The Shallow Seas (9 page)

“We all lost these children, but a new one awaits. It is God's will. I promise I will love this baby as I love all my children, as I loved Maria and Meda, as I love you, Charlotte.”

Charlotte felt tears rise in her throat and turned in his arms, burying her head in his shoulder. Tigran held her tight against him, putting his cheek gently against her hair, filled with emotion, feeling her sense of loss and pain—relief, too, he hoped, at his assurances. He knew she would think of this Chinaman as the baby grew, but after the birth, gradually, day by day, he would fade in her memory. In the meantime, Tigran would surround her with luxury and love. He would make this child a Manouk, his own child, endow it with privilege. He did not care what other blood ran in its veins. Half the blood was Charlotte's. It was enough. He would be the true father of her child. Not a Chinaman's bastard, but heir to a fortune and enviable social status. Charlotte could not remember this Chinese man forever. Tigran would teach her to love him more through kindness and affection and wealth and position. He was certain of it.

The following evening, by the candlelight of the terrace, blessed by the holy water of the priest, they exchanged promise rings. His was a gold band, hers a circle of silver and white diamonds. He put it on her right hand. On their wedding day the rings would pass through the hands of the priest, to their left hands. As he put it on her finger, Charlotte tried to feel something for this man who knelt at her feet, kissed her hands. Gratitude surfaced; she understood him better now, liked him more. But her other thoughts were fragmented.

From then on, almost every day, Tigran brought her something new. Silks, lace
kebaya
and exquisite batik sarongs, velvet and feathered hats, jewels of every colour.

Yet every night, before she slept, she opened the little box and gazed at the single white pearl on the necklace of woven red silk threads. The necklace
he
had given her the day she left him. What did anything else matter? She thought of Tigran's words. We all love in some measure the one who awakens powerful feelings. Is it true love? She shook her head. It was not like that with her and Zhen. Poverty had locked him into a marriage with a woman he did not love. Her situation was so like his that she was drawn even closer to him. Like him, now, she was forced by convention and self-preservation to marry someone else. In the day she lived entangled in her European life in Java; in the day he lived entangled in his Chinese life in Singapore; but at night, she knew, was certain, they lived in each other's dreams.

5

A gold embossed invitation to dinner at the Governor-General's palace stood against her mirror. It was clear everyone wanted to inspect Tigran's new fiancée. This was no small thing, Takouhi had told her, a beautiful white-skinned European woman. The last ones seen in Java had been Olivia Raffles and the wives of the British soldiers and officials who had run Java briefly for six years or the few, often plain, aristocratic wives of the Governors-General and officials who came out from Holland.

This extraordinary period of British rule was of enormous interest to Charlotte, who would have liked to hear more, but Takouhi put her off.

“I will let Wilhelmina tell you. She is wife of Pieter Merkus, the Governor-General. My English not good but Wilhelmina speak very good.”

Takouhi had selected their clothes with extraordinary care. They were to be dressed up-to–the-minute from head to toe in the latest European fashions. This was to be pure theatre, a statement of the Manouk power, wealth and “chic.” The old Dutch biddies and their dowdy daughters must be made to swoon with envy. In particular, Petra Couperus, who had been dying to marry Tigran for at least three years.

“We meet her tonight. She is rich widow like me and wait and wait for him. Since her last marriage she say no to every man who come to marry her. But she also has nasty tongue. Talk, talk about everyone. But he meet you, and now Petra lose hope. You remember poor Lilian Aratoun, who also swoon—is word, no?—swoon for Tigran in Singapore. Here in Jawa, Tigran is Arjuna, you know Arjuna? The lover of the
wayang
. Later I tell you why we call him like that.”

Charlotte smiled ironically. She knew who Arjuna was. Takouhi and Meda had told her the stories, loved them, of Arjuna's amorous and heroic exploits. He was the gallant and handsome Galahad of the Indian world, the peerless archer, the compassionate seeker of meaning, full of love and bravery and honour, the Javanese knightly ideal. Women everywhere it seemed longed to be where she was today: on the threshold of marriage to Arjuna.

As they finished their toilette, Tigran entered. Charlotte rose from her chair, and he felt his heart thump. She was so beautiful he could hardly breathe. He stood unmoving as she came towards him and offered him her hand, with its diamond ring. She was dressed entirely in white—virginal white, Takouhi had insisted—and wearing the blue diamond flower spray he had given her in Singapore. The bodice was just immodest enough to reveal her bosom, creamy white, and the silky beauty of her neck and shoulders, against which rested the long low coiffure of her blue-black hair. Her violet blue eyes had been made up with
kohl
—he could see it—imparting a smoky sensuality. He kissed her hand and calmed himself, chiding himself silently for being a fool. From his pocket he drew a flat box and opened it towards her. Inside lay a necklace, a chain of diamonds of exactly the same cut and colour as the brooch, almost the blue of her eyes, which Tigran sought to match. Charlotte had not quite ceased to be amazed at these gifts and smiled her thanks up at him. She had some inkling of the trouble he had gone to in order to find these rare blue stones. She invited him to put it around her neck, and as he fastened the clasp he could not help but drop his lips to her naked shoulder. She smelled faintly of roses.

Charlotte moved away as if she had been stung, and Takouhi, who had taken it all in, moved quickly to her friend's side and frowned at Tigran. Charlotte realised that her error, utterly involuntary, stemmed from other memories, and quickly moved to Tigran's side and put her arm through his.

“Thank you for your beautiful gift. You look most handsome tonight, Tigran. We shall be the finest couple in the room, shall we not?”

Tigran put his hand on hers and smiled, thanking her for forgiving him. In fact, Charlotte thought, Tigran did look handsome, dressed in black and white, his hair long and shining, the jet beads she liked so much glinting, his eyes with their gold flecks filled with a love which shone on her like sunlight. She was annoyed with herself. She had not disliked the feel of his lips on her shoulder; she should not have shied away like a nervous virgin. She had to make it up to him.

Turning, she touched his face and lightly kissed his cheek. She felt his intake of breath, the movement of his arm curling round her waist, and withdrew quickly. His face was flush, the golden flecks in his eyes darkened. Takouhi took Charlotte's hand and led her out of the room quickly.

“Charlotte, be careful. Tigran love you, I told you. He control himself, but very hard. Don't forget.”

They went slowly down the staircase, and as they arrived at the door, Tigran took Charlotte's arm to help her into the carriage.

“You ride with Takouhi; it is safer for you. I will take her carriage.”

He smiled, and Charlotte realised that he was making light of the incident and was grateful to him and, somehow, slightly disappointed they would not be riding together. She was not absolutely certain anymore that she did not want to kiss Tigran, but before a dinner at the Governor-General's palace was probably not the time to experiment with this idea. She settled back with Takouhi as they set off down the flame-lit path. This was the first time since her arrival that she had left Brieswijk, and a feeling of pleasant and exciting anticipation suffused her.

The carriage entered the broad avenue of Molenvleit. Takouhi pointed out the white walls of the Harmonie Club as they crossed the canal and turned onto Rijswick.

“Daendels order this building for European people to meet, but no money, so Raffles finish it. All of Rijswick and Nordwick is Raffles's work. Before him there were some big VOC estates, but also
kampong
and Chinese shops. When he come, he order all pull down, move out. Only European can build here, make shop here. Raffles house next to Governor-General's, other side. Is hotel now.”

As she finished speaking, the coach passed through gates and, by the light of lanterns and firebrands, a rather plain, two-storey white house appeared. In Charlotte's view, it hardly, from here, earned the name “palace”, looking no better, she thought, than a colossal horse station. Tigran's stables, indeed, were more grandly constructed.

Tigran was waiting and, taking a lady on each arm, climbed the marble steps and walked into the brilliant light of the hall. He was not ordinarily a boastful man, but tonight he brimmed with a proud desire to show Charlotte, this fair and lovely woman that he had won, to his acquaintance.

A band was playing Viennese tunes, and the room was already full of men and woman in conversation, divided, Indies style, into two. To her alarm, as Charlotte entered the conversation fell to a murmur and every eye turned to her. Suddenly the music seemed unnaturally loud. Then, just as abruptly, it stopped, as if their arrival was a signal, and began again with a gentle and lilting version of
Wilhelmus van Nassouwe
, the anthem of the Netherlands. Doors at the far end of the room opened, and a couple emerged. The man, the Governor-General, for this was he she could tell from the almost reverential hush that fell on the crowd, was older, tall and spare with a thinning pate and sharp black eyes. On his arm was a woman of about thirty-five, small boned and pretty, with brown hair. Tigran left Charlotte and his sister and instantly gained the men's side of the room. Takouhi and Charlotte joined the women. Pieter Merkus, the Governor-General of the Netherlands East Indies and his wife, Wilhelmina, made their way slowly down the aisle, talking now and then to their guests. When they arrived at Charlotte, she curtsied deeply and was introduced. Pieter bowed graciously over Charlotte's hand and Wilhelmina kissed her cheek warmly.

“Welcome, my dear, to Batavia, and congratulations on your illustrious marriage to one of our favourite men. I fear you have broken many hearts this week.”

Her English was absolutely correct, with a slightly odd intonation now and again, as if she had learned much of it from a book.

As Pieter went up to Tigran, the band struck up a popular tune and the buzz of conversation resumed, but Charlotte felt as if every eye were drinking her in. Takouhi led her to a group of women seated in the corner of the room, some hugely fat, some rake-thin and pale, most simply dull and remarkably plain. As they ogled her, out of the corner of her eye she saw a striking woman, dressed in dark red silk, go up to Tigran and lay her hand on his arm. Takouhi gazed at her, in fact almost all the women in the room had swivelled their eyes to her, for this breaching of the line was an extraordinarily daring break in protocol.

“Petra,” Takouhi whispered.

Tigran turned to Petra and bowed. She had moved in very close, keeping her hand on his arm and whispering something against his cheek. Charlotte felt a sudden, unexpected flush of annoyance at this intimacy. She could not see his face. All the ladies were now watching Charlotte intently. She opened her fan, waved it gently and waited, curious now to see what Tigran would do.

At that moment, a group of men approached Tigran, and he removed Petra's hand from his arm and bowed over it, taking his leave. Petra made her way slowly over to Takouhi.

As they curtsied, Charlotte could see there was no love lost between the two women. Petra looked Charlotte up and down in the most insolent manner. Charlotte felt the blood rush to her cheeks.

“Con-gra-tu-la-tions,” Petra said slowly and deliberately in accented English, then turned on her heel. Charlotte could see that Petra was very beautiful. Thick, black curly hair which fell about her face and shoulders in a most alluring manner, full rouged lips, dark almond eyes with long lashes, a voluptuous figure, fine brown skin. She could also see the woman was angry and jealous, and Charlotte wondered why Tigran had not married such a belle years ago.

“Takouhi, why did Tigran not marry her? She is beautiful and rich.”

Takouhi contemplated the swaying figure. “Yes, lovely. She is Mardyjker blood somewhere. She married already three times. There was a time he care for her, she have chance, but she make big mistake with Tigran.”

Charlotte waited to hear more. “Mardyjker?” she asked quizzically. It crossed her mind that she had developed an unseemly interest in Tigran's former relationships, especially this one.

“Mardyjker is child of free black slave.” Takouhi sneered as she said it, and Charlotte was astonished, for such gracelessness in Takouhi was unusual. “They always clever and proud.” Seeing Charlotte's face, she continued. “Before Dutch come to Java, Portuguese have big power in Asia. Like Dutch men, Portuguese men make million half-blood child which they baptise, make Christian.”

Charlotte smiled at this surely exaggerated number, which Takouhi used for anything over ten.

“When Dutch come, they take many prisoners in old Portuguese towns like Ambon, Malacca and Coromandel. They make slave and bring here. Those people Catholic, but Dutch not allow this, so Dutch say if slave join Dutch church, they be free. So Mardyjker mean “free man.” They speak Portuguese. Even in my father time here, many speak mix Bengal and Portuguese. Now no one speak Portuguese, but here is still Portuguese church in the Kota. So, anyway, long ago, maybe, but Petra's blood like that.”

Charlotte looked at Petra with renewed interest. A truly scarlet woman with a colourful lineage. How wonderful! Perhaps Tigran was the only one she could not have. Charlotte looked over at Tigran, standing, dark and handsome, in the group of ordinary- looking men. She could see that his long-haired piratical demeanour gave him an undeniable air of romance and danger. Petra, too, was gazing at him.