The Sapphire Child (The Raj Hotel) Read online

  ‘Anyway,’ said Stella, ‘I’ve written out instructions for you . . .’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know all that.’ Ada waved an impatient hand. ‘Is it true Jimmy is courting that girl from Lovell’s haberdashery – Yvonne Harvey?’

  Stella shrugged. ‘I can’t keep up with my brother’s girlfriends.’

  ‘I saw them doing the quickstep at the railway dance last Saturday,’ said Ada. ‘She was flirting with him all evening.’

  ‘I didn’t know your dad let you go. Pa wouldn’t like me going to the railway dance.’

  Ada huffed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with railwaymen. Uncle Charlie is too fussy – just because you’re fair-skinned and mix with the likes of the Lomaxes, he thinks you can marry above us Anglo-Indians.’

  Stella defended her father. ‘Pa doesn’t look down on anyone and neither do I. It’s just that he doesn’t want me marrying anyone till I’m older – and when I do, the choice will be mine.’ She held up her list of jobs. ‘Come on, we’re supposed to be going over this.’

  Before she could begin, though, Stella was interrupted by her father hurrying across the hotel courtyard, his look agitated.

  ‘There you are!’ He stopped and mopped his brow with a lilac-coloured handkerchief. ‘Sorry to spoil your evening, young ladies.’ He gave Ada a distracted look.

  ‘What’s wrong, Pa?’ Stella said, getting quickly to her feet.

  ‘It’s the Lomaxes – I’ve just had a telephone call.’

  ‘What’s happened? Is Mr Lomax all right?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I spoke to him. They’re coming to Pindi. They’ll be here in a couple of hours so we must prepare their rooms at once.’

  Stella brightened. ‘That’s good news, isn’t it? Are they coming to shop?’

  ‘No, it’s not shopping that brings them down from Kashmir.’ Charlie’s brow furrowed. ‘It’s Master Andrew.’

  ‘Andrew?’ Stella felt a moment’s anxiety.

  Her father dabbed his upper lip with his handkerchief. ‘There’s been some sort of trouble in Murree.’

  Chapter 2

  Nicholson School, Murree, earlier that day

  Andrew sat outside the headmaster’s study, squirming in his seat. He couldn’t sit still. He jiggled his leg and rubbed at his sore knuckles. He pulled at his constricting tie and gnawed at a calloused finger, noticing his palm was still engrained with soil from scrambling up the ravine behind the school. He sat on his hands and tried to calm his racing pulse. Was it only four days ago that life had been normal?

  Today, he should have been playing cricket but here he was, like a condemned man, sitting in disgrace, awaiting his fate. None of his friends had spoken to him since the incident; instead they were avoiding him as if he could infect them with his sudden unpopularity. He had put another boy in the school sanatorium with a broken cheekbone and a bloody nose.

  ‘You could have damaged his sight!’ Mr Bishop, the headmaster, had fulminated. ‘We won’t tolerate bullying at Nicholson.’

  Andrew had refused to say why he had attacked George Gotley. He was prepared to take his punishment and he forced himself not to cry out when Bishop had given him ten strikes of the cane on his backside. His skin still smarted from the beating. He’d thought that would be the end of it, but Gotley’s father was a major in the Peshawar Rifles and had arrived at the school demanding further retribution.

  ‘If you don’t expel that Lomax boy,’ Major Gotley had thundered, ‘I shall take the matter to the police.’

  Now, two days after the major’s interference, it was his father’s voice that Andrew could hear remonstrating with the headmaster beyond the door of the study.

  ‘Surely a suspension for the rest of term would be punishment enough?’

  ‘Major Gotley thinks not,’ said Mr Bishop in his whining nasal voice. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Lomax, but I’d rather the police weren’t involved.’

  ‘Then let me speak to the major – man to man – and see if we can sort out the misunderstanding.’

  ‘I fear it’s too late for that. If Andrew had shown any remorse for his actions, Major Gotley might have been mollified. But your son refuses to apologise.’

  ‘I’ll damn well make him apologise!’

  Andrew cringed to hear the anger in his father’s voice. Of all the people in the world, it was his father whom he wanted to please the most. When his parents had arrived twenty minutes ago, his father had given his shoulder an encouraging squeeze and said, ‘We’ll get this sorted.’ Esmie, his stepmother, had hugged him and kissed his cheek, but there had been no time for him to explain anything as Mr Bishop, with a nervous twitch of his billowing black gown, had ushered the adults into his study.

  Andrew strained to listen.

  ‘Perhaps he should be allowed to explain for himself.’ It was Esmie’s voice speaking calmly over those of the men. ‘Andy is a caring boy. We don’t understand why he should have attacked George Gotley. We’re not excusing what he’s done, but there must be a reason.’

  Andrew’s insides twisted at Esmie’s familiar endearment; at home he was always called Andy.

  He heard his headmaster sigh. ‘He’s refused any attempt to explain himself. It’s obviously jealousy, pure and simple. The Gotley boy said it was unprovoked. He said that Andrew has always resented that George’s father is a serving officer in the Rifles.’

  Andrew was furious. What a lie! George had goaded him until he could bear no more of his poisonous words. It was his father who had been a hero in the last war, not Gotley’s. Major Gotley had still been in training in 1918, whereas his father was a veteran of Mesopotamia and had been at the relief of Baghdad. Old Fritwell, the portly ex-soldier at The Raj Hotel, had told him so on many occasions.

  The study door opened and Andrew quickly stood up. Mr Bishop, his round face sweating, wagged a plump finger at him.

  ‘Come in, Lomax,’ he ordered.

  Andrew followed. His father was standing in front of the headmaster’s vast untidy desk, hands plunged in his pockets, jiggling coins. Esmie, seated, gave him an anxious smile.

  ‘This is your last chance to explain why you punched George Gotley,’ said Mr Bishop.

  Andrew’s palms sweated. He felt breathless. ‘I’d rather not say.’

  His father lost his patience. ‘For God’s sake, Andrew! I know boys fall out about things. Just take your punishment and say you’re sorry.’

  ‘I’ve been punished,’ said Andrew, meeting his father’s look.

  ‘Don’t be insolent, Lomax,’ Mr Bishop rebuked. ‘You’re on very thin ice here. If you don’t explain your behaviour, I’ll have no choice but to expel you. Nicholson’s will not tolerate wild and savage behaviour.’

  Andrew gritted his teeth. His jaw was aching with the strain of not shouting at his hateful headmaster.

  Esmie touched him gently on the arm. ‘I can tell you’ve been upset by something, so this is your chance to say what happened. Please, Andy.’

  Andrew looked into Esmie’s kind face. Her pretty grey eyes were full of compassion and she was smiling with encouragement. She was smartly dressed in a summer frock and blue hat – he knew she was trying to impress baldy Bishop – but her flyaway brown hair was still escaping its pins and curling around her slim cheeks. His eyes stung with tears he had managed to hold back for days. She was his ‘Meemee’, the one he thought of as his real mother – not the remote woman in Scotland who sent him extravagant and useless presents on his birthday.

  ‘We can keep it between ourselves,’ she said softly. ‘Just tell your dad and Mr Bishop what you got so angry about.’

  Andrew longed to confide in them but he couldn’t tell them the truth – especially couldn’t tell her the full truth – and would rather face expulsion than repeat the vile words.

  Mr Bishop pulled on his gown and puffed out his red cheeks. ‘Out with it, Lomax. This is your final warning. Apologise!’

  Andrew’s head throbbed with anger. ‘I won’t apologise, sir. Not for the lies Gotle
y said about . . . about—’

  ‘About what?’ Tom Lomax cried in bewilderment. ‘For God’s sake, Andrew, spit it out.’

  Andrew could not bear his father’s pained look. ‘He called you a coward!’ he blurted out. ‘Said you were a traitor to the Peshawar Rifles – that you’d been court-martialled and left the regiment in disgrace – that you should have been shot for cowardice and that the Lomaxes are lily-livered.’

  Andrew expected his father to shout with indignation, but he didn’t. His lean face went rigid as he clenched his jaw. His blue eyes looked sad, not angry. Esmie brushed Tom’s hand and they exchanged knowing looks.

  Andrew felt his insides knot with anxiety. ‘I told you it was lies, Dad,’ he said. ‘He made them up because you were a hero in the war and his father wasn’t.’

  ‘Well,’ huffed Bishop, ‘why didn’t you say any of this before? I’ll have to speak to Major Gotley—’

  ‘No,’ Tom said forcefully, ‘I won’t have my son interrogated further by the major or anyone else.’

  ‘Don’t you want to clear your name?’ Bishop asked.

  It was the very question Andrew wanted answered too, but the look his father gave the headmaster was withering.

  ‘I have nothing to explain to you or anyone else,’ Tom said. ‘Least of all to a puffed-up man like Major Gotley who drips poison into the ears of his impressionable son.’ His look softened as he glanced at Andrew. ‘This whole episode has been blown out of all proportion. It’s a spat between boys. George should not have provoked Andrew, but neither should my son have resorted to violence to settle their quarrel. You should have got to the bottom of it sooner and not allowed yourself to be swayed by the major’s threats.’

  ‘Now look here, Lomax,’ Bishop blustered. ‘I find your tone most offensive. We’ve only Andrew’s word on this – he could be making it up and trying to get poor Gotley into trouble.’

  ‘Why are you so quick to believe George?’ Tom demanded. ‘Is it because he’s the son of a major and not a mere box-wallah like me?’

  Bishop went puce. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Well, my son’s word is good enough for me,’ Tom said hotly. ‘As far as I’m concerned, the matter has been dealt with. Andrew has explained the provocation and taken his punishment.’

  Andrew watched the sweat break out on Bishop’s head. ‘It most certainly has not been dealt with,’ he said, his voice rising. ‘I have a boy in the san’ with a broken cheekbone and a father demanding the police be called. Nicholson School is in danger of being brought into disrepute by the actions of Lomax Junior. Despite what George might or might not have said, your son must apologise for his savage attack.’

  Andrew saw sudden fury flash in his father’s eyes. ‘I would have thought that ten strokes of the cane was payment enough for the punch that Andrew threw.’

  ‘Not in my book,’ snapped Bishop. He turned and glared at Andrew. ‘One last time: are you prepared to say sorry to young Gotley?’

  Andrew stared back, unblinkingly. ‘I’m sorry I broke his cheekbone – but I’m not sorry I hit him, sir. And if he said those lies again, I’d hit him again.’

  Bishop wagged a finger in his face. ‘Then I have no choice but to send you home, boy!’ He turned to Tom. ‘Lomax is suspended for the rest of term. I should expel him on the spot but I’m a reasonable man and hope that a period of reflection at home and some discipline from his parents will lead him to see the error of his ways. If he sends a written apology, I shall allow him back next term.’

  Andrew looked between the adults, wondering if this was good news or not. He would get a whole summer to roam around Gulmarg free from lessons – yet he would miss out on all the cricket matches, sports day and the summer camp at Ghora Gali.

  He saw Esmie put a restraining hand on his father’s arm, to no avail.

  ‘That won’t be happening,’ Tom said in a clipped tone. ‘I don’t wish my son to be sent to a school where the headmaster finds it more convenient to believe the word of a bully rather than the bullied. Andrew will not be returning next term. No doubt that will be a relief to you, Mr Bishop.’

  With that, he took Esmie by the elbow and placed a hand on Andrew’s back, steering them both out of the door.

  Andrew’s pulse drummed. He was dizzy with the speed and turn of events. He tried to catch Esmie’s eye, but she was looking worriedly at his father. He had seldom seen his dad so furious, his jaw set and his dark eyebrows gathered in a frown. Andrew felt a surge of euphoria; his father had stood up for him in front of sweaty Bishop.

  He couldn’t wait for word to get back to the spiteful George of heroic Tom Lomax who wouldn’t let his son be intimidated by Major Gotley or humiliated by badger-breath Bishop. He was leaving Nicholson’s. He felt defiant and vindicated – and he hadn’t had to utter the other foul words that George had said that he knew would have wounded his father far more than being called a coward.

  While his father made a phone call to Rawalpindi to alert the Duboises of their staying overnight, Esmie helped Andrew pack. He felt suddenly awkward with his stepmother and threw his clothes hastily into his trunk. Half an hour later, all three were driving out of the school gates in their lumbering van with its fading lettering proclaiming ‘The Raj Hotels: Rawalpindi and Gulmarg’ on the side.

  Andrew sat between his parents, unnerved by their silence. His father chain-smoked as the vehicle jostled along the Mall.

  He forced himself to ask the question that was preying on his mind. ‘Dad . . . none of it’s true, is it? About the court-martial and having to leave the army under a cloud?’

  His father’s expression tightened. ‘Now’s not the time to talk about this,’ he replied.

  Andrew’s alarm grew. He longed to hear his father deny the accusations. Why couldn’t he just tell him?

  Esmie gave him a reassuring look. ‘Your father is one of the bravest men I know – and he certainly wasn’t forced to leave the army – he chose to go.’

  Andrew watched his father, expecting him to confirm her words. But he stared rigidly ahead, gripping the steering wheel, and said nothing. An hour ago, Andrew had been triumphant that he had stood up for him, but now he wondered if his father was regretting it. He seemed very cross with him.

  Andrew decided he might gain his approval by talking about the future rather than dwelling on the past.

  ‘Where do you think I should go to school, Dad?’ he asked. ‘Can I go to Biscoe’s in Srinagar? They do mountaineering and trekking, as well as lots of swimming.’

  ‘It’s too soon,’ his father muttered. ‘Let’s just see.’

  ‘If I went there,’ Andrew enthused, ‘I could be a weekly boarder and come home to Gulmarg at weekends. And in the summer term I could lodge with Baroness Cussack on her houseboat so that I don’t miss out on weekend cricket matches.’

  ‘Andy!’ his father protested. ‘You can’t just expect to walk into whatever school you fancy. They’ll want to know why you’ve left Nicholson’s.’

  Andrew’s stomach tightened. ‘They won’t ask Mr Bishop, will they?’

  ‘Even if they don’t, word travels fast.’ His look softened. ‘Don’t worry about it. Meemee and I will have to discuss it first.’

  ‘But Biscoe’s might be just the place for you,’ Esmie said with a pat on his arm.

  Andrew stiffened at her touch. George’s loathsome words wormed their way back into his thoughts.

  As they descended to the plain, Andrew grew sleepy and his head began to nod.

  ‘Put your head on my lap,’ Esmie offered.

  Andrew forced himself to stay awake. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

  He turned away from her puzzled look and stared rigidly ahead.

  Chapter 3

  The Raj Hotel, Rawalpindi, 1933

  By the time the Lomaxes arrived at the hotel – having stopped to eat on the way – it was late and they went hurriedly to bed, assuring the Duboises that everything was fine. Stella was struck by how much Andrew h
ad grown, and he gave her a bashful smile as he made for the stairs.

  ‘Look. I’m much taller than you now!’ He patted the top of her head the way she used to do to him. His voice was deeper, too.

  ‘Stop that.’ Stella batted his hand away and laughed. ‘I bet I can still beat you at backgammon.’

  ‘Bet you can’t.’

  Esmie interrupted. ‘Plenty time for challenges tomorrow. Bed now, Andy.’

  He didn’t seem to know what to do with his gangling limbs and clumsily knocked into a table, scattering a pile of newspapers. Stella bent to help him pick them up and he ruffled her hair again.

  Stella laughed and pushed him off. ‘I’d forgotten how annoying you can be.’

  Andrew smiled and thrust his untidy pile of newspapers back on the table. ‘’Night, Stella,’ he said, leaping up the stairs two at a time.

  Early the next morning, Stella found Tom smoking in the courtyard and talking to her father. Frisky was snuffling around Tom’s feet.

  ‘Ah, Stella!’ Tom looked pleased to see her. ‘I’ve just been telling your father our reason for being in Murree. I’m sorry if we caused concern. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just we’re not happy with the school and have decided to take Andy away from it.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Stella. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I thought Andy was happy—’

  ‘Not for us to comment, Sweet Pea,’ her father interrupted.

  Tom drew hard on his cigarette and continued. ‘Anyway, there was no point paying to stay in Murree when we were so near Pindi – and we thought we could take you back with us, Stella – save you the cost of the journey next week.’

  Stella brightened. ‘Oh, yes please!’ Then she looked quickly at her father. ‘If that’s all right with you, Pa?’

  Charlie smiled. ‘Of course it is. Whatever is most convenient and beneficial for Mr and Mrs Lomax will gladden my heart too.’

  Tom nodded, his smile tight. ‘Thank you, Charlie.’

  Stella bent to pet Frisky. ‘Aren’t we lucky, old boy? We’ll be in Kashmir earlier than expected and your friend Andy will be there too.’