The Silk Merchant's Daughter (23 page)

On the floor below he pushed open the door of the bedroom he was using and she gasped when she saw what he had done. Hanging upside down over his shoulder, she could see dozens of night candles dotted around the room, the little pinpoints of light sparkling and glittering as if they were stars. She felt as if her heart might burst. In the midst of war he had created a shimmering fairyland. For her.

‘Well, at least you’ve saved me the bother of undressing you,’ he said and put her down. ‘So what do you think?’

She gazed at the room and her eyes filled up. ‘I love it.’

‘Happy birthday, my darling. I know I’m useless at expressing how I feel in words, but –’ She didn’t let him finish but ran at him and hugged him so hard he had to pull away.

‘I must light candles more often,’ he said.

She tugged at his jacket and he slid his arms out, then he removed the rest of his clothes, feathers still floating around, until he stood before her, naked.

‘Look at you,’ she said.

He smiled and spread his arms wide. ‘Look at us.’

‘So much has happened, in one year.’

‘Good and bad.’

‘Well, this is good,’ she said and she blew a feather from his chest, feeling happier than she’d ever felt in her life.

Like the ghosts who inhabited the garden, when Mark wasn’t there Nicole also became a shadow in their strangely boarded-up world. One evening at dusk she needed to get out so much that she wandered around the neighbourhood with a headscarf hiding her hair and face. A cool wind swept down the street as a man and a woman walked past her. It made her feel uncomfortable so she dropped her gaze and mumbled good evening, then went back indoors.

When she told Mark what she’d done, he again expressed his reservations about her staying on at the villa. All things considered, she felt he might be right. Even if she didn’t open the shop, she could more easily get out and melt into her surroundings there.

As she was making her preparations to return it occurred to her that she’d missed a period. But the days with the troupe had caused havoc with her cycle and she didn’t think too much of it. She washed and dried her Vietnamese clothes and practised putting her hair up in a roll of cloth. Her
áo dài
was far too big for her now but she used safety pins to make the trousers fit. That would have to suffice.

She moved back to the shop the next evening and Mark went with her. They made up her old bed with clean sheets, a feather
duvet and a silk throw she’d brought from the villa. In the morning, she woke to find he’d already left, and lay listening to the sounds of the street vendors setting up their stalls and smelt the familiar aroma of pork patties and fish sautéed in dill. She sensed an ease slip back into her. Her shoulders felt less rigid, the knot in her stomach releasing, the guilt over lying about Sylvie diminishing a little bit. She heard the sound of the shop door opening. It must be O-Lan. Nicole was in two minds about how much to tell her friend, but went downstairs to greet her.

O-Lan jumped when she heard the footsteps and spun round, wide-eyed.

‘I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,’ she said.

It was so lovely to see O-Lan’s friendly face, Nicole had to swallow hard to overcome the emotion. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her. O-Lan was as pretty as ever, but there were dark circles under her eyes. As the two gazed at each other, a multitude of mixed emotions collided. What was she going to tell her friend about Trần?

O-Lan stared.

‘Come here,’ Nicole said.

While they held each other, several minutes passed. Nicole could feel her friend’s heart banging against her own, and neither of them seemed willing to let the other go.

Eventually O-Lan drew away. ‘Let me look at you,’ she said.

‘I’m fine. Really I am. How is your mother?’

O-Lan sighed deeply. ‘Not getting any better. Sleeps most of the time, in the room above the shop.’

‘I’m so sorry about your shop. What happened?’

‘A water main burst under our house. You were lucky the water didn’t get in here too.’

O-Lan sat down on the sofa and Nicole could see how alone with her unhappiness her friend seemed to be. She sat down beside her and held her close. ‘I’m here now,’ she said.

‘I kept peering through your window to make sure the water hadn’t got in, and when your sister asked me to look after your shop, it seemed an ideal solution. I couldn’t afford to buy more stock for my shop, so here I am.’

‘I can’t thank you enough.’

‘But shall I go now you’re back?’

Nicole only hesitated for a moment. ‘No, please stay. I’m still not completely recovered. I’ll continue to pay you.’

O-Lan frowned. ‘You are so thin. I thought you might have been ill.’

Nicole decided to play down how bad it had been. ‘A little.’

‘And Trần? We’ve had no word except for a message saying not to expect him until the war is over.’

Nicole felt relieved to hear it but picked up the worry on her friend’s face. She shook her head.

‘Is he alive?’

‘As far as I know.’

‘Did you part on bad terms?’

Nicole glanced away. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘He’s not a bad man, Nicole.’

‘War changes people,’ said Nicole, looking at her feet. She didn’t want to say too much, though it was hard to know what was too much and what was not enough. ‘I think I need a wash and another rest.’

O-Lan dipped her head. ‘Of course.’

Nicole walked towards the bathroom but twisted back. ‘Oh, one more thing. Mark will be staying here at night.’

O-Lan’s mouth hadn’t fallen open but it may as well have. ‘You are seeing him again?’

‘Sort of. But he wants to keep an eye on me too.’

‘You need that?’

‘I think I might.’

Over the following days Nicole watched O-Lan. They had been best friends, but who knew what might have happened while Nicole had been away with the theatre troupe. Yet, apart from looking tired, O-Lan didn’t seem changed at all, just the same open girl she always had been. After a week Nicole decided she could still put her faith in her. Also, as she was feeling so washed out herself, her friend’s presence meant she could rest when she needed to, and if Giraud or one of his men should come prying, she could quickly leave by the outside staircase to the courtyard, and escape through the back alley.

The days passed peacefully enough and Nicole began to heal. She couldn’t believe how good it felt to feast her eyes on the gorgeous colours of her beloved silks. So what if they weren’t selling much? O-Lan was accustomed to shopping frugally and they pooled their provisions and their money.

Nicole had been devastated when forced to leave her antique purse behind, the one with the photo of Mark inside it. Now she came up with the idea of making copies of the purse from memory, and selling them in the shop. So after they closed the shop at the end of the day, while chatting amicably, they sewed little bags. Mark rarely arrived before O-Lan went home, and if he was still there when she arrived in the morning, he slipped away by the outside staircase.

One morning she and Mark lay in bed, legs tangled in the sheets and fingers laced together. It was later than usual but Mark showed no sign of wanting to leave.

‘Are you staying for breakfast today?’ she said. ‘I’m starving.’

‘What would you like?’

‘Well, we have coffee, condensed milk, bread, butter and not much else.’

‘Sounds like a feast. I’ll go,’ he said. He unlaced his fingers but didn’t move anything else.

She poked him in the ribs and he untangled his legs.

‘But you’re so warm,’ he said.

‘Out! And put something on. The size of you. You’ll terrify O-Lan if she arrives early.’

He grinned as he climbed out of bed then posed in a stance exactly like the statue of David.

She laughed and threw a shawl at him. ‘Here, cover yourself, you vain American!’

He wrapped it round his middle and headed for the kitchen. While he was gone she thought about how happy they were. He hadn’t told her he loved her but she was certain that he did, and now that she rarely thought of Sylvie, it seemed like nothing could come between them again. She closed her eyes and daydreamed about their future. America maybe, when this was all over, or even Saigon.

When he came upstairs again, carrying a little silver tray, she sat up to see what he’d brought. She stared in wonder when she saw that he’d cut two pieces of toast into the shape of hearts and placed them, already dripping with butter and jam, beside a lotus blossom on a small plate.

‘What have I done to deserve this?’

‘Just being the sweetest, loveliest girl I’ve ever known.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ She lowered her eyes and fluttered her lashes.

‘That too!’ he said and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Toast first and then we’ll see.’

When she missed her second period, Nicole felt a little thrill. Could it be possible? She didn’t speak of it at first, wanting to keep the warm feeling to herself until she felt certain.

The day she ventured out with a scarf over her head, she
noticed far fewer French in the streets around the shop. She went to see Yves at his bakery; she was shocked by how pale and thin he looked. He kissed her on both cheeks but didn’t ask where she’d been. He told her he would be packing up soon and returning to France. Like so many others, he’d sold the shop for a pittance but there was nothing left for him in Hanoi.

Not a single policeman passed by on foot, though a couple of tanks thundered through, sending stalls and people flying. Nicole felt more certain France would eventually lose the war and told herself Giraud would not matter then. The danger to Mark was what worried her most, but his Vietnamese was fluent and he was good at appearing and disappearing without being noticed.

She felt stronger wandering her favourite streets. Nobody took any notice of her and anyone who’d seen her with Trần in the past would assume she was on the side of the Vietminh. The truth was she wasn’t on anyone’s side. Not any more. But the Vietnamese part of town afforded the only place she might still feel at home. She rarely served in the shop, but enjoyed spending time with O-Lan. The two grew even closer, until Nicole felt as if O-Lan was her real sister.

‘I’ve brought you a book about Vietnam,’ O-Lan said one day. ‘I imagine you’ve only learnt French history.’

Nicole thanked her and looked forward to curling up with the book.

On the way upstairs she flicked through the pages and, once comfortable in bed, began to read about the emperors and how they’d lived in the forbidden purple city in Huế. In a paradise of golden palaces, the emperor held banquets for special occasions and lived a fabulous life with concubines, ladies-in-waiting, maidservants of royal birth, eunuchs and even female courtiers. And when an emperor died his tomb
was no less opulent, though the poor were as poor as they were under the French.

Nicole lost herself in the world of concubines, many of whom were high-ranking mandarins’ daughters. The drawings of them were gorgeous and she loved the flow of the old-fashioned
áo dài
outfits they wore. They gave her an idea for what she might make with some of her remaining silk supplies.

She read of nine ranks of concubine, depending on their father’s position, but was shocked to learn that once settled in the imperial city a concubine could never set eyes on her family again. She was trained to be soft-voiced and obedient, gratifying the emperor’s sexual needs, combing his hair, dressing him, polishing his nails and so on. It made fascinating reading, but she ached for these women who could never leave their gilded prison.

She closed the book and settled down to sleep. Mark did not come by every day, but as each week passed she felt a little safer than the one before. Now, at night, the world wrapped its arms round her and for the first time in a very long while she slept free from fear.

By the third missed period Nicole was certain. Her breasts tingled whenever Mark touched them, they looked swollen too, and the area around her nipples had darkened. On the evening she prepared to tell him, he had been absent for a few days and her heightened feelings of restlessness and sheer excitement meant she could not sit still. She hadn’t known she could fall in love so deeply, but now that she had he meant everything to her and she could not imagine a life without him. She was upstairs with one red lantern lit, perching on the edge of a chair, when he arrived in just his shirtsleeves, jacket slung over one shoulder, looking unshaven but utterly irresistible as he stood gazing at her. When she didn’t speak, the two frown lines appeared between his brows, and she noticed a kind of rough texture to his skin. She’d seen it before when he was tired and it wasn’t unattractive. She never found it unattractive. But it wasn’t that.

‘You have a moustache,’ she said. ‘It’s quite changed you.’

He twisted his mouth to one side. ‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten. I’ll shave it off.’

His eyes sparkled as he held up a bottle of Sauvignon.

‘From one of the few stores still stocking decent wine,’ he said.

‘Well, come here.’

When he came across and kissed her, she wrinkled her nose at the unfamiliar feel of the moustache, then ran her fingers through his hair. ‘It’s growing, and it’s darker.’

‘I’ve had to dye it.’

She was a bit taken aback. ‘Why?’

He tilted his head to one side and shrugged. ‘You know. The job.’

She studied him as he sat down opposite her and poured them both a glass of wine. He did look different from time to time and she quite enjoyed the thrill of wondering who he might be when he came to see her. This time there was such a gentle look in his eyes, quite at odds with the slightly alarming appearance caused by the addition of a moustache. She’d seen it right from the start, that vulnerability, but hadn’t known where it sprang from.

He took a sip. ‘Not bad, is it?’

‘So now you’re a connoisseur?’

He laughed.

‘Mark, there’s something I need to tell you.’

He glanced across. ‘Oh?’

She undid the buttons of her shirt to partly reveal her breasts. ‘Notice anything?’

‘Not sure.’ He grinned. ‘You do look rather wonderful. But then, you always do, and if you don’t cover yourself up, we won’t even get to drink the wine!’

‘Well, thank you. But can’t you guess?’

He shook his head.

‘We’re going to have a baby. I’m pregnant.’

He came straight over to her but she had seen the blood drain from his face at the word baby. He knelt beside her and reached out to touch her breasts.

‘They feel awfully full,’ she said, but he still looked shocked and, feeling a bit upset, she shuffled back in the chair.

He stood and rubbed his jaw.

‘Mark?’

He looked down at her and shook his head. ‘You’ll be so much more at risk now. What are we going to do when I’m away?’

She smiled. ‘If that’s all you’re worried about, I’ll be fine.’

‘But I thought we used –’

‘Not the first time.’

‘You’re sure about this? It isn’t that I’m not thrilled, it’s …’

‘What? It’s what?’

There was a short silence. He didn’t look thrilled. The smile had not completely left her own face, but now her happiness really began to ebb away and her eyes began to smart. She watched him struggle with his feelings as he crouched down in front of her again. He took hold of her hands and cradled them in his own, but remained silent. She felt a twinge of conscience as she gazed into those bright blue eyes; she had rushed him into this, seduced him, really. She placed her palms on either side of his head and longed to nestle him between her breasts. As he looked up at her, she read the worry in his eyes.

‘You’ve been so ill,’ he said. ‘And pregnancy can be very demanding. Are you well enough?’

‘I’m not as strong as I used to be, but I’ll be fine.’

‘And you definitely want the baby?’

Upset by his response, she swept a lock of hair from her face. ‘Of course, I’m a Catholic. Anyway, abortion is illegal. And … I love you.’

‘Oh, my darling girl.’

They remained silent for a few moments. She wanted him to be as excited and happy as she was, but all she could see was how worried it had made him.

‘Anything could happen when I’m not around to look after you. And what if something happens to me? I don’t usually speak of it but, Nicole, my job is dangerous.’

‘I can look after myself.’

‘If something happens I may not be here for you or the baby. Oh God, this is my fault. I wanted you so much that first
time … the only thing on my mind was to make love to you. But we should have waited. I should have waited. I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry. I’m glad. We are having a baby together. Our child, Mark. A human being we have made together.’

He stood, inhaled sharply then let the breath out slowly. ‘Nicole …’

‘What is it?’

‘I want to be glad too. I really do. At any other time this would be a miracle … but we are at war, the city might be under siege at any time. My job takes me away and I may not be able to get you out. And don’t forget Trần might show up again.’

She bit her lip. ‘I hadn’t really thought. I was too busy watching out for Giraud.’

‘You’re not showing yet but in a few weeks’ time you will.’

‘Can’t we go to America?’

He shook his head. ‘I can’t leave yet. It will get very sticky here before I can. I don’t like it, but my orders are changing.’ He paused and his eyes darkened. ‘The more people I have to pretend to be, the harder it gets. Look, Nicole, it’s you who keeps me level. You bring me back to who I really am.’

‘And I think of you as making me solid.’

‘Solid and level – can’t be bad, can it? But a baby? Now? I remember how I felt without my mother. It made me so unsure of who I was.’

She hesitated but the words were already on her lips. ‘Couldn’t we be married?’

‘I would like nothing better than to set up home with you. But, my darling, we can’t be official, you’re still wanted by the police.’ He shook his head. ‘And I still have a job to do. I shall be involved in covert operations in Russia soon. A potentially dangerous search for ruthless people harbouring Vietminh leaders.’

‘To you? You mean dangerous to you?’

He nodded.

‘Mark, what about when the baby comes?’

He wiped a hand across his brow but didn’t speak.

She felt a knot settle in her throat.

‘I don’t want to leave you alone. When is the baby due?’

‘Next February. It’s the best time of year to have a baby, not too hot, not too humid.’

‘Well, that’s something positive, isn’t it?’ He pulled her up and drew her across to the sofa where they could sit together. She leant against him and couldn’t stop the tears from falling. He lifted her head up by tilting her chin and kissed them away.

‘When the war is over … it’ll be different. I promise. And I am glad. Really glad. It’s the most wonderful news in the world, and we will find a way.’

They didn’t speak again for several minutes. Nicole had no idea what he was thinking, but she was thinking about her sister.

‘Did you ever love my sister, Mark?’

‘No. She fascinated me when we were in America – clever, beautiful and with the knack of making you feel the way she wanted you to feel. And so sure of herself. But underneath she was needy. Very needy. We only dated a few times but I felt as if she wanted to own me, so I backed off.’

‘Then she was sick.’

‘She took too many sleeping pills. I didn’t know if it was intentional or accidental, but after that I couldn’t just abandon her. She wasn’t in her own country surrounded by people who loved her. But let’s not talk about your sister. Let’s at least enjoy the time we do have together.’

He wrapped his arms round her and she felt comforted and aroused at the same time. He made her feel safe in a way she had never felt before and she didn’t want it to end. The only
thing she wanted to end was the war, but would it ever? She sighed and, snuggling even closer to him, breathed in the mix of cigarettes and the salty smell of his skin.

For the next couple of months Nicole’s pregnancy showed very little. The
áo dài
covered the small bump and she wore a loose shawl round her shoulders which also helped disguise her growing belly. Feeling indolent, she spent much of her time reading upstairs and trying not to think of what she’d do if one day Mark didn’t come back. But the anxiety reared up in dreams from which she woke in dizzying fear. One day she went in search of Yves, but was sad to see the little bakery had already been boarded up.

She cooked simple Vietnamese meals in the little kitchen at the back of the shop, developing an overwhelming desire for steamed spinach, which she shared with O-Lan and her mother, and crispy brown rice from the bottom of the burnt pan which she did not share. One day she decided she wanted to make the best of the small courtyard garden at the back of the shop. Mark rolled up his sleeves and helped by reaching the high creepers, while she cut back the jasmine and the scented roses, repeatedly scratching her arms.

As he made his way down from the stepladder carrying a huge bunch of greenery she watched him and could almost imagine there was no war. They were a normal couple making a home together and preparing for their first child.

‘I might learn to knit,’ she said and smiled at him.

He smiled back. ‘I didn’t have you down as the knitting type.’

‘I thought that was why you loved me.’

The skin around his eyes crinkled with laughter. ‘I don’t recall saying that I did.’

He did love her. She knew it. Even if he didn’t say it. ‘So how much
didn’t
you say you loved me?’

‘Acres, tons, mountains.’

‘As high as the sky is what Lisa used to say.’

‘Well, there you have it.’

‘Anyway, even if I can’t knit, at least I can cook.’

‘If you like burnt rice.’

‘Oh, that’s not fair!’

He dumped his armful of cuttings, bent towards her, then kissed her hard on the lips. At that moment she felt the depth of his love.

‘Shall we forget the gardening?’ he said.

After they’d made love, they continued to lie in bed watching as the light gradually faded. When it was dark she lit the oil lamp at the side of the bed and asked him about his family.

‘There’s not a lot to tell,’ he said. ‘My mother was Russian, as you know. White Russian.’

‘And that’s how you speak the language?’

‘Yes. She managed to get out of Russia in the nick of time, but she’d lost everything and never really got over it.’

‘How did she die? Do you mind me asking?’

He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t long after my twelfth birthday.’ He paused. ‘I’m afraid she took her own life soon after the new baby died … and I found her.’

‘Oh God! How awful for you. I’m so sorry.’

‘She tried so hard to be rational but she never was. In truth, she was a passionate Russian and fond of the grand gesture.’

‘Her suicide was a gesture?’

‘No. Not that. But at other times of emotional crisis. She liked to storm out of rooms. My father loved her but he never understood her.’

‘She had lost both her parents. She must have felt broken inside when the baby died.’

‘Yes. And after she’d gone it was so hard. My father
disappeared into his shell, and I felt cut loose. Rootless. Didn’t know who the hell I was. Perhaps that’s why I do the job I do. I can be anyone.’

She took his hand and ran it over her belly. ‘I hope we’ll be able to make up for it a little bit.’

‘I’m going to ensure our little one will never go through anything like that.’

‘We are going to be happy. This baby will make everything come right. You’ll see.’

‘I do care, Nicole. Very much. I hope you understand.’ He kissed her on the nape of her neck and behind her ears, then kissed her breasts until she was defenceless. After that he put an ear against her stomach.

‘What are you listening for?’ she whispered.

‘Intelligent conversation.’

She hit him on the head with a cushion. ‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘Do you feel like cooking?’

He laughed. ‘I could probably manage some burnt rice.’