Return to Mandalay (13 page)

But even Suu Kyi was aware that something was changing. Although their palace was guarded at all four corners by sentries of the King’s bodyguard, and uniformed soldiers were all around, the Queen was jittery. And besides, Suu Kyi could hear the guns, the distant boom and grumble of cannon.

They all knew the origin of the problem; it had been much talked-of. There had been a dispute with a British timber company about the amount of duty that was being paid (Queen Supayalat insisted they were trying to avoid paying duty altogether) and the company had complained to the British Governor in Rangoon. The Queen was in favour of levying a substantial fine on the company. They must not think that they could behave as they liked, that they were in charge of this country, she said to her maidservants, to the King, to the Court and to anyone else who would listen. But the King’s ministers had advised otherwise. A line should be drawn under the entire
affair and the matter of paying duty on the timber should be forgotten, to ensure that the British allowed the King and Queen to remain on the throne.
Allowed
them to remain on the throne? The Queen had ranted and railed. Who did they think they were? She refused to give in and the King had followed her lead as he always did. And now …

Suu Kyi knew that the British had crossed the border; they all knew. But every time the King or the Queen asked for news, they were told that all was going well for the Burmese soldiers, that, indeed, there had been another victory and that there was no reason to worry. Even so, they all were worrying, the Second Princess was being even more difficult than usual and did not want to play five stones with rubies with her sister. Because they had all heard what the Queen had said. ‘Those are not our guns. And they are getting closer and closer.’

It wasn’t long before they found out the truth. The Burmese army had, in fact, disintegrated and fled to the hills, the war had lasted only fourteen days, the Royal Family were now being kept here as prisoners by ministers thinking only of their own personal gain and the British would be arriving very soon, to take them into captivity. Suu Kyi was shocked. How could this be? Who were these British who seemed to have so much power that even the might of the Burmese Army could do nothing against them?

‘They have superior weapons,’ Nanda Li said. ‘I overheard the King talking to one of his men. There are thousands of them, not just British but Indian too, many Indians. They
have big guns and cannon. We can do nothing against such a force.’

Indians too, thought Suu Kyi. And yet there were so many Indians living here in Mandalay, she had seen them. How was it, she wondered, that they came to fight for another side?

Nanda Li rolled her eyes. ‘India is part of the British Empire,’ she snapped. ‘Do you never hear anything? Do you know even less?’

*

Sure enough, only a day later, the British soldiers came to the fort and they began to loot it, leaving the gates of the citadel unguarded when they left. There was so much, they could not take everything. The Queen seemed to go into a trance, as if the looting of her palace and her possessions was not real, as if it could not be happening. And it was up to Suu Kyi to care for the princesses, to shield them from harm, to prevent them from seeing the worst of it.

But more was to come. When they saw the soldiers leave … When they saw the citadel unguarded for the very first time … Then the people came. Suu Kyi saw their faces. At first, they must have been surprised that it was possible, since entering the palace unbidden would normally be punished by execution. Then they became greedy. They arrived in a jumble and a frenzy. They ran bare-footed, clutching their
longyis
close to them, right into the women’s quarters where the Queen, the princesses, Suu Kyi and the few other maid-servants who had not run away remained, bewildered and confused.

The princesses were both crying. Suu Kyi was trying to comfort them. The Queen, who because of her condition was supposed to be resting, simply lay on her royal couch and Nanda Li stood staring out of the window as if contemplating her next move.

Occasionally she shot a look of derision in Suu Kyi’s direction. ‘Why do you bother?’ she hissed, when she could see the Queen was not listening. ‘They are finished. Do you not see?’

But it was second nature to Suu Kyi. She loved the princesses and she would protect them with her life. Indeed, she could not imagine life without them, nor without Queen Supayalat for that matter, tyrannical and selfish though she could be. And besides, she, like Nanda Li, had no other family to go to. What choice did they have?

The noise from the mob increased until they could ignore it no longer. A man, a Burmese man, one of their people, had grabbed a rock and was trying to knock out the jewels from the jade-studded panels of the doors, someone else was throwing an offering box on the marble floor in an attempt to dislodge the gems within. And it was not all Burmese. There were many other nationalities apart from Indian living in the city of Mandalay and Suu Kyi could see some of Chinese and Thai origin also here in the chamber. But nationality was immaterial. They were all out for themselves. A woman was trying to dig jewels from the floor with the heel of her shoe, a child was even attempting to bite the rubies from the lid of a large, golden betel box with a lacquered dragon stand. People were grabbing what small objects they could,
from decorated candelabra to jewelled hand mirrors, from filigree caskets to golden pitchers, using makeshift tools of rock or wood to gouge out the jewels from others. They were squabbling and fighting in the stifling heat, tearing things from each other’s grasp. The beautiful wooden furniture, intricately carved cabinets and chests studded with precious jewels whose drawer handles were delicately moulded in the shape of elephant trunks and dragon tails, was being hacked to pieces. The walls of the chamber were tiled with clear and green glass and an oil lamp flamed, illuminating the carnage.

At first, the Queen continued to do nothing. She and the rest of them stayed in their candle-lit antechamber, and they listened helplessly to the raucous frenzy going on outside. Suu Kyi saw the Queen come out of the trance and begin to grind her teeth and look frantically from left to right. She knew that the Queen was not afraid; her face was purple with rage under the ivory
thanaka
face powder she wore.

She arose from her royal couch, made of teak and gold and studded with diamonds. And she stood in the doorway, next to the glass mosaic jade screen, her silk robes billowing around her. She was like a great ship in full sail. ‘Get out!’ she shrieked. ‘How dare you come here like this? Go away! Get out!’ And she shook her fist.

But what could she do against such a mob? Suu Kyi tried to hide the terrible sight from the princesses. Some of the looters had noticed Supayalat, some were clearly shocked to recognise their queen, and were bending and bowing into the reverential
shiko
that must always be afforded to royalty, some
so low it looked like they were walking backwards. But even as they did this, others were dragging up the mat of silver and continuing to loot and steal from the Queen’s chamber. Their supposed homage and respect meant nothing.

Before she had really thought about what she was doing, Suu Kyi leapt past the Queen and into the chamber where the people were rampaging and looting. ‘The soldiers are coming back!’ she yelled to the mob. ‘Quick! Run! Soldiers are coming!’

Terror flamed briefly on the people’s faces. They looked over their shoulders and then they ran. Fast and furious, they tumbled out of the glass-walled chamber as quickly as they had arrived, pushing and shoving to get through the tiny doorway, even dropping some of their booty in their haste.

The Second Princess was bawling. Her tiny bejewelled body was rigid and her fists were closed tight.

‘Hush now.’ Suu Kyi ran to her. She picked her up and held her close. ‘Hush little one, for we shall be safe.’ She crooned to her, she sang softly as if everything was not disintegrating around them. And she tried not to look at Nanda Li and the nasty sneer that seemed fixed on her arrogant face.

When the child was sleeping once more, Suu Kyi looked up to see the Queen standing beside her.

‘Thank you, Suu Kyi,’ she said, her eyes still angry. ‘You have been very brave. But we cannot stop them. If these riches do not go to the people, then they will go to the British who are taking us prisoner.’

Suu Kyi nodded. She understood. She knew too that their
country housed the richest gem mines in the whole world and that the King and Queen were in possession, or had been, of a huge fortune in gemstones alone. It was their Royal Right and had been so throughout the Burmese dynasty.

‘But we can gather up some things of our own.’ With some difficulty the Queen reached down to a bag she was filling with her own personal jewels, necklaces of rubies and jade, rings of diamonds and gold and her own gold jewellery box with a lock and key. ‘And these are for you.’ From the bag she pulled two decorative chinthes. They were of the finest teak carving and their eyes shone.

‘For me?’ Suu Kyi could hardly speak. The Queen had never given her a gift before.

‘For looking after the Second Princess so valiantly,’ the Queen said. ‘And for what you have done for us here today.’ She nodded and bent as low as she was able. ‘See here.’ She demonstrated how skilfully they had been constructed. ‘Look after these beasts and be careful who you choose to give them to,’ she said. ‘They may prove to be your security and your fortune. Use them well.’

Suu Kyi bowed as deeply as she could whilst still holding the sleeping princess. And it was when she arose that she saw it. The look on Nanda Li’s face. It was a look of pure hatred and it made her shudder inside.

Seattle.

‘Seattle?’ she’d echoed. ‘But that’s …’

‘A long way away, yes,’ he said grimly.

The United States. America.

‘What did you tell them?’ she’d asked him later, after they’d finished dinner, cleared up and gone to bed. It was king size, the duvet, goose-down, the sheets Egyptian cotton. Both of them were staring up at the ceiling. They were lying at least a foot apart. What would happen, Rosemary wondered, if she were to reach out for him?

‘That I need time to think about it.’ He glanced across at her. Without his glasses on he seemed naked, despite the cotton pyjamas he was wearing. ‘To discuss it with my wife.’

‘I see,’ she murmured. All she could think was it seemed so far away.

Alex hiked himself up on one elbow. ‘Rosemary, you hardly see your family,’ he said.

‘I know.’

‘It’s a great opportunity. I didn’t think I’d ever get it at this stage.’

At this stage in his career, he meant. He was still only in his early fifties. But it was a young man’s game.

‘I know.’

He sighed. ‘What do you want to do?’

*

That was three days ago and Rosemary wasn’t any closer to giving him an answer. She filled the percolator with water and reached for the coffee beans. Did he want to go to Seattle? Did he want to uproot them and move to the US? She supposed that he did. Alec had always been ambitious, and she knew he’d always hoped to further advance his career, to be given a higher role in the company, to be a solution architect and actually in charge of designing interactive software rather than a senior developer. But she also knew that Alec was giving her some sort of choice. She had gone with him before, left the UK, moved to Copenhagen, followed that promise of a new start.

Rosemary switched on the grinder. She felt something painful in her chest. Was it regret?

She had never intended to leave her daughter behind. She had assumed – of course she had assumed – that when she decided to marry Alec and move to Copenhagen, Eva would come too. She was still only sixteen. Her place was with her mother. She could take her GCSEs in England and then finish her schooling in Copenhagen. And why shouldn’t Rosemary marry Alec? After Nick’s and then her mother’s death, she was finally seizing a chance of some sort of happiness. And she had longed to get away. She had always loved West
Dorset. But now it stood for her marriage to Nick, her husband’s death, the loss of her mother. As for her father … She was finding it hard to forgive him for those letters, for what had happened in Burma all those years ago before she was even born. She didn’t want to be living in Dorset. Not anymore.

Rosemary switched off the machine and transferred the freshly ground coffee to the percolator, breathing in the rich, mellow fragrance that would always remind her of her honeymoon with Nick in the Cinque Terre of Italy; of the narrow streets and tall, colourful houses in the five mountainside villages; the scent of roasted coffee beans spilling out on to shady walkways and café terraces.

But there was also Eva. Transplanting her sixteen-year-old into a different lifestyle, with new opportunities, could only do her good, could only go some way towards healing the rift between them. That, at least, was what she had thought.

Rosemary screwed on the lid of the percolator and switched on the hob. She would never forget the day she came home from work and found Eva hunched and crying in her room.

‘I don’t want to go,’ she had wept. ‘I don’t want to go.’ Her dark hair tumbled, unruly as ever, over her shoulders. Her eyes were red and her lips swollen from her tears.

‘To Copenhagen? But Eva, you’ll soon make new friends. You’ll go to a fantastic sixth-form college, have a great life, a much better time—’

‘I’ve been talking to Grandpa.’ Eva sniffed and hiccoughed. ‘He says if I want to, I can go and live with him instead.’

Rosemary stared at her. Her mind was a blank. Where had she gone wrong? ‘You don’t want to come with me to Copenhagen?’ she whispered.

‘No.’ And Eva had looked up at her with sad, dark eyes that were such an echo of Nick’s, it almost broke her heart.

‘You’re sixteen,’ she heard herself saying in a cool voice she hated. ‘It’s your decision. It’s up to you.’

Rosemary had never forgiven her father for giving Eva the option. It hadn’t been his place to. First Burma and now this, she had thought. Of course he’d been thinking of himself, as he always did. He didn’t want to be apart from his precious granddaughter, he couldn’t bear the thought of her living in another country. So why not stop it from happening? Rosemary was shocked at how bitter she felt towards him.