Page 140 of The Sapphire Child
‘What on earth are they doing in India?’ she asked.
‘They’re with the Free French. Got out of Indo-China, where they were road engineers, and have offered their expertise. They’re on their way to the army training camp at Roorkee. They’re very excited about the recent news that the Allies have landed in Sicily.’
The larger Italian nodded enthusiastically at the major’s words. ‘Fight for Italia – for freedom – it begins!’
Stella smiled at them and gave a thumbs-up gesture, astonished and impressed by their tale. It brought home to her how this war had tipped so many lives upside down right across the world. She shared out their picnic of tinned cheese, biscuits and bananas with the men, and then settled down to try and sleep in the stuffy carriage.
She dozed off to the sound of one of the Italians humming under his breath. In the early hours of the morning she was vaguely aware of the train shunting to a stop, but fell back asleep. It seemed moments later when the major was gently shaking her shoulder.
‘Time to get off,’ he said. ‘We’re at Dehradun.’
Stella looked around but their travelling companions had gone.
‘Got off at Roorkee,’ said Maclagan.
Stella had the strange sensation that she’d dreamt the whole episode of the itinerant Italians who had left their homes during the Great War and had been wandering the east ever since.
Stella was awe-struck by the size and setting of the Forest Institute. By travelling just three miles, they had left behind the noisy bustling streets around Dehradun’s railway station and entered an oasis of lush green lawns and trees dominated by a sprawling college of red brick and gleaming white pillars. Some of the lawns had been dug up and planted with wheat, a tell-tale sign of the war.
‘It looks like the viceroy’s palace in New Delhi,’ Stella exclaimed. ‘Apart from those mountains!’ She gasped at the sight of the Himalayan foothills looming behind, a shimmering blue in the heat.
‘Aye,’ said Maclagan with a wistful look. ‘Margo and I were lucky enough to live here for two years while I taught at the college.’ Then he said more briskly, ‘Come on, they might still be serving breakfast at the Cranstons’ bungalow.’
The major had arranged the accommodation for this trip. He would be lodging with the principal while Stella was given a room in the household of one of the instructors, MrCranston. The major introduced Stella to the instructor’s wife, a petite dark-haired woman. ‘I’ll leave you to settle in,’ said Maclagan, ‘and you can join me at the institute in an hour.’
MrsCranston welcomed Stella in with an excited flutter of hands. ‘Very pleased to meet you, Miss Dubois! How was your journey? I bet Delhi was roasting.’
Stella could tell at once by her looks and pronounced sing-song accent that she was Anglo-Indian, and it made her think fondly of her mother.
‘It’s very good of you to have me to stay,’ she answered.
‘Not at all,’ said MrsCranston with a kindly smile, and she ushered her into the dining room.
The next four days were spent at the college while Maclagan oversaw the testing of long lengths of Sitka spruce for use in aircraft. Stella observed the operations in a vast godown stacked with planks and smelling of pine resin. It made her yearn for the mountains and she was impatient for the second half of their trip, which would take them north to Mussoorie and beyond.
It was still hot in Dehradun, which was only twelve hundred feet above sea level, and Stella was thankful to retreat into one of the cool, high-ceilinged wood-panelled rooms of the college to type up the major’s findings. The place was busy with uniformed men from the different forces, all channelling their efforts into practical solutions for the never-ending demands of the war machine.
Stella searched the faces of those in khaki in the unlikely hope that Andrew might suddenly be among them. There was no reason that she could think of that would bring him to the Forest Institute, but she found increasingly now that she just couldn’t get him out of her mind.
At the end of the week, the major borrowed a car from the college and they set off in a heavy downpour for Mussoorie. The mountains had disappeared behind a curtain of grey cloud, but Stella’s excitement wasn’t dimmed as they left the flat green acres around the institute and headed for the tree-covered hills.
The higher the car climbed, the more the roads twisted around hairpin bends. When the rain eased, Stella stuck her head out of the window and breathed in the sweet scent of rain-soaked ferns and pine needles.
‘This reminds me of Murree and the road to Kashmir,’ Stella said, and then realised she had tears on her cheeks. Self-consciously, she wiped her face with her handkerchief. ‘The cold air’s making my eyes water.’
Maclagan gave her a look of understanding. ‘It reminds me of Murree too. For you, it must feel like going home.’
Suddenly unable to speak, Stella nodded and gave a tearful smile.
Chapter 52
Mussoorie, July 1943
Stella was overwhelmed by a feeling of familiarity as she walked with her employer in the evening light along the Mall, which was busy with rickshaws and people strolling. Red tin rooftops of houses and hotels nestled among the trees along the steep ridge of the hill station, and the balconied buildings of the main street leading towards the parish church could have been those of Murree.
As the light waned, the mountains behind emerged out of the mist, glowing pink. The banks of cloud sank below the town and obscured the valley where Dehradun lay.
‘It’s like living above the clouds,’ Stella said, gazing in awe at the scene. ‘Quite magical.’
