Lilly was about to protest that this was out of the question, but Enrico added quickly, “You’ll find out—and I’d be delighted if you would let me know once you’ve solved the mystery.”
“I certainly will,” Lilly promised, gazing into the wine in her glass.
When she finally slipped between the heavy sheets of her bed, her head was filled with a whirl of scents and words. As all concrete thoughts slipped into the background, she gave in to a pleasant drowsiness and allowed herself to sink into sleep.
15
Padang, 1902
The concert at the Grand Hotel—attended by all the big names among Padang’s plantation owners—was a huge success. As Rose immersed herself in the melodies, she knew she had never played better. It must be due to the fact that she had noticed Paul in the audience. Catching sight of him made her feel incredibly light—all the more so as she realized he was not accompanied by his fiancée.
Full of satisfaction, she had drawn her bow across the strings and played until a flow of images enfolded her and whisked her away from the concert hall. Yes, that night she had played for Paul, for him alone. What was even more satisfying was that Sean Carmichael’s concerns were unfounded. Her growing feelings for Paul—whether or not they were reciprocated—inspired her to play better.
As she left the stage amidst the cheering of the audience, she threw her agent a withering glance. Since the incident following her return from the wayang, they had hardly exchanged a word. Anything that passed between them was in the form of notes, delivered by Mai, who had been disciplined for telling Carmichael about her evening with Paul. She should have punished her with silence, too, but she needed the girl. Mai cried for half an hour following the slap Rose had given her, and that seemed like punishment enough.
As Rose swept back into her dressing room, she felt as if she were walking on air. This time she would have no hesitation in mingling with the guests, as perhaps it would mean a chance to exchange a few words with Paul.
However, she wanted to change out of her stage clothes first.
“Mai, fetch me the blue dress with the lace trim. And be quick about it!”
The Chinese girl obeyed in silence. Since Rose’s punishment, she limited herself to saying only the bare essentials in an attempt not to anger her mistress further. Rose was a little touched by this, since she had done the same every time she had failed to please Mrs. Faraday. The vitriolic torrent of words that flowed from her teacher’s red-lipsticked mouth had not been soon forgotten.
Since everything had gone so well and fate appeared to be on her side with the presence of Paul, she decided to show a little leniency. She had no desire to be the malicious dragon Mrs. Faraday was. When Mai brought her the dress, she gave her an encouraging smile, which the girl returned uncertainly.
“Would you like a little free time this evening?” she asked as Mai began to unfasten the dress Rose was wearing.
“But, miss, you need me,” she replied cautiously, as if she suspected a trick that might lead to a further slap.
“Of course I need you, but I do think you should have a few hours to yourself. I’ll be mingling with the guests after this. If you like, you don’t need to be back until later tonight. There must be a few things you’d like to see in Padang.”
Mai gaped for a moment, unable to say a word.
“Do you really mean that, miss?” she ventured eventually.
“That’s what I said, wasn’t it? But if you prefer, you can go back to the hotel and wash my underwear. It’s up to you.”
“No, no . . . I mean, I’d love a little free time, if you don’t mind.”
“Go to the wayang. The stories they enact there are wonderful. And you might meet some of your own people there to talk to.”
“Thank you very much, miss.” Mai gave a brief bow. “I won’t be back late, and I won’t cause you any more trouble.”
“Good. Now help me into this dress and do my hair. When you’ve finished, you’re free to go.”
Rose left the dressing room half an hour later. A few of the guests had tried to visit her before the show, but Mai had determinedly sent them away, explaining that Miss Gallway would soon be appearing among them.
As she walked down the corridor to the assembly room in her best blue dress, Rose’s heart was thumping. Would she manage to speak to Paul?
As soon as the assembled company noticed her arrival, they broke out in applause. Van Swieten approached her, kissed her hand, and led her into the middle of the room. She only gave half an ear to his brief speech, as her eyes were searching the crowd for Paul. She couldn’t find him. Had he left already? She was overcome by panic. If he was not there to talk to her, she would be at the mercy of the other men. She knew their questions all too well—they were always the same. The women talked only very rarely to her, since they regarded her as little better than a woman who earned her money by selling her body.
Of course the men thronged around Rose, showering her with compliments. Since she was unable to find Paul, she looked for Carmichael, but he was nowhere to be seen in the crowd, either.
Suddenly, as the forest of black frock coats and suits opened before her, she caught sight of Paul’s blond mop of hair. She couldn’t simply break free from the others and run to him—that would certainly have caused tongues to wag—but just then, as if he had heard her silent call for help, Paul looked up and came toward her. It was a while before he could press through to her, but his presence alone gave Rose the strength to bear the questions and the remarks and to reply with good humor.
Paul finally succeeded in extricating her from the crowd on the pretext that he wanted to introduce her to his fiancée. The others did not seem to have noticed that she wasn’t there.
“You don’t know how grateful I am to you!” Rose whispered as they vanished into a seldom-used corridor that led to the library.
“I take it you’re as unenthusiastic as ever about conversation with your admirers,” Paul said with amusement as Rose took out a handkerchief and used it to fan herself.
“If only it were a conversation! These men always ask me whether I’m spoken for, what it feels like to go out on stage, and whether, as a woman, I feel the need for a protector.”
“It looks as though the last one is definitely the case,” Paul said with a grin.
“Of course it isn’t! I was born in this city, and I went away to London to study when I was still a child. I don’t need anyone to look after me—unless it’s someone to protect me from men who would like to take me as their lover or recommend their sons to me for that purpose.”
Rose felt herself blushing with these words. She had not intended to speak so openly with Paul, but he seemed not to take offense.
“Well, there’s no doubt you’re a modern woman. I’m sure many of the ladies here would be delighted to have one of these well-heeled plantation owners as a protector.”
“But these ladies are also satisfied with growing old on a plantation. That would never be enough for me, I’m afraid. I need music and I need the stage.”
“And the applause?”
“What artist doesn’t?”
“And yet you shun the admiration after a concert.”
“As I’ve said, it has nothing to do with my art.”
Paul looked at her for a long moment.
“Would you permit me to take a closer look at your violin?” he asked, which confused Rose a little, as none of her admirers had ever asked to see the instrument. Or was Paul perhaps expecting her to invite him to her dressing room? For a moment she regretted her pleasure at his presence, then told herself that Paul was not like the others—and if he turned out to be, she would have no hesitation in speaking her mind to him.
“Of course, but I’ll have to fetch it from the dressing room.”
“It would be a great pleasure,” Paul replied, stepping back to let her past.
Rose smiled briefly—she had not misjudged him after all. “Very well. I’ll be right b
ack.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
As she entered the dressing room, she saw that Mai had already left, but not without first tidying the room. Rose smiled to herself. The girl really was trying not to anger her again. Her hands were shaking as she picked up the violin case. She was even a little jealous that Paul was interested in the violin, but in truth, she and the violin belonged together.
Rose felt a little like a thief as she slipped into the corridor after a furtive glance up and down. Paul was waiting for her, leaning casually against the wall. Fortunately no one had discovered them, and their absence did not yet seem to have been noticed.
Rose set the violin case down on a small table in front of a vase of flowers. Against the background noise of the ballroom, she opened the lid and carefully removed the violin.
“This is a truly beautiful instrument,” Paul said after looking at it in awe. “Where did you get it? It must be very old.”
Rose gazed at the violin dreamily before touching it gently with her fingertips.
“My father gave it to me. He bought it from a Chinese merchant.”
“A Chinese merchant?”
“Yes. Amazing, isn’t it? I once saw a Stradivari in London. It looked a bit like this violin. I’m sure it wasn’t made in China. And then there’s the rose.”
“The rose is really unusual on an instrument like this.”
As Rose started to turn the violin over, Paul’s hand moved forward and lightly stroked her fingers. Rose paused for a moment and looked up at him. The way Paul was staring at her unsettled her slightly, and at the same time triggered an unfamiliar feeling in her breast.
“I . . . I ought to be going,” she said as she laid her violin back in its case.
At once she felt silly, and as though she was acting extremely improperly. Paul was engaged to be married. She couldn’t . . .
“Wait.”
Paul encircled her wrist with his warm hand.
Rose looked at him, bewildered. The feeling she had at his touch, the burning longing in her chest, was something she had only felt before when she gave herself up to her music.
“Please let me go,” she said softly, although everything inside her was crying out to feel more of him than just his hand.
“I’d like to see you again, Rose,” he said, almost pleading. “Please, will you accompany me to the plantation? That way we’d have a chance to get a few hours to ourselves.”
“But what about your fiancée?”
For a moment, Paul looked taken aback. Then he replied, “Maggie is terrified of nature; she’d never come with me. But you are fearless, and I can’t imagine anything nicer than spending some time with you. Please.”
His hand pressed harder on hers. And Rose’s confusion grew.
“I can’t,” she said.
She could hear how weak her voice sounded and feel her heart demanding to be alone with him. It’s only one day, she told herself. What could happen? I’ll go with him, look around the plantation, and then we’ll return. In a few days I’ll be off to India, and after that we’ll never set eyes on each other again.
Then there were the rules of etiquette drummed into her by Mrs. Faraday, according to which she should on no account get involved with any of her admirers. And people here would certainly not approve of her having any kind of entanglement. Her behavior would reflect on the governor, who was giving her such generous support.
But it’s only a trip out into the jungle, her heart insisted. There are bound to be other people present. And perhaps you may even be able to help with your local knowledge.
“Please, Rose,” Paul begged. “I promise you won’t regret it. And who else could guide me through the wilderness of your homeland?”
“I’m sure there are plenty of suitable guides who would be happy to offer you their services.”
“You’re right, but my Malay isn’t particularly good.”
“The guides also speak very good Dutch and English.”
Paul tucked her fingers between his warm palms.
“Rose. Please grant me my wish. You led me into the world of the traditional puppet theater; now I’d like to lead you into the jungle. It’s only a ride out, nothing more. And you’d get a chance to enjoy yourself on the plantation—I’ve heard they also have extensive gardens there.”
He was so close to her now, and the way he looked at her was so insistent that Rose had no alternative. “All right, I’ll come with you. But I still have a few concerts to play this week.”
“Just tell me when would suit you, and I’ll make my plans accordingly. But you have to promise me that if there’s the slightest sign that a tiger’s about to jump out, you’ll lead me to safety.”
“I hardly believe there are any tigers about to jump out. They’re very shy, and although I spent quite a bit of my childhood running around the jungle, usually in defiance of my father, I never saw one. I’d be in no position to warn you.”
“Then I’ll take care of our safety.”
Their faces were by now so close to one another that it would only have taken the slightest movement for them to kiss. Rose suddenly sensed someone looking at them and drew back. As she turned, she caught sight of a man she didn’t know watching them, looking a little out of sorts.
“I really should be going now,” Rose said. She picked up the violin case and disappeared in the direction of the dressing room.
That evening, as Paul returned to his hotel, he felt deeply confused. He still had Rose’s scent in his nostrils and still believed he could feel her hand in his. Even though he knew he shouldn’t, he was beginning to feel that his marriage to Maggie had been a mistake. How could feelings like his for Rose arise in so short a time? Were the tropics perhaps affecting his mind? Was the heat disturbing him? No, he was sure that Rose would have attracted his attention in London, too. Especially there, he thought, as she would have stood out like an orchid in the grass among the gray streets and stiff conventions.
Should he claim this flower for himself? The mere mention of divorce would probably cause a huge scandal. Not even his tolerant mother would understand that, let alone Maggie and his parents-in-law. He would become an outcast in London, with no one who valued their reputation having anything to do with him.
Feeling hot, Paul tore his tie from his neck and flung it down on the sofa, which was empty, since Maggie had already gone to bed. She would have accompanied him to the concert, but he had told her that he wanted to meet some investors and she would only get bored. She had believed him and stayed back at the hotel, leaving him free to go.
He was a little ashamed that he had lied to her—and also for the fact that he had come to feel a certain dislike for her when he saw her lying there on the sofa. She would probably be back to her animated self the minute they set foot on the ship bound for home.
Paul slumped down heavily on the sofa. What should he do now? Carry on as before, curb his ever-growing passion, and return home with Maggie? Or follow his heart? Win Rose for himself, get a divorce, and live happily with his new wife. It all sounded so easy . . .
But what if she didn’t want the same thing? He sensed that she was attracted to him, but was that enough for her to accept his proposal? Or would it be better to wait until he was actually divorced? Did he really want to get divorced? He had never before been afflicted by such a dilemma.
His head was aching. He rose and went to the bathroom, ran some water into a bowl, and plunged his head into it. The water was not as cold as he needed, but he felt his veins contracting and the pain diminishing a little.
“Aren’t you feeling well?”
Maggie was suddenly behind him, causing him to jerk up in shock. She had thrown her dressing gown over her nightdress, and her hair flowed loose over her shoulders. To see her standing there like that would once have filled him with a deep desire—but now he felt nothing. And, even worse, his thoughts strayed to Rose as he wondered what she would look like in this situation.
�
��It was all a bit much,” he explained, reaching for a towel and rubbing his hair dry. He narrowed his eyes to drive away the image of Rose.
“It’s all because of this dreadful heat and this dreadful country,” Maggie muttered as she took hold of his arm. “We ought to leave here as soon as possible. When do you intend to view the plantation?”
Once again, Maggie’s words incited a deep loathing within him. This country—she blamed this country for everything! Why couldn’t she see how wonderful it was here? Why was she so determined to return to the gray cold of England? If it were up to him, he would move and come here to live—in the warmth, in the country Rose came from. He could be so much happier here than in a cold place with a wife who was always complaining.
How he would have liked to tell her all this to her face, but as his father had taught him, he kept a tight rein on his feelings and closed them off from Maggie. He didn’t brush away her arm as he longed to do, and he didn’t show his annoyance at her negativity. He played the devoted husband, as was expected of him.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to put up with being here for a few more days. My attorney is meeting with the plantation owner and arranging an appointment to view it. As soon as I know the time, I’ll find a guide and set off to see Mijnheer van den Broock.”
There was no need for her to know that the appointment depended on Rose alone and that his attorney and the plantation owner were merely waiting for his word.
“Well, I sincerely hope that the appointment will be soon. I want to be able to spend some time with you again without being scorched by the sun.”
With these words she led him into the bedroom. Paul let her have her way, but once Maggie had gone back to sleep beside him, he continued to stare at the ceiling, trying to master his thoughts, which constantly returned to Rose.
Despite all Mai’s promises not to upset her, Rose no longer trusted her not to give anything away to Carmichael, so she decided to deliver the message containing her concert dates to Paul in person. Of course she knew about his fiancée and that she therefore couldn’t simply turn up at his room. But she was sure the hotel porter would have nothing against her buying his silence. She dressed in a plain brown dress and checked in the mirror that she looked like an everyday housewife, one of the many residents of Sumatra who were half English and half native.
The Moonlit Garden Page 18