The Shallow Seas (22 page)

Bye the bye, I have been thinking about tying the knot myself, but too soon for more on that subject other than that Teresa may be getting impatient with me
.

Well, sister, I have answered all your requests in most fulsome manner and expect to be thanked very prettily for it. Write back immediately with your news, and do convince Tigran that you must come, for I long to see you again, my sweet sister
.

All my affection
,

Robbie

Charlotte felt almost unable to breathe, her heart was beating so fast. She rose. It was necessary to get away from the house, down to the river and read this letter again. Zhen always asked after her! She could not believe the emotion and agitation this news caused.

She walked quickly along the avenue, her mind in disarray. When she reached the river, she sat on the stone bench in the old Japanese garden, took the letter out and re-read the last part slowly.

Her eyes drank his name from the page. He had asked about her, and about Alexander. She could hardly get past this news. He had two children, he was well, his English excellent. She took the page, put his name to her lips and began to cry.

When she felt calmer, she read the whole letter again and could not understand what Robert meant about strictures. He probably meant it was not wise during her pregnancy, perhaps. She could not make it out. She forgot about it, though, when she realised that she had blotted out the news of George. George was coming home! Here was truly occasion for joy. News of Zhen and George in one letter.

She rose and returned to the house, light of step, filled with eagerness to find Takouhi and tell her this news. George was coming home! It was surely a good omen. On the eve of the celebration for dearest Meda, his only child, he had turned his eyes eastward again.

When she arrived back at the house, breathless from the climb, she found still that no one was here. She spent the morning playing with Zan, thinking of his father, re-reading the letter, and the wait seemed interminable until lunchtime, when she heard the coach draw up and rushed downstairs. No sooner had Takouhi stepped from the coach, than Charlotte ran to her taking her hands and dancing round her. Takouhi looked bewildered.

“Takouhi, George is coming back to Singapore!” She almost sang it.

Takouhi stopped and stared at her.

“George is coming home,” repeated Charlotte. “Robert has written to me that the Woods are moving out of Number 2 in order for him to take up residence. Oh, Takouhi, this is wonderful news.”

Takouhi said nothing but went very slowly up the stairs to her rooms. Charlotte could see she was shocked and regretted her exuberance. She left her friend to take in this news, for Charlotte understood that, like herself, Takouhi needed to be alone.

Takouhi did not appear at lunch, or for several hours afterwards. Charlotte, worried, had questioned her maid, who said she was sleeping. When Tigran returned, she told him the news, falling into his arms.

“Robert wants us to visit Singapore and now, with George coming too, we must go, must we not, Tigran? Please, please,” she cajoled.

He was delighted to see Charlotte so gay. Her youth was irresistible, though he had not realised that she was receiving letters now at Brieswijk. His arm round her waist, they went out onto the verandah and he called for drinks.

“So George is returning to Singapore. May I see your letter?”

Charlotte looked at him, and he felt her hesitation.

“It is in my room. Anyway, that is all it says: George is returning, and the house at No. 2 Coleman Street is being prepared for his arrival. The rest is some personal news of friends in Singapore.”

Charlotte felt a sudden guilt at lying to him, but why had he asked to see the letter? He had never made such a request before.

“Oh, and Robert has some vague idea of marrying poor Teresa Crane.” She laughed to cover up her sudden confusion, for his eyes seemed to penetrate her mind.

Tigran rose. “Excuse me, Charlotte, I shall change and rejoin you soon. Does Takouhi know?”

“Yes, Tigran, and, oh dear, she has taken to her room. I haven't seen her since I told her the news.”

Tigran smiled his crooked smile and took her hand, pulling her gently from the seat. He took her waist in his arm, put his hand to her hair and drew her into a kiss. It was a kiss of an intensity that he usually reserved for the bedroom, and he crushed her in his arms until she could hardly breathe.

Then he turned and went quickly into the house. She sat, unsure what to make of this.

That evening there was a service for Meda in the chapel. Nothing more was said about George. When Takouhi appeared, she seemed composed, and they left for the church together, walking through the tamarind grove preceded by the servants carrying tall torches. Charlotte was silent, knowing her friend was in a deeply sorrowful place: sorrow for her lost daughter, George's lost daughter. As they listened to the priest, Takouhi took Charlotte's hand in hers and they looked at each other. Charlotte nodded. They both remembered sitting like this in the church in Singapore, but then George had been at her side and Meda was a happy and excited flower girl. That night was the night she had taken sick. And, Charlotte remembered, the following day she had given herself to Zhen and he had utterly changed her life. They both had to take this news slowly.

Tigran came to her room late. She was half-asleep when he moved next to her and took her in his arms. She murmured softly, and he kissed her neck, letting his lips linger on her soft skin; then she drifted into sleep, her head cradled in his arm, against his chest. Tigran watched her, beautiful in rest, her full, pink lips parted slightly, her long lashes resting on her perfect cheeks, her bosom rising and falling imperceptibly beneath her white satin gown, wisps of jet black hair escaping from the plait the maid had fashioned for sleep, tied, as always, with a scarlet ribbon. He had bought her a rainbow of silk and satin ribbons, but when she slept she always chose a red one. He loved her little idiosyncrasies, the way her lovely eyes widened when she was curious, the way she bit her lower lip when she was thinking, the way her eyes seemed to change colour when he brought her to the height of passion. When that happened he felt like a king, invincible. How he loved that, how he loved her, to an ache.

He tried not to succumb to the deep anxiety which this news from Singapore had caused in him. But he felt that something had happened. He knew her every nuance. Perhaps it was George, just George, and her desire to see him and Robert. He hoped so. He had thought about looking for the letter but, suddenly weary, he could not muster the energy. She had come so far from sorrow and found pleasure and contentment in his arms, given him so much joy. He had to trust her, for otherwise there was only torment.

15

Tigran was happy to agree to a voyage to Surakarta, although business meant he could not accompany Charlotte and his sister. He was glad that the effect of this news from Singapore had abated slightly. Takouhi had said nothing of George's supposed return. Charlotte thought it wiser to be quiet on the matter too.

This journey had been suggested on the night of the feast for Meda. That night, Brieswijk was turned into a vast park of firelight. From the house to the river, lanterns and firebrands led across the grass to the riverside, where bonfires threw flames and smoky trails into the night. The perfumes of jungle firewood and sandalwood incense filled the air.
Wayang
theatres were thrown up throughout the grounds.
Wayang kulit, wayang golek
and a Chinese
wayang
were in progress. The people from the villages and surroundings were invited, and all afternoon boats arrived and vast crowds moved from place to place, watching first one display, then another. An array of food and drink lay on mats along the riverbank: special
slametan
food. Great peaked mountains of rice, one yellow for love, the other white for purity; garlic, red onion and chili to ward off evil; whole chickens for unity, whole eggs for new life; long green beans for long life, and mixed vegetables for diversity, all rested on banana leaves representing strength. Families and groups lounged on the grass, enjoying the festivities.

Louis and Nathanial sat with Charlotte and Takouhi on the verandah. They had shared the food on the banana leaves and drunk tea with the villagers. Takouhi was filled with pleasure for this day. There had been the service in the church and the
slametan
ritual and now the enjoyment of the villagers. It was exactly what Meda would have loved: the throng, the noise, the excitement of the
wayang
, the gongs and drums of the
gamelan
. Takouhi would have liked for one brief moment, just one quiet moment more, to hold her daughter in her arms and feel her tender little body. But this was good-bye, the final
slametan
, the giving of peace to her soul, for the body was gone. She had surrounded Meda's grave with oil lamps and lit double candles in the chapel from herself and George. He was coming back. She could hardly believe it, but she was glad. The end of the festival would be marked by fireworks, but that was still hours away.

Captain Palmer emerged from the garden. The festival had been thrown open to all the Europeans in Batavia, and Takouhi had made an announcement in the newspaper. Wilhelmina and Pieter and many others had come and gone.

Charlotte had seen Palmer occasionally at balls and on Waterlooplein but had rarely spoken to him. Now he bowed over Takouhi's hand.

“What a charming and lovely occasion to remember your daughter. I did not know Meda, but the loss of a child is hard to bear. I, too, have suffered such a loss.”

Palmer looked up as Takouhi took his hand in sympathy and asked him to join them.

He looked over at Charlotte and bowed, nodding to the men. Louis and Nathanial eyed him dispassionately.

“Madame Manouk, it has been a long time since we last met. You spend a great deal of time at Buitenzorg.”

Charlotte smiled and nodded. Palmer found her more beautiful than ever.

The conversation turned to Nathanial's prospective voyage to East Java, and Captain Palmer mentioned that he too was planning a trip to Surakarta. He told them of some of his voyages in Sumatra, for he had been involved in the pepper trade which the Dutch government had granted to the American merchants from Salem. All at once they were all talking of a large group travelling together. Louis, who would be unable to leave the theatre, pouted.

By the time Tigran joined them, the voyage had virtually been planned. Palmer watched as Tigran went to his wife and sat, taking her hand—proprietorially, Palmer thought—in his and putting it to his lips. Lucky dog, he thought.

Charlotte was excited by the prospect of this voyage, and Takouhi seemed determined. Tigran said they would talk tomorrow. He wanted this trip, if it were to happen, planned to the last detail, with plenty of protection for his wife and sister. Nathanial was a good man and a good companion, but, in many respects, Captain Palmer was a welcome addition. He was older, hardy, had certainly seen battle and sailed the high seas. Six of Tigran's men would accompany them.

“I will write to the Residents of Semarang and Surakarta to ensure that everything is in order for you,” he said, and closed the subject.

Captain Palmer rose to take his leave, with a smile, and Tigran accompanied him to the door. The voyage would take several weeks, and he would very much enjoy the company of Mrs Manouk, whom he intended getting to know much more intimately.

“I am not sure about that fellow,” Nathanial said.

“Oh, Nathanial.”

Takouhi looked over at him. “He has suffered like us the loss of a child.”

Nathanial looked down. Tonight was not the time to raise his doubts. He changed the subject, and, as Tigran returned, raised his glass.

“To lovely Meda,” he said and they all toasted her.

A week later, the
Queen of the South
stood ready to depart for Semarang. Charlotte had written to Robert, telling of their coming voyage, and her hope that they might return to Singapore when he had more news of George, thanking him for the information about Zhen. She would have liked to write to Zhen, put a note in her letter, but it seemed such a betrayal of Tigran. She asked Robert to send her compliments to Zhen, but dared write no more. He would know, surely. This news was enough for the moment. She felt she could smile when she thought of him now: well, handsome, urbane, a gentleman, speaking excellent English. When she went to Singapore, she was sure that she could meet him with something close to equanimity.

It was with an easy heart, therefore, that she kissed Tigran farewell. He held her tightly, and she embraced him, too, with a strange forcefulness. She wished now he was coming on this voyage but was glad that he would be with Alexander. Tigran loved this little boy like his own, Charlotte could see it when she watched Tigran speaking Dutch with him, playing with the rattan ball, sitting in the river of the bathing pavilion with Zan on his lap, the boy's little fingers wound in Tigran's long plaits.

Now they went up on deck, and she took Alexander in her arms.

“Be a good boy for Papa now,” she said gravely and kissed his cheeks. He looked at her with his almond eyes and began to cry, but as soon as Tigran took him in his arms, he stopped, hugging his father's neck.

Tigran held him tight, and he kissed Charlotte again. She felt his emotion at this parting. She hugged them both. Then, quickly, he turned and passed Alexander to his
babu
, and they went down to the waiting lighter. She watched, waving. She felt tears well, but in an instant Nathanial had come to her side.

Within minutes the ship was on its way, heading out to the island of Edam and the open sea. It was swift, the passage from land to sea, and as the breeze caught her hair, she suddenly felt liberated. There was freedom on the sea. Shore cares were left behind, like casting off invisible shackles. She loved the sea, loved to sail; she had forgotten this feeling of pure escape. She looked at the captain, feet planted on the raised poop deck like a king in his dominions, and, as the ship ripped along and the sails roared with wind, she understood why men loved to sail the oceans. The land was immobile; it always belonged to someone. But the water was free, rolling from shore to shore. She liked to think that the waves which now washed the shores of Java would, by the constancy of the moon, tumble up against the sands of Singapore.