to describe her as “pretty but black”. But more to the point, inside his brother’s battered silver cigarette case, he found a letter, an unfinished letter from William, addressed to a Nurse Molly D’Silva, the Military Hospital, Basirabad.’
‘Gosh! But where’s the connection with me? Is Molly…’
‘Patience. Basirabad is a few miles from Ajmer and a military cantonment. Ajmer has or had one of the biggest Railway and Engine Works, with a work force largely of Goans and Anglo-Indians. Now, D’Silva? That should ring a bell?’
‘You don’t mean Phil? Sorry the other one. What is D’Silva’s first name?’
‘Denzil…I can’t think how this Clifford chappie got to D’Silva, but from D’Silva he got on to the Revd Jack Jones and the St Peter’s Orphanage. Jones tells me, he has seen D’Silva, who in turn confirmed having a sister, and that she was a nurse during the war, and who disappeared nearly seventeen years ago. That’ll be 1940. D’Silva? Having a pretty sister? The mind boggles.’
‘Your mind? Have a heart, think of me. D’Silva! My uncle!’
‘He, I mean Clifford, says in his letter that he plans to come to Bombay to meet D’Silva. And, of course, he’d like to see you. D’Silva’s heard from him and, last week, wanted to come over here, but I suggested he waited till he’s met Clifford and to first check whether the girl in the photograph is indeed his sister.’
‘Poppy, do we have to go through all this?’
‘Laddie, I don’t want this to upset you, but if it’s true, we’re obliged to do the charitable and decent thing. William Jenkins could be your father. I know it’s a bit awkward. Surely you’d like to know who your…’
‘No, I don’t. All these years I’ve been alone. I want no emotional ties, apart from the one with you. Not Jones and certainly not D’Silva; and I don’t want to drag in a forgotten past. I’m not going to be unhappy again. I hate pain.’
‘You can’t escape pain. No one can. Anyway, Dusty, I couldn’t say no. I’ve said he or rather they could come. Besides, as your guardian, I need to know for sure. It may all turn out to be a mistake or a coincidence. After all, D’Silva saw nothing in you to trigger any memory of his sister. Although, now he says he did.’
‘Sam, I’m not at all keen about D’Silva. He’s…how can I put it…he’s a…’
‘I’ll save you the trouble. I know. But if it turns out you’re his nephew, he’ll be sensible and behave responsibly. And you must agree to let me invite Clifford. The poor man’s spent time and money to learn about what happened to his dead brother, and if you really are William’s son and therefore his nephew, he deserves to know. You do see that. In three or four years you’ll be a free man, free to make your own decisions. Right? Now, I gather that he, Clifford, is a doctor, a doctor of medicine. He lives in London with a wife and two girls of school going age. Look on the bright side. He may invite you to visit him in England. As William’s son, you’ll be able to…’
‘Thank God I’m trying for the army. I’ll have a good excuse to stay put in India.’
‘You’ll get in. One can assume you will. It’s in you. And you’ll pass with flying colours…probably win the Sword of Honour or Gold Medal or whatever is given to the best cadet in the Military Academy. You’re a born winner.’ Sam pointed to a row of silver trophies behind a glass fronted shelf.
‘Thank God,’ Dusty mumbled, as he looked absently at the shelf. ‘Four? I thought I had five.’ He slid the glass panel and picked up one of the cups and studied it.
‘Four out of six is more than enough,’ Sam said. ‘In fact it’s a record. In all the years I’ve been at St Thomas’s, I don’t remember any boy winning four in a single year on its Annual Sports Day. You made me feel terribly proud. It was a decent of you to let poor Rustom win the two hundred yards hurdle. He was the
‘Gosh! But where’s the connection with me? Is Molly…’
‘Patience. Basirabad is a few miles from Ajmer and a military cantonment. Ajmer has or had one of the biggest Railway and Engine Works, with a work force largely of Goans and Anglo-Indians. Now, D’Silva? That should ring a bell?’
‘You don’t mean Phil? Sorry the other one. What is D’Silva’s first name?’
‘Denzil…I can’t think how this Clifford chappie got to D’Silva, but from D’Silva he got on to the Revd Jack Jones and the St Peter’s Orphanage. Jones tells me, he has seen D’Silva, who in turn confirmed having a sister, and that she was a nurse during the war, and who disappeared nearly seventeen years ago. That’ll be 1940. D’Silva? Having a pretty sister? The mind boggles.’
‘Your mind? Have a heart, think of me. D’Silva! My uncle!’
‘He, I mean Clifford, says in his letter that he plans to come to Bombay to meet D’Silva. And, of course, he’d like to see you. D’Silva’s heard from him and, last week, wanted to come over here, but I suggested he waited till he’s met Clifford and to first check whether the girl in the photograph is indeed his sister.’
‘Poppy, do we have to go through all this?’
‘Laddie, I don’t want this to upset you, but if it’s true, we’re obliged to do the charitable and decent thing. William Jenkins could be your father. I know it’s a bit awkward. Surely you’d like to know who your…’
‘No, I don’t. All these years I’ve been alone. I want no emotional ties, apart from the one with you. Not Jones and certainly not D’Silva; and I don’t want to drag in a forgotten past. I’m not going to be unhappy again. I hate pain.’
‘You can’t escape pain. No one can. Anyway, Dusty, I couldn’t say no. I’ve said he or rather they could come. Besides, as your guardian, I need to know for sure. It may all turn out to be a mistake or a coincidence. After all, D’Silva saw nothing in you to trigger any memory of his sister. Although, now he says he did.’
‘Sam, I’m not at all keen about D’Silva. He’s…how can I put it…he’s a…’
‘I’ll save you the trouble. I know. But if it turns out you’re his nephew, he’ll be sensible and behave responsibly. And you must agree to let me invite Clifford. The poor man’s spent time and money to learn about what happened to his dead brother, and if you really are William’s son and therefore his nephew, he deserves to know. You do see that. In three or four years you’ll be a free man, free to make your own decisions. Right? Now, I gather that he, Clifford, is a doctor, a doctor of medicine. He lives in London with a wife and two girls of school going age. Look on the bright side. He may invite you to visit him in England. As William’s son, you’ll be able to…’
‘Thank God I’m trying for the army. I’ll have a good excuse to stay put in India.’
‘You’ll get in. One can assume you will. It’s in you. And you’ll pass with flying colours…probably win the Sword of Honour or Gold Medal or whatever is given to the best cadet in the Military Academy. You’re a born winner.’ Sam pointed to a row of silver trophies behind a glass fronted shelf.
‘Thank God,’ Dusty mumbled, as he looked absently at the shelf. ‘Four? I thought I had five.’ He slid the glass panel and picked up one of the cups and studied it.
‘Four out of six is more than enough,’ Sam said. ‘In fact it’s a record. In all the years I’ve been at St Thomas’s, I don’t remember any boy winning four in a single year on its Annual Sports Day. You made me feel terribly proud. It was a decent of you to let poor Rustom win the two hundred yards hurdle. He was the
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