Between Oolong and Darjeeling

I had initially thought the book might be little more than an extended advertisement for Ms Lovell's business. But then I found myself quite caught up in her infectious enthusiasm

It was in Calcutta, 40 years ago, a steaming hot Friday monsoon morning, and I had come down from my newspaper’s office in Delhi to write about the industrial tea trade. I was at the headquarters of Macneill and Magor, a tea giant of the time, whose red brick godowns lined the banks of the Hooghly River. I had a breakfast-time appointment with the company spokesman, a genial Anglo-Indian named Pearson Surita, a man possessed of an accent so plummy that on the side he did cricket commentaries for All-India Radio.
 

The elevator creaked us up to the penthouse, with