Authors: Isobel Chace
On the other hand she would be Mrs
.
Matt Halifax. He would be kind to his wife, she reflected. He was always kind to his possessions. He was not like James. He would never neglect anything that was his. The thought somehow depressed her. She didn’t want him to be kind to her! She didn’t want to be just one of his possessions! She wanted him to love her as she loved him!
In the distance she could hear John and Felicity talking. They were laughing and John stepped out on to the verandah.
‘I shan’t carry a torch for long, my dear,’ he was saying. ‘I hope I can say the same for Matt! I think he might have told Sara before he bludgeoned her into this engagement!’
Sara didn’t hear Felicity’s reply. She had turned away from the window, crept under the mosquito net and was sobbing as though her heart would break.
CHAPTER TEN
Sara
overslept the following morning, which meant that she only had time for a hurried cup of coffee before leaving for the hospital. Everything was quiet when she arrived there, with Nurse Lucy preparing the wards for Dr. Cengupta’s round and the doctor himself beaming with approval at everyone.
‘We must tell you how happy we are,’ he exulted, bowing slightly from the waist. ‘Matt told us himself last night when I went up to the house. And to think that none of us guessed anything! You are a dark horse!’
So Matt too had decided not to waste any time! If only she could be as sure she was doing the right thing.
‘I
—
I didn’t think the news would have got around so quickly,’ she said a little shyly.
‘But think how we at the hospital are honoured!’ the doctor exclaimed. ‘My wife was overjoyed too. She is sure that you and Matt will do much for medicine at Kwaheri.’
Sara suspected that his wife had thought nothing of the kind but that the Indian thought that the hint would come better through the lips of another.
‘I hope so too,’ she murmured. ‘There’s still so much to be done.’
Nurse Lucy was less effusive. She watched Sara from a safe distance as though she had become a different creature overnight.
‘You will be very happy with Mr. Matt,’ she said once.
‘I think so,’ Sara replied, thinking it
w
as a question.
Nurse Lucy gave her a look that was a mixture of pity and admiration.
‘When you love a man and he love you, you happy,’ she stated positively, her eyes widening to give point to what she was saying. ‘I tell you, Miss Sara, that man is mighty taken with you!’
But Sara co
u
ldn’t believe her. Instead she fled down the corridor to the out-patients’ department where she worked so hard and so quickly that half the queue found they had been done out of most of their gossip for the day and eyed her resentfully as she called their names.
The day passed quicker than she would have believed possible and at three o’clock they had finished the long line of patients and were free to set off for Dr. Cengupta’s house and the promised tea party.
The doctor himself helped her into the passenger seat of his little Volkswagen which smelt oddly of spices and that elusive scent of incense that many Hindus have in their houses after making
puja
to the gods.
‘My wife speaks very little English,’ he told her apologetically. ‘I am afraid that she has not yet mastered all the British customs, though she is learning all the time. Already she speaks at many women’s meetings!’ He spoke with a simple pride that went straight to her heart. Kamala was a very lucky woman, she thought. She, at least, could boast of a husband who was very much in love with her.
‘I wish
I
knew more of your customs,’ Sara replied. ‘In a mixed community such as ours we should all learn as much as we can from each other.’
‘So already Tanzania is home to you,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘To me it is home too. Once I went back to India and
I
was miserably unhappy, so I married as quickly as I could and brought my bride back here. We have been very happy, and we have very much to thank Matt for.’
‘Are your parents in India?’ Sara asked.
‘They are dead,’ he told her. ‘During the British Raj they spent much time in prison. They were followers of Bhapu, of Gandhi. They belonged to his Khadi movement and had to spin so many yards of yarn every day. He was a great man, but he was not India. I prefer to live in Africa.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I am an Orphan Annie,’ he ended.
At that moment they came in sight of his house. It was buil
t
in the European style, but was indefinably different. Perhaps it was Indian statues that littered the garden, or perhaps it was the two curious-eyed small boys who stood and watched the car approach.
‘My sons!’ Dr
.
Cengupta introduced them to her with obvious pride.
Gravely the two little boys put their hands together in a gesture of respect and bowed. Sara followed their example and was rewarded by shy grins and a chuckle from Mrs. Cengupta who had that moment appeared on the veranda.
Standing as she was in the shade, Sara couldn’t at first see her face. She was aware of the vivid orange of her sari and the dusky quality of her skin, but her eyes were hidden and it was only later that she saw how truly exquisite Kamala was. She used no make-up but a little kohl on her eyelids, so that the whole of her face was subdued to her mag
ni
ficent eyes.
‘Please to come in,’ she suggested in a low attractive voice.
Sara followed her into the sitting room and blinked while her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light within. The blinds had been drawn halfway down the windows to keep the room cod, but the effect had been defeated by the heavy English furniture, upholstered in a rich chocolate brown more in keeping with the rigours of a Midland winter than with the heat of Tanzania.
‘Please to sit down,’ Mrs. Cengupta said shyly. She indicated the largest of the chairs and watched solicitously as Sara timidly seated herself on it.
Dr. Cengupta and his wife sat down side by side on the sofa opposite her and exchanged smiles. They were both nervous and a little overcome by their visitor’s presence.
‘We have English tea,’ Mrs. Cengupta told her with pride.
Sara tried not to look disappointed. ‘It’s so kind of you to go to so much trouble,’ she said. ‘I have been looking forward to coming all day. When your husband asked me I was thrilled. You see, before I came out here I had never been to an Indian home.’
Kamala smiled happily.
‘We glad you come,’ she said simply, and broke off into her own language, while her husband nodded agreement.
‘We offer you
pan
,’
she said at last in English. A mischievous smile flickered across her lips. ‘While we wait for Mr. Halifax,’ she added slyly.
‘For Matt?’ Sara exclaimed unable to hide her dismay. ‘But
—’
‘Kamala thought it would be impossible to celebrate without him,’ the doctor reproved her. ‘He comes often to see my sons and it is only right that he should come with you to tea.’
Fortunately for Sara’s confused state of mind, Mrs. Cengupta produced a beautiful, intricately wrought silver box out of the corner of the room and set it
down beside her.
This is the
pan-dan
,’
she explained seriously. ‘We eat much
pan
in India, where you would perhaps offer drink.’
Sara watched fascinated as her tiny hands extracted from the box a leaf and began to smear it with a variety of spices.
‘What are those?’
she asked.
Kamala looked helplessly at her husband.
‘
Betel,
’
he translated, pointing to the red mixture,
‘
flavoured with many things. Lime, cardamon, areka nut, and maybe tobacco or something else—’
‘Oh, please!’ Sara exclaimed. ‘I’m no wiser now!’
They laughed and Mrs. Cengupta handed her a leaf.
‘What do I do with it?’ Sara asked.
‘
You chew it,’ they told her.
The taste was exotic and exciting. She could see that she might well acquire quite a taste for this strange delicacy.
‘
You like it?’ Kamala asked anxiously, feeding her husband with the next leaf.
‘I certainly do!’
‘
It is not often to eat before tea, you understand,’ Kamala went on. ‘But you interested in India, yes?’
‘When do you eat it mostly?’ Sara asked.
‘After meals.’
Kamala gave her another leaf which she accepted eagerly. She turned to say something to the doctor, but the words died on her lips. For there, standing in the doorway, watching the scene with an amused expression on his face, was Matt.
I must behave normally, Sara told herself. That awful tingling expectancy that gripped her in his presence must be kept well under control. Deliberately she bent over her
leaf and popped it into her mouth.
‘You look very much at home,’ Matt teased her. He came over to her chair and dropped a kiss on to her cheek under the approving eyes of his host.
Sara dropped her eyes hastily.
‘I am,’ she declared. ‘Have you ever eaten
pan
?
It
’s
wonderful!’
He grinned and accepted a leaf from Kamala’s hand.
‘I have, and I agree that it’s delicious. Kamala, I love you, this is just what I need to refresh me. I’ve been driving all day and the dust has been abominable.’
‘Getting ready for the relations?’ Dr. Cengupta asked dryly.
Matt nodded. ‘Uncle David has a plan for a new drying plant,’ he said wearily, ‘and I had to go and have a look at one of the latest ones in action.’
‘He is the one with two daughters!’ the Indian put in, his eyes dancing.
Sara felt her face burn with embarrassment. Was it common knowledge then that that
w
as why Matt was marrying her? She felt Kamala’s eyes on her, a little puzzled.
‘Was it any good?’ she asked loudly.
Matt shook his head.
‘Hopelessly uneconomical and much too small for our purposes!’
Kamala gave a soft, feminine little laugh.
‘I go and get tea,’ she said gently. ‘I understand nothing of machinery.’ Sara made a movement to get up to help her and was gratified when her offer was accepted. Matt gave her a little nod of approval and she felt suddenly happy
.
It was with a light heart that she followed her hostess out of the room.
It was interesting to see how English afternoon tea looked to Indian eyes. It was obvious that Kamala had gone to a lot of trouble for her guests; the sandwiches were neatly set out and a choice of two cakes had been put out on the trolley, and yet nothing was quite as Sara would have expected in an English house. She stood and watched as the Indian girl made the tea, weaker than she would have done, but with some green substance added that intrigued her. Then they wheeled the trolley into the sitting-room between them to the waiting men.
First they were each handed a face flannel, slightly dampened, the use of which became quite clear when they reached the cake stage! But before that they were offered sandwiches filled with some curried substance and quite delicious.
‘How long before you get married?’ Kamala asked them, without curiosity but nevertheless giving the impression that she was interested.
Sara looked a little flustered. ‘I
— I
don’t know.’
‘As soon as possible,’ Matt broke in. ‘We have nothing to wait for and I want to get everything set
tl
ed before the rains come.’ He was quite calm and matter-of-fact. It was all so
sensible
,
Sara thought rebelliously. Not that she really understood why he should take sudden fright of his female relatives. They must have come to Kwaheri before!
She took another sandwich and bit into it deliberately, not realizing that she had taken it from a different plate. The hot curry exploded into her mouth and the tears poured into her eyes. Callously they laughed at her.
‘I am so sorry,’ Kamala sympathized, ‘I should have warned you. Drink some tea quickly.’
A little more cautiously Sara finished her sandwich and the whole party went on to the cakes. There was very little actual cake, for the filling was thick and creamy and the frosting on the top so smooth to the tongue that Sara could not help wondering how it had been made. It was very sweet, but went well with the weak unsweetened tea that was served with it.
When tea was over they sat on chatting about the estate until Kamala got reluctantly to her feet. She had been sitting for most of the time beside her husband’s chair and she smiled regretfully at him now.
‘Miss Wayne and I will leave you men to talk,’ she said. ‘She will want to see the garden.’
A little surprised, Sara went with her out on to the verandah and down the few steps into the garden.
‘My husband wish to ask Matt something,’ Kamala explained, ‘and I very happy to talk quiet with you,’
She led the way through the overflowing flowerbeds, full of flowers that clashed madly one with the other.
‘I think you not very happy,’ she said suddenly. ‘No mother in Tanzania.’ Her dark eyes looked inquiringly at Sara. ‘I see no one on estate. It is good you talk to me, yes?’
It was perhaps ridiculous that this exquisite little woman, who looked years younger than Sara herself, and
o
f another race, should suggest that she should be able to advise Sara, but Sara herself saw nothing incongruous in it.
‘I should be happy,’ she burst out. ‘I want to marry Matt more than anything! But I wish he were just a little in love with me too.’
‘And he is not?’
‘No.’
Kamala looked doubtful. A demure smile crossed her face and a flash of amusement came into her eyes.
‘In England you find love important, no?’
And didn’t they in India? There was no doubt about how fond the Cenguptas were of each other! But before Sara could put her bewilderment into words, Kamala had gone on speaking.
‘Karim and I were chosen by our parents. We never meet—
’
she paused, frowning in her concentration to find the right words — ‘but after we like very well. I love Karim because he is my husband.’
But — in Sara’s mind a thousand difficulties presented themselves. How lucky Kamala must have been, for she could see nothing to recommend such a system! She would never have consented at all to becoming engaged to Matt had she not been in love with him. Half a loaf was better than no bread, or at least, that was what she was hoping.
‘I couldn’t do that,’ she said out loud.
Kamala looked surprised.
‘
You will see,’ she affirmed confidently.
‘
You have children — you find he love you very much.’
And that was an end of the matter. If she were an Indian, Sara reflected, perhaps she would be able to follow such a simple approach, but things were so complicated. Why had Matt asked her to marry him? She sighed, for more than ever she wished she really knew.
The men were still talking when they returned to the house and the girls began to discuss the differences of their national dress. To Sara the sari seemed a miracle of cool practicality and she envied the Indian girl such a graceful garment, when she herself felt hot and sticky in her neat cotton frock.
‘The only thing that bothers me is how you keep it together,’ she said.
For a moment Kamala didn’t understand her, but when she did she laughed with genuine amusement.
‘I show you,’ she offered. ‘Very simple!’