Belle struggled to take it in. One minute she was a stranger here and the next she could be the owner of that huge house.
‘You’ll probably want to sell up. Just tip me the wink if you do. I wouldn’t mind buying it myself. Of course, it needs work. A lot of work.’
She nodded and, wanting to change the subject, asked who she might be likely to meet at the Pegu club.
On the outskirts of town, they approached the club. Belle saw a vast Victorian building, surrounded entirely by trees and encircled by a shady veranda, the air heavily scented with the flowers of jasmine and frangipani. Edward explained it had been built predominantly of teak in the 1880s to serve British army officers and civilian administrators. And it had the reputation of being one of the most well-known gentlemen’s clubs in Southeast Asia, rather like the Tanglin club in Singapore.
‘Members only,’ he added, ‘and mostly senior government and military officials and prominent businessmen. Sadly, it’s a bit of a relic these days. Times change, don’t they, and sometimes more’s the pity.’
‘Gentlemen only?’
‘Not any more, at least not at weekends. People used to refer to this place as the real seat of power in Burma.’
They went into the clubhouse where highly polished parquet floors shone and large ceiling fans blew warm air about.
With a hand firmly on the small of her back, Edward shepherded her past a billiards room and then a large dining room and into a dark but cosy room at the back of the building. She took in the bored faces of middle-aged men puffing on cigars or hiding behind their newspapers while their wives smiled blandly at the air and sipped their iced gin.
When they had made themselves comfortable, both seated on worn brown leather armchairs, he suggested she try the Pegu Cocktail before lunch.
‘It’s our signature drink. Gin and Roses lime juice.’
She nodded, having already worked out that being teetotal in this country was an impossibility, but she vowed to limit herself to one drink only. She hadn’t got drunk with Rebecca the day they’d gone to Chinatown, didn’t dare go that far, but she’d downed two bottles of beer and that had been enough.
The drinks arrived served in chilled glasses with a slice of lime and when Belle sipped she thought it tasted of grapefruit. ‘Very refreshing,’ she said as the gin fizzed in her blood and went straight to her head.
While they fell silent for a few minutes, Belle glanced around at the clientele. They were exactly as Edward had described and even on a Sunday were dressed formally. The few women, wearing mainly high-necked and noticeably drab cotton florals, were talking in hushed tones, while the louder hum of voices was decidedly male.
‘The club was named after the Pegu, a Burmese river,’ he said.
‘Is this place only for the British?’
He frowned. ‘’Fraid we’re somewhat old-fashioned. No Asians. I know things are changing and there are those who feel we should change with them, but …’ He spread his arms out, palms uppermost, in a shrug.
She thought of what Oliver might say. This would be exactly what he detested about the British colonials, and perhaps he’d be right. She didn’t condone the blatant anti-Burmese attitude either and she could see these insular people felt obligated to uphold British power and superiority, no matter what.
Edward cleared his throat and ran a finger around the inside of his shirt collar. If she hadn’t known better, she could have sworn he looked a bit nervous.
‘Look here, Belle,’ he said, ‘I was rather hoping you’d allow me to take you for a quiet dinner one evening. Just the two of us.’
Surprised, she stared at him.
‘Get to know each other better,’ he said with a broad smile on his face. ‘Would that be so bad? On your next evening off?’
‘No … I mean, of course it wouldn’t … it’s just …’ She didn’t finish her sentence.
‘Or maybe you’d prefer to accompany me to the next dinner at the Governor’s residence?’
She began to reply but Edward gave her an apologetic look as he rose to his feet. ‘Ah, here’s old Ronnie Outlaw. He may be able to help you.’
Belle stood up too.
The man who approached the table was clearly retired. He walked with a slight limp and carried a silver-tipped cane. A huge grey moustache made up for the lack of hair elsewhere, but he stood to attention as Edward clapped him on the back and then explained that Belle was hoping to meet people who might have known her parents, the Hattons, back in the day.
Ronnie Outlaw narrowed his watery blue eyes as he shuffled into an armchair. ‘Knew them slightly, but was posted in Mandalay back then, so our paths didn’t often cross. Had something of a bad end here?’ He raised his brows and glanced at Edward, who nodded. ‘Upset a few important people with his rulings when he was presiding over the chief court?’
Edward nodded again.
‘So where are you from, young lady?’ Ronnie continued.
‘Cheltenham,’ she said, with as much grace as she could summon.
‘Ladies’ College?’
She nodded but all the time was wondering whom her father had upset.
Ronnie was silent for a few seconds and Belle wondered if that was all he’d reveal, but then his eyes suddenly lit up. ‘Tell you what. When we did eventually move to Rangoon, my wife, Florence, became a friend of this woman, Simone something … Simone … drat it, what was her name? Doctor’s wife. Anyway, I’m almost certain this Simone was close with your mother.’
‘Do you know where she lives?’
‘Not the foggiest, but I think Florence still maintains a correspondence. Tell you what, why not get Edward’s sister to take you up to Gossip Point. All the girls meet there. You can have a good chinwag with Florence – tell her you went to school at Cheltenham and she’ll be your friend for life.’
‘Oh?’
There was the slightest pause before he spoke again. ‘Our daughter, Gracie, was a boarder there for four years.’
‘Does she live in Cheltenham now?’
Ronnie looked down at the floor and then back up at her. ‘Sadly, no. Came down with malaria over here. Never made it past fifteen.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Thank you.’
There was a silence during which Belle wondered what to say. Luckily Edward stepped in, thanking Ronnie for his help and offering him a stengah, a drink made of equal measures of whisky and soda water, served over ice.
‘Gloria tells me you have contacts in the entertainment world,’ she said after Ronnie had finished his drink and then left them alone.
‘Yes, yes I do. I can put in a word for you if you like.’
She grinned at him. ‘I’d like that very much. You know, for after Burma.’
‘So, tell me your dream?’
‘To travel and keep on singing for my supper, of course.’
‘I like an independent girl,’ he said with a laugh, and leant forward to give her shoulder a squeeze.
As Belle turned into the corridor leading to her room, she paused. She’d asked Edward to drop her a short distance from the hotel, to carve out a little time to think. Too hot, it had been a mistake. So far, apart from Rebecca, nobody knew about the anonymous note, but it was still on her mind. The fortune teller had told her that the question she’d asked about who she should trust had been the wrong question and that she would go on a journey soon. So far, no sign of that. Probably a load of bunkum anyway.
She’d hoped for a breath of fresh air, but in the sweltering climate she ended up staggering back with a sweat-sodden dress. The afternoons were utterly impossible. It was little wonder most of the British slipped home for a nap, although the heat still seeped through even the thickest walls. Before Edward had left he’d reminded her of his invitation to accompany him to a dinner at the Governor’s residence. When she had thanked him and agreed to go he had looked genuinely delighted and said he’d let her know the date in due course. She decided she might tell him about the note
then.
19.
On her next evening off, Belle stood waiting for Gloria in the hotel lobby. They were about to be driven to Gossip Point, although Belle had mixed feelings about it. While she wanted to know if Florence Outlaw was in touch with her mother’s friend, Simone, at the same time she was feeling weary of the whole thing. Earlier in the day she’d called at the offices of the Rangoon Gazette where she had agreed to meet up with Oliver and had been disappointed to learn he was out of town on a story and they didn’t know when he’d be back.
Think you know who to trust? Look harder …
She had trusted Oliver, hadn’t she? Liked him a lot. What about Gloria?
Belle shook her head, then sat on one of the striped sofas, sipping the iced water she’d ordered, and before long her friend was waving jovially from the doorway in a flurry of hat, gloves, high heels and perfume. Her dress today was scarlet with a wide white collar and a nipped-in waist.
‘Darling. Do hurry. We’ll miss all the good stuff,’ she called to Belle. And then added in a stage whisper, ‘Though to be honest with you, I only go because if I didn’t it would be me the old biddies would be gossiping about.’
Belle smiled ironically. ‘Surely not! Whatever could they find to say about you?’
Gloria laughed. ‘Stick with me, kid, and I’ll tell you.’
The doorman held open the door for them and as soon as they were settled in the back of the car they carried on their conversation.
‘Actually,’ Belle said, ‘you did promise to tell me your history if I went to the swimming pool party. I kept my side of the bargain.’
Gloria rolled her eyes. ‘So I did. And all that happened was that you met up with that Donohue man.’
‘Oliver.’
‘The very one. I grant he is outrageously attractive … those come-to-bed blue eyes! I admit I did have a minor flirtation – haven’t we all? But he’s not …’ She paused.
‘Not what?’
‘One of us.’
‘I didn’t think you’d care.’
Gloria looked scornful. ‘Well, I don’t, not really. But I wouldn’t spend too much time with him. You have seen him again, haven’t you?’
Belle observed her keenly. ‘And you know how?’
‘The irony about Rangoon is that in a place as full of secrets as this, it’s also impossible to do anything without people finding out.’
Belle frowned. ‘Why would anyone give a hoot?’
‘Oliver Donohue has a reputation.’
‘With the ladies, I know.’
Gloria laughed. ‘Good Lord. That’s par for the course. Everyone here has affairs. It’s practically mandatory. No, I wouldn’t want to put the kibosh on a budding friendship, but he’s been mixed up in some shady business.’
‘Shady? What kind?’
Gloria shrugged. ‘It’s only rumour but shall we say you could be putting yourself in danger.’
‘You can’t just say that.’
‘I really don’t know any more, though my brother might.’
‘Did you know Edward asked me to have dinner with him?’
‘He likes you.’
‘But he’s married.’
Gloria roared with laughter. ‘And?’
Belle felt herself redden.
‘Come on, darling. His marriage is in name only. And he’s an important man. You could do a lot worse.’
‘Than be someone’s mistress?’
‘Don’t be so strait-laced. It’s only dinner.’
‘Did he ask you to work on me?’
‘Now that’s plain mistrustful.’
‘Anyway, in the end I agreed to dinner at the Governor’s residence.’
Gloria’s eyes widened. ‘Well, you are honoured.’
They slipped into silence and then the car pulled up at the lakes and the driver opened the back doors. As she climbed out, Belle gazed about her. She’d already discovered Rangoon sprang to life soon after tea, with or without condensed milk, and today was no exception. The sun had lost its fury, but the sky was still a glorious blue and from a pavilion in the distance the sounds of a military band greeted the women as they arrived. As more women alighted from chauffeur-driven cars, it was clear that these were the wealthiest and most privileged of their type. Gossip Point really was in a stunning spot overlooking the Royal Lakes, and at a rough guess Belle thought at least twenty women were already assembled while dozens of Indian gardeners were still at work.
‘I can’t believe how green it is,’ Belle said, gazing at the vast expanse of emerald lawns where birds like English starlings hopped about. ‘Every time I think I’m getting used to things, something new surprises me.’
‘They use water from the lake to keep it green.’
Trees in various stages of bloom surrounded the huge lake, and a profusion of flowers and vines lining the banks shone vibrantly against the astonishing stretch of blue water.
‘What do the women talk about?’ Belle whispered as they began to move forward.
‘Often it’s the latest news. You know the kind of thing. What’s happening across the world. It helps us keep in touch. Local news too of course.’
‘Not more personal?’
‘Why don’t we say hello and you’ll find out.’ Gloria gave her shoulder a little squeeze as if to encourage her to move forward. ‘They won’t bite.’
Most of the women wore pretty hats and were dressed fashionably in discreetly patterned slim-line dresses with mid-calf hemlines and elbow-length sleeves. Sadly, the style didn’t really suit some of the larger more mature ladies who were a good deal older than Gloria and who, Belle felt, would look better if they didn’t slavishly follow the latest styles. Among the group there were a few younger women who, like colourful butterflies, hovered and then moved on.
‘Darling, this is Annabelle Hatton,’ Gloria said again and again as she introduced Belle to one woman after another.
When they seemed to settle in a small group of five the conversation turned to the story of a barmaid.
‘Deplorable,’ one of the older women proclaimed as she fanned herself with increasing speed, unable to conceal the tone of glee in her voice.
‘Think of it. An Englishwoman soliciting in the street,’ another added.
‘Whatever next. And did you hear … I can hardly bear to say it.’
As the woman paused Belle could tell she was desperate to steal a march on her friends.
‘Oh, do tell, Wendy.’
‘You can’t keep us in suspense.’
Wendy looked from one to the other. ‘Well, I have it on good authority she was soliciting Indian coolies.’
While the other women gasped, Gloria winked at Belle, who couldn’t help smiling.
After that Gloria steered Belle away, towards a small round woman who had arrived a minute ago and was making her way to the water’s edge.
‘Florence,’ Gloria called out, waving madly, and then whispering to Belle, ‘It was Florence Outlaw you wanted to speak to? Edward mentioned it.’
Belle nodded.
Florence Outlaw had grey hair neatly pinned up and a soft, rosy complexion. She gave Gloria a broad smile as she made her way over with a slow, rolling gait, accompanied by a little white dog on a lead.
‘Florence, this is my lovely new friend, Belle.’
‘My husband mentioned you. Something about Simone. Such a pretty woman. Amber eyes, you know. So unusual.’
‘Your husband said you were still in touch,’ Belle said. ‘I’d love to meet her.’
‘Oh, my dear, she’s not here.’
Belle frowned. ‘But she is alive?’
Florence looked happy. ‘Thank goodness, yes, but didn’t Ronnie tell you, she’s been back home for some time?’
‘Home?’
‘England. The Cotswolds. I wrote down the address for you.’ She delved into a large tapestry bag and rifled through the contents. ‘Now where the devil is it?’
‘She knew my mother well?’ Belle
had no memory of her mother ever having any friends.
Florence glanced up and nodded. ‘Best friends, although we’re going back a bit. Heavens, do you mind holding the bag open while I search?’
Belle held the bag and after a few moments Florence located a folded piece of paper. ‘Hurrah! At last. Here you are, dear. I’m sure she won’t mind you writing. Just mention my name.’
‘Thank you. I’d be keen to ask if she remembers what happened when my sister disappeared.’
A little later Belle found herself without Gloria and in a small group of women who were discussing the few eligible men who still lived in Rangoon. One of them turned to Belle and, glancing at her ring finger, stared witheringly.
‘Dear me. Not engaged yet?’
‘No,’ Belle replied with pride. ‘I’m a singer at the Strand.’
The woman visibly paled. ‘Oh no. No, no. Won’t do at all. Find yourself a husband double quick. You don’t want to be working for a living, although if you really must I’m sure we could find you a family.’
Belle frowned. ‘Sorry, I –’
‘A family who require a governess, dear, something respectable.’
One of the other women nodded, and Belle, laughing at the loathsome old-fashioned attitudes, quickly took her leave and walked over to the water’s edge. She would write to Simone that night and hope she’d be more enlightened than these women.
She noticed the flush of rose in the sky and as a flock of black birds crossed the lake she glanced at the sun setting behind the golden Shwedagon Pagoda. The pagoda, now a deep burnished copper, enchanted her and seemed as if it were a living thing, changing colour depending on the time of day. Completely absorbed by the spectacle, she continued to look and only gradually became aware people were bidding each other farewell – the sunset a signal for the women to return to their cars. She watched the sky, lilac at the top, then yellow, orange, pink, and finally the deepest burgundy. This is the colour of Burma, she thought. Then she spotted Gloria surrounded by fireflies flashing like tiny diamonds in the growing darkness and she watched the older woman’s languid swaying gait as they walked towards each other. Above them the emerging stars seemed twice the size they had been in England.
The Missing Sister Page 8