by Rosanna Ley
‘Ah.’ Her grandfather leaned closer.
They stared back at the camera lens with dignity, heads proud, eyes glittering. ‘And here they are in the National Museum in Yangon.’ Because Eva had taken another photo of them when she visited the museum the day before she left Myanmar. They were already installed beside an information board which told the story, in Burmese and English, of how Queen Supayalat had given them to her loyal maid-servant Suu Kyi in thanks for looking after the princesses and how they had now been given on permanent loan as a precious relic of Burmese culture. Beside them, was an old photograph of the King and Queen, the pair of chinthes unmistakeable, each one on an arm of Supayalat’s throne. You couldn’t, Eva thought, get a more reliable authentication than that.
Lawrence peered at the photo more closely. ‘They look very grand,’ he commented. ‘And in a museum too.’ He chuckled. ‘Who would have thought it, eh? When one of them’s been in the jungle and even to Dorset and back.’
Eva caught her mother’s eye. She shrugged.
Eva leaned closer. ‘The eyes of the chinthes are rare Mogok rubies, Grandpa,’ she whispered.
He stared at her, then back at the laptop screen, then into the flames of the fire. ‘Rubies?’ he breathed. ‘She gave me rubies?’ He laughed, his chest heaving in an effort to get breath, but the laughter turned to a wheeze and then a cough. ‘Rubies,’ he muttered. He glanced at Eva. ‘You know I’ve always admired an adventurous spirit, my darling,’ he said. ‘But I do hope you were careful.’ And, once again, his eyes seemed to glaze over.
Rosemary got to her feet. ‘Time for bed, Dad, I think,’ she said. ‘All this excitement. It’s exhausting.’
Eva helped her support him and they got him into the bathroom and then to bed.
When Eva leaned over to kiss him goodnight, he gripped her hand. ‘Did you like it, my darling?’ he asked her. ‘Did you like the old country?’
Eva smiled. ‘I loved it, Grandpa. It was just as you always told me.’
He nodded, as if satisfied. ‘And have you thought?’ he asked her. ‘About what you’ll do next?’
Eva was surprised. She hadn’t said anything. But it was almost as if he knew. ‘I think so.’ She hadn’t quite thought it through, not yet. But she had a good idea. First thing tomorrow she was going to write her letter of resignation. And, in the circumstances, she hoped they would allow her to leave with immediate effect. But she was going to talk to Jacqui too, she’d decided. She would phone her tomorrow.
‘I’m pleased to hear that.’ He patted her hand. ‘And he seems like a nice enough boy,’ he said. ‘Maya’s grandson and my granddaughter. Well, I never …’
Eva smiled. He’d only seen a few photos of Ramon, but he’d still picked up on it, the old rascal. Her mother needn’t worry. Grandpa was as sharp as he’d ever been.
He nodded. ‘You’ll come into some money soon, my dear,’ he whispered, his voice drifting. ‘Think carefully about what you want to do with it.’
‘Oh, Grandpa.’ She didn’t want to think about that at all, because of what it would mean.
‘And thank you.’ His eyes fluttered open and then closed. ‘Thank you for taking Maya’s chinthe back to Burma for me.’
*
‘That was about the longest period of lucidity he’s had since I got here,’ Eva’s mother said as they sat back in the lounge together, Eva on the settee this time. ‘As if he were saving it up for your return.’
‘Maybe he was.’ She wouldn’t be surprised.
‘And what else was in the National Museum, darling?’ her mother asked. ‘It sounds a remarkable collection.’
‘Yes, it was.’ Despite being incomplete. Eva stared into the fire. The logs, burning orange, sparks flaring with red flames reminded her of the treasures she’d seen there. ‘Gilded furniture studded with jewels,’ she said dreamily. ‘The Queen’s couch – gold filigree with jade; the King’s day bed – gold filigree with diamonds; a carpet woven of strips of silver.’ She took a deep breath, remembering. ‘Jewelled caskets decorated with elephants’ heads. Royal costumes and state attire.’ Their wide sleeves were threaded with gold lace, the body petalled with tiny bells and stiff with sequined rubies, the lapels embroidered with images of the peacock and the hare. ‘Golden goblets, pitchers and salvers and betel boxes on dragon stands.’
Rosemary laughed, in her voice a note of wonder.
But Eva wasn’t finished yet. ‘Lacquered incense jars. Silver spittoons, swords and scabbards. A jewel-encrusted saddle, a hand mirror bordered with gemstones. Rings and bracelets and necklaces of silver, gold and jade, of diamonds and deep red rubies.’ She smiled. ‘The riches of Mandalay.’
‘All taken from the Royal Palace,’ murmured her mother. ‘By the British, the Japanese, the Chinese, and by the Burmese themselves by the sound of it.’
‘Yes.’ Incomparable riches, in terms of precious metals and gems. How could a country that was so rich, also be so poor? Some of those riches, at least, had now been returned. But those weren’t the only kind of riches the country owned, thought Eva, despite the poverty of many of its people. It also owned something even more precious. It owned riches of the heart.
*
In the morning, Rosemary knocked lightly on Eva’s door and came in with a cup of tea. She sat on the edge of the bed and Eva knew.
‘He’s worse?’ she asked.
‘You’d better come in,’ her mother replied.
Eva got up, put on her dressing gown and went into her grandfather’s room to say goodbye.
CHAPTER 60
After her father’s funeral, there was a reception back at the house, but one by one his friends and neighbours went home and just Rosemary, Eva and Alec were left.
‘Thanks for coming,’ Rosemary said to Alec. They were carrying bowls, plates and glasses from the living room back to the kitchen where Eva was clearing up and stacking the dishwasher. He had only arrived last night and they hadn’t really had a chance to talk. Rosemary didn’t know what he was going to do. She only knew that she was grateful for the support today. Her father’s death had hit her harder than she ever would have expected.
‘I’m your husband,’ Alec said. ‘Of course I’d come.’
Rosemary put glasses on a tray and took them into the kitchen. But what about Seattle? What about his ambition and his job? She returned to the living room and began stacking tea plates.
‘Thank goodness you came back here when you did,’ Alec said. He came closer, gently rested his hand on her arm.
‘Yes.’ She had made her peace with him, she had said goodbye, she had even come to comprehend the difficulty of the decisions he’d had to make, the pressure he’d been under and the effort of making a go of his life here in the UK with her mother. And the fact that he’d always loved her.
Alec’s hand moved to her shoulder. Rosemary looked up at him. ‘Put those plates down a minute,’ he said.
She did as he asked. Turned to face him. What next? What would he tell her? She knew that she could manage alone, if she had to. She had made the decision, and she wouldn’t go back on it.
He held her face in his hands. Looked straight into her eyes. ‘Did you mean what you said the other day on the phone? When you said that you missed me? When you said that you loved me?’
‘Of course I did.’ Rosemary tried to smile but she wasn’t sure that the right muscles were working. No doubt it was a very lopsided affair.
‘I hoped so,’ said Alec. He seemed to be searching her face for a clue.
Rosemary tried to give it to him, as much and as honestly as she was able. And surprisingly, she seemed more able than she’d expected. How could you mend a marriage that had never been perfect? You could start again, that’s how.
‘So I did some asking around.’
‘Asking around?’
‘To see what was available over here in the South West.’
‘A job?’ She was trying to take it in.
‘A job.’ He pull
ed a face. ‘I’m not quite ready to retire yet, you know.’
‘Me neither,’ said Rosemary. She had already started looking. She didn’t want to be dependent on Alec, she had to do something for herself. Some sort of secretarial work perhaps, even working in the right kind of shop. She craved the personal contact. In Copenhagen, she’d been lonely, she realised.
Then it struck her what he was telling her. ‘You’d come and live back here?’ she said. ‘To be with me?’
‘I would.’ He seemed very sure all of a sudden. ‘You’re my wife, after all.’ His brown eyes twinkled behind his glasses.
‘But what about Seattle?’
‘Do I really need another challenge at my age? That’s what I’ve been asking myself. And besides …’ He pulled her closer.
‘Besides?’
‘You gave me enough reason to say “no”,’ he said.
*
Later, Rosemary and Eva went out together to scatter Lawrence’s ashes in the garden he loved. ‘In the spring, I think we should plant him a magnolia tree,’ Eva said. ‘In his memory.’ And she squeezed her mother’s arm.
‘Yes, let’s do that.’ Rosemary turned to her and they shared a complicit smile.
Winter had now arrived in earnest and the lawn was still crisp with frost. The pond had iced over too and their breath warmed the air in gasps of steam as they made their way to the bench. Two weeks had passed since the morning he’d died, after his burst of energy following Eva’s return. And Rosemary could understand, now, how he’d summoned up those final reserves in order to find out what he’d been waiting for, to listen to what Eva had to tell him: that the chinthe had been returned to where it belonged; that Maya was well and had been happy; that she had never stopped loving him and had given birth to their daughter. It was like that sometimes. And when he was ready to go … He had gone.
In those two weeks, Rosemary and Eva between them had dealt with the awful administrative aftermath of death, which was the last thing you felt able to cope with when you’d lost a loved one.
‘Where do you think?’ Eva asked. In her hand was the urn containing his ashes.
More ashes, thought Rosemary. Another goodbye.
They had decided on the garden because he had loved it and lived here most of his life. From here, by the bench, he could see the raspberry canes he’d planted when he and Helen were first married, the crazy paving path he’d laid for Rosemary to run along when she was a little girl, and the pond where he’d grown purple irises and a sunshine-yellow waterlily.
Rosemary had brought a spade. She stuck it into the ground but it was rock-hard and resistant. ‘Maybe we should have waited till the spring,’ she said ruefully, resting her arms on the handle.
‘Let me have a go.’ Eva passed her the urn and took over.
In less than two weeks it would be Christmas. ‘Will you spend Christmas here, with me?’ Rosemary asked Eva, watching her daughter as she pressed in the blade, dug in with her heel, levered up a few miserable grains of earth and frost.
Alec wanted to go straight back to Copenhagen and start making arrangements for their move.
‘I’d like to spend Christmas here – with Eva,’ she had told him. ‘I’ll come back to Copenhagen for New Year. Will you join us – just for a day or two?’
‘I’ll do my best,’ he said. ‘But we’ve got plenty more times ahead, you and I.’ He tilted her chin and dropped a light kiss on her lips. ‘You’re right. It’s more important that you stay and keep Eva company. She needs you. You need each other.’
And Rosemary didn’t have to be told just how lucky she was. To have him. To have this second chance, with Alec and with Eva.
Eva stopped her digging and turned to her, surprised. ‘Of course I will.’
‘Good.’
They both looked down at the ground. ‘We’re not getting very far,’ Rosemary said wistfully.
‘Tell you what …’ Eva picked up the urn and took the lid off. She looked at Rosemary. She nodded. Eva up-ended it and scattered the ashes randomly into the winter air. ‘To freedom,’ she said.
‘To freedom.’
They stood for a few minutes in silent contemplation, both saying their farewells in their own way. It was a good end to a life, Rosemary thought. To be free.
‘Are you going back to Bristol, darling?’ she asked Eva as they made their way towards the house. She rubbed her gloved hands together to keep warm. She knew that Eva had left the Emporium. She’d only returned once to her flat to collect some things which she’d brought back in her old redand-black Citroen, since then she’d stayed at the house. But Rosemary didn’t know her daughter’s long-term plans. She just knew that in these two short weeks, they’d grown an awful lot closer. It would take time. You couldn’t undo years of growing more distant in a fortnight. But it was a start. A good start. She wondered if her father was watching, if he knew.
‘Only to pack.’
Goodness. She and Alec both. Rosemary felt a jump of panic.
‘I’ve given notice to the landlord,’ Eva told her. ‘I’m moving out.’ She opened the shed door and replaced the spade on the hook just inside.
‘But where will you go?’ Rosemary heard the jaggedy gallop of her own breathing. Not to Burma? Was it all going to be for nothing? Was Eva leaving, just as Rosemary was coming home?
‘I’m going to make my life back here in Dorset,’ Eva said. She shut the shed door with a clunk and replaced the padlock. ‘I love it here.’ She turned around, waved her arms to encompass this little part of it. ‘There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. It’s where I belong.’
Rosemary felt the rush of relief. ‘So you’ll stay here?’ Her father had left Eva the house as well as a good deal of money. Rosemary had her share too, but her father had known Eva needed it more.
‘I’m not sure. For a while, yes.’ Eva turned to look at her. ‘What about you, Ma?’ Her tone was non-committal, but Rosemary wasn’t fooled.
‘We’ll look for a place not too far from here,’ she said. She led the way back into the house. ‘By the sea. And we might go away on a trip somewhere.’
‘A trip?’ Eva looked curious. She shut the back door behind them and began to pull off her boots.
‘Mmm.’ In her leather bag Rosemary had Cho Suu Kyi’s email address, set up and sent on to Eva by Ramon so that she could keep in touch with her English family. Rosemary was planning to write to her half-sister.
‘She’s always felt as if she were abandoned,’ Eva had told her.
Much more abandoned than Rosemary had ever been.
And so, yes, she would write to her. She would tell her that their father had tried his best and that he’d been a good man. She would tell her that although he’d been unable to meet his other daughter, she would like to. If that would be alright.
Rosemary had tried all her life, especially after finding those letters, to shake off the thought of Burma and her father’s time there, a world she had felt excluded from. But through Cho Suu Kyi, she was no longer excluded. She was linked to it, as was Eva. It was a part of her, because it had been a part of her father and she no longer wanted to pretend otherwise.
‘Thanks for coming back, Ma.’ Eva squeezed her arm.
Rosemary squeezed back. She was determined not to lose her daughter again and this time it was for keeps.
CHAPTER 61
Eva was in the process of restoring an Art Deco dressing table to its former glory. She had bought it from a dealer in the local market. Usually she only bought privately or at auction, but this piece had tempted her. It was a warm June day and she had flung open the double doors of her workshop-cum-studio to welcome the spring sunshine.
The dressing table was colonial in style and it reminded her somehow of Myanmar and her journey there. Much had changed in the six months since her return. Eva knew that her decision to live here in Dorset, her conviction that this was where she belonged, was due in part to what she had learnt on that journey. As was her decision to s
et up her own antiques restoration business. She missed Leanne and a few other friends, but she had contacts here too, it was where she’d grown up after all. And it was a good place for her new venture; the local antiques and vintage market attracted customers from all over the country and abroad and the area was developing quite a reputation for quality antiques at fair prices. As for furniture restoration, it was what she had always wanted to do and what she’d been trained for, but it was her grandfather’s legacy which had enabled her to put it into practice, by buying a large unit which would house her workspace, selling space and a small office and where she could be her own boss. She was lucky, she knew that. She had managed to recapture her dream – the dream that had inspired her to do her degree, the dream that had the scent of teak wood and the history of past lives as its beginning and its end. She was following in her grandfather’s footsteps. And she was moving towards, she hoped, that elusive sense of peace.
She already had a small staff of two, a couple, Kim and Jon, who helped out with the buying and the transporting and looked after the place when Eva was away. But like Ramon, back in Mandalay, Eva enjoyed being hands-on. Imaginative restoration of a piece of history was what she enjoyed the best. She had learnt the skills at uni: hand-finishing furniture, veneering and marquetry restoration; the conservation of upholstery and textiles. And now she was putting them into practice. The business, Gatsby’s, was still in its infancy, but, like a proud parent, Eva was nurturing it every step of the way.
Last night she had gone round to her mother’s for supper. She and Alec had bought a small cottage in Burton, the place her mother had always loved. The conversation had turned to Burma. Much to Eva’s surprise, her mother and Cho Suu Kyi were now emailing one another regularly, and her mother and Alec had a trip to Mandalay planned for November.
‘Have you heard from Suu lately?’ Eva asked as they sat relaxing in the small sitting room.