Return to Mandalay (17 page)

Maya could see that the girl was deeply moved. ‘After the war, I kept my chinthe safe in the shrine in the house in Mandalay,’ she said. ‘I always felt that the other would return.’ She smiled at Eva. ‘One way or another.’ Though she had never dreamt that it would be like this. That Lawrence’s granddaughter would come from England and bring it back to her. It meant so much to her that he had done this. And it told her a great deal. If only her dear father had known that giving the chinthe to Lawrence before he went away to war, had in fact guaranteed the safety of them both …

‘But one day,’ she continued with the story. This girl,
bless her, was curious and wanted to know it all. And perhaps she too had in some way been sent? Perhaps she too could help? ‘I returned from our house here in Maymyo with Ramon’s mother to find that someone had broken in. They had smashed the windows to gain entry. And yet only one thing was taken.’ She sighed, recalling the dread she had felt in the pit of her stomach. And with it had been the sense of inevitability, that one day … ‘We always knew who was responsible. She had never forgiven my grandmother, you see, and neither had her family.’ If both chinthes had been there, of course they would have taken the pair. What use was one without the other?

‘Bitterness breeds bitterness,’ she said sadly. ‘Greed multiplies. They feel it all as if it were yesterday.’

Even in the darkness, the yellow-stoned house looked as familiar as ever, but tired. Rosemary knew the feeling. Once she’d decided to come here, she’d acted quickly. She’d booked the next possible flight from Copenhagen and cancelled arrangements she’d made for the next couple of weeks. She didn’t book the return flight. She wasn’t sure how long this would take.

Alec had said very little. She just hoped he’d understand why she had to do this, and why she had to do it alone. It wasn’t just a question of coming back to West Dorset, of seeing her father and Eva. But he’d probably know that too.

She trundled her case up the flagstones to the front door. The house seemed to be in darkness, but the lights were probably just on in the back. He’d always been conscious of saving electricity; his generation were. He’d be in the kitchen, probably, reading a paper and staying close to the Aga. Her father lived in that kitchen in winter months. Rosemary smiled at the thought. She’d missed him. But it was hard to admit that, even to herself. Anyway, she’d phoned, so he’d be expecting her.

At the front door, she hesitated. It was her childhood home
and she still had a key. But how would she feel, if—? No, she wouldn’t barge in. She lifted the brass knocker and let it fall. Heard the sound echo as if the house were full of empty rooms. Along with the darkness, it gave her an uncomfortable sensation.

She pulled off her leather gloves and rubbed her hands together. It was chillier than it had been in Denmark. An English November. She thought of Bonfire Night, her father lighting Roman candles in the back garden. Rosemary holding sparklers in her gloved hands, shouting with delight, waving them round and making glitzy patterns of fire in the night air. The Catherine wheels he nailed to the fence that never spun properly, stopping halfway; the rockets spurting from an old milk bottle.

Rosemary sniffed. The shrubs hadn’t been pruned, but her father wouldn’t have noticed. And the paintwork on the door was starting to peel. She’d take a good look around and discuss it all with him, she decided, make a list of maintenance jobs for the spring. They mustn’t let the place go to rack and ruin.

The phone call between them had been brief. ‘Dad?’ she’d said. ‘I’m coming back for a visit. Is that alright?’

‘Rosemary?’ He had sounded vague and confused. She hated it when he sounded confused. And she noticed he never called her Rosie any more. When had he stopped?

‘Yes. Can I stay at the house?’

‘Of course, of course.’ He paused. ‘Will you want picking up at the station? The airport?’

‘I’ll arrange it all this end,’ she reassured him. She told him when she would be arriving. ‘I’ll see you then.’

Alec had taken her to the airport. ‘Take care, Rosemary,’ he said when she got out of the car. ‘Say hello to your Dad for me. And to Eva, when she gets back.’

‘I will.’ It was the first time she’d gone back to the UK without Alec. It felt very strange.

She knocked again. Still no answer. What on earth was he up to? She supposed that he couldn’t hear her. He probably had the radio or the TV on and his hearing wasn’t what it was.

After waiting for a minute or two, Rosemary groped in her bag for the house key. It slotted into the lock but the door held fast. She opened it with a good shove of the shoulder. That door could do with a plane. Draft proofing was all very well but you had to be able to open and shut the thing. Another one for the list.

‘Dad?’ she called. ‘Hello!’ She left her suitcase in the hall and after a quick glance into the lounge, went straight down the end into the kitchen. She switched on the light. Everything was scrupulously clean and tidy, the Aga as warming and cosy as ever, her father’s rocking chair with the red tasselled cushion neat but unoccupied.

Silence.

‘Dad?’ Rosemary felt the panic stir, low in her chest. Had he forgotten she was coming? Gone out? But where on earth would he go out to on a cold November evening? ‘Dad?’

Nothing. She pushed down the panic, retraced her steps and stood at the bottom of the stairs. Had he gone to bed,
perhaps? That would explain why the whole house was so dark and quiet. She started up the stairs, heading for her parents’ old bedroom. And then she remembered Eva telling her that he’d moved downstairs a few months ago; he couldn’t manage the stairs like he used to.

She should have thought. ‘Dad?’ Rosemary hurried back to the downstairs bedroom next to the lounge. It was an en suite. ‘Dad, it’s me.’ She spoke more quietly now. If he were asleep, she didn’t want to wake him.

But she could see immediately in the light coming from the hall. The bed was made up and there was a glass of water on the bedside table, a towel hanging on the chair. But he wasn’t here.

Now she was scared.

And then she realised that the light was on in the bathroom adjoining.

She rushed in. He was lying on the floor face down in his checked pyjamas and tartan dressing gown. ‘Dad!’ Rosemary put her hand to her mouth. It was an awful replay of the moment she had discovered Nick dead on the kitchen floor all those years ago. ‘No,’ she whispered.

She knelt beside him and she eased his face from the floor, frantically feeling for warmth, for a pulse. No, she was thinking. Not her father. Not now. Not like this. Please God. She couldn’t go through this again.

‘But I don’t understand,’ said Eva. ‘Can’t you just report them to the police? The chinthe belonged to you and your family after all.’ And if the Li family thought they had the right to steal one of them … She looked over at the little animal standing sturdily at the front of the shrine. Would they not also think they had the right to steal the other?

It was just 9 p.m. The rest of the family must have eaten earlier; only Maya, Ramon and Eva were sitting around the circular wooden dining table. And finally Maya had finished telling her story. Or had she finished? From the significant glances now passing between her and Ramon it seemed there might be more to come.

It had been quite a feast. Rice was at the core of most Myanmar cuisine but what Eva loved most were the side dishes that accompanied the curries, the spicy salads, with lime juice, peanuts and tamarind; the tart leaf-based soup known as
hin-jo
, Ramon had informed her; and
balachaung
, a pungent combination of chillies, garlic and dried shrimp fried in oil.

‘It is not so easy here in Myanmar.’ With his fork, Ramon deftly plucked a slice of papaya from the dessert of fresh fruit
which sat in a simple white dish at the centre of the table. ‘That family have connections.’ His dark expression was the only indication as to what sort of connections these might be.

‘And we have no papers to say that the chinthe is ours,’ Maya agreed.

‘Do
they
?’

Ramon shrugged. ‘Probably. Forged ones, of course.’

‘Why do you think it took them so long to steal it?’ Eva wondered aloud.

‘We used to take it with us when we travelled,’ Maya admitted. ‘This was perhaps the first time we left it in the house.’

But how would they have known that? Eva was indignant. She hadn’t come all this way to fulfil her grandfather’s last wishes, to return his chinthe to the place where it belonged, with its twin in the house of this family, to give up quite so easily. Nothing she had heard so far had convinced her it couldn’t be done, the opposite in fact. Now that she knew the true provenance of the little animal … It made it even more important to get the other one back. ‘But it isn’t right,’ she said.

‘Many things are not right,’ Ramon replied. ‘It may not be right that we still do not have a full freedom of speech, or that those who we elect to government never have enough power. It may not be right that workers are paid so little for doing so much. Or that there are those in our country who still suffer.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Because it is not right, does not mean it does not happen.’

It was quite a speech. ‘I appreciate what you’re saying.’ And she agreed with him too. ‘But the fact that so many other things aren’t right, doesn’t mean we should take this lying down.’

‘Lying down?’ Ramon frowned.

‘Accept it.’

He held her gaze. She recognised the passion there, and something else she couldn’t define. ‘No one is accepting it,’ he murmured.

Maya intervened, laying a gentle hand on Eva’s arm. ‘It is not good to worry over things we cannot change,’ she advised. ‘All will come to those who have a clean heart.’ She nodded sagely.

Was it her Buddhist faith that made her feel like this? Or was it living under a repressive regime for most of her life that had created such a sense of acceptance? But Eva was surprised at Ramon. He’d said he hadn’t accepted it, but what was he actually doing? How long was it since the chinthe had first been stolen? It made her blood boil that this Li family could steal someone else’s property and be allowed to get away with it.

‘Who are these people anyway?’ she asked. ‘Where do they live?’

‘What difference does it make where they live?’ Ramon smiled grimly.

‘Because if you know they’ve stolen the chinthe and if you know where they live, why couldn’t we just steal it back again?’

Ramon let out a snort of laughter. ‘Brave words,’ he said. ‘But you have no idea how dangerous that would be.’

Only if they found out who had taken it, Eva thought.

But Maya shook her head. ‘Two wrongs do not make a right,’ she said. ‘It is wrong to steal and it will lead to no merit in the end.’

Eva sat back in her chair. Karma. But they must be able to do something. She looked Ramon straight in the eyes. ‘So what
will
you do?’ she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Softly, softly,’ he said.

Maya gave him a beatific smile. She reached for the teapot and poured out more tea. ‘You must take care,’ she warned.

Eva took the tiny cup that was offered to her. What was ‘softly, softly’ supposed to mean? Did Ramon have his own plan of trying to get the chinthe back? She hoped so. ‘But the other thing I don’t quite see …’ She frowned. ‘Is why they want it so badly.’

Maya and Ramon exchanged a look. Maya smiled and gave a small nod. Ramon shrugged.

‘What?’

Ramon helped himself to more papaya, offering the fruit first to his grandmother and then to Eva. Maya shook her head, but Eva took a slice of watermelon, red and juicy. ‘It is an important piece of history,’ he said.

‘Yes, of course.’ The chinthes were originally the property of the last Queen of Burma. Eva looked across at the little animal she had brought all the way from Dorset. He had pride of place just below the Buddha in the shrine. He
stood on guard, but Eva couldn’t help thinking he still looked a little lonely.

‘The decorative teak chinthes were among the treasures of the Royal Palace,’ Ramon went on. His eyes were gleaming as he casually helped himself to more fruit. He bit into the dripping flesh of the watermelon, never taking his eyes from her face. ‘And the Royal Palace was full of precious things,’ he said. ‘Teak carvings, golden images of our sacred Buddha, lacquer-work studded with gems. Even the walls were made of glass or decorated with jade and topaz.’ He raised a dark eyebrow.

‘Yes, I know.’ But Eva still didn’t quite understand. Naturally, the provenance of the chinthe gave it significance and value. It was what she had always believed: the story of an artefact was the one vital element that made it unique and special.

Ramon and his grandmother exchanged more significant looks.

What had she missed?

Lazily, Ramon got to his feet, stretched up to retrieve the chinthe from the shrine. He placed it carefully on the table between them. Watched her.

Eva smiled. The little chinthe was special. She would miss him. She ran her fingertip over the carving. ‘Designed and carved by a royal master-craftsman?’ she guessed.

‘Of course. And?’

‘And?’

He turned the chinthe to face her.

Eva looked into its red glass eyes as she had done so many times before. ‘You might expect his eyes to be rubies,’ she said. ‘When you know the provenance. The fact that they’re cheap glass, makes you think that the little beast isn’t worth …’ And then the penny dropped. ‘That’s the idea?’ she breathed.

‘That is the idea,’ Ramon confirmed. He gave a grim smile. ‘When you turned up with it earlier I checked all was in place. I could hardly believe it. But it was so.’

‘All was in …?’

Ramon picked up the little chinthe and, very gently, between his thumb and forefinger, he twisted its tail. In response, the head of the animal moved backwards to reveal a secret cavity inside.

Eva’s eyes widened as she leaned closer. Of course, in her work, she had come across many antique wooden pieces with hidden compartments and sliding panels. But this was so delicate, so unexpected.