Bone China (14 page)

The de Silva children were adults now. Frieda stayed close to home. After that first mad dash towards emotional freedom she seemed to shrivel, minding her father, whose liver was not as it should be, and her mother, whose silent indifference frightened her. No one noticed the flush of youth slowly fade from Frieda’s face. Thornton too was more cautious these days. Aware of the change in his mother, he was careful. Jacob had reluctantly found him a job at his office in the hope of keeping him out of trouble. Only Alicia seemed really happy. Sunil was in the Cabinet now and his dream almost a reality.

‘If only they would have a child,’ Grace prayed, ‘their life would be complete.’

Frieda, crying into her pillow at nights, dreaming of Robert Grant, thought, Alicia has everything except a child.

Alicia herself was puzzled by this absence.

‘Why has it not happened yet?’ she asked Sunil. ‘After a thousand days, why not?’

Sunil was not worried.

‘There is plenty of time,’ he told her gently. ‘We’re both still
young. Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. Next year, when the rains come, you’ll see!’

He was busy in the run-up to the general election. Rumours of dissatisfaction among the Buddhist monks simmered beneath the surface, and in any case Alicia had her first concert tour ahead. There was work to be done. So he told her: ‘There’s plenty of time. Don’t worry. Let’s just enjoy our freedom while we can.’

In his letters home to Grace, Christopher painted a picture of England that was difficult to believe. His letters were full of the cold.

‘What on earth’s the matter with Christopher?’ asked Thornton irritably when he read them. ‘Why does he have to exaggerate everything?’

Christopher folded his disappointments in light blue aerogrammes, sending them home like small bullets of emotion.

Now that I am here I can see how wonderful it really is in Ceylon
, he wrote.
Our country has so much to offer, its past is so rich and vibrant. All we do is destroy it. Believe me, there is nothing here for any of us. I don’t belong here and never will. There is no point in any of you coming. Better to stay and fight for what is ours.

He wrote with an inexplicable longing, saying he missed the heat and his home. He sounded confused.

Everyone here goes mad when the sun comes out. They talk of nothing else. They sit in parks eating tasteless food. They smile at the sun, yet their lives are ruled by the lack of it. And when it rains, which it does nearly all the time, they talk about the weather then too!

‘Well,’ said Thornton, ‘Christopher has become like them. He too talks about nothing else.’

Jacob read the letters after everyone else had passed them
round, and was disbelieving. He did not want Christopher’s opinions.

‘He’s making most of it up. When has Christopher done anything except complain? He’s just showing off. It’s fine for him to go to England, but not us.’

Jacob had still not forgiven Christopher for leaving before him, for doing what he had planned for himself. He could not understand these furious and confusing communications. Soon I’ll find these things out for myself, he comforted himself. Things won’t stay this way forever.

It was true. Things don’t stay the same, thought Thornton joyously, coming home one afternoon.

‘Look!’ he cried, waving the newspaper noisily. ‘Look, everyone!’

Finally, he had had a poem accepted in the newspaper.

‘Hurrah for Thornton, dazzling smiler, dreamer of dreams, and now,
poet
,’ said Frieda, seeing it. ‘His poem on the fishermen has been published at last!’

‘What he knows about fishermen could be written on a betel leaf,’ snorted Jacob.

‘Still,’ said their mother encouragingly, ‘as everybody knows, it is not what you know but how you say it.’

Thornton had indeed said it. Suddenly he had a whole new crowd of admirers to join the old followers. Grace roused herself and framed the poem.

‘Good!’ she said, determined to be cheerful. ‘Now you must write another.’

But before he could do so, one of his new fans, an intelligent, funny, dark young orphan girl from the south, arrived like a laundry parcel tucked under his arm just as the new moon was appearing. Where he had met her was unclear, Thornton always being vague on these matters.

‘Who cares anyway?’ said Myrtle. ‘It’s an omen.’

‘Oh no,’ said Grace, belatedly alert, anxiety gathering on her brow, ‘it’s the End!’

‘Good morning,’ said Jasper solemnly, and the girl jumped. And laughed, delighted.

‘Oh, Thornton!’ she said, excitedly. ‘I hope you’ve written a poem about him!’

Thornton looked at the girl with interest. A poem about Jasper? What a good idea. It’s clear, decided Frieda, struggling with an instinctive hostility, and a heart that would not mend, this one is not good-looking enough for Thornton. It’s clear, thought Myrtle, who could spot these things a mile away, that she is too clever for him. The girl’s name was Savitha and she was always teasing Thornton.

‘Oh please, smile at me,’ she cried, clutching her heart and pretending to writhe in agony. ‘I can’t live without your smile. Your poems, yes, but not that smile!’

Thornton grinned. Grace, listening to them, glanced up in surprise. Jasper, watching them non-committally, barked loudly, sending Savitha into hysterics.

‘Imagine Jasper with a tail!’ she cried.

‘Jasper’s tale,’ said Thornton, with a loud guffaw.

‘Don’t be rid-ic-ulous,’ said Jasper, with his usual randomness, sending them into shrieks.

‘Oh, don’t you
see
?’ said Savitha, hardly able to speak. ‘That’s the title of your next poem, “Jasper’s Tale”.’

Of course, thought Thornton, amazed. So amazed in fact that he bent over and kissed Savitha. They were both taken by surprise.

Savitha’s interest in Thornton expanded imperceptibly. Her friendliness began to extend to the rest of the de Silva family. She found them as enchanting as characters from a fairy tale.
Fascinated, she looked a little closer and then she saw that all was not as it had first appeared. Thornton’s mother was a very beautiful woman but something was definitely not quite right. There was an understated air of sadness to Grace that surprised Savitha. Ever since she had been a little orphan girl, dependent on her observational skills for survival, Savitha had taken a deep interest in other people. And, although she hid it well, she had the softest of hearts. So that now she asked herself, why was Thornton’s mother so unhappy? Why did no one else notice? She’s desperate, thought Savitha, her curiosity increasing with every visit to the house.

‘Can’t you see it?’ she asked Thornton, serious for a moment.

Thornton was staggered. What did she mean? His mother was, well, she was just his mother, wasn’t she?

‘Hmm,’ said Savitha. She wasn’t so sure. ‘I think she’s depressed, don’t you? Every time I see her I feel she’s on the verge of tears. She’s lonely, too.’

Thornton was both flabbergasted and silenced. He looked at his mother. She looked just as she always did. What was Savitha talking about?

‘Perhaps,’ he said, struggling with the idea, ‘perhaps she misses Christopher. Although he did give her plenty of trouble.’

‘Oh, Thornton!’ Savitha said, laughing again. ‘You’re hopeless. You’re
such
a dreamer. Then again,’ she frowned, thinking her idea through, ‘maybe, this country
needs
some dreamers.’

‘How d’you mean?’ asked Thornton, puzzled. He had thought they were talking about his mother. ‘D’you want me to write political poems, or something? Be like Christopher? Is that what you mean?’

The idea wasn’t appealing. Savitha suppressed a smile. Thornton with his air of confusion looked like a little boy. The sight brought out all Savitha’s developing maternal instinct. But
being wise she waited. It was at this point that she noticed Myrtle properly, and for the first time.

‘My God, Thornton. What’s wrong with
her
?’ she asked, truly shocked. What was the matter with the de Silvas that they could not see how much Myrtle disliked them?

‘Myrtle does not like your family, one bit,’ she announced. ‘She shouldn’t be living with you. Look how much she hates Alicia and Sunil. She’s a jealous woman, isn’t she?’

Once again Thornton was astonished. No one had asked him this sort of question, not his mother, nor Hildegard. Savitha made his family sound like a group of strangers. He had no idea how to respond.

Meanwhile, Savitha was indulging in a delightful little daydream of her own. The more she visited them, the more she was entranced by the de Silvas. She had never had a family in her life, let alone one as exotic as this. They were all so lovely to look at. Grace in particular looked as fragile as an orchid in a storm and Aloysius clearly adored her. Although, and here Savitha hesitated, puzzled, the other de Silva men were a different matter. Jacob’s morose state was disturbing. He hardly responded when Savitha spoke to him. She didn’t care much for him.

Three months passed. Savitha was a frequent visitor to the house. Thornton kept bringing her back. Frieda noticed and felt unhappy without knowing why. The two of them were always with their heads together, fooling about, and Frieda felt hostility bump against her every time she heard that laugh. What would Christopher make of these new developments? Myrtle noticed too and was uneasy.

What does this girl see in Thornton?
she wrote in her diary.

Savitha was having a wonderful time. She felt as though she had strayed into a play. She wrote a funny article for the Sunday papers and it was published. She can write, thought Grace,
rising from her trance, astonished in spite of herself. Savitha knew how to dig the knife into society. She had not got the orphanage school scholarship for nothing. The article was about the Westernised elite who had no love for their homeland. ‘Our Troubled Isle’ she called it and it was brilliant. Sunil was struck by it. Savitha had articulated everything he had always felt. She had stated boldly that the making of an empire had led inevitably to trouble. Several people wrote letters to the editor applauding it. Thornton was unprepared for this sudden catapulting into fame. He had only been mildly interested in Savitha until now. It had been
she
who had hung around, disturbing his tranquillity, worrying him with her questions, pushing against his contentment. Now, suddenly, Thornton began to see her clearly. He fixed her absent-mindedly with an altogether different smile and the world tilted once and for all for her. Even Savitha had her weaknesses.

Grace, watching this small girl with a stirring of interest, noticed her reaction to Thornton’s smile and smiled, too, in spite of herself. Myrtle, watching, knew exactly what would happen next. She wanted to laugh out loud, but something about Savitha made her wary. Instead she wrote her comments in her diary.

March 18. This latest is unpredictable. I’ve caught her watching me. I fear she’s here to stay. At first I thought she’d tire of our pretty idiot. Then I expected G to frighten her off, but the creature is clever, she seems to have won G over. Still, I have to admit, it’s very, very funny. G, not to mention the darling boy, are getting drawn into something beyond them. Must be karma!

‘All the troubles with Hildegard for
this
?’ she remarked casually to Grace one evening after dinner. Grace was silent, not knowing what to think. Some instinct told her Savitha might not be such a bad thing for Thornton.

‘She’s not as pretty as the others,’ she told Aloysius slowly.
‘Yet there’s something about her. She forces him to think about things. She’s good for him. I think she’s falling in love, don’t you?’

Aloysius did not care. He just wanted a drink. He thought the girl insignificant. Only Myrtle knew: the girl was not. Meanwhile Thornton, in the throes of some new confusion, was hooked. Perhaps it was her sharp intelligence, perhaps it was her humour and her constant enthusiasm. It certainly isn’t her looks, thought Myrtle nastily, but the idiot’s mesmerised, like a chicken before a rattlesnake.

Thornton immobilised!
wrote Myrtle, in her diary.
Quite a sight!

‘Hello, Sa-Sa!’ said Jasper who had mistaken her name. No one corrected him.

Savitha laughed delightedly, and Thornton laughed hearing her. She’s mad, he thought. He had never met anyone as ebullient as Savitha before. Laughing all the time they were, those two, in those early weeks, before they dropped the bombshell, when Thornton, taking even himself by surprise, brought his second bride home to his mother. He had done it again! Savitha’s dark face glowed with an inner light. For all her liveliness she was not used to being so impulsive. Have I really been thinking straight? she asked herself, head in a whirl. Then, before any of them had time to decide, it was too late and Aloysius, it appeared, was about to get his wish.

‘A grandson at last!’ he crowed. ‘A de Silva. A new generation on the way.’

‘Fool!’ said Jacob, who had booked a passage to England in two months’ time.

‘When?’ asked Grace. But she spoke softly, and she looked closely at Thornton, who was much more alert these days, and had just announced he needed a better job.

‘It’s exactly what we need, darl,’ Aloysius said delighted. ‘To cheer us all up in this wretched country.’ He glanced quickly at his wife, for still at the back of his mind was the residue of the old anxiety.

Frieda wrote to Christopher the very next morning, her tears (she was uncertain whether from joy or grief) smudging the words.

Thornton seems very happy about it,
she wrote.
Can you imagine Thornton as a father? Mummy doesn’t seem to mind too much. In fact, I think she’s secretly glad. Savitha makes her laugh, something Mummy hasn’t done much since you left
.

The night of the announcement, Aloysius celebrated with a new bottle of whisky. Hang his liver.

‘A new generation is not announced every day, darl,’ he said sheepishly when Grace glared at him. The father-to-be was missing. Where the devil is he? wondered Myrtle. Thornton returned triumphant with a new job offer. In his hand were the application forms for a passport.