The Sapphire Child (The Raj Hotel #2) - Janet MacLeod Trotter Page 0,156

wish you well in your future together. Please forgive my moment of weakness and don’t think of it again.

Stella had eventually had a postcard from Andrew of some temple in Ranchi. It made no mention of the kiss at Tiger Fall or her apology. It told her that John Grant was fully recovered and that it was probably thanks to the fresh air and exercise in the hills, which they had both enjoyed. He sent his greetings to the major and wished her well in her work. He had signed it from ‘your friend, Andrew’.

There had been no kisses this time and the words sounded so final that Stella doubted he was going to write to her again. With that in mind, she hadn’t written since. Yet, it didn’t stop her thinking about him constantly and wondering where he was.

November came and the mornings grew pleasantly chilly, but the major’s workload increased even more. SEAC were demanding camping tables and packing cases of which there were acute shortages. The RAF needed lightweight containers and Stella sent a flurry of telegrams to a supplier of Kashmir willow baskets, who was inflating his prices.

Meetings ran on late into the evening to resolve which department had the priority in requisitioning wood products. There were endless discussions about tent poles, for which there was a constant need, and about trying to source bamboo from depots all over India.

In December, the major made a hasty trip to Calcutta to oversee the transfer of a shipment of Masonite hardboard for the manufacture of amphibious handcarts. He returned shocked by what he had seen on the city’s streets.

‘I knew that the Bengal rice harvest had failed,’ he said, his look harrowed, ‘but not that there was such famine. Everywhere . . . people like skeletons begging. I’ve never seen anything like it. Terrible, absolutely terrible . . .’

He was subdued for several days and Stella knew he was dwelling on the horrors he had witnessed. She was at a loss as to what to do, overwhelmed by the scale of the distress that the major had described. No one else at her hostel wanted to talk about it.

As Christmas approached, Stella sent an extravagant parcel of clothes for Belle, along with a cardboard picture book and a pull-along wooden mouse. They cost a small fortune to post but shopping for her daughter gave her a bittersweet enjoyment.

She sent cards to the Lomaxes, to her mother and family in Rawalpindi – and to Andrew. She wasn’t sure when he would receive it. He might already be back at the front in the Arakan or at some other point along the hundreds of miles of the India-Burma border. But she knew that any post received on active service would be good for morale.

On Christmas Day, hearing that she was going to be on her own, the major invited her to lunch with him.

‘I find it difficult without Margo and the children at such a time and don’t really want to play happy families with kind friends, so you’d be doing me a great favour, Miss Dubois.’

He took her to a Chinese restaurant, the Cathay, as a complete change from canteen food, and they laughed self-consciously at their attempts to master chopsticks.

‘You’re missing him, aren’t you?’ Maclagan startled her with the question. ‘Your young Lomax.’

Stella sipped her fruit juice and tried to make light of it. ‘He’s not my young Lomax, I’m afraid. Already spoken for.’

‘Nevertheless,’ he answered, ‘it was apparent to me – and to Lieutenant Grant – that he has a deep affection for you.’

Stella’s insides knotted. ‘He might have done,’ she admitted. ‘But not as much as I do for him. And I don’t think he does now.’

‘Why do you say that?’

Stella blushed. ‘I embarrassed him – that trip to Tiger Fall – I got a bit too emotional and kissed him. We both knew it was a mistake as soon as it happened. But what upsets me the most is that I’ve spoilt our friendship because of it. We’ve always been the best of friends and now he doesn’t even want to write to me – and I can’t blame him.’ She put her hands to her burning cheeks. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this – not very professional of me!’

The major gave her a smile of sympathy. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pried in the first place. I’m supposed to be giving you a day of good cheer, not making you sad