family.”
“They still at it?” said Sarah.
“Oh yes. But I think Tony’s got them under control now.”
“Time for a cup of tea — don’t you think?”
Jack pursed his lips. “Maybe, dunno—something stronger?”
And both she and Hope nodded.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s head up to the village. Grab one at the Angel.”
“What do you mean — one?” said Sarah.
“First round’s on me,” said Hope.
And the three of them headed up the gravel drive, the tall figure of Jack in the middle, their shoulders hunched in the chill afternoon wind.
19. A Visitor from Bombay
A week later and Sarah stood next to Jack, staying back a bit at the graveside of Victor Hamblyn, as their visitor took some steps forward, and placed some white lilies there.
All was quiet, with the leaves mostly gone, and winter looming.
The woman’s name was Anindita. The daughter of Geeta, she had come from India to claim her inheritance after Sarah tracked her down.
After a few moments of kneeling by the grave, Anindita reached out, touched the stone, and then stood up.
“You now, all those years, with that money coming into the school’s account … I wish I had known that it was him.”
“I guess Victor didn’t want you to feel obliged.”
Jack nodded. “Bet he felt good just knowing how much he helped.”
“And now this … inheritance …”
“Tony Standish has all things arranged for you?”
She nodded. “Yes. He will act with power of attorney, arrange for the sale, take care of all the bank details. He’s been wonderful.”
“One of the best,” Sarah said.
“So you have read the letters?” Jack asked.
“Yes. So heartbreaking. I know my mother’s family would have sent them back. What my mother and Victor did, her breaking with tradition, would have been unacceptable back then. Even now such things are hard …”
“It seems he stopped writing after a decade. But somehow he learned of you, and your school.”
“Without him, it would have been impossible. My country has been so poor.”
“And the photos of your mother with Victor,” Sarah said. “Geeta — so beautiful.”
Anindita did a slight bobble with her head. “Yes, she certainly was. Even when she was old, before she passed away, still such a serene and beautiful face.”
“Here. Just a few old movies. The colour faded, but …”
She handed the Indian woman a disc.
Anindita took it with a smile, “Thank you.”
“You’ll see them together, laughing, so young. Victor in his dress whites, your mother’s sari blowing in the wind. So happy.”
Anindita looked at the disc.
“For such a short time. And yet, it lasted for their whole lives.”
Then they all stood quietly as if by talking about Victor, he was somehow there with them.
But then Anindita reached out and took Sarah’s hand.
“Thank you for everything …” then to Jack. “And you too, Mr Brennan.”
Sarah sensed that Anindita had something to say, maybe something that she wasn’t sure of.
Until …
“You know the date of the marriage certificate?”
“Yes. June. 1947,” Sarah said.
Anindita smiled, then a look down to the grave.
Another bobble, the smile so warm … happy. “Perhaps you can guess.”
She looked Sarah right in the eyes.
“I was born … In the spring of 1948. March.”
Sarah nodded.
Yes, she thought, I had guessed as much. Nine months after Victor married his Geeta.
Now Anindita released her hand.
“And now, I must go, so many relatives in London to visit! But thank you both for helping me come here, to pay respects to the man who helped me and my school.” A deep beat. “My dear, sweet father.”
And with that, Anindita said:
“I will think of you and him often!”
And Sarah took Anindita’s hand as they left the graveyard.
She looked back at Jack and thought … only the two of us could have unravelled all this.
We’re a team.
And on a cold October day, that thought made her feel warm indeed.
Next
“They still at it?” said Sarah.
“Oh yes. But I think Tony’s got them under control now.”
“Time for a cup of tea — don’t you think?”
Jack pursed his lips. “Maybe, dunno—something stronger?”
And both she and Hope nodded.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s head up to the village. Grab one at the Angel.”
“What do you mean — one?” said Sarah.
“First round’s on me,” said Hope.
And the three of them headed up the gravel drive, the tall figure of Jack in the middle, their shoulders hunched in the chill afternoon wind.
19. A Visitor from Bombay
A week later and Sarah stood next to Jack, staying back a bit at the graveside of Victor Hamblyn, as their visitor took some steps forward, and placed some white lilies there.
All was quiet, with the leaves mostly gone, and winter looming.
The woman’s name was Anindita. The daughter of Geeta, she had come from India to claim her inheritance after Sarah tracked her down.
After a few moments of kneeling by the grave, Anindita reached out, touched the stone, and then stood up.
“You now, all those years, with that money coming into the school’s account … I wish I had known that it was him.”
“I guess Victor didn’t want you to feel obliged.”
Jack nodded. “Bet he felt good just knowing how much he helped.”
“And now this … inheritance …”
“Tony Standish has all things arranged for you?”
She nodded. “Yes. He will act with power of attorney, arrange for the sale, take care of all the bank details. He’s been wonderful.”
“One of the best,” Sarah said.
“So you have read the letters?” Jack asked.
“Yes. So heartbreaking. I know my mother’s family would have sent them back. What my mother and Victor did, her breaking with tradition, would have been unacceptable back then. Even now such things are hard …”
“It seems he stopped writing after a decade. But somehow he learned of you, and your school.”
“Without him, it would have been impossible. My country has been so poor.”
“And the photos of your mother with Victor,” Sarah said. “Geeta — so beautiful.”
Anindita did a slight bobble with her head. “Yes, she certainly was. Even when she was old, before she passed away, still such a serene and beautiful face.”
“Here. Just a few old movies. The colour faded, but …”
She handed the Indian woman a disc.
Anindita took it with a smile, “Thank you.”
“You’ll see them together, laughing, so young. Victor in his dress whites, your mother’s sari blowing in the wind. So happy.”
Anindita looked at the disc.
“For such a short time. And yet, it lasted for their whole lives.”
Then they all stood quietly as if by talking about Victor, he was somehow there with them.
But then Anindita reached out and took Sarah’s hand.
“Thank you for everything …” then to Jack. “And you too, Mr Brennan.”
Sarah sensed that Anindita had something to say, maybe something that she wasn’t sure of.
Until …
“You know the date of the marriage certificate?”
“Yes. June. 1947,” Sarah said.
Anindita smiled, then a look down to the grave.
Another bobble, the smile so warm … happy. “Perhaps you can guess.”
She looked Sarah right in the eyes.
“I was born … In the spring of 1948. March.”
Sarah nodded.
Yes, she thought, I had guessed as much. Nine months after Victor married his Geeta.
Now Anindita released her hand.
“And now, I must go, so many relatives in London to visit! But thank you both for helping me come here, to pay respects to the man who helped me and my school.” A deep beat. “My dear, sweet father.”
And with that, Anindita said:
“I will think of you and him often!”
And Sarah took Anindita’s hand as they left the graveyard.
She looked back at Jack and thought … only the two of us could have unravelled all this.
We’re a team.
And on a cold October day, that thought made her feel warm indeed.
Next
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