to Lydia for years – even when my selfish ex-wife took you away from us for good.’
‘Loyal?’ Andrew said in contempt. ‘After Harold Guthrie died, Esmie took advantage of Mamma’s sympathy to get close to you. She went off with her best friend’s husband. How is that loyal?’
Andrew saw the punch coming too late. His father’s fist landed on his jaw and sent him staggering backwards. He bit his lip at the impact. As he clutched his chin, blood started trickling out of his mouth. His head pounded.
‘Andy!’ Almost immediately Tom looked aghast at what he’d done. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.’ He tried to put his arm about him. ‘God forgive me; did I hurt you?’
Andrew pushed him off and groped for a handkerchief.
‘Let me,’ Tom pleaded, trying to dab at his swelling lip.
‘I’m all right,’ Andrew said, turning away. He didn’t want his father to see how shocked he was.
‘I want to explain about Esmie,’ Tom said in distress. ‘She had nothing to do with your mother and me separating. It was your mother who—’
‘Please don’t say any more,’ Andrew pleaded. ‘Let’s just agree to disagree.’
His father’s shoulders sagged as he steadied himself against the wall. Perhaps he was drunker than Andrew had thought. It had been a mistake to embark on such a painful subject when his father was intoxicated and he was so riled up. He felt instant remorse for his outburst.
‘I’m sorry for arguing,’ said Andrew, relenting. ‘Let’s just go back to the hotel before we’re arrested for disturbing the peace. That would be hard to explain to my CO.’
Tom hung his head.
‘Come on, Dad,’ he said, taking him by the arm and steering him along the path. It pained him to see how diminished his father had become – both physically and in spirit.
By the time they got back to the Raj, Andrew’s lip had stopped bleeding and Tom had regained something of his old composure. They were both subdued. Andrew was glad to see there were no residents in the lobby to ask how he’d split his lip or to entice his father into drinking more. Andrew told a waiting Manek to bring them up a pot of tea and they headed upstairs.
Father and son got ready for bed in silence. When the tea came and Andrew dismissed Manek for the night, they sat tensely, Andrew slurping his tea while his father smoked.
‘Dad,’ Andrew said, keeping calm. ‘I don’t want us to talk about Mother again. Let’s keep off sensitive subjects. We’ve got so little time together – I hate that we’re spending it arguing.’
His father gave him a desolate look and nodded in agreement.
‘Tell me about Stella,’ Andrew encouraged. ‘It must be hard for her being separated from Hugh Keating. I hear he’s safely in South Africa.’
Tom gave a snort of derision. ‘Keating! He’s given poor Stella the runaround. If he comes back and marries her, I’ll eat my hat.’
Andrew was astonished. ‘Why do you say that? I thought they were madly in love?’
‘She was,’ said Tom. ‘Still is, I’m afraid. But he’s not to be trusted. Did you know he’s got a wife in Ireland?’
Andrew gasped. ‘He’s what? A wife? I don’t believe it!’
Tom was full of indignation. ‘I’m afraid it’s true.’
‘That’s terrible. How did she find out?’
‘He wrote and told her himself,’ Tom said. ‘Full of promises about how he’s going to divorce his wife and marry her. I think hell will freeze over first.’
‘Poor Stella!’ Andrew was shaken by the revelation. ‘Why on earth then did Hugh ask her to marry him in the first place?’
Tom gave him an impatient look. ‘Why do you think?’
Andrew felt the heat rise into his face. ‘I feel awful,’ he admitted. ‘I was the one who put them in touch again.’
‘You weren’t to know what he was like,’ said Tom.
‘Felicity had a hunch he was a womaniser,’ Andrew admitted. ‘We bumped into him at a cinema in Edinburgh and she thought he was with someone else’s wife.’
‘I think he’s probably fabricated a lot about himself,’ Tom said in disdain. ‘I questioned him about his service in Quetta but he seemed to know little about the place.’
‘Oh Lord!’ Andrew grimaced. ‘I remember him telling me great tales of his heroics in Baluchistan. That’s how he got his leg injury – shot by a tribesman. Perhaps he was making it all up?’
Tom grunted. ‘If a Baluch had wanted him dead, they wouldn’t have wasted a bullet on his knee. I doubt Keating’s ever been to