Force. She wrote on Maclagan’s behalf to sawmill suppliers in Calcutta, timber merchants in Bombay and workshops making rifles in Jubbulpore. She took minutes on meetings about plywood pontoons and whether tent pegs could be made from teak scraps.
Her boss, a gaunt-faced wiry Scottish veteran of the Great War, worked himself tirelessly on behalf of the military forces and expected Stella to do the same. They worked twelve-hour days and he was single-minded in his efforts to deliver what was needed, from ammunition boxes and flexible duckboards to radio towers and flying boats.
At first Stella had been wary of his brusque manner. In her first week he had lost his temper with a junior officer for allowing shoddy work to pass inspection in a factory making tent poles.
‘We can’t afford sloppiness,’ he had explained to a startled Stella. ‘If the timber is bad quality or the machinery is not properly maintained, then the products will be rejected. It costs us all a lot more in the long run. Better to find a substitute such as bamboo than accept dud wood.’
But she soon grew to realise that under his gruff exterior he was a compassionate man who was missing his wife and family. He had a photograph on his desk of a smiling woman with her arms around a lanky serious-faced boy and a grinning younger girl with curly hair.
‘Margo went back home in the summer of ’39,’ he confided to Stella one evening when they’d been working extra late. He looked exhausted after a particularly stressful day attempting to persuade the North East Railways to prioritise the transporting of bamboo to Calcutta. ‘She went home to settle our son into school and when war broke out decided to stay – didn’t want to risk the children being torpedoed on the way back out.’
Stella was aghast. ‘You haven’t seen them for three and a half years, sir?’
He shook his head, his brown eyes glinting with tears.
‘That must be very hard for you both,’ said Stella, ‘and for the children.’
He took a moment to compose himself. ‘Some have it worse,’ said Maclagan. ‘At least they’re all still alive and relatively safe. They’re living near Inverness with Margo’s mother and loving the outdoor life.’
It made her think of the Lomaxes being separated from Andrew for far longer and how that had taken its toll on them all.
Stella sympathised. She was doing the same; driving herself hard at the office so that she lessened the time she had to dwell on what Belle might be doing. She knew that her boss appreciated her work ethic and sometimes apologised for keeping her so late at headquarters.
‘Do you have a young man waiting for you somewhere, Miss Dubois?’ he suddenly asked.
