The Silk Merchant's Daughter (28 page)

Sylvie appeared a short while later and asked to hold the baby.

‘She’s so sweet,’ she said and smiled as she gazed at the tiny thing. ‘I’m so proud of you both. Have you thought of a name for our little angel?’

‘Celeste.’

‘What a beautiful name. Celeste Duval. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?’

‘Did you get hold of Mark?’

‘I sent a telegram to the American embassy in Saigon. It’s our best way of reaching him. He has to know he’s a father, doesn’t he?’

Over the coming days Nicole concentrated on her baby. When the milk came in, her breasts felt swollen and tender, but it wasn’t long before she and Celeste settled into a rhythm. Nicole kissed her nose, her chubby fingers and her warm tummy, and feeling the child’s skin against her own she felt something inside her shift. It was a paradox, but now she had so much to lose, she felt stronger, more herself, and was surprised by it. When the baby cried she walked her around the house, and the simple soothing act calmed Nicole too. It was a joy to draw courage and strength from nurturing her child, and cradling her baby delighted her. Her exhaustion passed quickly and before long she felt happy and alert.

So that Celeste could enjoy a little sunlight, a pram Sylvie had borrowed was kept in the conservatory. A few days following the birth, Nicole nestled her under her white coverlet and wheeled the pram through the garden and out of the side gate.

The day was beautiful with a huge blue sky and birds singing in all the trees. White blossom was everywhere and you could easily be forgiven for forgetting it was a time of war. Complete strangers stopped to look at the baby, all of them remarking on her fabulous blue eyes and reddish-coloured hair. Nicole was falling into motherhood as if she had been made for it and, feeling an immense amount of pride, loved to show her daughter off. She still found it hard to believe this beautiful blue-eyed child had sprung from her.

But gradually the state of dreamy contentment came to an end. Severed from the one person who had sustained her, she felt terribly alone. And without Lisa or her father either, their old family home had become too large. In what almost seemed like a moment of inattention, everything had changed. There was still no news of Mark and she began to feel sick inside. If the embassy hadn’t been able to get hold of him, it probably
meant he had no idea that the baby had already been born. Nicole understood the implications of bringing a child into such an uncertain world and was frightened by the dark days that might lie ahead. She sat on the sofa, closed her eyes and dreamt of leaning her head against Mark’s shoulder as he stroked her hair. She pictured him with a wide smile on his face while tenderly cradling the baby. She so wanted her family to be whole and for a moment the image was so clear it felt as if he was really there.

When she opened her eyes she felt unbearably sad that he wasn’t and she ached with love for the two people who meant everything to her. In a moment of total stillness she thought about how much she hated the war and the awful helpless knowledge it brought with it. How could it be that the lives of people you loved might be wiped out in an instant? People with warm blood in their veins, people who breathed and laughed and loved. People who did not deserve to die. It seemed impossible to her that she might never see Mark again. The whole world seemed to be standing to attention as the truth of it sank in. She glanced up and saw Sylvie hovering in the doorway watching, her face completely devoid of expression.

As spring continued, Nicole played with Celeste in the garden, making the most of the breezes and drier air. She was genuinely happy being with her beautiful daughter, loved waking to Celeste’s early smiles and even looked forward to holding her when she was disturbed by shrill night-time cries. Sylvie seemed quieter than before, but spent much of her time pacing up and down, rubbing her hands together and talking to herself. One night Nicole was surprised to hear Sylvie wandering the house and the back door opening and closing. After she had left Celeste finally asleep, she followed Sylvie out to the garden, treading quietly so as not to startle her sister. The garden was alive with night-time scratchings and snappings and, despite the darkness, there was enough moon to light Sylvie’s pale nightdress. Nicole blinked rapidly: Sylvie seemed as if she was one of the ghosts who lived out there.

A tune from the past came into her head and she hummed it softly. ‘Do you remember it, Sylvie?’ she said.

For a moment or two her sister joined in but then stopped suddenly.

‘What’s wrong?’ Nicole said in a gentle voice.

Without a glance in Nicole’s direction, her sister said nothing.

‘Sylvie?’

Sylvie twisted round but had an odd look in her eyes. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’

‘But, Sylvie, you’re barefoot and outside in the garden at three in the morning. Aren’t you cold?’

Sylvie glanced at her feet. ‘Oh. I didn’t realize.’

Then she carried on standing silently in an attitude of vacancy and Nicole couldn’t prevent the thought that her sister seemed tired of life.

She put her arm round Sylvie. ‘Come on. Hot chocolate for you.’

Sylvie gave her a thin smile but Nicole saw tears in her eyes. She didn’t want to leap to conclusions but feared something inside her sister was wearing very thin.

The next day, neither of them mentioned their night-time encounter – it was as if it had not happened.

A few days later she and Sylvie were in the garden again. Nicole still hadn’t heard from Mark and his absence was becoming a source of real anguish. While she longed for news, any news, she also lived in terror of receiving a telegram saying he was dead or missing.

Despite Sylvie’s previous protestations of confidence in their business, the larger of their two silk shops in the ancient quarter had been up for sale for several weeks and the lack of a purchaser had been a concern. Now Sylvie told Nicole she’d managed to sell to a Vietnamese woman hoping to turn it into a restaurant. Sylvie thought the woman a fool.

‘If we don’t sell everything else soon we’ll never find buyers,’ Nicole said. ‘And we’ll need the money. Maybe we could set up a silk import business in France? We could do it together. All the top designers want to source quality silk.’

Sylvie was walking up and down on the lawn. ‘Don’t be defeatist. No need to think of France. We will still win the war. You’ll see.’

Sylvie had replied a little uneasily, Nicole thought, and her insistence that everything would be fine lacked conviction. Although there were rumours that a showdown was planned
at Dien Bien Phu, her sister more or less maintained the usual French attitude of entitlement. The truth was nobody knew how things were going. Misinformation and rumour were rife; who was winning and who was losing depended on which paper you were reading.

‘So our store on Rue Paul Bert is gone and now the large silk shop too. There’s only my little one left and our two houses,’ Nicole said.

‘We still have the export business. We could run it together in Huế once Celeste is a bit older.’

‘I’d love to.’ She paused. ‘Though, to be honest, I’m not sure if we’ll stay in Vietnam.’

‘You and Celeste?’

‘Mark and me, I meant, though Celeste too, of course.’

Sylvie’s face had fallen a little. ‘Oh.’

‘And if the Vietminh win, they’ll ban anyone from owning anything. The state will take it all.’

‘Over my dead body.’

‘That’s exactly what I’m worried about.’

‘Shall we go in?’ Sylvie said, ignoring her comment and seeming to want to change the subject.

‘Shouldn’t we leave now while we still can?’

‘And leave everything for the Vietminh to take? I don’t want to go, and anyway, things will still go our way. But if it’s what you want, you go.’

‘Sylvie, you know I can’t leave you here alone. I’ll wait a bit longer. Maybe Mark will be in touch soon.’

Sylvie just grunted and they went indoors together.

A couple of weeks later Nicole’s milk was drying up and she sat at the kitchen table in tears, with Celeste on her lap, red-faced and screaming. Sylvie was staring at the window and muttering as if in another world.

‘I haven’t got enough to feed her,’ Nicole wailed as Celeste’s screams reached fever pitch.

Sylvie turned away from the window. ‘Sorry?’

‘I haven’t got enough milk. Look at her.’

Sylvie seemed to wake up. ‘I can fix that. No need to worry. I’ll do the bottles. I’ve already got three and the milk powder too. No, this is fine. Great, in fact. Great.’

‘Why have you already got them?’

‘Always be prepared. That’s my motto.’

Nicole stood up while cradling the baby with her free arm, hoping the gentle rocking movement might calm her daughter. Maybe it was the worry over Mark that had dried up the milk. As she was thinking this, Sylvie was clattering about boiling water and mixing powder in a jug.

‘Here we are,’ she said at last. ‘All done. Now let me.’ She held out her arms for Celeste, then sat at the table holding the baby and began to bottle feed her.

‘If she’s going to be bottle fed, I can eat garlic again.’ Nicole added some chopped garlic to the stew, then she picked up the newspaper but couldn’t concentrate on it. A moment later she flung it down and came over to plant a kiss on the baby’s cheek.

‘I’ll feed her,’ she said and reached out for her baby.

‘No, she’s fine. Look, her eyelashes are fluttering.’ Sylvie got to her feet and danced around the kitchen, rocking Celeste as she did so. ‘She’s fast asleep. Go and have a lie-down. I’ll look after her.’

‘Very well. If you’re sure?’

‘I love this little girl,’ Sylvie said, and she kissed the baby on the nose. ‘You are my little beauty, aren’t you?’

‘Is the phone line fixed?’ Nicole asked.

Sylvie stopped dancing. ‘It was, but now there’s something wrong again. There’s such a lot of sabotage just now.’

Nicole sighed. It was true. The electricity frequently failed too and they never knew why. It was a dark, unsettled time and horrible to feel so cut off. The post office had been bombed, so the lack of mail was hardly surprising. She smiled as she watched her sister kiss Celeste’s fat little cheeks.

‘Shoo!’ Sylvie said. ‘Go and lie down.’

‘I’m going.’

‘I’ll give her a bath too.’

Nicole tried to bury her fears about Mark by continuing to mentally plan the silk business she would develop if they lived abroad. When Celeste was a little older she would begin again. If Vietnam was no longer possible it might be something she could do in either France or America. She knew about silk and, after all, there were other silk-producing countries. When she thought about Sylvie she hoped her sister might one day have a child of her own. Looking after the baby seemed to be good for her. When she wasn’t with Celeste, she seemed jumpy and distracted, and didn’t always hear what was said, and that worried Nicole.

She still hadn’t told Sylvie the truth about the day of her own birth and felt rather cowardly for avoiding it. She couldn’t put it off for much longer, but it was such a sensitive subject. She worried that if it went badly, it might shatter the hard-won peace between them, and that wouldn’t be good for Celeste. A resentment so deep couldn’t be handled casually.

A day or so later they were both in the little dining room reading while Celeste was sleeping. Nicole had decided that now was the moment to tell Sylvie the truth, but kept losing her nerve. Playing for time, she glanced up at the ceiling. ‘God, how I hate those flying cherubs,’ she said.

‘I rather like them,’ Sylvie said. Seeming to spot something in Nicole’s face, she tried to be encouraging. ‘We mustn’t give up, Nicole. We must keep believing.’

‘If you think believing will be enough to win, I reckon the Vietminh believe a lot harder than we do.’

‘Was that why you ran away to join them? You thought they were stronger?’

‘It was less of a running to join them than a running away –’

Sylvie interrupted. ‘From us? You were running away from us? I’m sorry, if I’d known the house arrest was going to have that result … I only wanted to protect you.’

‘Control me, more like! But it wasn’t that – at least, not only that.’

‘Then?’

‘Lisa told me the truth about what happened to our mother the day I was born.’

Sylvie frowned. ‘But we already knew.’

Nicole got up and walked across to look out of the window at the thatched pavilion. The wicker chairs looked faded and there was no longer a glass table beside the lily pond. In fact, the pond looked thoroughly neglected.

She twisted back to look at Sylvie. ‘It was a lie. Our mother didn’t die because of me. Not directly. She died because of our father.’

Sylvie gave her a puzzled look but didn’t speak.

‘Our mother found him in bed with one of the maids that day. She’d come home early from some trip.’

‘Stop!’ Sylvie covered her ears with her hands. ‘Why would you say that? I don’t want to hear it.’

‘It’s the truth. And later that day our “perfect” father refused to believe she was in labour. He heard her crying and screaming and forbade anyone to go to her. He said she was seeking attention. In the end Lisa disobeyed him and found mother bleeding to death. She called the doctor, but it was too late.’

Sylvie was white as a sheet and absolutely motionless.

‘The shock of seeing him in her bed with another woman caused the labour to start prematurely.’

Eyes downcast, Sylvie was still not moving.

‘Say something, Sylvie.’

At last, Sylvie looked up. ‘He wouldn’t. It’s a terrible, wicked lie.’

Nicole shook her head but, seeing her sister so stricken, began to wish she hadn’t brought the subject up at all. Sylvie was knitting her fingers together, twisting her hands repeatedly, and Nicole felt sorry for her.

They avoided each other for the rest of the day, but in the evening Sylvie came into Nicole’s room with red eyes and a pinched look on her face.

‘Now you have Mark, you don’t need me, do you?’

‘Of course I still need you.’

Sylvie stood frozen to the spot then gave Nicole a strange smile. ‘It’s not true, is it, what you said about Father?’

Nicole sighed. ‘It is true.’

With an air of defeat, Sylvie sat down. ‘You are never to speak of it again. Is that understood?’

Then she folded her arms on Nicole’s dressing table and, resting her face on her arms, began to sob.

As the days passed by Nicole was becoming more and more certain something had happened to Mark. The thought that he might already be dead caused a knot in her stomach and sent her rushing to the bathroom to be sick. By April, the general situation looked as if it was changing and not for the better. With tension in Hanoi so high, Nicole felt sure they must prepare to evacuate even if, in the end, it wasn’t necessary. She was halfway through preparing a bag for herself and Celeste, in case they needed to leave quickly, and had tried to persuade Sylvie to do the same. The responsibility was
daunting but she’d do anything to provide her child with a safe and happy life. If it had to be in France without Mark, or Sylvie, then so be it.

One afternoon she took Celeste into her father’s study and thought about him. Even after all this time the air still seemed to retain the smell of him, though the trace of alcohol and cigars was stale. She sat down in his leather chair and longed to be able to go back and change things. With a sigh of regret over her past relationship with her father, she got to her feet. Just then she heard the rattle of keys in the front door and went into the hall, where she saw Sylvie looking white-faced. Nicole stopped in her tracks. Sylvie sat down on the hall chair with her head in her hands. Then she looked up and, twisting her hands in her lap, told Nicole she’d heard some bad news. The French-held garrison in the valley of Dien Bien Phu was large and strategically important; Sylvie, like everyone else, had believed the Vietminh could never take it, but she’d just heard that the French army had made tactical errors.

Sylvie got to her feet and paced back and forth in the green light of the hall. ‘Oh God. Oh God. What is going to happen to us?’

‘What kind of errors?’

‘Terrible errors.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Calamitous losses and the chance of a Vietminh win growing imminent. Assistance from China is boosting the Vietminh war effort; the only hope will be if America send further aid.’

‘Who told you?’ Nicole asked.

‘André left a message at the office.’

Nicole sucked in her cheeks as she considered this. ‘What does he think we should do?’

‘He didn’t say. But it looks like the Vietminh fighting spirit means they may succeed where we have failed.’

‘It’s exactly what I’ve always said. So does that mean it’s actually over?’

Sylvie sighed before she replied and when she spoke her voice seemed brittle. ‘Not yet. We may be losing through overestimating our strength and underestimating theirs. As I said, with more American aid it could change for the better. We can still win.’

‘You still believe that?’ Nicole hugged her daughter to her.

‘Yes. Yes. Of course. But I wish Papa was here. He’d know what to do.’

‘Maybe.’

Sylvie’s eyes hardened. ‘I want to go back. Just to go back. Why is that so hard?’

‘Back where?’ Nicole asked, realizing that her sister was lost somewhere in her own interior reality. ‘You’re not making any sense.’

‘Before all this. Before.’ Sylvie stood wringing her hands and looking half mad with fear. Then she seemed to snap out of it. ‘But we’ve got to do the best we can for Celeste, haven’t we? With sandy hair and blue eyes, she’ll never survive if the Vietminh win.’