‘I hope you like the flowers,’ he said with a broad smile.
She nodded distractedly and tried to peer through the open door to see what was happening in the corridors beyond. ‘Thank you. But the baby? Is she here?’
‘She’s safe and sound.’
‘Did you find her relatives?’ she asked, urgent in her need to know.
He gently closed the door and then explained they were taking care of the baby and she was not to concern herself.
‘I can tell you exactly where I found her if it helps. I’m sure I can tell you if you take me there. Please help me to get up.’ She began to shuffle up the bed. ‘I’m sure I can walk.’
‘Belle, there’s no need. We’re already making enquiries. Hopefully we’ll find a relative soon.’
‘Are you sure? I can’t bear to think of that tiny child ending up in an orphanage.’ She gulped back a sob. ‘Edward, can you imagine how terrible it must have been for her to be there when her mother was stabbed?’
He pulled out a chair and, after settling himself, took hold of her left hand and stroked it gently. ‘Now, now, no need to worry. I’ve already said the baby is fine. How are you feeling? That’s the important question.’
She frowned. ‘Grateful to be alive but extremely light-headed. I can’t quite remember everything.’
‘Possibly a good thing.’
‘But how did I get here? What happened to me?’
‘You know we found you close to the Indian quarter?’
‘Yes. I didn’t mean to be.’
‘I should hope not. You fell and injured your leg on some broken glass – at least we think so.’
She glanced down at herself. ‘I can’t feel it.’
‘They’ve given you painkillers.’
Tears began to fill her eyes and then spill down her cheeks. He quietly handed her a clean handkerchief and she wiped her face.
‘Better now?’ he said.
‘It was awful, Edward. Awful. The things I saw. Why were they killing Indians?’
‘I’ll explain it all when you’re feeling better.’
She pulled her hand away. She needed to get it straight in her head. Why had it happened? Why had it been allowed to happen? But she could see he wasn’t going to tell her now. She pressed both hands down on the mattress for leverage and pulled herself up the bed. ‘I must get up. I don’t want to be here any more. Please help me. Please. I have to see Clayton and get to Sydney.’
He shook his head and his eyes darkened. ‘Out of the question, I’m afraid. You’ve had a traumatic experience. The doctor wants to keep you here for at least a week, possibly longer.’
‘But Clayton?’
Edward’s mouth twisted to one side as he pulled a regretful face. ‘Sorry, my dear, but he fled as soon as the trouble started.’
She shook her head, disbelief bubbling up inside her. ‘No! I don’t believe it. You mean he isn’t going to take me on?’
‘Not at the moment. They’ve already hired a new understudy, I hear. I’m sure he will be back though.’
‘Couldn’t they have waited for me?’ Her voice had come out thin and high pitched and, in her weakened state, she struggled to prevent her disappointment from showing. Although, after everything she’d been through, she had the notion that disappointment over an agent was an awfully trivial thing. Did it really matter so much?
‘It seems they could not wait.’ Edward reached for her hand again. ‘I know you must be frustrated by this but show business does appear to be a somewhat cut-throat world.’
She gazed at him. ‘It was you, you know, who …?’
‘Yes. Lucky I came across you, especially as you were losing blood. But what on earth were you doing there?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m trying to remember but it’s all a blur. I just found myself caught up in the trouble and then in my panic I lost my way.’
He nodded. ‘You poor old thing.’
‘What was it all about? Please tell me.’
‘As I said, I’ll explain it when you’re feeling better. At the moment we’re still trying to piece it all together. Now you need to rest.’
For the next couple of days Belle did little but eat and sleep, although when awake she felt choked by the cloying scent of the flowers in her room. She had gleaned a little of what had happened from the nurse, but Edward hadn’t yet returned. Had she even thanked him for rescuing her?
But then the image of the man with no eyes swam before her … Oh God! She covered her own eyes with her palms.
How had it all come about? And why? What could have been the cause of such terrible carnage? Edward would come back and tell her – surely, he must – for nothing had ever seemed so important as her need to understand. Without understanding there would be no respite from the violence and brutality she had witnessed on the streets. The sleeping pills they mercifully gave her at night made her woozy and unfocused in the morning but without them she wouldn’t have slept at all. In the daytime, still with the awful stench of blood in her nostrils, she continued to weep over the sound of buzzing flies and the appalling silence of the dead looping round and round. Her sorrow for the baby with its enormous dark eyes did not abate and she prayed the authorities would do their best for her. She vowed to ensure the little baby girl was safe and cared for, as soon as she was better.
One morning, when all Belle wanted to do was hide from the world and bury her head under the pillow, Gloria turned up.
‘Darling, you really have been in the wars. Silly girl, whatever were you thinking?’
At the tone of her friend’s voice Belle felt herself tensing. She forced a weak smile and saw Gloria was looking especially glamorous in a black-and-white suit with a matching hat, and she was armed with chocolates and wine. But really Gloria was the last person she wanted to see right now.
‘Won’t you sit down?’ Belle managed to say.
‘Actually, I have to dash, but I wanted to bring you these.’ She placed her gifts on the already crowded cabinet. ‘But, darling, you don’t seem terribly pleased to see me. And I am the herald of extremely good news too.’
‘Sorry. I don’t feel so good. It was terrible, Gloria.’
‘I’m sure it must have been and, naturally, you don’t feel well. Only to be expected.’
Belle shifted herself into a more upright position and ran a hand over her hair. ‘I saw such awful –’
‘Of course, of course.’ Gloria waved her hand dismissively and then tilted her head and seemed to be scrutinizing Belle’s appearance. ‘Hmmm. You could do with a trip to the hairdresser. I’ll arrange it. But now for the good news.’
‘Well, I could certainly do with some,’ Belle said despondently, wondering how anything could make her feel better.
‘Tra-la! Listen to what I’ve got. Harry has postponed his trip. He’ll wait until you’re well enough to go.’ She winked. ‘After I had a few well-chosen words in his ear, that is.’
‘Oh God, what did you say to him?’ Belle asked, unsure how she was expected to take this.
‘Let’s simply say I reminded him of a little indiscretion I had witnessed.’
‘You blackmailed him?’ Belle was horrified.
Gloria smiled complacently. ‘Only a teeny-weeny bit.’
‘But he’ll absolutely hate me.’
‘Of course he won’t. He’ll hate me. The difference is, I couldn’t care less.’
Belle looked away, completely unconvinced and certain the man would resent her.
‘He’s actually managed to arrange a meeting with the District Commissioner of Mandalay, just as he promised. The man’s been there for donkey’s years apparently and if anyone knows anything it’ll be him. Say thank you nicely.’
Belle managed another weak smile. How typical. Of course Gloria didn’t want to hear anything about what had happened. Belle couldn’t help thinking of Oliver and wishing they could talk.
‘Anyway, as I said, I have to make tracks.’ She leant across to kiss
Belle on the cheek. ‘Bye, darling. Get well soon.’
And with that she swept from the room in a cloud of scent infused with jasmine, rose and sandalwood. Chanel No. 5, Belle thought as she picked up the novel somebody had kindly left for her. The Murder at the Vicarage by Agatha Christie. She read for a few minutes but still found it hard to escape the dreadful images in her head. As she laid the book down a slip of paper fell out and landed on the bedcover. She picked it up and read it, then, with a gulp, tore it into shreds. She could not let this touch her. And though she wanted to see him, there was no chance she would make the same mistake again. Oliver had sent his love and hoped she was over her horrific ordeal. He had expressed the wish she would soon be feeling better and suggested they might meet up for a drink. In the aftermath of the massacre Belle felt vulnerable, as if the shock had shaken something loose within her and all the insecurities she had tried so hard to conceal were now slipping out. She badly needed a friend, but it couldn’t be Oliver. It just couldn’t.
She was remembering more and more now, reliving the immobilizing terror she’d experienced when she’d believed the men were going to attack her. It lodged inside her stomach, this fear, and it kept her tightly coiled, had become part of her, inseparable from who she was. She pressed a hand hard into her stomach as if to force it out, but it only made her choke and splutter. In the end she managed to doze out of sheer exhaustion until she heard dogs barking in the street outside and then the door opening again. She closed her eyes but sensed his presence even before he was ushered into the room.
‘Hello, Edward,’ she said, opening her eyes. ‘Could you close the curtain properly? There’s a shard of light. It’s too bright.’
‘Rebecca was waiting to see you but I’m afraid I pulled rank. She said she’d be back tomorrow.’ He closed the curtain and sat on a chair he’d pulled close to the bed, taking hold of her hand and patting it.
She stared at him. ‘Please tell me what happened to the baby? I have to know.’
‘We think we might have found a grandmother. I promise I’ll let you know when we’re certain we have the right person.’
She nodded. ‘What was it all about, Edward? Why did it happen?’
He smiled sympathetically. ‘It’s somewhat complicated but I’ll try to keep it simple, though really you should never have become involved.’
Belle hoped he wasn’t going to call her a silly girl too and then, when he did not, tried to concentrate on his words. Apparently, it had all begun at the docks. Hundreds of Indian labourers employed to stow and unload cargo had gone on strike for better wages and Burmese men had been taken on to break the strike. Once the strike was resolved the Burmans were let go. These men had been accompanied to work by their wives who carried their lunch in baskets and had walked long distances to get there. As the Burmese were dismissed, the Indians made the mistake of laughing at them in front of their wives, and in so doing humiliating them. This contretemps led to blows, with Indians being killed and then thrown in the river. A rumour spread that some Indian men had cut off a Burmese woman’s breasts, which led to thousands of Burmese going on the hunt for Indians to kill. Unfortunately, there had already been resentment brewing as too many Indians had crowded in from their impoverished villages and the Burmans looked down on them as little better than vermin.
‘We’ve had no end of trouble,’ Edward was saying. ‘There have been hundreds of casualties and now the Indian population has barricaded itself in and won’t come out. Most of the food shops are Indian so the city is running out of necessities. Not only that, it’s Indian labourers who take away the city’s night soil and the whole place is beginning to stink to high heaven.’
‘What will you do?’
He sighed deeply. ‘At least seven thousand Indians have taken refuge in the old lunatic asylum. Most of their homes were destroyed in the riot.’
‘Riot? More like a massacre from what I saw. They must be terrified.’
He gave her a rueful smile. ‘Indeed. There’s not only been murder but looting too. So, to avoid a health epidemic, we are going to put them to work.’
‘I hope they’ll receive compensation for what they’ve lost.’
‘Unlikely.’
Suddenly disillusioned, she frowned. ‘But surely that can’t be right?’
He shrugged. ‘We don’t have the means to help them further.’
‘Nor the will,’ she said, and he looked surprised by her sharp tone of voice.
‘Look, Belle, things are tricky right now and there’s much you don’t understand.’
‘Well, enlighten me then.’
‘There has always been dissent between the races.’
‘And whose fault is that? We brought the Indians here and now we don’t care to protect them.’
‘It was their own choice to come.’
‘Lured by promises of jobs and money, no doubt.’
He shook his head, but Belle felt certain she was right. She stared at him, and knowing he was unlikely to say more, changed the subject.
‘Why did the Burmese men paint those strange signs on their chests?’ she asked.
‘Makes them invincible. They believe the signs magically protect them. You may already have gathered how superstitious they are.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, but I thought they were Buddhists. You know – peace-loving.’
‘Buddhism mixed with animism and goodness knows what else. But there has always been violence here.’ He sighed deeply. ‘Anyway, about this river trip. I strongly suggest you go with Harry as soon as you are well enough. Do you think you might? There’s likely to be civil unrest in Rangoon for quite some time, and you, my dear girl, have already suffered enough.’
He was right. She had. And, since she’d lost her chance with Clayton, the idea of the river trip had become tempting again. After everything she’d been through, it would be a relief to get away. Nothing would rid her of the persistent fear and the images that continued to torment her, but the further she was from Rangoon the better she might feel. She thought back to her arrival in Burma and how she’d been attracted to the golden coating of their Rangoon lives, but now she couldn’t rid herself of Oliver’s voice. He’d been correct about so much. Beneath the surface of this glittering colonial world lay tensions that would only become more pronounced and when it came to justice there was little for anyone who wasn’t British. She hardly dared consider the abuse of power, the rampant greed and the terrible racial prejudice, and her compassion for the dispossessed Indians made her wonder if she was more like Oliver than she had ever realized.
33.
Diana, Cheltenham, 1922
I’d woken early knowing something special was going to happen but not remembering exactly what it was. But then, sweating and hot, ah yes, it came back to me. Now as I glance around my room checking everything is done I rehearse my words of departure. A solemn thank you and dry-eyed goodbye for ever or a face full of sorrow and regret? Although I feel anxious, I opt for solemn and dignified. For I know appearance still matters. My trunk has gone ahead so now it’s just my personal items left, the bits and pieces that will accompany me in Simone’s car: a few toiletries, my mother’s silver hand mirror, my pills, my Parker pen and my diary. There’s nothing much in there but I’d like to start writing again if I can. It seems the doctor thinks it will help too.
I am now to use my maiden name of Riley. Miss Diana Augusta Riley. It feels good. A farewell to loneliness. Although I still haven’t set eyes on my cottage myself, Simone and Douglas have already furnished it and, of course, I’m curious. It’s not without trepidation that I contemplate this change in my life and so I slip over to the window and grip the sill in the hope of one last glimpse of Annabelle. They don’t want her to witness my leaving and it has been tacitly agreed that Mrs Wilkes will take her out for the day. Last night I sat on my daughter’s bed and sang to her, some silly song I know she likes. After a moment she joined in and when we were done we both laughed and laughed – I’
m not sure why, but it was happy laughter. She let me brush her hair until it shone and then I said goodnight and kissed both her velvety soft cheeks. She looked at me in such a way and when her forehead puckered I felt as if she had somehow deduced I was leaving. But then the moment passed.
‘Night, night, Mummy,’ she said, and I struggled to keep the tears from spilling.
‘Night, darling,’ I replied as I walked towards the door. ‘Sleep tight.’
And then I hurried away from her room so she would not hear me weeping.
How will I cope with the loss of my daughter?
I’m not able to answer. Not yet. And the truth is, I don’t know. Nor do I know if I’m doing the right thing. My mind wanders round and round in an unforgiving loop and I tell myself to think of something else. As Simone says, I am closing the door on the old me and opening the door on someone new. I must focus. This is something I must do, regardless of what I’m about to sacrifice, or how I feel about it. And I must also remember I’m doing this for Annabelle.
Simone says I will never have to pretend with her. That alone is a weight off my mind.
I put my cheek to the glass of the window and feel its soothing coolness against my cheek. It’s June now and a sunny warm day and I wonder if I am overdressed wearing a twinset and linen skirt. I finger the pearls around my neck and my breath catches as, extremely suddenly, I see them. Two figures. Annabelle and Mrs Wilkes leaving via the front gate. Annabelle skips alongside the woman apparently with no sense of what is about to happen, and Mrs Wilkes is walking briskly as if in a hurry to leave. I raise my hand as if to wave and feel a moment of utter anguish. Is this really the right thing to do? I remember Douglas’s arguments. What if the voice leads me to hurt my own child? Does he believe that’s what happened in Burma? Is it why he’s so adamant I should go? He’s never said as much but it would explain an awful lot. I watch Annabelle until she disappears, but I do not cry. It is for the best. I am no use to her as I am, and nor will I escape from the guilt I constantly feel if I stay. She will be better off with Douglas.
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