Page 54 of The Sapphire Child
‘But Dad’s expecting me...’
‘You’ve had thirteen summers with your father and that woman! And you’d deny your grandmother a few weeks of your company? It might be her last summer on earth! Don’t you think you’re being a little selfish?’
‘You’re the one being selfish,’ Andrew had retaliated. ‘You’re just making up an excuse so I can’t go to India.’
She’d flinched as if he’d hit her. ‘How can you say such a hurtful thing to your own mother? I’m not doing this for me – I’m doing it for your poor dear grandmamma! But if being with your father means more to you, then I’ll be the last person to stand in your way!’
Andrew had stormed out of the house and marched around the clifftops in a fury. However much he strove to please her itnever seemed to be quite enough. She was impossible! He loved his grandmother and was sure that she would encourage him to go to India, but what if something did happen to her while he was away? He would feel terrible. Perhaps she was a bit doddery compared to a few months ago. Mamma was with her daily and would have noticed any changes. Perhaps he was being unfair to his mother. He shouldn’t have called her selfish – she was the most generous person he knew. Yet he longed to visit Gulmarg again and to see Stella.
Andrew had taken refuge at his Auntie Tibby’s for a couple of hours and it was then that he’d asked Dawan if he would teach him to paint. If he wasn’t going to be allowed to go to India that summer, he would spend time with the Lahori artist and indulge his passion for drawing. It would be his small rebellion against his emotional mother.
Looking at the shimmer of heat haze over the Mediterranean, Andrew felt the urge for a swim. He quickly signed off the card to Stella.
I hope you have a great day!
Love from Andy
May 1936
Dear Andy,
Happy sixteenth birthday! Have a lovely day.
Best wishes
Stella
P.S. Your father is really hoping to see you this summer.
October 1936
Dear Andrew,
We were so disappointed when you decided not to come this summer. Perhaps you are still angry towards your dad and Esmie? That’s a shame as they are two of the most special people in the world and would do anything for anyone.
I wanted you to know that they are very happy to be married properly at last. They went to Lahore for a very quiet ceremony as soon as The Raj-in-the-Hills closed for the season. I’m glad that your mother finally agreed to a divorce – she has put them through hell for far too long. I think their hotel business has suffered as a result – only their most loyal customers have returned each summer to the hotel in Gulmarg and they’ve been wondering whether to sell on the lease. The Raj in Pindi continues to do well because Pa and Ma put so much effort into keeping it going. I hope they won’t think of selling that as Jimmy hopes to manage it one day.
I wonder if the hotel business interests you at all?
I hope you continue to be happy. I shan’t be writing again, as I think I must be embarrassing you with my letters – you hardly ever reply. I just want you to know that I think of you often.
Regards
Stella
October 1936
Stella,
You are quite wrong about so much. I’ve wanted to come back to India for the past three summers but Mamma has always put up a reason not to every year. This time I had to prove my loyalty because she needs so much reassurance. Having agreed to give my father a divorce she was frightened that I would go to India and not come back – and then she would have lost everything again, all because of Esmie. I couldn’t put her through that, even though I had no intention of staying longer than the summer holidays. I’m happy at school in Durham and my friends are here. I’m also very happy in Ebbsmouth. But I do miss Kashmir and The Raj Hotel. I don’t think I’d make a very good hotelier – I prefer being outdoors too much – but it doesn’t mean I don’t care about it or the people there.
I’m glad that Dad is happy. I feel bad about not coming this summer but I don’t think it’s fair blaming me for everything. He’s got what he wants now – Esmie – and Mamma has me. So why don’t we just leave it at that?
Andrew shoved the half-finished letter in his jacket pocket and climbed out of the study window. He crept behind the gardener’s shed and lit up a cigarette.
Earlier that year, he’d braced himself for the usual battle with his mother over going to India but had been utterly unprepared for her semi-hysterical story about a long-ago kidnapping.
‘I hate India and I don’t want you to go!’
