On their last holiday they had climbed down from the bedroom balcony very early one morning and crept through the mist, to the square where the nuns and the monkeys gathered beside the white Portuguese church. They had had breakfast with Father Jeremy who wheezed and coughed and offered them whisky, which they had drunk in one swift gulp. And afterwards they had staggered back home to bed. Thornton giggled at the memory.
Jacob watched him solemnly. He watched him run down the steps of Greenwood College, this privileged seat of learning for the sons of British government officials and the island’s elite, his laughter floating on the sunlight.
‘I want to stay here,’ he said softly, stubbornly, under his breath. ‘We can go home any time. But we can only learn things here.’
He frowned. He could see all the plans for his future beginning to fade. The headmaster had told him he could have gone to university had he stayed on at school and finished his studies. His Latin teacher had told him he might have done classics. Then his science teacher had told him that in his opinion Jacob could have gone to medical school. Jacob had kept these conversations to himself.
‘Oh, I can learn things anywhere,’ Thornton was saying airily. ‘I’m a poet, remember.’ He laughed again. ‘I’m so lucky,’ he said. And then, in the fleeting manner of sudden childhood insights, he thought, I’m glad I’m not the eldest.
‘Come on,’ he added kindly, sensing some invisible struggle, some unspoken battle going on between them. ‘Race you to the gate.’
But Jacob did not move. He stared morosely ahead of him, not speaking. Both boys wore the same ridiculous English public-school uniform, but whereas Thornton wore his with ease, already in possession of the looks that would mark him out for the rest of his life, Jacob simply looked hot and awkward. Again, he was aware of some difficulty, some comparison in his own mind, between himself and his brother. But what this was he could not say. Thornton’s voice drifted faintly towards him, but still Jacob did not move.
‘I can’t.’ His voice sounded strained. ‘You don’t understand. Someone must stay here to wait for the buggy.’
He was fifteen years old. He had been brought up to believe he was the inheritor of the tea plantations that rose steeply in tiers around him. The responsibilities of being the eldest child rested heavily on his small shoulders. As he stood watching his brother chasing the butterflies that slipped through the trees, he was suddenly aware of wanting to cry. Something inexplicable and infinitely precious seemed to be breaking inside him. Something he loved. And he could do nothing to stop it.
The buggy never arrived. After a while an older boy came out with a message.
‘Your parents have rung,’ the boy said. ‘Looks like you’re going to have to walk. They don’t have a buggy any more. Perhaps it’s been sold off to pay your father’s debtors,’ he grinned.
‘We have no debtors,’ muttered Jacob, but the boy had gone.
Eventually the brothers began to walk. Jacob walked slowly. The long fingers of sun shone pink and low in the sky as they left the driveway of Greenwood for the very last time. Rain had fallen earlier, dampening the ground on this ordinary afternoon, one so like the others, in their gentle upcountry childhood. The air across the valley was filled with the pungent scent of tea, rising steeply as far as the eye could see. In the distance the sound of the factory chute rattled on, endlessly processing, mixing and moving in time to the roar of the waterfall. The two boys wandered on, past the lake brimming with an abundance of water lilies, past clouds of cream butterflies, and through the height of the afternoon, their voices echoed far into the distance. Returning to their home nestling in the hills of Little England.
To his dismay, Christopher discovered the servant boy had been right. Jacob and Thornton were coming home. Alicia and Frieda, still stranded at the Carmelite Convent School, were waiting fruitlessly for another buggy to pick them up. In the end the priest, taking pity on them, drove them home and it was teatime before Grace was able to break the news to them all. The servant brought a butter cake and some Bora into the drawing room. She brought in small triangles of bread spread with butter and jaggery. And she brought in king coconut juice for the children and tea for Grace. The servant, knowing how upset Grace was, served it all on Grace’s favourite green Hartley china tea service. Alicia opened the beautiful old Bechstein piano and began to play Schubert. The others ate quietly. For a moment Grace was distracted. The mellow tone of this sonata was one she loved and Alicia’s light touch never failed to surprise her. She waited until the andante was over.
‘That was lovely,’ she said, putting her hand gently on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘It’s come along a lot since I last heard it.’
‘That’s because we’ve got a new piano teacher. She’s wonderful, Mummy!’ Alicia said. ‘She said I must be careful about the phrasing of this last section. Listen,’ and she played a few bars over again.
‘Yes, I see,’ Grace said. ‘Good! Now, I want to talk to all of you about something else. So could you leave the piano for a moment, darling?’
Five pairs of eyes watched her solemnly as she spoke.
‘We’re moving to Colombo,’ she told them slowly. ‘We’re going to live in our other house by the sea.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Because there’s going to be a war the British military needs this house, you see.’ There was a surprised pause.
Alicia was the first to speak. ‘What about the piano?’ she asked anxiously.
‘Oh, the piano will come with us, of course. Don’t worry, Alicia, nothing like that will change. I promise you.’
She smiled shakily. Jacob was watching her in stony silence. He had guessed correctly. The Greenwood days were over.
‘Myrtle will live with us,’ said Grace, carefully. ‘She’ll give you piano lessons, Alicia. And she’ll help in the house generally.’
No one spoke. Thornton helped himself to another piece of cake.
‘There’s a war on,’ Grace reminded them gently. ‘Everyone has to economise. Even us.’ She looked pale.
‘Good,’ nodded Thornton, having decided. ‘I think Colombo will be great. And we’ll have the sea, think of that!’
Grace smiled at him with relief. Christopher, noticing this, scowled. But all he said was: ‘Can I give you your present now?’
The servant boy, who had been hovering in the background, grinned and brought in the cardboard box. The family crowded around and the miaowing inside the box increased.
‘What on earth’s in there, Christopher?’ asked Alicia, astonished.
‘It’s a cat,’ guessed Thornton.
‘But we’ve already got one,’ said Frieda, puzzled. ‘We can’t have another. They’ll fight.’
‘Have you been stealing kittens again?’ asked Jacob, frowning.
‘Well, well, what’s going on now?’ asked Aloysius, coming in.
Having left his wife to break the news to his children he was now in the best of humours. A nap had been all he had needed. Glancing at Grace he assessed her mood correctly. There was still some way for them to go. The miaowing inside the box had turned to a growl. Everyone looked mystified and Christopher grinned.
‘What is it?’ asked Grace faintly, wondering how many more shocks there were in store for her.
Aloysius’s news had not come as a surprise. Grace had always known that one day they would have to leave the valley where