by Rosanna Ley
‘For Eva?’ His voice sounded very bleak. Rosemary knew she was hurting him. Sometimes it seemed that was all she had ever done. And yet she’d never wanted to.
‘For Eva and for my father,’ she said. ‘But also for me.’ The words tumbled from her in a rush. ‘When I married you, when I came to Copenhagen, I was running away, Alec. Away from what had happened here and what the place meant to me. But running away from my emotions too. I thought I had to escape. I thought the most important thing in my life was self-preservation.’
‘But it wasn’t?’
‘No, it wasn’t.’ Rosemary took a deep breath. ‘The most important thing in my life was love.’
For a moment he was silent. ‘So you regret marrying me?’ His voice was thin. He sounded an awfully long way away. Rosemary knew she had to be honest with him, but she also had to get it right.
‘Never.’
‘Never?’
‘I still don’t.’
‘And love?’ He sounded sad.
‘I love this place.’ Rosemary opened her arms as if she could hug it close to her. The sandstone cliffs, the pebbles of Chesil Beach, the cold and grey English Channel. ‘I love my daughter and I love my father. And I love you.’
‘So you’ve decided not to come to Seattle then, Rosemary?’ His words cut through her like a winter wind.
But … Honesty. ‘I’m sorry, Alec,’ she said. ‘But I can’t.’
When she ended the call, Rosemary realised she was crying. Big fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn’t reach for a tissue or wipe them away. She just let them come. She didn’t know if she was crying for Nick or for her father or for Alec. It didn’t matter. She just needed the release. She had to let it go.
CHAPTER 58
Eva was surprised to see her mother waiting for her at Arrivals. She’d emailed and asked her to organise a taxi; she knew the last thing she’d feel like doing after a long flight was travelling by train all the way from Heathrow to Dorset. But there she was, smiling, looking … Different, she thought.
‘Eva.’
‘Hello, Mother.’ They kissed a little awkwardly. Eva was wary. Her mother had been so warm when they’d spoken on the phone. But it had been a while since they’d been face to face.
‘How was your flight?’ Rosemary’s smile was encouraging and seemed genuine enough.
‘Fine. How’s Grandpa?’
‘Not good,’ she said. Her expression changed. ‘I’m afraid to say that he’s deteriorated a lot since you left.’
Eva’s shoulders sagged. Just as she’d thought.
Rosemary patted her arm. ‘Come on then, darling.’ She took Eva’s case and headed towards the exit and the car park. ‘You’ll see him soon. He’ll be so happy you’re back. You will come to the house before you go back to Bristol?’
‘Of course.’ Bristol. Eva wasn’t looking forward to Bristol. ‘Is Grandpa …?’
‘You’ll see for yourself.’ She turned around. ‘But I should warn you, darling. He keeps slipping in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he’s quite lucid …’ She paused, and put her arm on Eva’s. ‘But other times, to be honest, we’re not sure how much he hears, how aware he really is.’ Her eyes filled.
‘Oh, Ma.’ Eva thought of how he’d been not much more than a month ago when she’d told him she was going to Burma. Frail, yes, but definitely still with all his faculties intact. Slipping in and out of consciousness? Shouldn’t he be in hospital then? Shouldn’t someone be doing something more for him? She looked helplessly at her mother, who was paying their car parking ticket at the machine.
She tucked the ticket into her bag. ‘The doctor says he’s comfortable.’ And Eva saw her swallow back her tears. ‘He’s doing all he can for him. And he’s in the best place, at home.’
‘Good.’ Then her mother’s arm was around her shoulders. She hadn’t felt that for a long time.
‘We must be strong,’ she whispered. ‘We mustn’t let him see.’
‘Yes.’ Eva nodded. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right.’
‘Come on, darling.’ Her mother’s voice became brisk as she took hold of the case and again led the way towards the lift of the car park. Eva noticed as she followed her that her blonde hair was longer and less neat. That was new too.
‘You said “we’re not sure” how much he hears?’ she asked, hurrying to catch up with her. ‘Is Alec over here too?’
Something flickered over her mother’s blue eyes. Her expression changed. ‘I meant Ida Briggs and the doctor. Both of them have been marvellous.’ She shook her head. ‘No, Alec’s not here. Just me.’ She pressed the button and they waited for the lift.
‘And … Ma?’ She had to know.
‘Yes?’
‘Did you tell Grandpa? About Cho Suu Kyi?’ This revelation had become, in its way, the most important part of the journey she’d made. The lift arrived and they both got in.
‘Yes, I told him.’ There was a silence as the lift winged them up to the second level of the short stay car park. The door opened and their eyes met, briefly, before Eva’s mother scanned the level for the car. ‘There it is.’ She hurried over and unlocked it. Presumably it was one she’d hired for her stay here, Eva thought, since her grandfather no longer owned a car.
She followed her over. ‘And what did he say?’
‘Not much,’ Rosemary told her. ‘But he seemed to take it in. Finally.’
Her mother had opened the boot and Eva helped her heave in the case. Telling him couldn’t have been easy for her, Eva thought. But there had been no other way. And it looked as if her worst fears had been realised. Now might have been too late.
But if her mother was upset, then she hid it well as she bundled Eva’s hand luggage in with the case and shut the boot with a decisive clunk.
Eva slipped into the passenger seat. She was glad her mother had come to pick her up. It felt good to sit back and let her take over. But it wasn’t just that of course.
Her mother started up the engine and put the car into gear. She turned to her. ‘You’d better prepare yourself, Eva, darling,’ she said. ‘We think he’s slipping away.’
Slipping away … Her grandfather had always been her rock. She didn’t want him to slip away. Couldn’t bear the thought of losing him.
Rosemary drove out of the airport terminal. It was drab, grey and industrial but they were still on the perimeter of the airport and Eva could see another plane landing, more passengers returning on a long-haul flight back to the UK. Even after just a few weeks away, everything here looked alien and strange. There was no colour, no red earth or vibrant flowers, no market stalls or street sellers. And it was so cold. Her mother had turned up the heating in the car, but Eva still had the shivers. She thought of those last days in Bagan, exploring the temples on the grand plain with an ever increasing sense of loneliness. She didn’t want to think of her last night with Ramon. And she didn’t want to think about her grandfather slipping away.
‘Thank you, Ma,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘For telling him. For picking me up from the airport. For being here.’
Rosemary turned to her and smiled and Eva noticed her crimson-painted fingernails, her jewellery: gold, expensive, under-stated. Her jacket was gorgeous too, the softest of brown leather and her sweater was cream cashmere, which she wore with chocolate coloured trousers. Smart, thought Eva. But almost jarring to the senses after the simple white cotton blouses and embroidered longyis of Myanmar. After the poverty. They’d led such a different life, hadn’t they, these two half-sisters? If it weren’t for the unmistakeable resemblance between them, it would be hard to believe they were related.
‘That’s OK,’ her mother said. ‘It was my pleasure.’
Eva sneaked another glance at her. ‘It must have been a shock for you too,’ she ventured. ‘Hearing about Cho Suu Kyi, I mean.’
‘It certainly was. All these years thinking I was an only child …’ But her mother didn’t seem to want to sa
y more. She glanced at Eva and then away.
‘So tell me about your trip,’ she said encouragingly as she took the motorway. ‘That’s if you feel like talking. But there’s plenty of time. Rest if you want to rest.’ She smiled.
Softer, thought Eva. That’s what she was. Easier. For once in her life, she felt she didn’t have to be walking on eggshells around her. After her father’s death for as far back as she could remember, her mother had been so tense that Eva was afraid if she hugged her, she might snap. So she hadn’t hugged her. She supposed she had responded to the vibe, kept her distance, confided in her grandfather rather than her mother. But what about the times before that? When she and her mother had cuddled and were close, when her mother had read Eva those bedtime stories about lions in the meadow and foxes in the fields in her low, sing-song voice, her laughter bubbling like fizzy lemonade? When her father had been working late and they’d stayed up to watch TV together, when her mother let her help bake gingerbread men. She hadn’t forgotten those times. She’d thought of them on the way to Burma, on the flight, images of her childhood had fluttered like story-flags through her mind.
Once she started talking, it was hard to stop. Eva told her mother about her Myanmar impressions, the people she’d met, and even about Maya, though she didn’t dwell on how much time she had spent with her; there was no point in rubbing salt into the wound. And then she told her about the rubies, the stolen chinthe and how Klaus had eventually got it back.
‘My God, Eva,’ Rosemary muttered under her breath as they eventually came off the motorway and headed towards West Dorset. ‘I can’t believe all this happened in less than four weeks. Are you alright, darling? It all sounds very dangerous.’ She turned to look at her, her blue eyes full of concern.
‘You sound just like Ramon.’ Eva swallowed. She missed him already. He had phoned her at her hotel in Yangon before she flew back, but it had been a difficult conversation. She was leaving Myanmar and he was staying. What more was there to say?
‘Ah, yes.’ Rosemary raised her perfectly plucked eyebrows. ‘Ramon. He seems to have had quite an effect on you.’
‘He did.’ Eva thought of the little carved Buddha in her cabin bag. And she had a sense of déjà vu. She stared out of the window. Although the roads were clear, there was still snow on the hills.
‘And?’
‘And nothing.’ Eva wasn’t sure she wanted to be having this conversation. ‘I’m British. He’s Burmese. Well, half-Burmese anyway. We live in different worlds. There is no “and”.’
‘But there might have been?’
Eva shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ He had said he’d keep in touch. But she didn’t know whether they would. Sometimes to keep in touch was even harder.
Her mother reached out and patted her hand. It was clearly an unconscious gesture and yet to Eva it was so unusual that it took her a moment to register it. ‘If it’s meant to be …’ Rosemary said.
Eva stared at her. Wasn’t that exactly what Cho Suu Kyi had said about seeing her father? If it is meant to be. And since when had her mother become so philosophical?
On both sides of the road now, the Dorset countryside stretched out around them as if it might enfold Eva in its arms. Green hills and lush valleys, the triangle of the distant ocean. The sky was still grey, but, as Eva watched, a shaft of feeble wintry sunshine peered through the clouds. Eva smiled. Another creature entirely from the sapping sun of Myanmar. She turned to her mother. ‘And how about you?’ she asked.
‘Me?’ Rosemary kept her eyes on the road.
‘Yes. You seem pretty laid-back about my visit to Myanmar, all of a sudden. But I know you’ve always hated the place.’
‘That’s true.’
And now that she’d been there, Eva thought she understood why. ‘So what’s changed?’ she asked.
‘Let’s say that while I’ve been looking after your Grandpa, I’ve had an awful lot of time to think,’ she said.
‘Oh yes?’ Eva waited for her to elaborate. What had she been thinking about? The past? The present? The knowledge that she had a half-sister?
Rosemary glanced across at her. ‘You and I have got a lot of catching up to do, darling,’ she said. ‘But there’s plenty of time for that, too.’
Which sounded as if she intended to stay for a while. Eva relaxed into the passenger seat. But not plenty of time for her grandfather, by the sound of it. And so she willed the remaining miles to disappear. She wouldn’t be going back to Bristol, not yet. She was going back to Dorset. Because she needed to see him now. She needed to get home.
CHAPTER 59
It was evening. Rosemary had lit the fire and they’d moved her grandfather into the lounge on the settee so that he could lie and look into the flames as they talked.
The doctor had been in earlier, and although he hadn’t been so good when Eva first arrived, her grandfather had seemed to rally this evening. At last he seemed able to talk to her, able to listen to what she had to say.
She knelt beside him on a cushion on the floor, her mother sitting opposite in the floral armchair with the antimacassars Eva’s grandmother had always insisted on.
‘Well now, Eva, my dear.’ He spoke softly, his pale blue eyes fixed on her face. ‘How was she?’
Eva glanced up at her mother but she just smiled in a way that told her it was alright. Whatever her own feelings, she must have decided to put them aside, for her father’s sake. ‘She’s very well.’ Given her age. But Eva decided not to tell him how tired Maya had looked that last night in Mandalay. Tired but still peaceful, she thought.
‘Ah.’ He nodded as if this was the news he’d been waiting for. ‘And was she pleased when you gave her the chinthe?’
‘Pleased, yes. And very surprised.’ Again, Eva glanced at her mother. Before they went into the house they’d agreed not to tell him all the details. It might be too much to know that his granddaughter had been breaking into shipment crates and trying to inveigle her way into the homes of criminals, not to mention getting involving with illegal antiques and stolen rubies.
‘Good, good.’ He stared into the flames as if mesmerised.
‘And I showed her the photos I took with me,’ Eva added. She could see now why Maya had seemed so interested in that photograph of Rosemary. She’d been comparing Lawrence’s daughter with his other daughter, she’d noticed that family resemblance right away.
‘Did you take many photos while you were out there?’ her mother asked.
Eva sat back on her heels. She’d already put them on to her laptop. ‘Would you like to see?’
‘Of course,’ said Rosemary.
Her grandfather blinked at her and nodded.
She went to get her laptop and located the file, setting it up so that all three of them had a clear view. The first pictures were of Yangon, then Maymyo and then the orchids and Kandawgyi gardens.
‘And who’s this?’ asked Rosemary. The picture was of Ramon. It caught him half in reverie as he examined a particularly stunning purple orchid, half indignant that he was being photographed unawares.
‘Ramon.’ The picture brought the memory of that afternoon back sharply into her mind. ‘Maya’s grandson,’ she told her grandfather. ‘He showed me around Maymyo and Mandalay.’
Her grandfather frowned and nodded. ‘Ramon,’ he said, as if committing the name to memory.
When she got to the picture of Maya, looking sweet and serene and white-haired, standing outside the house in Maymyo – the house that her grandfather had visited all those years ago – he caught his breath. ‘She’s hardly changed,’ he murmured. And his head sank back onto the cushions.
Eva and her mother exchanged a small smile.
‘She says hello,’ Eva told him. ‘And she asked me to give you her love.’
He nodded, as if he already knew, as if he already had her love. ‘Did she have a good life?’ he asked. ‘Was she happy?’
‘Yes, she did. She was.’ That had certainly been Eva’s understanding. And she rec
alled that this was what Maya too had wanted to know, had he been happy? Had he been loved? Maya might have regretted her decision, but if so she showed no sign. She had shown only acceptance; she had made the best of it. ‘She married a good man,’ Eva told her grandfather. ‘And they had a lovely daughter.’
‘And my daughter?’ His voice was faint. ‘My other daughter?’
So he had understood. Over in the armchair, Eva was conscious of her mother’s silent presence. ‘I have a picture of her,’ she said. She clicked on it and her face filled the screen. ‘Cho Suu Kyi,’ she said.
Her grandfather and her mother stared at the image in silence for a few moments. At last her grandfather nodded. ‘She looks very fine,’ he said. ‘She looks …’
‘Serene,’ Eva’s mother supplied.
‘She is.’ Eva looked appraisingly at her mother. ‘And don’t you think she looks a little like you, Mother?’ she asked.
‘Oh, she does,’ her grandfather said firmly.
‘A little.’ A small smile played around her mother’s lips.
‘Maya wanted to tell you about her, Grandpa.’ Eva willed him to understand. ‘And she never wanted to lose you. But …’
He nodded. ‘She thought it best to let me go,’ he said.
Exactly. He knew the woman. Perhaps he had never doubted her. Eva moved on to the next photograph of Maya and Cho Suu Kyi together. ‘Maya’s husband brought Suu up as his own,’ she told them. ‘He looked after them both very well.’
‘I’m glad.’ Her grandfather reached out and squeezed Eva’s hand. ‘I’m glad they had a good life. As I did,’ he added. He gave Eva a look. Be patient with your mother, it seemed to say, try to understand.
She did understand. And her mother too, Eva thought, was doing her best to understand. She moved on to the next pictures of the Royal Palace and other sights of Mandalay. There was the gaudily painted horse and cart which had carried she and Ramon around Inwa, the golden pagodas of Sagaing Hill and the glorious Mahamuni, covered in knobbly gold leaf by all his followers; a visual reminder of her entire journey. ‘And the chinthes,’ she said. ‘Reunited at last.’