The Silk Merchant’s Daughter

by Dinah Jefferies

  ‘Was that the only reason you came to the show? To see if I could sing?’

  ‘I believed you could sing. I brought someone with me to prove it to him as well. He is a composer who writes wonderful songs based on traditional tales. The troupes travel the countryside performing to army units and in the villages too. Sometimes they perform plays. Like wandering minstrels but with a message.’

  ‘To inspire hatred of the French.’ She shook her head. ‘I am half French remember.’

  ‘I’ve told you. There will be a time when you will have to choose.’

  ‘I can’t turn my back on my family. Anyway, it doesn’t make sense. The Vietminh wouldn’t accept me.’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘I think you’re wrong.’

  He held out a hand and they went upstairs so that he might rest. She’d arranged a spray of jasmine in a vase by the bed and the room was sweet with its scent. He took off his boots, then lay down on his back and closed his eyes. She lay down beside him and expected him to fall asleep straight away.

  She’d been alone for too long and her body throbbed with the need for physical contact. Though she felt a bit awkward being so close, she was pleased when she felt him reach for her hand. He turned to face her and she gazed at the deep exhaustion lines around his eyes. What happened next was not what she’d expected. Trần put an arm round her and pulled her to him. Then he opened her blouse, loosening each button deliberately slowly and continuing to watch her as he did. Excited by the desire she saw in his eyes, she sat up and removed her chemise, then piece by piece peeled off the rest of her clothes. He reached for her but she insisted he remove all his clothes too. When he had done so they looked at each other. She ran her fingertips over his ribs then, holding his hands, examined his blackened, broken nails and his body covered in scratches and bruises. He leant across and touched the hollow at the base of her neck. She’d thought it might be hurried, but he was gentle, and as she gave him her body, she acknowledged how much she had needed to be held. It was not passionate but the gentle lovemaking of friends.

  ‘This is my first time,’ she whispered and felt close to tears.

  She traced the outline of the birthmark on his neck. ‘We’re both marked, aren’t we?’

  He turned her round and kissed her back. When it was over she stretched out her damp body and lay next to him.

  ‘Comrades,’ he said. Then they lay in silence.

  Afterwards she made a simple dish of rice and chicken, which he ate ravenously.

  ‘You are so thin,’ she said.

  ‘It has been hard.’

  ‘I don’t know what to do. If I go with you they will look for me.’

  He shook his head. ‘If you don’t come they will watch you. You’ll see how much your precious family care. You can’t save everyone.’

  ‘I’m not trying to. And anyway, I’ve done nothing.’

  ‘You have been seen with me. It’s enough. I must go now but I’ll be back soon.’

  ‘Don’t go.’

  ‘I have to. It isn’t safe. I’ll come back in one week’s time, before you close the shop for the evening. That is my deadline. I hope you will have an answer for me. Either you come or this must be the last time we can meet. In the meantime, you can prove which side you are on by listening to your father and the American. Go home for a few days. See what you can find out about French plans.’

  ‘Mark is not party to French plans.’

  Trần laughed. ‘Don’t be so blind. You believe he’d still be sniffing around here if he wasn’t? Be careful, Nicole. They all want to destroy us and will trample over you if you get in their way.’

  An hour after he’d gone she regretted having sex with him. She didn’t love him, but had felt so alone she’d convinced herself it was the right thing to do. It wasn’t that she didn’t care. She did care, but not in that way, and now she’d confused everything. ‘I don’t know where I belong,’ she whispered. Picturing herself back in the family home, she knew it was no longer there. As for Trần? He offered her nothing but exile.

  Taken by surprise when Mark appeared at the shop door the next day, her heart gave a jolt. He was back to his usual self with that easy-going glamour she had fallen for from the start, and when he smiled at her, she felt the same longing. So that’s how it felt. She’d wondered how it would be if she were to be alone with him again and now she knew.

  He wandered about the shop whistling, but she sensed something wasn’t right.

  ‘Are you looking for silk?’ she asked, knowing full well he was not.

  He didn’t reply.

  It was such a humid day that, despite a fan constantly shifting the air, the atmosphere was still oppressive. Time stretched out as he ran his fingertips over the silk and glanced behind the tall shiny rolls of fabric banked up against the walls.

  She’d been holding herself tight but relaxed a little, glad there were, as yet, no tunnels for him to uncover, but at the same time wishing there could be a reason for him to stay. ‘Then what is it?’ she said.

  ‘I want you to be safe.’

  She stared at him, trying to figure out his intentions.

  ‘There has been talk,’ he continued. ‘Of a Vietnamese man you’ve been spending time with.’

  ‘What kind of talk?’

  With his back to her, he shrugged.

  ‘What kind of talk, Mark?’

  He turned to face her. He was big and tall, utterly American, and exuded masculinity. The contrast with Trần couldn’t have been sharper. It shook her, that difference.

  ‘Talk that you might be getting into something you will regret,’ he said, his eyes so clear she found it impossible to believe he could be anything other than candid. ‘Is it true?’

  She didn’t reply.

  ‘I worry about you, Nicole. Surely you must see that? You would tell me if you’d heard anything of the Vietminh’s plans, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I’m just selling silk.’

  He raised his brows.

  ‘How is Sylvie?’ she said. ‘Is she back from her trip? I got the impression from Father she wasn’t well.’

  ‘She’s back. She just had a few emotional problems.’

  He reached out a hand to her but when she didn’t take it, he let it drop. And before he spoke again she saw a trace of something sad. ‘Nicole, I want you to know that you were right. I am not a silk trader. But I had nothing to do with Yvette’s death.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘I have my suspicions, but it’s not something I can discuss. You must realize that.’

  ‘And whoever it was, there will be no consequences?’

  ‘Probably not.’ He paused. ‘It’s tragic when innocent people suffer but at times like this we are all at risk.’

  ‘Does it never occur to you to ask what you are fighting for?’

  They remained silent as she gazed at him, but his eyes gave nothing away.

  He shook his head. ‘Come home, Nicole. Your family miss you.’

  ‘And do you miss me too?’ She swallowed hard. All manner of intense emotions were going on inside her and she felt sure he could see them written on her face.

  ‘I miss you more than you know.’

  She waited for him to speak again.

  ‘Nicole, we’re at war. I don’t sleep. I’m finding it harder to do my job and I’m worried for your safety. And in answer to your question, I am beginning to wonder what we are fighting for.’ He paused. ‘Please go home. Take my word for it. Close the shop.’

  She sighed deeply. Going home now would fit in well with Trần’s request, but she felt completely torn. How could she ever pass on information about Mark?

  ‘Look, I’ll go back for a while, but I’m not going to close the shop.’

  He held out a hand to her again and this time she took it. He pulled her to him as if he was about to embrace her, but even though she wanted to be held, she stiffened and he let her go.

  ‘I’ll go home a little later,’ she said.


  Standing with his feet apart in the way that was so familiar to her, he gazed at her and they both seemed to still. For a few seconds neither of them spoke, then he exhaled slowly. ‘Oh, Nicole.’

  But what was going on behind those eyes? Had she ever really known him? There was something there that stirred her so deeply she hardly had a word for it, and it made her ache with wanting him. But after Trần’s damning accusations she felt uncertain and, needing to defend herself from her own feelings, she tried to conjure the Vietnamese boy’s face as a buffer.

  ‘If it’s because of Sylvie …’ he said, interrupting her thoughts.

  ‘If what’s because of Sylvie?’

  ‘The way you have been.’ He paused. ‘Your sister and I are not together, Nicole. We never have been, apart from those few times back in the States.’

  ‘But she said –’

  ‘She is not always as honest as you. Whatever her reasons, I’ve come to realize that she believes there is more between us than there is or ever could be.’

  Nicole wanted to believe him so much but she had been hurt and couldn’t let herself go.

  ‘I feel so at ease with you, Nicole. Don’t you see?’

  ‘I think you’d better leave now,’ she said, trying to hide the catch that crept into her voice. Despite the notion that somehow he was the key to finding her real self, she was turning him away. ‘I said I’ll go home in a little while.’

  He stepped away but he looked sad, terribly sad.

  After he’d gone, she closed the shop and went upstairs where she pulled down the blinds, drew the curtains, lit a scented candle and then lay on the bed where she had so recently lain with Trần. Hardly able to fathom her own emotions, she felt drained. She was fond of Trần, yet when she saw Mark her insides twisted into a knot. Even now. In fact, being with Trần had only served to intensify her feelings for Mark. But how could you really tell who was honest? It seemed increasingly impossible.

  When she closed her eyes the longing to lie naked and feel Mark’s skin against her own consumed her. She had tried to tell herself they’d only ever been friends, but there had always been the hope of so much more, for her at least. She removed her clothes and lay under the sheet.

  She thought of Trần: intense and idealistic. She believed much of what he said was true. The Vietnamese had been used and mistreated by the French for decades. The French might pretend altruism, but it had all been about self-interest. Why she cared so much about Mark was harder to fathom. Maybe because he wasn’t French and that meant there was something different about him. He could seem detached at times and she knew it was because he’d been wounded by his mother’s death, just as she had been. Trần was earnest but it was hard to identify what other feelings might lie beneath the rigidity of his beliefs. All her life she had been paying for her mother’s death and Mark brought those buried emotions to the surface in a way that did not frighten her. With him she felt unlocked and calm. Trần was not much more than a boy and she knew that the party, so intrinsic to his identity, would always come before everything else. Before his village, before his family and before her. And she knew that if she went with Trần, what had just passed with Mark might be the last words they ever shared.

  She put one hand where she could feel the swell of her breast, and the other between her legs. Maybe one night with Mark would be enough to dispel the attraction. But how would it be? Would they lie together in silence? Would they talk? She imagined his lips so close to her neck she could feel his breath on her skin and a shiver ran down her spine.

  She could no longer hear the sounds of the street as her thoughts ran wild. The air seemed to chill as the truth of her situation gradually dawned on her. She had hoped she could keep the two halves of her life separate, without splitting herself in two, but her feelings were far too complicated. She had to accept that she had already crossed the line. Breathing in the scent of jasmine in the silence of the room, she understood that she might be forced to make a choice. A choice she did not want to make: one that might drive her to the very edge of her world. If it happened, not only would she lose part of herself, but also, of the two men who meant the most to her, she must surely betray one. Between bouts of crying and longing, and with her heart thudding and thumping, the devastating truth of that hit home.

  22

  The familiar smells of tomatoes and mushrooms met Nicole as she let herself into the family home. She closed the door behind her and sniffed, her mouth watering at the prospect of Lisa’s slow-cooked chicken chasseur. How long had it been since she’d enjoyed such a meal? Sylvie must have heard her arrive because she came through to the hall and stood hovering in the doorway of the main sitting room. Looking effortlessly chic, she wore a black strapless sheath dress and pointed red shoes. As she took a few steps towards Nicole she held out a hand.

  ‘Leave your case. The housemaid will take it up.’

  Nicole stood still and looked at her sister. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages. Papa said you hadn’t been well and you’d gone away for a break.’

  ‘Nonsense. I’m back now and I’m absolutely fine.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Nicole thought her sister looked thinner than usual, but well enough, and she headed for the staircase. ‘I’ll just get out of these clothes.’

  ‘Why not come in for a cocktail first?’ Sylvie tilted her head towards the sitting room. ‘Papa would love to see you.’

  ‘I’ll nip up to my old room first.’

  Sylvie smiled and rang the bell for the maid. ‘Don’t be silly. Change afterwards. We’ve hardly seen anything of you. Papa’s in there.’

  With a slight sigh of defeat, Nicole put down her case. She walked in front of Sylvie into the sitting room, where her eyes fell first on her father and then on the blond soldier, André. Why was he here? She looked at her father as he got to his feet and she smiled at him. He shifted from one foot to the other, then took a step towards her, holding out both hands. She allowed him to hold her and enjoyed the momentary warmth between them before twisting back to speak to Sylvie.

  Nicole’s smile faded as Giraud stepped out from where he had been standing behind the door, gave Sylvie a nod, and then moved into the centre of the room. ‘A pleasure to see you,’ he said with a cigarette between his lips.

  Nicole raised her brows but did not acknowledge him. Branded a liar as a child, she knew when to keep her mouth shut.

  ‘Monsieur Giraud needs to ask you a few questions. Nothing to worry about,’ Sylvie said.

  Giraud removed the cigarette and coughed into his hand before he spoke. ‘We’d like to know if you’ve had any further dealings with your little friend.’

  Now she sneaked a look at him. ‘What are you saying?’

  He smiled as he walked over to a marble ashtray where he stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I think we both know who I’m referring to.’

  ‘Have you asked me to come home just for this, Papa?’ Nicole said, playing for time while working out how to respond.

  ‘Of course not. We’ve missed you.’

  She pressed her hands together. It might be better to say something rather than nothing, but what she needed was a small diversion. ‘Trần dropped in, but only to say goodbye.’

  ‘We wanted you to let us know if you saw him,’ Giraud said with a frown. ‘Do you recall?’

  ‘Why does it matter?’

  His frown deepened and he scratched the skin just inside his collar. ‘Winning comes before everything.’

  ‘Well, I wish you luck,’ she said.

  ‘Chérie, don’t be flippant, you could be in danger,’ her father said.

  ‘Papa is right,’ Sylvie said. ‘None of us want to see you hurt.’

  Nicole shook her head and hoped her face looked sincere as she replied. ‘I’m sure I’m not in danger.’

  Giraud narrowed his eyes and then sucked his teeth, deliberately slowly it seemed. ‘We need to know where he is.’

  ‘He didn’t say.’

 
‘Nicole?’ This from her father, followed by the same from Sylvie.

  Nicole turned on her sister. ‘What are you, Papa’s bloody echo?’

  Giraud sighed deeply. Nicole found his exaggerated tolerance annoying and fought to control herself. What did he really want? There was something menacing about his slow approach that made her feel even more vulnerable.

  ‘Really, Papa, he didn’t say. He said he was leaving Hanoi and would not be back.’

  ‘You see, Nicole,’ Giraud continued and gave her a steady look, ‘we have information that he did a lot more than drop by. Have you lost control, developed feelings for this man?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Giraud stepped towards her and held up a finger. ‘Ah, but I think you do. Know that it won’t end there. What do you think the difference is between you and them?’

  The tone of his voice had lowered and there had been something in the way he’d spoken. Nicole attempted to reply but found that with a knot in her throat she could not.

  ‘Are you going to tell her?’ Giraud looked at her father. ‘Or shall I?’

  Her father gave an imperceptible shake of his head.

  ‘Have you forgotten all this, Nicole?’ Giraud waved a hand to indicate the splendour of the room. ‘Have you forgotten your French family? I must admit, I’m disappointed. I thought we had an agreement and now this lack of cooperation … Believe me, I’m sorry to have to do this, considering your father’s position.’

  Suddenly very fearful, she backed towards the French windows. Giraud gave her a cold smile and drew out another cigarette. She glanced around the room, regretting wearing her oldest áo dài. It made her feel as if she was of less significance than them. Sylvie was standing in front of the door to the hall, her eyes cast down. Nicole barged right past her and tried to turn the handle. It was locked.

  She glared at her sister. ‘Give me the key.’

  Sylvie stood firm. ‘I’m sorry. Honestly, I am.’

  ‘Give me the bloody key!’ On the edge of panic at the possibility of being trapped, Nicole swivelled round. ‘So whose brilliant idea was this? Was it you, Papa?’