The Sapphire Child (The Raj Hotel #2) - Janet MacLeod Trotter Page 0,157

over Lomax.’

‘You’re not making me sad,’ said Stella, picking up her chopsticks again. ‘It’s a lovely meal, thank you.’

‘Good,’ said Maclagan. ‘Eat as much as you can but leave space for pudding. I know just the place for jalebi when we’re done here. The old jalebi-wallah in Chandni Chawk has been selling the most delicious syrupy sweets in Delhi since Queen Victoria’s day.’

Stella smiled. ‘Well, if they’re better than the ones Felix makes at the Raj-in-the-Hills, I’ll be impressed.’

Maclagan chuckled. ‘Felix sounds like a man after my own heart.’

Chapter 55

As the New Year approached, Stella wondered how best to get through the festivities without dwelling on the family celebrations at The Raj Hotel. The major was being invited to a dinner party and dance at the club.

‘Go out with your friends,’ he urged. ‘Have a bit of fun, Miss Dubois. I shan’t be expecting you in the office tomorrow.’

So, when her office colleagues asked her to go along to a buffet supper at a friend of a friend’s house, Stella accepted.

Stella enjoyed the party far more than she thought she would. Perhaps she had been wrong to hide away for months and not socialise. She was naturally gregarious and enjoyed being in company. Her guilt over Andrew had knocked her self-confidence but she was determined to have fun this New Year’s Eve.

It was held in an apartment in New Delhi belonging to a couple called Mitchell. Drink flowed and the atmosphere grew raucous. Some naval officers organised them into a series of chaotic games. Ordering Mrs Mitchell to find scarves and napkins for blindfolds, they divided people into two competing lines.

Amid shrieks of laughter and shouts of encouragement, oranges were passed around. Stella found herself being grappled by an American who took the opportunity to kiss her roundly on the mouth.

‘Sweetest fruit I ever tasted, yes ma’am!’

She pulled off her blindfold, dug her nails into the squashed orange and sent juice spirting into his eyes. He staggered out of the line laughing.

One of the sailors pulled her to the side. ‘You’re disqualified, miss. Your punishment is to dance with me later.’

Stella watched in amusement as the game descended into chaos and ended with a heap of bodies on the floor and no winners.

The next game they played was attempting to blow eggshells from one wine glass to the next. This was hampered by people removing their glass to drink or dropping eggshells on the floor.

Eventually, Mr Mitchell stood on a chair and announced it was eleven o’clock and time they all went on to the dance.

The dance was in a club that admitted well-to-do Indians as well as Anglo-Indians like Stella – young women who were filling clerical posts and volunteering for war work.

The dance floor was packed and the band played so loudly that Stella had to shout to be heard over the music. Gerald, the sub-lieutenant who had disqualified her from the game with the orange, grabbed her hand and pulled her into a quickstep.

They danced together for two more dances and then he pushed a way through the crowd to a table and found her a seat.

‘It’s nearly midnight,’ he said. ‘I need to get us drinks to toast the New Year. Back in a minute.’

Stella sat back, catching her breath. She was having more fun than she’d imagined. Her partner for the evening seemed pleasant enough. Before being conscripted, Gerald had worked in a bank in Dorset, or maybe Devon – it had been too noisy to hear. He was on his way to join a new ship in Ceylon – his previous one had been torpedoed and he’d been rescued from the sea. He seemed determined to enjoy the evening’s merriment.

‘Well, blow me down! If it isn’t Stella Dubois!’

A woman’s voice made her swivel in her chair. At first, she had no idea who the woman with the permed blonde hair and bright-red lipstick was, but then she recognised the high-pitched laugh.

‘Moira Jessop?’ Stella stood up, recognising her chaperone from the voyage to Britain over a decade ago.

‘The very same!’ Moira grinned and held out her arms.

Stella gave her a hug. ‘It’s wonderful to see you,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘Blonde hair suits you – and that permanent wave. You look so sophisticated.’

Moira patted her groomed hair and smiled. ‘Thank you, sweetie. And you look as pretty as ever. I always envied you your green cat’s eyes.’ She plonked herself down in the seat next to Stella, fanning herself with a gaudy pink fan. ‘Who are