The Sapphire Child (The Raj Hotel #2) - Janet MacLeod Trotter Page 0,63

never have been as happy at school as he had been in Durham or had such a close friend as Noel. Neither would he have got to know his mother or grandmother – or his wonderful Auntie Tibby – in the way he had. His father and Esmie would have kept up the lie of being married and he would have grown up thinking that his own mother didn’t love him. But for all her faults, she did love him. She had been prepared to go through the shame and indignity of divorce so that he, Andrew, could remain with her. She had sacrificed her reputation for him.

His father, on the other hand, had chosen Esmie over his own son. He had agreed to let Andrew stay in Scotland in order to secure a divorce so he could marry Esmie. Andrew sighed. Was he being unfair to them both? After all, it had been his choice to stay in Britain. And deep down, Andrew knew how strong the love was between his dad and Esmie – it had been a part of his childhood. No matter what – or who – had caused the breakdown of his parents’ marriage, didn’t Tom and Esmie deserve to be happy together?

Andrew pounded along on the bicycle trying to rid his head of thoughts of India, but glittering stars always made him think of Stella. He’d expected to hear of her engagement before now – dreaded it because she had captured his heart years ago. Every girl he met, he measured against Stella. Tonight, meeting Felicity again, he’d been drawn by her fair looks and pretty eyes because they reminded him a little of his former friend.

Probably if he saw Stella now, he wouldn’t find her nearly as attractive as in his memory. It had been a boyhood infatuation that he should have let go of years ago. His New Year’s resolution would be to find a woman who didn’t remind him of her in the slightest.

Andrew found Tibby and her friends playing charades in the library in front of a roaring fire. He was pleased to see Ruth among the long-time lodgers: Dawan, Mac and Walter. Willie the gardener and his wife Elsie stood up as he came in.

‘Come and join us!’ Tibby cried in delight. ‘We’re having a hard time trying to guess what film Mac is acting.’

‘How smart you look,’ said Ruth admiringly, making room for him on the sofa. He’d never seen her in an evening dress before and it showed off her cleavage. ‘I love a man in uniform.’

‘Leave him alone,’ said Dawan. ‘He’s too young for you.’

Ruth gave a deep-throated laugh. ‘As you are for Tibby?’ she teased.

Andrew sat next to her and she kissed him on the cheek. He smelt a waft of her perfume and her unruly hair tickled his face. He tried not to stare but couldn’t help wondering what she looked like with her clothes off modelling for Dawan.

Mac continued his energetic mime, throwing his hands in the air and pulling faces.

It suddenly struck Andrew that the Duboises and the residents at the Raj would probably be playing charades this very night too. As a small boy, he had relished being allowed to stay up late and take part. He pushed the thought from his mind as the game rolled on, and all at once it was his go.

‘Okay, I’m ready.’

‘Shush, everybody.’ Tibby silenced her chattering guests.

Andrew signalled that he was doing the whole title, then stood legs apart and pulled on an imaginary bow and arrow.

‘The Adventures of Robin Hood?’ Elsie suggested.

Andrew grinned. ‘Yes. Well done, Elsie.’

‘Oh, you made that far too easy,’ said Ruth.

Andrew flopped back on the sofa and Ruth leaned towards him.

‘Masterful on the bow and arrow,’ she teased.

Mac came round topping up drinks and Tibby began a new game of ‘guess where I am’, which quickly petered out when Dawan chose a ‘hiding place’ in Lahore that no one, apart from Andrew, had heard of.

After that, Tibby declared they should dance and that Willie should play his bagpipes. They pushed back the furniture and danced a chaotic ‘strip the willow’; Ruth made sure she partnered Andrew, who swung all the women around with gusto.

They collapsed into chairs while Elsie came round with cups of tea and thick wedges of her homemade black bun, a rich fruit cake encased in pastry.

Then, abruptly, Tibby was clapping her hands. ‘It’s nearly midnight! Andrew, you be our tall dark stranger.’ She thrust a