The Sapphire Child (The Raj Hotel #2) - Janet MacLeod Trotter Page 0,145

Andrew.

‘You know he came round here when he passed through Pindi in April?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Stella said, her pulse beginning to thump at the sudden mention of his name.

‘It was like we’d never been apart,’ said her cousin. ‘He was just the same.’

‘Yes,’ Stella agreed. ‘He’s as friendly as ever. I saw him in November.’

‘So he’s left the North West Frontier?’

Stella nodded. ‘I think he’s down in Chittagong – maybe the Arakan.’

Sigmund pulled a face. ‘Let’s hope not.’ He must have sensed her anxiety. ‘Even if he is, Andrew can take care of himself – he always could.’

‘Yes, let’s hope so,’ said Stella, sending up a prayer to keep him safe, wherever he was.

When it was time to go, the Duboises – merry with good food and drink – clattered down the outside steps to the street below, waving and shouting their thanks.

‘Merry Christmas again, everyone!’ Jimmy called out.

‘Good luck, Stella!’ shouted Sigmund.

‘Bring back a handsome officer!’ Ada teased.

Stella laughed. Her throat constricted with emotion at the sight of her relatives leaning over the balcony and grinning. She had no idea when she would see them again.

‘Goodbye!’ she called back.

As they walked home, a few snowflakes fluttered around them and they bent their heads into the raw night wind. Myrtle and Yvonne walked ahead, pushing a sleeping Charles in his pram. Stella linked her arm through Jimmy’s.

‘Dad would have enjoyed today,’ she said wistfully.

He squeezed her arm. ‘He’ll have been hosting a pukka party wherever he’s gone.’

Stella smiled. ‘Yes, he will.’

Jimmy added, ‘There’s no need to worry about Ma – I’ll look after her.’

‘I know.’ She kissed his cheek.

‘What was that for?’

‘Because Pa would have been so proud of you – and so am I.’

‘Stop being sentimental!’ He laughed and then kissed her back.

Chapter 50

New Delhi, January 1943

On the dot of half past seven in the morning, Major Maclagan breezed into the small, cramped office that had been lent to his operation by the Director of Armaments. Stella was already at work, knowing how enthusiastic her new boss was for punctuality.

‘Morning, Miss Dubois!’

‘Good morning, Major. There’s tea in the pot, sir. Would you like some?’

‘Aye, don’t mind if I do,’ he said, rubbing his hands. ‘It’s a raw day.’

Taking his coat and military cap, Stella hung them on the stand by the door and then proceeded to pour out tea into his favourite large china cup while her boss sat down to work. She had never known anyone who drank as much tea as he did – gallons of it – and he was happiest drinking it lukewarm, well stewed and with three heaps of sugar.

As she placed it before him, he asked, ‘I hope you’re settling in well, lassie?’

‘Yes, thank you, Major.’ Stella smiled. ‘My room at the YWCA is quite comfortable and I can cycle easily to work – thanks to you finding me that bicycle.’

Stella wondered if she sometimes chattered on too much to the major – her mother had warned her against it – but he was an easy man to talk to as long as it didn’t interfere with work.

She was beginning to get to grips with her duties: hours of typing up his half-illegible notes on timber supply, sending letters, wiring telegrams and making sure he had his lecture notes for training ordnance officers in timber duties.

She typed letters about grades of timber and rough planking to meet the demand for air screws for the ever-expanding Indian Air Force. She wrote on Maclagan’s behalf to sawmill suppliers in Calcutta, timber merchants in Bombay and workshops making rifles in Jubbulpore. She took minutes on meetings about plywood pontoons and whether tent pegs could be made from teak scraps.

Her boss, a gaunt-faced wiry Scottish veteran of the Great War, worked himself tirelessly on behalf of the military forces and expected Stella to do the same. They worked twelve-hour days and he was single-minded in his efforts to deliver what was needed, from ammunition boxes and flexible duckboards to radio towers and flying boats.

At first Stella had been wary of his brusque manner. In her first week he had lost his temper with a junior officer for allowing shoddy work to pass inspection in a factory making tent poles.

‘We can’t afford sloppiness,’ he had explained to a startled Stella. ‘If the timber is bad quality or the machinery is not properly maintained, then the products will be rejected. It costs us all a lot more in the long run. Better to find a substitute such as bamboo