Return to Mandalay (2 page)

‘I understand.’

‘And while you’re there, you might also get the chance to look around.’ Jacqui was still speaking cautiously, as if she wasn’t sure how much to say.

‘Look around?’ Eva wanted to be clear. She twisted the ring she wore on her little finger. It was a cluster of diamonds shaped like a daisy and set in gold, a present from her grandfather on her twenty-first birthday and she wore it every day, work or no work.

‘Explore other avenues. Go to some antique markets, chat to the dealers, make new contacts perhaps. Find some more items we may be interested in.’

Goodness. The thrill returned. Eva tried to hide her surprise. With so much at stake, why wasn’t Jacqui going herself?
She couldn’t be trying to get rid of her, surely? She’d only overheard an argument – although the embarrassment of that might be enough for someone like her boss. She was rather touchy, perhaps more so than usual.

‘I’ll be busy here.’ Jacqui moved from the window to the large leather-topped mahogany desk that dominated the room, and pushed a pile of papers to one side as if to demonstrate just how busy she would be. ‘There are some important shipments due to arrive.’ Once again, she seemed to almost lose her drift. And then snapped out of it. ‘I couldn’t possibly get away at the moment.’

Leon, Eva thought. That was the real reason.

‘These people won’t wait forever. There’ll be others interested, you can be sure. So there’s nothing for it.’ Jacqui sighed. ‘You’ll have to go. You’re the only one there is.’

Praise indeed. Eva raised an eyebrow. ‘And where exactly am I going?’

‘Oh.’ Jacqui plucked a piece of paper from her desk. ‘Didn’t I say? You’re to leave next week if we can get you a visa sorted out by then. I’ll book your flight and let you know the exact times. You’ll have to bring your passport in tomorrow morning. I’ll arrange for an agent to meet you at the airport and make the hotel reservations. Um …’ With the tip of her forefinger – nail varnished deep plum – she traced a path along the paper. ‘Yangon, Bagan and Mandalay,’ she said. ‘That’s where you’ll be going. Ten days should be long enough. You’ll have to take internal flights. I’ll give you all the details in advance, of course.’

Eva stared at her. She hadn’t even dared hope … ‘Burma?’ she whispered. Her heart was hammering out an old tune, a familiar tune, the rhythm one that she had grown up with, that had become a part of her. She was going to Burma. She had heard so much about it. And now she was going to taste and experience it for herself. She wanted to fling open the window and shout it to the people down in the street below. There was a grin of pure delight bubbling inside and she wanted to let it out.

‘Yes. But it’s called Myanmar now, you know.’

‘I know.’ The grin emerged and Eva sent it Jacqui’s way. What did it matter that Jacqui sometimes didn’t seem to like her or felt threatened by her or whatever else it might be? What did it matter, when her boss clearly trusted her enough to give her this opportunity? What did it matter when Eva was going to Burma? She closed her eyes and felt the colours of the country flicker behind her eyelids. Blue and gold …

There wasn’t much, she thought, that she didn’t know about Burma. Her grandfather had spent some of his most formative years there. He had worked in the timber industry and he had fought against the Japanese. His life in Burma had touched them all in different ways. And the stories he had told Eva when she was a child had wound their way into her heart.

‘You’ll go, then?’ Jacqui asked her. Though she didn’t look as if she’d take no for an answer. ‘I’ve printed out images of some of the things you’ll be looking at because it’s easier to have hard copy to hand. It’s all here.’

‘Oh, yes, I’ll go,’ Eva replied. She’d always known she’d visit Burma one day. How could she not? In her twenties and early thirties, holidays had been short, usually city breaks in Europe, since they gave her the best opportunity to explore antique markets and historic buildings. And during her now rather distant gap year she’d made it to Thailand, along with Jess, her friend from college. Burma was an expensive trip to fund herself but more than that, for a long time, the country had been a no-go area politically. Eva had read about the unrest among the hill tribes, the repressive government, and the house arrest of Aung San Suu Kyi, the woman they all adored, who had sacrificed her personal life in order to fight for democracy for her people. Eva knew about the sanctions and that although tourists had become welcome in Myanmar, money from tourism tended to go straight into the pockets of the military government. And she understood that to visit the country was to support them.

But things were different now. Aung San Suu Kyi had been freed, the political climate was changing and … Eva’s childhood dream was about to come true.

Should she pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming again? She moved closer to the desk. The image of a seated and clear-eyed Buddha, probably gilded teak, gazed serenely back at her. Nineteenth century, she’d estimate from the picture, which wasn’t terribly clear. She peered closer, looking for tell-tale patches of wear on the gilding but she’d have to assess the condition more thoroughly when she was actually there. There were other figures she recognised from her studies too,
some carved and painted, some gilded and inlaid, some possibly as old as seventeenth century. A delicately carved angel, a monk sitting on a lotus flower, spiritual guardians and nats. There was what looked like a carved teak scripture chest, an ancient wooden crib and a pair of highly decorative doors – most likely ancient temple doors, she realised with a jolt of excitement.

Eva glanced across at Jacqui and met her gaze head on. Jacqui would no doubt have more information about these artefacts and she’d be giving it all to Eva to study before she left. But her boss was right. From the pictures alone, she could see that there were some remarkable pieces here. And she was being given the chance to see them, examine them at close hand, authenticate them and bring them back to the UK.

‘Thanks, Jacqui,’ she said.

Her boss gave her a quizzical look.

‘For having faith in me. I won’t let you down.’

And she left the office and drifted back to the Victorian dressing-table, her mind already halfway to Burma. She could still hardly believe it. Would it live up to her expectations? Would it fill the gaps in her grandfather’s story? And what on earth would he say when she told him? Going to Burma had changed his life. Eva couldn’t help wondering if it would do the same to hers.

Eva let herself into her flat and closed the door behind her. It had been quite a day. What she needed, she decided, was a large glass of wine and a hot bath – and then she’d phone him. He was the person she most wanted to tell. But first things first. She opened her laptop, located her music file and selected an album.
Japancakes
. The soft lilting melody of the first track ‘Double Jointed’ began to float through the room, rippling like water lilies on a lake.

The flat – the first floor of an Edwardian building on the outskirts of the city, hence the high ceilings, decorative coving and large bay windows – was relatively tidy, although she’d left in a rush that morning. As always, it had a rather transitory look about it, as if Eva might be about to gather up all her belongings and move out. Which was probably, she decided, down to her state of mind. She had stayed in Bristol because this was where the jobs were, as far as the West Country was concerned. But it was more than that. Since she was six years old, she’d lived in a world where something you loved could be snatched away from you and nothing in your life would be the same again. She didn’t exactly love her flat, but it was practical, reasonable to rent and it suited her, for the moment.

There was only one bedroom, which housed her Chinese ‘opium’ bed, bought on a whim from eBay and a purchase she’d never regretted; every time she laid her head on the pillow, she imagined its possibly lurid history. It never gave her nightmares though, instead it seemed to be seeped in relaxation. But the living-room-cum-kitchen was a space easily large enough for one. Or even two, Eva thought ruefully, as she hung her autumn tweedy jacket on a peg and chucked her bag on the sofa. The music was building, the melody becoming more layered. Max’s minimalist flat had been smarter but had less floor space and character. A bit, she thought, like Max himself. Or so it had turned out.

Eva owned only a few pieces of special furniture, acquired over the past thirteen years. Apart from the bed and a sprawling sofa, there was a hand-carved and sturdy Chinese camphor-wood trunk in the bay window, with cushions it made a perfect window seat; a hand-painted mango-wood cabinet from Rajasthan on the far side of the room, bought at auction a few years ago to house her novels and reference books from uni and beside that, her favourite piece, a Meijiperiod Japanese red lacquered priest’s chair that had turned up out of the blue in the Emporium only a month ago. She owned nothing from Burma yet. It was still early days for the country, which made it all the more exciting from Eva’s point of view. What might she come back with for her own collection?

There was a Japanese print on the wall, and the kitchen cupboards held a motley selection of china, some Oriental,
some English bone, so thin that when you held it up to the light you could almost see right through. Max would never have moved in here, Eva reminded herself. Their styles didn’t match. They didn’t match. She’d been fooling herself for two years, that was all.

Max. She poured that glass of wine, took a sip and went to run her bath. The sounds of
Japancakes
followed her through the flat, rising and falling, the perfect chill out music. She’d met him in a cinema queue. Someone in front of her had trodden on her toe, she’d taken a little jump back and managed to throw toffee popcorn all over Max, who was standing right behind her. It had proved to be quite an ice breaker. He had suggested they sit together, it had seemed natural to go for a drink afterwards to discuss the film, and the rest, she thought grimly, was history.

And now they were history too. Eva turned the hot tap and swirled in a generous dollop of her favourite bath oil. She wanted to lie back, relax, sip her wine and think about going to Burma. What did it matter that she hadn’t yet met a man she wanted to spend her life with? What did it matter that she had spent two years with Max before she discovered his other agenda? If she were honest … Max had turned her head from the start. He was older, charming, sophisticated. He had not only taken her out to shows, events and to all the latest restaurants for dinner, but he’d often surprised her with gifts of jewellery and even weekends in Paris and Rome. Which was all very nice. Eva fetched her wine and began to peel off her dusty work clothes, piece by piece. The steam from the bath
was already filling the room. She turned the tap and added some cold. But it wasn’t really love, was it? Part of her had always known that.

And in two years their relationship had barely moved on. She began to hum as the track changed to ‘Heaven or Las Vegas’ – a good question, if it was one. Max had met her grandfather and she had met his formidable mother on one of the rare occasions when she’d swept through Bristol. But other than that … It was as if, she realised, they were still dating. They had often woken up together, but never discussed the future. They had given each other keys to their flats, but more as a matter of convenience, she suspected, than a wish to share their lives. Because they hadn’t become close, at least not in the way that Eva imagined you became close with someone who was special. Apart from Lucas at uni – and that, she knew, had been more of a friendship than a love affair – Max was the nearest she had ever got to a full-time relationship with a man.

The water reached a perfect temperature and was as deep as Eva liked it. She lowered herself in, felt the liquid heat against her skin and smelled the neroli orange blossom rising from the essential oil. What would have happened, she wondered, if she hadn’t gone round to his flat that afternoon one month ago? Would they still be together? Would she be thinking, even now, about where he would be taking her tonight, rather than contemplating a relaxing evening in alone?

It had been an unusual situation. Eva had stayed the night at Max’s and the following day at work realised she didn’t
have her mobile and that she’d left it at his flat. She’d remembered a text that had come through; she must have left the phone on the coffee table after she’d answered it. She tried to call him, but his mobile was switched off; Max was a criminal lawyer so he was probably with a client. She’d nip round and get it at lunch-time, she decided. It wasn’t far, he wouldn’t mind …

Eva dipped her head back to soak her hair; she’d wash it under the shower later. She sank into the restful curve of the bath and had another sip of wine. From the moment she’d walked into the hall, she knew something was wrong. And she didn’t have far to look. They were in the living room on the sofa, still adjusting their clothing, Max and some girl she’d never seen before, her make-up smudged over his pink shirt, her skirt still half way up her thighs. What a cliché. Eva hadn’t hung around to witness their embarrassment or hear any pathetic excuses. She’d picked up her phone – still on the coffee table as she’d suspected, interesting that they hadn’t even noticed it – and walked out, leaving his key on the hook by the door. Only afterwards did she remember the odd phone call which Max had left the room to take, once or twice when he’d cancelled their dates. The signs had been there, she supposed. She just hadn’t let herself see.

More fool her. Eva began to soap her body, starting with her arms, generous with the lather. She’d been upset about Max, of course. But now … She was over him. She dipped under again. She’d reclaimed her life. And she was going to Burma.

When the water began to cool, she washed her hair and rinsed off under the shower and then climbed out, wrapping herself in a big white fluffy towel. He’d have finished his dinner by now. She paused the music. It was time to tell her grandfather.