Return to Mandalay (23 page)

There was the angel, the
deva
, carved intricately in teak, and the rather gorgeous monk sitting on a lotus flower, lacquered teak with a gilded and glass inlay. She wasn’t disappointed, although she did wish Myint Maw didn’t feel compelled to keep up such a high speed commentary on everything she looked at. His English wasn’t the best and it was distracting to say the least. He seemed nervous too, constantly checking his watch and looking towards the doorway as if they were about to be disturbed. But this was important and Eva was determined to take her time.

An hour later, she surveyed the collection of antique nats, Buddhas and other artefacts. It was impressive and she’d been able to confidently authenticate every one. She was so excited, she couldn’t wait to see them in the Emporium. ‘Prices have been agreed?’ she checked with Myint Maw. That was her understanding; she didn’t want to get into haggling.

Maw shrugged. ‘Prices? Now, what you say?’

Oh dear. Once again, Eva produced her paperwork. And then she remembered Ramon. ‘And where did all these pieces come from?’ she asked the contact. ‘Can you tell me?’

‘Come from?’

‘Where did you buy?’ She included the statues in a wide gesture. Spread her hands into a question.

‘All over,’ he said. ‘Private houses, monasteries, temples …’

‘Monasteries?’ That didn’t sound right. ‘Why are they selling?’

‘They not want old things,’ he said. ‘They need the money. They want new.’

‘And temples?’

‘You go to Bagan?’ he asked.

‘Not yet.’ But she would be going. And she knew there were hundreds of temples there.

He made a flicking gesture with his hand. ‘When you go, you will see,’ he said. ‘Too many temples, much destroyed. Too many statues. Nowhere for them to go. But they want money. You see.’

Oh, dear. How could you balance the need for money with the need to keep iconic pieces in their original environment? It was a tricky question. ‘And do you have the paperwork?’ she persevered. She tried not to look at the mole and the long dark hair that sprouted from it. ‘For the sales?’ She wanted to at least check they had been paid for.

Myint Maw clutched his chest. ‘You not trust? You think these things are stolen?’ He seemed nothing less than devastated.

‘Yes,’ said Eva. ‘No. That is …’ She shrugged. ‘My employer wants me to check.’ Which wasn’t quite true, but was good enough for the moment.

Maw seemed incredulous now. ‘You joke?’

‘No.’ She shook her head but she wasn’t sure they were getting anywhere.

‘I show you other stuff,’ he said. ‘I know.’

Eva frowned. What was he talking about now? ‘What other stuff?’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘Why you care?’

Eva thought of what had happened in Yangon. ‘Do you mean another shipment? Are there more goods being sent out to us?’ She was confused. Why did she keep getting the feeling that everyone else knew a lot more than she did? She was the one inspecting all the artefacts, but there seemed to be another agenda. She liked transparency in her business dealings, with a mutual respect. Here, in both Yangon and Mandalay, dealings seemed to be decidedly muddy.

‘You have no need to worry,’ he assured her. She could feel him swiftly back-tracking. ‘It is all good. Price is right. There will be no questions asked.’

But
was
that a good thing? Eva thought of all the roughly made wooden objects she’d seen in the other room and she thought of what Ramon had said.
Plundering …
Burma might be opening up to trade and to tourism. But who was benefiting? And she was pretty sure the answer was not the ordinary Burmese people.

The doctor came in the afternoon. Rosemary felt that she’d known him forever; she had, more or less, he had been their family doctor since she was about ten years old and had looked after her mother when she was ill.

‘Dr Martyn.’ Warmly, she shook his hand.

‘Rosemary. It’s been a long time. How are you?’ He looked much the same. Worn leather briefcase, scuffed shoes, green tweed jacket, his hair a bit thinner on top. Rosemary supposed that he’d be retiring soon.

‘I’m alright,’ she said. ‘But Dad …’ She told the doctor how she’d found him. ‘And he did say his prescription had changed.’

‘Mmm.’ He frowned, pulled some notes from the briefcase. ‘His blood pressure was getting a little high. We were trying to bring it down.’

‘And he seems different,’ Rosemary added in a low voice that she hoped wouldn’t carry to the downstairs bedroom.

‘Different?’

‘A bit vague. Muddled.’ She’d tried to explain to Alec on the phone last night too, but it was hard to put it into words.

‘Do you want me to come over, Rosemary?’ he had asked her. ‘Give you a hand?’

‘No.’ And they both knew she had said it too quickly. ‘I’m fine,’ she told him. ‘Thank you. I need this time with him.’

‘Of course.’ But he had rung off soon afterwards, saying he had a lot of work to get through, and she knew she’d let him down.
Sorry, Alec
, she whispered, in her head.

‘Muddled, yes.’ Dr Martyn nodded in that avuncular way that she remembered. But somehow it wasn’t as reassuring as it used to be. ‘A touch of dementia,’ he said. ‘But he’s managing quite well, given his age.’

‘Is it dementia, though?’ she asked. ‘He seems so clear about some things.’ She frowned. ‘And will it get worse?’

He raised bushy eyebrows. ‘It might do, my dear. Or it might not.’

‘I see.’ She supposed it was a bit like asking if he would get older.

He took her to one side and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. ‘It’s all part of the ageing process,’ he explained in a low voice. ‘Confusion, dementia, call it what you will. It’s not uncommon, you know. And sometimes the long-lost past is a whole lot clearer than what happened yesterday.’

Rosemary nodded. ‘Yes, that makes sense.’ She forced a smile.

‘So, where’s the patient?’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ll look him over. My goodness, I remember your father from when I was first qualified.’ He shook his head as if wondering where all the years had gone.

‘Come through then.’ Rosemary took him to the bedroom where her father was resting after lunch. Not a very substantial lunch, but she supposed a few spoonfuls of chicken broth and half a slice of bread was better than nothing.

She opened the door wider. ‘Dad, Dr Martyn’s here.’

‘Now then, young feller me lad,’ the doctor said. ‘What have you been up to?’

Rosemary left them to it.

He emerged ten minutes later. ‘His heart’s tickety boo,’ he said. ‘Blood pressure fine. But I’ve adjusted the prescription slightly given what’s happened. Here.’ He handed her the new one. ‘He’s pretty stable, I’d say. For now.’

‘Good.’ Rosemary moved towards the front door. ‘And we should check his blood pressure again once the new pills kick in, shouldn’t we?’

He nodded. ‘Ring the surgery in a week or so,’ he said. ‘I’ll pop in again, no problem.’

‘Thanks, Doctor.’

She opened the front door. ‘And I was wondering …’ She lowered her voice. ‘Is there anything else we should be doing? Do you have any advice?’

‘Let him rest,’ he said. ‘Plenty of fluids. Keep an eye on him.’

‘Is that all?’

‘And think of the future.’ He fixed her with a penetrating gaze. ‘You do realise, don’t you, my dear, that before long your father might need more full-time care?’

Rosemary nodded. He seemed better now since his fall.
But what about the next time? By the next time it might be too late.

‘You know where to find me if you want to discuss things.’ He lifted a hand. ‘And any further problems, just phone the surgery.’

‘Alright. Thank you. Goodbye.’ Rosemary watched him climb into his old black Renault and drive away.

She let out a small sigh and went back into the bedroom. ‘Everything OK, Dad?’

‘Rosie.’ He looked tired. ‘What did he say to you, then?’

‘Nothing much.’ She smoothed the cover of the bed and flicked back the curtain. ‘He said your blood pressure was fine. I’ll make some tea, shall I?’

‘I couldn’t get much out of him either,’ he said. ‘They forget you have a mind once you hit eighty.’ He coughed. ‘Doctors. Treat you like a bloody imbecile.’

Rosemary chuckled. ‘Doctor Martyn’s not like that,’ she protested. ‘He’s really kind.’ But he had a point.

‘Because I can get up, you know. I’m not just lazing around.’ His breath rasped in his chest.

‘Course you can,’ she soothed. ‘And we’ll get you up later. Nothing wrong with having a little nap.’

He patted the bed. ‘Come and sit by me for a bit. And stop looking so worried.’

‘I’m not worried.’ Though she was. And seeing him like this had made her worry even more.
And think of the future …
That’s what Dr Martyn had said.

What did that mean? Full time care? A nursing home? She
couldn’t imagine her father letting someone in to his house to wash him, shave him, change his sheets, and heaven knows what else if he wasn’t capable of doing it himself. Mrs Briggs was one thing – that woman was an institution and she’d been here for ages. He knew her. He trusted her. But Mrs B couldn’t afford to give them any more time and she wasn’t strong enough to do any lifting. Neither was she a nurse. But nor could Rosemary see her father in a nursing home or retirement place. She shivered … She knew that many of them were very nice these days, and he had the money to choose a decent one. But he’d hate it. He belonged here in his own home, in their home. And he wouldn’t want it to be filled with strangers.

‘Pah, doctors …’ He shifted into a more comfortable position, licked his dry lips. ‘You don’t want to let them worry you. I’ll be on my feet in no time, you’ll see.’

And if he wasn’t? ‘I’ll make that tea,’ she said.

‘It’s true I haven’t been quite myself lately,’ he mused, when she returned five minutes or so later. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about old times.’

‘Old times?’ she said. For a moment the bitterness resurfaced. Perhaps it was never that far away. ‘The good old days in Burma, do you mean?’ She put the tray down on the bedside table.

His serious gaze reproached her for her flippancy. ‘Not so good during the war, love,’ he said. He took the tea she handed him, the cup rattling in the saucer.

‘Oh, the war …’ She stilled it with her hand. ‘It might be hot. Careful.’ She took the plate from the tray. ‘Biscuit?’

He shook his head.

‘There were good times for you too,’ she remarked.
Where are you going with this, Rosemary?
‘Before the war, I mean.’

‘There were.’ He met her direct gaze. ‘’Course there were.’ Then he looked away and took a slurp of his tea. ‘Ah, that’s grand, love.’

She took her tea from the tray and sipped it, watching him over the rim of the teacup. One minute he seemed to know exactly what was going on, the next, off he’d drift into never-never land.

‘But
we
had good times and all.’ A small smile played around his mouth. ‘You and me and your mum, didn’t we, eh?’

‘Of course we did,’ she said. She thought back. She remembered him as a rough-and-tumble father who was always getting told off by her mother, always getting into trouble. He would take her out into the garden without her wellington boots on, so that they dripped mushy leaves and trod dirt into the pale green living-room carpet. And he would fail to bring her back from the seaside in time for tea. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,’ Rosemary’s mother would scold. ‘You’re like a child yourself, you are.’
Not always joking either …

But most of the time … It had been her mother who looked after Rosemary, who taught her how to behave, who had brought her up to be whatever she had become. Her father had been busy with Fox and Forsters and his appearances were reserved for high days and holidays, not the everyday
life in between. And she could remember hardly any times when the three of them were together and having fun. What good times? She must have frowned.

‘No one gives you a manual, love,’ he said. ‘In those days, we had to make it up as we went along.’

And for the first time, Rosemary wondered. Had he wanted to have more of a share in her upbringing? Had he been excluded because he was too untidy, too careless? How had he felt being told off all the time? Helen had made of fun of him too. Sometimes even put him down. Had she been punishing him?

‘She was a good woman, your mother,’ he said, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. ‘Thank heavens we had her to keep us on the straight and narrow, eh?’

Rosemary nodded. She thought of how she had felt when she’d lost her. Desolate. And yet at times it had been such a strain living up to all her expectations. Had he felt that too? She patted her father’s hand. He must have felt that too.

On Saturday morning, as planned, Ramon picked Eva up in his car and they drove towards Sagaing, stopping briefly at the Mahamuni temple. Sagaing was a highly religious site built on a hill, he told her, and she could see now that the green slopes ahead of them were studded with wooden monasteries and golden pagodas.

‘Did you have a good day yesterday?’ he asked pleasantly, as he changed gear to negotiate the hill.

‘Yes, thank you.’ It had certainly been full of treasures. But Eva decided not to tell him that; he might think that they were treasures which should stay in Mandalay. After her meeting with Myint Maw, she had emailed Jacqui to fill her in on the details and had received a reply straightaway.
Sounds good
, Jacqui had written.
Looking forward to seeing them
. Eva was confident she wouldn’t be disappointed. Her boss had asked about Myint Maw too but Eva wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted to know.
He’s a bit shady
, she wrote back.
And he’s never clear about provenance. But…

‘And your grandfather?’ Ramon asked her.

‘He’s much better, thank you.’ Eva had phoned again last night after dinner and spoken to her mother. ‘Don’t worry,’
she had said. ‘Just concentrate on what you have to do in Burma.’
What you have to do in Burma …
She wondered how much her mother knew about why she was here.