The Tea Gardens by Fiona McIntosh

Author:Fiona McIntosh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9781760142841
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia

Saxon Vickery was kneeling by a boy when I found him. It appeared that he had been carried to our makeshift clinic by his parents on what looked to be a hammock of sorts fashioned from a couple of strong saris. Once again I was struck that the mother looked ready to accept the news that nothing could be done for her child. Presumably, it was the father – who squatted near the child’s face, an anxious look speared towards Saxon – who had eyes only for the lad. He held his tiny hand and I could hear him speaking softly in Hindi. The patient was impassive, his expression slack, eyes vacant – they might as well have been two glass marbles pointed in Saxon’s direction for their lack of response. The father pleaded. I didn’t need to understand Hindi because body language was universal and this father was desperate.

Saxon glanced over his shoulder at one of the aides and said something I didn’t catch and then he was straightening to his feet, the father’s gaze capturing each subtle movement until Saxon towered over him in his white coat, pristinely starched, a foil for the man’s raggish ensemble. My heart hurt for him and I wanted the mother to offer something to her family . . . but she remained as wooden and aloof as her helpless son. I watched Saxon cup both the father’s hands in his in a gesture that urged courage and to keep faith. He gestured to the family to follow where the aide beckoned. They departed, their child slung between them, his weight dead, eyes already closed as if he’d given up the fight.

I took a deep, concerned breath, and while it inflated my lungs and then breathed itself out, I felt reassured that the boy was now in the best care of all. If anyone could save him, Saxon could . . . and would. He arched his back and lifted his golden, messy-haired head to the sun, letting its burning light fall fully across his features. In that moment of stillness I felt like an intruder; it was as though I was stealing this private moment from him by eavesdropping on it. Whatever private communion he was having, it was his alone and I suspected it was likely a supplication to the universe that helped him conquer the diseases he battled each day. I cleared my throat and pretended I’d just arrived.

‘Saxon, there you are. Do you have a moment for me?’

He turned, with a grin crinkling his features. ‘Just the one?’

‘Do you know I struggle to tell whether you’re being sardonic or flirtatious.’

He didn’t answer, much to my relief. Instead he sighed. ‘I need to drink something cold and sit down. Come with me,’ he offered, not waiting for me to reply but taking my arm in a familiar but welcome way. ‘Do you know where the word sardonic comes from?’

‘No, but I’m filled with suspicion that I’m about to learn.’

‘We can’t have you leaving India without enriching your life somehow.

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