by Rosanna Ley
Klaus sat back in his chair. ‘As I said before, I am listening …’
‘When I knew I was coming to Myanmar,’ Eva began, ‘I told my grandfather. He used to live here, you know. And he asked me to do something for him.’ And between them, taking up the story when the other left off, Eva and Ramon related what had happened since the chinthes had first been given to Suu Kyi by Queen Supayalat at the time of the rout of the Royal Palace.
Klaus listened gravely, nodding from time to time. When Eva got to the bit about flying to Myanmar with the chinthe in her travel bag, he gaped at her in astonishment and then laughed so much he almost choked.
‘It is so very interesting,’ he said when they had finished. ‘And naturally the pair – they should be together, as you say. But why are you telling me all this? How do you imagine I can help you?’
‘Anyone who gets close enough to Khan Li to be shown that chinthe,’ Eva said, leaning forwards, fixing Klaus with a gaze of entreaty, ‘would be close enough to take it and return it to its rightful owner.’
Klaus laughed. ‘Even if I could take it, Eva, and I might do it just to please you, you know’. He patted her hand. ‘All hell would break loose. You would be in considerable danger. They might even stop you from leaving the country. And as for you …’ He glanced at Ramon. ‘Your family would never be safe.’
He was right, of course. The copy Ramon had made was of excellent quality. But was it good enough?
‘You should tell the police.’ Klaus addressed this to Ramon. ‘You should perhaps have told them when the chinthe was originally stolen.’
Why hadn’t they? Maya had insisted it was because she had no evidence of ever owning it, but Eva wondered. Had Khan Li or one of his associates got to one of Maya’s household just as he had got to Ramon’s warehouse manager? He had certainly found out somehow, where the chinthe was kept and that the family were not taking it with them to Maymyo.
‘You know as I do, that would not work,’ Ramon said. ‘Men like Khan Li have too many contacts. And besides, we have no proof of ownership. It is our word against theirs.’
‘Plus the fact that you now own the other chinthe once again,’ Klaus said. ‘But you are right about the police. They are idiots and usually in someone else’s pay. What you need is a professional.’
‘Like you,’ said Eva.
Klaus shook his head. ‘Do you not think they would notice their precious chinthe is missing?’ He laughed. ‘Though I would love to deprive them of it, for the personal satisfaction alone.’
Ramon pulled his bag towards him and took something out. Eva knew what it was. ‘Can I trust you?’ he asked Klaus.
‘Of course.’
Ramon looked at Eva. They had gone so far. This might be their last chance. ‘I think we can,’ she said.
He nodded as if satisfied. ‘I have a plan, Klaus,’ he said. ‘If you can go round there one more time before the family are exposed as the criminals they are …’
‘Yes?’ Klaus watched with interest. ‘I think I can do that. They are waiting for me to make a decision about a certain gemstone I might buy.’
‘Perfect. And when you go …’ Ramon unwrapped the replica chinthe and handed it to Klaus. ‘I want you to take this.’
He stared at it. ‘But …?’
Ramon leaned closer. ‘It is not what you think,’ he said. ‘Please allow me to explain.’
CHAPTER 52
On today’s walk round the lake at Mangerton Mill, Rosemary was on her mobile talking to Alec. It was almost, she thought, as if their previous conversation hadn’t taken place. They skirted carefully around their danger zones, reverting to the politeness that had always served them well.
She had told him already about Eva’s revelation. About Maya and that fact that she had a half-sister she’d never known about.
‘That’s amazing,’ he said. ‘How does that make you feel?’
Which was, she had to confess, getting a little bit close to that danger zone. ‘Confused,’ she admitted.
When she’d returned to Dorset less than two weeks ago, she had come because she needed to think about things, because she wanted to see her father, take stock. Rosemary looked around her at the smooth lake, the water ever so gently buffeted by the breeze, at the trees now a burnished copper and gold, the grass already cloaked with crumpled leaves. She’d never really admitted to herself why it was so necessary to come back here in order to think about these things and consider her future, but it was. Sixteen years ago she’d wanted nothing more than to escape from this landscape that held her so firmly in the painful grip of the past. But now … She seemed to need it in order to make sense of who she was, what she needed, what she had to do. Was it her roots? Her childhood? Her marriage to Nick? She didn’t know. But while she’d been here, the vice-like grip of the landscape in which she’d grown up had relaxed into something that was still holding, but was now comforting too. A place where she felt grounded and complete. A sanctuary. She realised with a dip of panic that she didn’t want to leave.
‘And your father?’ Alec asked. ‘How did he take it?’
Rosemary couldn’t help smiling. ‘He was confused too. Actually, I’m not sure that he took it in, not properly. A couple of weeks ago he must have felt that he didn’t have any daughters. And now he’s got two.’
‘He’s still not quite himself then?’
‘Not really.’ Or perhaps he was himself. He was living far more securely in the past than the present, telling her long, rambling stories about his days in Burma, about Maya and the war, about his family, Rosemary’s family, and his obligations. Perhaps he was more himself than he’d been for a long time.
‘His mind’s still wandering,’ she said. ‘But every so often he comes back to me and the here and now and he grips my hand – he’s so strong still, it’s astonishing – and I look into his eyes, Alec and …’ She felt the tears welling again. They were never far from the surface these days.
‘And?’
‘And I know that somehow everything’s alright between us again.’
‘I’m glad,’ he said. ‘Really glad for you.’
It was hard to believe, Rosemary thought, that so much had happened since she’d left Copenhagen. But what about Alec? She surveyed the leaves on the path in front of her. It hadn’t rained in the last couple of days and as she stepped forwards they crunched under her suede ankle boots. The scent of autumn, crisp and fungal, was in the air, the spiders’ webs, spun between blackberry bushes, glittered in the weak sunshine. ‘And what’s been happening with you?’ she asked.
‘You mean, have I said “yes” to Seattle.’
Rosemary left the path and ventured on to the grass, still damp from the morning dew. The moisture began to seep on to the suede of her boots, darkening the tan. ‘I suppose that I do.’ Seattle, she thought.
‘If I said “yes” to Seattle …’ He paused. ‘Would you come with me?’
That was a big question. But was it the right question? On the other side of the lake was a man with a toddler. They had a plastic remote-controlled boat and the man was stepping down into the reeds to launch it. Rosemary thought of her own child, Eva, and she thought of her father. He might not be with them very long; she knew in her heart that he was fading fast. But Eva … Alec was her husband. But, ‘I can’t leave her again,’ she said.
There was a heartbeat of silence between them.
‘She’s a grown woman, Rosemary. She’s not a child anymore.’
‘I know that.’ The child on the other side of the lake clapped delightedly and, together, father and son followed the progress of the boat as it chugged determinedly out into the centre of the lake.
‘And you have your own life to lead.’ He hesitated. ‘We have our life. Don’t we?’
‘Yes.’
She heard him sigh.
‘But I can’t leave her again.’
There was a pause. ‘I understand.’ Nevertheless, she heard the impasse in his voice. And tha
t was the thing with Alec. He always had understood. He had understood her grief over Nick and so he had never challenged it, never made her feel that it was time to move on. If he had forced her to confront it, she sometimes thought. If he hadn’t simply accepted her for what she was … So, what? Was she now criticising him for being too compliant, too kind, too understanding? That was hardly fair. And yet only when someone really challenged you, could you discover where you stood.
The little boat was on her side of the lake now, heading for a tangle of rushes. There was a brief flurry of rudder and leaves, and then it choked and came to a standstill. On the other side of the lake there was a commotion and she heard the little boy begin to wail.
Gingerly, Rosemary stepped down on to the little beachy bit of the lake which had a damp sandy bottom and a few tiny pebbles. If she went a little further and reached out … Her leather-gloved hand came into contact with the stern of the boat, she gave it a little push. And it was freed. She stepped back. Looked down at her boots. Ah, well. Over on the other side the man waved a thank-you and the little boy gave a whoop of delight. And the boat chugged on back to home straits.
‘Rosemary?’ said Alec.
‘I’m still here.’ She had gone with him to Copenhagen. She had lived the life he wanted to live, she had taken the escape route he offered her. ‘What do you want, Alec?’ she asked him. ‘Do you want to move to Seattle?’ It sounded large and alien. But Copenhagen had seemed that way at first.
‘It’s the way forward,’ he said. ‘As far as the job’s concerned. And they won’t wait forever.’
But was it the way forward for them? ‘The job isn’t everything,’ she murmured. There was family too. A family she was only just beginning to rediscover. Alec could stay where he was. Why did everything have to change?
‘Things always change,’ Alec said softly.
Rosemary realised she must have spoken aloud.
‘The job isn’t everything, no, but things always change. If you’re strong, you can accept change, go with it, benefit from it.’
If you’re strong, you can follow your heart, she thought.
‘If we’re strong,’ he said.
Rosemary realised what he was saying. This was the time when he was going to push her, when he was no longer going to be kind, compliant, understanding. ‘So you have to do it?’ she asked. ‘You’ll go to Seattle?’
‘It’s such an opportunity,’ he said. ‘What reason do I have to say “no”?’
CHAPTER 53
It was Eva’s last night in Mandalay. During the day, she had gone to view the archaeological finds in the Cultural Museum and had visited the famous Angkor Chinthe, which was as impressive as she’d hoped. She had also finally met up with Klaus’s contact in Mandalay, though there seemed little point. If the Emporium were finished, it would no longer need any contacts in Myanmar, whether dubious or not. But the man was pleasant, seemed honest enough and she kept his contact details. You never know, she thought.
The night before, Ramon had taken her to Mandalay Hill at sunset and to one of the famous puppet shows. And now, she was leaving on the river-boat for Bagan tomorrow, to fulfil the terms of her contract for the Emporium and to see the famous temples on the plain of Bagan before she flew back to Yangon and the international airport from there. And so … This would be her last evening with Ramon.
She had been invited to have dinner with Ramon, Maya and Cho Suu Kyi, but before this, Ramon picked her up in the car and drove her to Amarapura, once the capital of Myanmar, but now almost part of Mandalay’s urban sprawl.
‘Look.’ He stopped the car.
In front of them a procession of ponies was approaching, decorated with red and gold garlands, wild flowers wound in their manes. On top of every pony sat a young boy in a crown and silk robes, holding flowers and strings of golden bells. An adult attendant walked alongside each one, holding a parasol over each boy’s head. ‘What’s happening?’ But even as she asked, Eva knew what this was. She had seen versions in the temples of Mandalay and Yangon. It was shin pyu, the Buddhist equivalent of a first communion. After this ceremony the boys would live for a time as phongyis with shaven heads and saffron robes, begging for alms and studying the Buddhist scriptures.
‘Shall we?’ Ramon was getting out of the car and Eva followed suit.
Behind the ponies came a lorry crowded with people. In the centre of the open truck a young girl was dancing. Ramon held Eva’s arm. ‘This is a Nat Pwe,’ he murmured, his voice soft in her ear. ‘A Burmese dance-drama to celebrate the occasion of the shin pyu.’
Eva watched, intrigued. The girl was about ten years old and wore a longyi and an embroidered blouse of shimmering red and gold. And she moved fast as a flame; leaping, arching, flexing, twirling, her palms stretched back towards her wrists, her tiny feet in red satin slippers flicking up the hem of her longyi. Her ebony hair swung up and out and around like a curtain of silk and the red and gold fabric moved with her, flashing in the early evening sun, a streak of arcing movement, a tongue of fire. The girl’s face glowed and her eyes were dense, lost in the drama of the dance. Until at last she paused, placed her palms together, head bowed and came to rest. It was enthralling.
They watched the small procession until it disappeared up the road behind them. ‘Beautiful,’ murmured Eva. She was glad that she had seen it, but the road seemed so quiet and empty now that the procession had gone. And she wondered if she would feel like that when she finally left this country. It had touched her grandfather with its magic and now, sixty-five years later, it had done the same to Eva.
They got back into the car. ‘I am taking you to the famous U Bein Bridge,’ Ramon told her, glancing across at her with a smile. ‘The longest teak bridge in the world.’
Eva sat back, relaxed for once in his company. After all the drama of the last few days, it was good to be almost a real tourist for a change. Even though the shimmer of those rubies in the wooden tiger’s eyes was never far from her mind. And whatever else they had done – and she was yet to discover the full extent of it – she knew that she couldn’t forgive Jacqui and Leon for letting her come here, for putting her in such a potentially dangerous position and for allowing her to become involved.
‘Who was U Bein?’ she asked.
‘The mayor of the time,’ he said, accelerating smoothly. She knew they were close to the river now; in her heart she just felt it. ‘He had it built with teak planking left over when the Royal Palace was moved to Mandalay.’
Everything, Eva thought, seemed to come back to the Royal Palace sooner or later. It may have been moved and taken over and destroyed. But it still lived on. A bit like her grandfather’s feelings for Maya, she couldn’t help thinking.
And suddenly, there it was before them, the bridge stretched high over the wide river, the tall teak upright stilts reflected and glimmering in the surface of the Irrawaddy. The planking was strung loosely between the teak posts like a xylophone. More people were beginning to arrive, but at the moment there were just a few stragglers weaving across the bridge, and a group of monks, their saffron robes billowing gently in the breeze. It was quite a spectacle.
Ramon parked the car. ‘Come,’ he said.
And once again, she got out of the car and followed him.
At the bridge, they began to walk along the planking. Eva’s steps were tentative at first; there were cracks in the wood and planks missing so you had to watch your footing. And the old wood had of course been repaired in places; with so many visitors, the work must be ongoing. It wasn’t very wide and there wasn’t much in the way of a handrail, the sides were mostly open. Eva stayed in the middle, trying to ignore the way the bridge undulated gently with the movement of people walking over it. It was a long way down to the River Irrawaddy.
‘What do you think?’ Ramon offered her his arm and she took it gratefully. He was dressed in a black longyi and shirt tonight, and he cut quite a dashing figure, his body moving with the gentle rhythm of the bridge, balan
ced and surefooted.
‘It’s very special.’ They paused and looked down into the rippling Irrawaddy, at the sampans helmed by men in conical bamboo hats, at the huge expanse of river and sky beyond. The clouds had built and the sun was sinking lower in the sky. Tomorrow, she would be on this river, Eva thought. Sailing towards Bagan.
‘Have you heard from Klaus?’ Eva asked Ramon. She had hoped that the matter of Maya’s chinthes would have been resolved by now. Ramon had already told her that he’d had another meeting with Klaus in the back street café and that more information had changed hands. It looked as though Khan Li and his accomplices would be incarcerated for a long time once charges were brought, but Klaus was waiting, still gathering his final evidence. And once Khan Li was brought to justice, Eva had the feeling it might be even harder to get back the little chinthe. The family would close ranks. It would disappear, perhaps never to be seen again.
‘Yes, I have heard from him.’
‘And?’
‘And he is having dinner with them tonight.’
Eva glanced across at him, at the inscrutable face she had become strangely accustomed to. They both knew what this meant. Ramon had given Klaus the replica chinthe. He would try to make the swap tonight. Eva shivered. The last supper, she thought. And it would be the same for her. Tomorrow, she’d be gone.
‘You are cold?’ He put a protective arm around her.
‘No.’ It was a warm evening with just a slight breeze. But Eva was happy for him to leave his arm where it was. She wouldn’t be enjoying the proximity of him for much longer.
There had been no further intimacy between them, no kisses, nothing to make her think that she meant anything more to him than a friend. And perhaps that was as it should be, because tomorrow she would be gone. And yet … With each day that passed, she seemed to grow closer to him.
They walked on in silence as the sun dipped lower and the trees on the little river islands became skeletal silhouettes. The sun was hazy now, half-hidden behind the clouds, sending a warm and gauzy glow on to the teak bridge and the water. Eva had experienced the sunset from the Shwedagon Pagoda in Yangon, from the road to Maymyo and, most spectacularly, two nights ago from the top of Mandalay Hill. But this, Ramon had promised her, would be the best. Saving the best for last, she thought.