‘I want to see.’
He took her into a living area, and she gasped when she saw the canvases hanging on the walls. There were paintings of a red-haired woman with golden skin, paintings of a small boy at different ages, and paintings of Elliot. Many, many portraits of Elliot, either on his own or with the child. Louisa felt her legs shaking and reached out to Leo. He steadied her, then held her by the arm.
‘Who is there?’ a voice called out.
‘It’s me, Leo,’ he answered.
‘She sounds fragile,’ Louisa whispered.
‘She is. In more ways than one.’
It was suddenly all too much. Louisa turned on her heels and ran outside, Leo following behind her. She stood with her arms wrapped around herself, shaking from the devastation of this betrayal. I’ll never forgive him, she thought. Never.
‘Come on,’ Leo said. ‘I’ll take you back to the car.’
Just then a boy walked up to the house, kicking the leaves as he did. He stood and stared at her, and Louisa immediately saw Elliot’s dark curly hair, and his bright green eyes. There was no mistaking this was Elliot’s son. She saw Elliot’s smile, his way of looking out from under his lashes; she saw his charm. And the image in her mind was a photograph Irene had once shown her of Elliot as a boy. All this time he had been the father of this boy. She heard his voice, pictured him playing with Conor, cuddling him at night. It hurt more than she could ever explain. She heard the noises of the plantation, the sound of the birds, the rustling of the many creatures scuttling about, and the breeze in the trees. In the background, she could even hear the sea. Everything seemed to distil into this one moment, and she felt as if she might never emerge from it.
She nodded numbly and blinked rapidly to suppress the tears. For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Leo broke the silence.
‘Say hello, Conor.’
The boy just stared at his feet.
She twisted away. ‘I can’t … I can’t do this.’
He told the child to go inside and that the houseboy would bring him down some lunch, and then he took Louisa back up to her car. They stood together, the sun blazing down, but Louisa was unable to even speak.
‘I think you’d better come in. You don’t look as if you’re in any state to drive.’
‘I need to get away …’
‘Come on, Louisa. A drink and a sit-down is what you need.’
She longed to be able to sob out the pain and the grief but her eyes were dry. The paintings flashed in her mind and she took a step away.
‘No. I need to go home. I need to be at home.’
She got into her car and drove down the track on to the main road. When she reached the turning for the beach she decided to take it. She parked up, and pocketing the shells she had collected earlier, she walked down to the water’s edge. Once there she threw the shells into the water with as much strength as she could muster; then she sat on the sand with her head in her hands.
24.
Elliot’s betrayal had scarred her deeply and Louisa’s sense of self had taken a battering. Just the thought of putting her trust in somebody other than her father filled her with anxiety. She pondered Elliot’s absences. There had been so many but she had simply accepted his excuses, tolerated his occasional ill-humour too. She felt a burning sense of shame that somewhere along the line she had settled for less and must have chosen not to see.
She felt her world rocking and it frightened her, so for the next week she worked all the hours she could to finish drawing up the plans for the emporium. When her father dropped by for coffee on a morning when the early haze had cleared to reveal a sunny day, she tried to say she was too busy to stop, but he took her by the hand and insisted she come through to the sitting room with him.
‘So,’ he said while Ashan poured their coffee. ‘You’re definitely going ahead with the emporium?’
‘Yes. I have a potential jeweller on board, and I’m going to Colombo next week to see him and some artists too. I’d like to have a gallery of artworks for sale as well. I met one of the artists I’m considering when I stayed at the Hoopers’ tea plantation – Savi Ravasinghe. I’m also going to sell some of those little secret boxes and carved ebony elephants. There’s a silk designer in Colombo I want to see too. I’ve already been looking at some samples. I’m not sure if we will stock fabrics or not but it’s an idea. And –’
He interrupted. ‘Darling, take a breath.’
She felt suddenly deflated and stared at the floor.
‘What’s the matter? Won’t you tell me? There’s no need for you to be working this hard.’
‘I have to.’
‘But there’s something you haven’t told me, isn’t there?’
‘I went to the cinnamon plantation,’ she said flatly and without looking up.
‘Ah.’
‘It’s all true.’ She gulped and couldn’t look at her father. Saying it could only make it even more real. She pictured again the curly dark hair, the green eyes, the composed look. ‘I saw the child. There’s no mistaking who his father was.’
He reached out a hand to her. She took it, squeezed it once and then let go.
‘It’s not so bad if I keep busy.’ She had to go on pretending everything was normal – for how else was she to cope?
‘Are you sleeping?’
The truth was, when she slept, it was to dream everything was ordinary again. Elliot was alive. There were no debts and definitely no child.
‘Only if I have a strong gin first,’ she said. ‘Then I sleep. Fitfully.’
He sighed. ‘That’s not good.’
‘It’s worse when I stop. I just don’t know what to do with the anger. I go off and cycle like a lunatic. I swim. I’ve even been diving off Flag Rock. But it’s cluttering my head all the time. Boring away at me. I want to know everything about Elliot and yet at the same time I don’t.’
‘My love. You have to slow down. Let the pain out.’
‘How? I want to shout at Elliot, scream at him, but I can’t. I want to hurt him. Really hurt him. That’s what makes it so much worse.’
But that didn’t express the true violence of her feelings, or the awful things she imagined doing to him.
‘He’s gone and there’s nothing I can do to show him what he has done to me. I feel he has taken me away from myself. Do you see?’
‘I’m wondering if you should see the doctor.’
She had considered it. Thought maybe she was going a little crazy, constantly fending off the echoes from the past, and feeling as if she could stretch out her hand to touch them, yet unable to find a way.
‘I don’t want any pills.’
‘Do you want me to come to Colombo with you?’
‘No. I’m meeting Margo there. She’ll accompany me to the meetings.’
On the way to the capital Louisa passed the usual Buddhist shrines and temples. Groups of saffron- and ochre-robed monks sauntered along, while drumming and chanting could be heard from nearby villages where a wedding or some other ceremony was happening. She held her breath at the place where Elliot had veered off the road but couldn’t stop herself feeling angry. Maybe I’ll see a devil dancer, she thought, knowing Ceylon’s wild men of the jungle were famous for worshipping the demons believed to be living in the trees. Maybe that’s what I need. A demon. Elliot had taken her to one of these rituals where she’d witnessed the horrible masks they used. It had scared her but the atmosphere had been electric too. And something about that matched her own ragged feelings.
In contrast, the packed streets of Colombo smelt of coconut, cinnamon and fried fish, plus the sweet scents from the various tea and cake stalls lining the pavements. Louisa parked close to the fancy red and cream brick-built building that was Cargills department store, closely avoiding a bright blue bullock cart, creaking and groaning as it swerved in front of her. Flies and mosquitoes swarmed everywhere as she walked through the Chinese bazaar on Chatham Street, passing small fabric outlets laden with silks, two or
three herbalists, and several shops selling lacquered goods.
Everything shone in the fierce heat and dust.
Further on, in air now smelling of dung, fruit and spices, British civil servants and missionary ladies mingled with Sinhalese and Tamil workers. Crows soared above them, perching where they could as they spied out any scraps of food. She had to manoeuvre around several rickshaws blocking the way, until she eventually reached the tea shop she was looking for, and spotted Margo sitting in the window. The younger woman gave her a wave and a broad smile and Louisa steeled herself. This was to be a working day and she simply could not give in to her emotions. She pushed open the door, heard the tinkle of the bell, and approached Margo.
‘I’ve ordered tea for both of us,’ Margo said.
‘Lovely.’ Louisa seated herself and put her bag on a spare chair. ‘So how have you been?’
‘I’m fine. Although Mother isn’t. She wants to come and stay with you again, but I’ve been trying to put her off.’
‘Why does she want to come?’
‘I think she wants to be where Elliot was.’
Louisa shook her head. She didn’t want to tell Margo how bad she had felt lately, but Irene would really be the last straw. ‘To be honest, it’s a terrible idea. I could kill Elliot, the way I feel right now.’ She winced. ‘If he wasn’t already dead.’
‘It is true, then? About the child?’
She inhaled deeply before replying. ‘I saw him, Margo. He’s the spitting image of Elliot.’
‘Oh, my love. I am sorry.’
Louisa sighed and decided to change the subject. There were times when talking did not help. ‘Let’s not talk about it. I’m more interested in you.’
‘Me? I just feel such a fool for having got myself involved with a married man and pretending everything was normal. He said his marriage was over and I allowed myself to believe it because I wanted to.’
Louisa thought of Elliot and almost retreated into silence. She forced herself to speak for Margo’s sake. ‘We’ve both believed what we’ve wanted to believe. Maybe you couldn’t help falling in love with William.’
‘It’s what I told myself, but really there’s a point where it became a choice. I could have turned my back on him.’
‘Is that how Elliot felt, do you think?’
‘That it was a choice, or that he could have walked away from it?’
‘Both, I guess.’
‘Who knows? All I’m sure of is William’s marriage wasn’t over, and neither was yours. I feel guilty as hell.’
‘But at least you ended it. Elliot didn’t.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you still miss William?’
‘I miss having somebody in my life. The thing is, he made me feel so special. I’ve never felt special before.’
Louisa patted her hand. ‘You’re special to me.’
Margo flashed her a quick smile. ‘In our house everything revolved around Elliot. He was the one who got all the attention. He could do no wrong. Even the slightest achievement was hailed with cakes and treats. At the school sports day, when he came third in the hundred-yard dash, you’d have thought he’d won all the races of the day. Whatever I did, my mother barely noticed me. Anyway, it’s all done and dusted … Now how about a cream bun? You are looking too thin.’
‘You, my dear, are sounding like your mother!’
They both laughed and the mood lightened.
Louisa put on her business face as first they went to see the jeweller, the cousin of the dealer Louisa had spoken to in Galle. It turned out he was keen to expand and would be delighted to sell his sapphire range at the emporium and supply the stock for the main display. Louisa was satisfied. Next, they followed a narrow alley between tall buildings and found the silk designer’s sign. The woman took them upstairs to her workshop, a huge room flooded with light from floor-to-ceiling windows.
She mainly made scarves and kaftans, but all the silk was hand dyed, hand painted or batiked into fabulous patterns in myriad colours. A row of the pieces hung like pretty flags from a line running the length of the room.
‘They’re still drying,’ she said, seeing them looking and gently touching one or two. ‘Then they’ll be ironed and packed in tissue.’
‘Well, as I said in my letter, I’m looking for artists and craftspeople who would consider using my emporium as an outlet for their goods. We’ve floor space for a nominal rent, and I’d be happy to offer it free for the first three months. You sell and we take a percentage. For that we maintain the premises and take care of advertising. How does that sound?’
‘Interesting.’
‘I can employ reliable sales staff, unless you have somebody in mind.’
‘I have a friend who lives in Galle. Her children have just started school so she might be interested.’
‘Well, either way we’d love to have your beautiful silks.’
The woman smiled and they discussed prices for a while and, when the deal was done, shook hands.
The next stop was Elliot’s office for the spice business. As far as Louisa was aware, the business ran itself so this was more of a courtesy call than anything else. Nihil, the middle-aged manager, was expecting her and when she arrived he commiserated over the loss of Elliot.
‘We were all so shocked,’ he said, ‘when your father let us know what had happened. He told me to carry on as usual and that you would be coming at some point. And now, here you are.’
‘Thank you for your concern,’ she said and smiled, managing to keep the exchange light. ‘That’s very kind.’
‘And may I ask if you have any plans?’
She nodded. At least here there were no memories assaulting her. ‘The only plan I have is to keep going.’
Nihil looked relieved. ‘I did wonder if you might be selling up.’
‘Not in the foreseeable future, but I’d like to look at the accounts.’
‘Of course. I shall fetch them directly.’
He went to a large cupboard and brought out two black ledgers.
‘Your husband transferred a capital sum, to cover an acquisition, I understand.’
‘Can I see?’
‘Yes. Look here.’
She glanced at the figures and confirmed to herself that the amount Elliot had taken out from the business account could have covered the deposit on the Print House. It still didn’t explain what had happened to the missing half of the money she had transferred to his personal account and that should have been left over after he’d paid the balance on the building.
‘But we’re not in the red, are we?’
‘Absolutely not. In fact, I feel we are approaching the point where it would be sensible to expand.’
Louisa could see it wasn’t a huge enterprise but it ticked over nicely, and she promised to come up to Colombo once a month to ensure everything was running smoothly and do anything she could to increase supplies.
After that they drove to Cinnamon Gardens, so named after the former cinnamon plantation that had once existed in that area, where they were to meet Savi Ravasinghe. The streets were lined with trees and grand colonial mansions, and he lived on the top floor of a large house divided into two apartments. It was surrounded by an extensive garden, resplendent with tall trees and rhododendron bushes. Louisa was feeling the heat and ran a palm over her forehead.
‘Aren’t you hot?’ she asked Margo.
‘It’s close today.’
‘I’m actually looking forward to the rains.’ Louisa didn’t add that she felt something about the rains, the hot drumming intensity of them, might somehow wash away the sense of grief and doubt that constantly consumed her. When she was a child she had loved to sneak out into the garden at night in just her pyjamas and hold her arms up to catch the rain. Her ayah had usually found her and dragged her back in, but she had loved the freeing wildness of being out in the downpour.
Savi met them at the door, looking as elegant and exotic as before.
‘Lovely
to see you again,’ he said and held out a hand to Louisa.
After she had shaken it she introduced Margo, and then they followed him up the stairs and into a large open space. Sunlight flooded in from huge windows running right across one wall, the floor was tiled and laid with gorgeous rugs – Persian, he told them – and the pristine white walls were hung with paintings.
‘These aren’t all yours?’ Louisa asked.
‘The portraits are mine, but the landscapes are by a friend.’
Louisa stared at them, admiring the subtle colours of the landscapes and the singing colours of the portraits. ‘I like that you paint ordinary people. I would love to show some of these in my gallery.’
‘I have a few more portraits through here. Not by me, though.’ He pointed the way to a long corridor and she followed him through. But when she saw the first portrait her mouth went dry. Staring out at her was an unmistakable image of Elliot, his arm around a red-headed woman.
‘These are by an acquaintance,’ Savi was saying. ‘Zinnia. I think we spoke of her when we last met, though at the time I couldn’t remember her name. I came across them just recently as a job lot in a warehouse sale and, as I acquired them for a good price, I thought I might sell them on. They are particularly fine, I think.’
Louisa made some excuse and said she’d prefer to look at the paintings in the main room. They were more what she was after, she said, but Margo had followed her into the corridor and, when Louisa glanced back, she saw her sister-in-law standing and staring at the painting of her brother.
‘They’re good, aren’t they,’ Louisa called out. ‘But look at these, Margo.’
They caught each other’s eye and Margo came back through to the main room, visibly shocked. For a moment Louisa stood and gazed at the light from the huge windows. All the colours of the room began to swirl and meld together and she felt herself growing far too hot again. For one horrible instant she thought she was going to faint and reached out a hand as if to break her fall.
The Sapphire Widow Page 14