The Sapphire Child (The Raj Hotel #2) - Janet MacLeod Trotter Page 0,112

In the distance, across the rocky scrubland, he could just make out the fringe of foothills that led east into the Himalayas. That way lay Murree and beyond it, Kashmir and his father. He quickly dismissed an unsettling thought. He’d been given two days’ leave on his way to Taha, which didn’t give him time to get to Gulmarg. He should have told his father he would be in Rawalpindi but he didn’t want to drag him down from the mountains for such a short time – and the roads might still be hazardous for another month – although deep down he longed to see him.

Andrew craned for a view of the city – a dark bulky mass of buildings under wreaths of smoke from early fires, the glint of a temple roof, a flock of birds rising into golden light – and then the train was slowing and pulling into the station. As it juddered to a halt, Andrew eagerly alighted from the carriage, breathing in the smell of dung fires and ghee. The air was already warm. Across the platform, he was greeted by the familiar sight of the imposing brick-built station building with its mix of eastern arches and gothic turrets and battlements.

Manek, the wiry bearer whom Andrew had hired in Delhi, was already commandeering a porter to carry Andrew’s luggage. Manek was pockmarked and small in stature but had a breezy manner that seemed to make others want to do his bidding.

For the first time in years, Andrew heard Punjabi being spoken around him and delighted in seeing local men dressed in baggy salwar kameez and extravagantly large turbans. These Punjabis paused at wicker tables to eat a quick breakfast of chapatti and dahl, while beside them chai-wallahs brewed pans of sweetened milky tea.

For a moment, Andrew drank in the first sights of his old home town. Traders weaved around him pushing trolleys laden with sacks and bundles. Across on the far platform, camels snorted in protest at being loaded onto open bogies. It struck Andrew that they were probably being transported to the frontier to help with army convoys. Soon he would be following them, but for now he had a reprieve. He hurried through the station after a beckoning Manek.

The hired horse-drawn tonga took them through the Saddar Bazaar. As Andrew revelled in the sights of low-lying balconied buildings and the open-fronted stalls that were already doing brisk business with their piles of ochre and yellow spices and sacks of green chillies, it struck him that little had changed.

As the tonga went under an arch of the Massey Gate, Andrew pointed out the sign above to Manek. ‘That’s the Dhunjibhoy Public Library. Parsi family. They run the tongas going up to Murree and Kashmir. At least they used to. Maybe most people do it by car these days.’

Manek nodded in agreement. ‘Parsis are good at business, sahib.’

They emerged into the regimented tree-lined streets of the cantonment with its pencil-straight roads and grander buildings running down to the Mall. Officers were out exercising their horses before the temperature climbed higher and, through the trees, Andrew glimpsed soldiers doing physical fitness on a dusty patch of ground.

‘Pindi’s always been an army town,’ he said. ‘I used to love going to watch the parades and the polo games – never imagining that one day I’d be a soldier too.’

Turning down Edwardes Road towards Dalhousie Road, Andrew began to feel nervous once more. He held his breath as they turned into Nichol Road. There, across the neatly cut lawn set back from the street, was his former home: The Raj Hotel. Andrew peered past the two palm trees that guarded the path and a riot of bougainvillea that half-hid the entrance; the building looked newly whitewashed. The window frames and iron-roofed portico were still painted pale blue, but Charlie’s garish red and gold signage had been replaced by a more tasteful and subdued green, declaring Mr T. Lomax as the proprietor.

Andrew felt a pang of sadness. He braced himself for meeting the Duboises for the first time since Charlie had died. His palms began to sweat. Would Stella be here too? During their tantalisingly brief phone call, he’d not had time to ask when she was returning to Pindi. He knew that it was highly unlikely she’d be here but, even so, he had to admit that this was the real reason he was feeling so nervous at returning. Speaking to her had churned up his emotions. One