The Silk Merchant's Daughter (24 page)

Nicole opened all the windows. She had grown to love the ancient quarter: the wonderful aroma of fried shallots and minced onions, the narrow alleys, the open markets and the din of the traders tempting you with their food. It always made her feel better, though her growing size was a problem they would have to think about. Under a vivid blue sky, the streets were infused with the smell of caramel and dumplings, and she couldn’t have felt happier. When O-Lan struggled back from shopping with two bags bursting with produce, she was intrigued.

‘What have you got?’ Nicole asked, following O-Lan as she carried them through to the kitchen.

‘I am going to teach you to cook Vietnamese style – properly, I mean. Your steamed spinach is wearing a bit thin, not to mention what it’s doing to my mother’s digestive system. Think of this as a late lunch.’

Nicole smiled. ‘Where do we begin?’

‘By emptying the bags.’

Nicole pulled the lettuce out first, red and green, then a huge bunch of coriander, plus some celery and another green leaf. Nicole sniffed. ‘Lemony.’

‘Look in the other bag.’

Nicole opened the bag. ‘Fresh white noodles. So what are we making?’

‘
Bun cha
. But you’ve missed the important ingredient. The pork. We’ll cut up the leaves, make the broth and grill the pork outside over charcoal.’

They worked together in companionable silence. Nicole chopped while O-Lan made the broth.

After they began grilling, a gorgeous, sweet aroma of pork filled the air. Nicole’s mouth watered as O-Lan finally slid the meat into the broth.

‘All done. Let’s eat,’ O-Lan said as she placed three bowls in front of Nicole, noodles, meat and broth, and chopped leaves.

Nicole copied O-Lan, who took some of the leaves, then a few noodles, and dipped the mix into the broth, picking up a slice of pork as she did so.

‘It’s delicious,’ Nicole said as she slipped a second attempt at the mix into her mouth. ‘Thank you for this. Exactly what I needed. I’ll make it for you next time.’

Nicole stood silently listening upstairs as late-afternoon sunshine slanted through partly closed curtains; below her there were French voices in the shop. If anyone should come asking questions, she had asked O-Lan to say she didn’t know where the owner of the shop was. Her friend was good to her word and after a few minutes the men left. Nicole peered through the gap in the curtains to watch them walk away. Her confidence dissolved when she saw Giraud was among them.

O-Lan came up the stairs. ‘Did you hear?’

Nicole nodded.

‘What if they arrest me for harbouring you? I have my mother to think of.’

‘They won’t arrest you.’ Nicole checked that they had really gone then reached up to close the curtains fully. As she did so, O-Lan stared at her stomach, noticing her swollen belly for the first time.

‘Oh God, no. What have you done? You aren’t even married.’

‘Don’t be so old-fashioned. Aren’t you pleased for me?’

‘Since when is it old-fashioned to want a father for a child? Is it Trần’s?’

‘No, we were only ever together once, long before we even left to go to the north.’

‘Mark’s?’

‘Yes.’

‘But don’t you see, you’ll never get away with a child who doesn’t look Vietnamese here. Not when –’

The air suddenly felt heavy as if there was nothing left in it.

‘Please don’t tell anyone.’

‘Of course I won’t, but if the French come sniffing around again, I’ll have to think of my mother.’

Nicole nodded.

‘We may need to get you away from here, perhaps to France where your baby will not be out of place.’ She had spoken in a hushed tone and paused to stand up, push the curtains aside and look out of the open window.

‘What’s the matter?’

O-Lan turned back to look at her. ‘When the Vietminh win, your baby will really not be safe here.’

Nicole wondered if there might be a better chance for her child if they went to live in Huế. She thought about their old home and the colours of the Perfume River. She remembered her cycle rides along the bank under the trees, and the blossom falling into the river. Her baby could have a happy childhood.

‘I was wondering about going to Huế,’ she said.

O-Lan shook her head. ‘Not when the Vietminh win. You may not even be safe yourself.’

‘
When
the Vietminh win?’

O-Lan nodded. ‘They will. You know they will. Everything will change.’

Nicole batted away the gnats floating around their heads. ‘Have you heard something?’

O-Lan nodded and leant closer to whisper. ‘A letter from Trần. He says the Vietminh are gaining ground. He asked me to keep an eye open for you until he returns.’

‘So he is coming back?’

‘Yes, but not for a while. Do not worry yet. But you will have to leave sooner or later. Do you have money?’

‘Not much. Only what’s in the shop’s account. Oh, and the value of the goods in my shop. But Mark will help.’

After they’d talked for a while longer, O-Lan left. It was the time of day when the shrill noises of the day faded and the world seemed to slip into slow-motion before true darkness fell. Nicole went downstairs again and, to pass the time, pounded some rice with a pestle and mortar. It satisfied her need to be active and she’d use the flour to bake rice cakes in the outdoor oven in the courtyard.

She thought again about trying to learn to knit. Her baby would need clothes to wear. She knew Lisa had wrapped up all their old baby clothes and stored them in a zinc-lined chest at the house. Some of them would have survived – perhaps she could go back and look for them.

She changed into her nightgown and went to sit on a bench in the courtyard. She glanced up at the dark, bruised sky, fading to pink where it met the rooftops. A slight breeze brought in the evening scents she loved. Not only roses and jasmine, but cigarettes and a leafy, earthy smell too. Mark had promised he would be back that evening. She didn’t want to think of Giraud or Trần; didn’t want anything to disturb her peace. Later, she chopped and then fried onions, garlic and peppers, and when they were soft added the mixture to the rice flour to form patties. As the smell of charcoal filled the air she lined them up on the grill, and when done, she put them in a bowl
for Mark. Suppertime came and went. When the evening grew a little cooler and it began to drizzle she ran upstairs to fetch a shawl. She intended to go back outside to watch the stars, if the clouds allowed it, but she didn’t have the chance to go back down. As she was wrapping the shawl about her shoulders she heard a sound and spun round.

‘Mark! I’m so glad to see you.’ She smiled at him. ‘But where have you been? I cooked.’

‘You don’t own me, Nicole.’

She frowned. ‘I never thought I did, but I was worried. Giraud was here today.’

‘Really?’

The look he gave her was like a slap in the face. ‘Don’t you believe me?’

He narrowed his eyes but didn’t speak.

She smelt the alcohol on him and felt uncertain. ‘I was frightened, Mark, and when you were late …’

‘You’re safe enough here. The man has been watching the door, hasn’t he?’

‘And Giraud?’

He sighed. ‘Forget Giraud.’

‘Why? Has something happened?’ Suddenly tired, she sat on the sofa.

He didn’t answer but took out an envelope from his shirt pocket, then pulled up a chair and sat down facing her, legs spread wide.

Nicole was conscious of some shouting in the streets, but thought it distant. Nothing to worry about. She heard the sound of the rain starting up, gently drumming on the roof tiles. Unable to fully read Mark’s eyes, she detected something unfamiliar. Beneath the smell of alcohol and cigarettes, something had changed. He didn’t usually sit on a chair facing her in such a way, scrutinizing her face.

‘We’ve had an up-and-down relationship, haven’t we, Nicole?’

Feeling her mouth drying a little, she licked her lips.

‘Don’t you want to know who the letter is from?’

She gazed at him. ‘Of course.’

He took a cigarette out of a pack, lit it with a match then threw the match into a metal wastepaper bin.

‘Mark!’

‘It’ll burn out.’ He leant back in his chair.

She watched him carefully. This was a different Mark and she didn’t like it.

He cleared his throat. ‘Why did you lie about Sylvie?’

She wiped a hand across her forehead. It was dreadfully hot. ‘You’ve had too much to drink!’

He stared at her and she could see the confusion in his eyes. ‘I have two pieces of news. Firstly, I now have the complete address of your old cook’s sister. I thought if the worst happened you could go to her.’

‘Oh, that’s wonderful. I –’

He cut her short. ‘And this is a letter from
your
sister.’

She screwed up her brows. ‘But I thought the post was halted.’

‘Halted, yes. Finished, no.’ She watched as he struggled to find more words. When he spoke, his voice was low. ‘Maybe you should have thought of that.’

His words struck her to the quick. She picked up a beautiful striped red and silver silk cushion to hug against her chest. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, but her voice seemed to stick in her throat.

A vein in his neck was pulsing. He narrowed his eyes and continued to stare at her. ‘I know you’ve always had problems with your sister. Sylvie told me.’

Nicole gasped. ‘It was the other way round. She was the one who had problems with me.’

‘She told me you’d say that. Told me how much she’d tried to make you happy.’

‘She was lying. It wasn’t like that. She tried to drown me.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what to believe any more. But I do know that
you
lied to me. Don’t you understand?
You
deceived me. That’s what’s so cutting.’

‘Mark, please.’

‘Everything is always about your sister, isn’t it?’ He got to his feet and walked over to the window, where he looked down at the street. There was a long silence before he turned back to look at her again.

She felt a flash of anger. ‘Well, if it’s Sylvie you want, why don’t you go and get her?’

‘For Christ sake, woman, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t want Sylvie. But I feel I’ve been manipulated. By you. Why did you feel you had to lie?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? Because I thought you still had feelings for Sylvie.’

‘You didn’t believe me when I said there was nothing between me and your sister. I tried to convince you of the strength of my feelings for you.’

Nicole chewed the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood.

‘But all along it was
you
who
I
couldn’t trust. I trusted you, Nicole. There’s so little trust left in the world, but I completely trusted you.’

‘You
can
trust me.’

‘No. There have been too many lies in my life, too many double lives, too many different versions of me. I felt that with you I was my better self, my true self, and now I see that it was based on a lie.’

‘You were obsessed with my sister.’

‘You’re the one who’s obsessed with her. It’s not a good thing, Nicole. For whatever reason, you believe you live in her
shadow. But you don’t need to. You’re beautiful, generous and loving, and all I ever wanted.’

He came over, and now he was close to her, his face twisted. She looked up at his eyes and a tear slid down her cheek. ‘We’ve been happy, Mark. You know we have.’

He smoothed the hair from her eyes but didn’t speak. They stared at each other for what felt like minutes. The room went still and the silence swallowed her. She didn’t move, didn’t even blink. She couldn’t bear to think that this might end now. What did Giraud matter? What did anything matter?

‘I’m sorry I lied about Sylvie’s letter,’ she said. ‘Really sorry. Let’s eat now.’ She got to her feet and held out her hands to him. He didn’t take them.

‘Mark. Please.’

Something awful was snapping at her heels and she felt so lonely it physically hurt. She closed her eyes but everything seemed to blend together as she heard him move about. She felt cut-off, disconnected. After a few minutes she managed to speak.

‘What did Sylvie write about?’

‘She’s coming back. She told you she would be back in that letter she left for you, didn’t she?’

‘You lied to me too. Pretending to be a silk merchant!’

‘That was different.’ There was a pause as he came round to face her. ‘I need time to think.’

She stared at his bleak face, then pushed him away and ran across to her bed, where she curled up facing the wall with her back to him. She listened to his footsteps fade as he went down the stairs. After a few moments all she could hear was the rain on the roof. She remained motionless as the lonely darkness of the night closed in, the rain pounding harder and harder, and the smell of sweet sticky rice drifting in from a nearby house.

Then she wept, drenching her pillow and feeling more turmoil than she’d ever felt before. She put her hands on her belly, hoping for comfort. All night long, as the wind and rain continued to batter the windows, the roof and the street below, she felt the loss of him.

At dawn, she thought about her sister. When was Sylvie coming? When had she sent the letter? Had Mark written back? Had he told her about the baby? Her sister had painted such a distorted picture of their childhood relationship, could Mark really believe what Sylvie had said? By the time O-Lan called out, Nicole was feeling dreadful.

Her belly hurt and, fearing for her baby, she slipped her feet into her slippers then attempted to reach the bathroom downstairs. O-Lan tiptoed up to help Nicole down the stairs and through to the back.

‘You look unwell. Shall I bring you some scented tea?’

Nicole perched on the edge of the small bath while she calmed herself. After that she splashed her face and washed her hair using a shampoo with the fragrance of wild roses. She wanted her child with a fierceness she could never have imagined. The baby was the only thread of light in this terrible mess.

O-Lan brought the tea, which she drank in one big gulp.

‘What has happened?’

‘Mark has gone.’