The Missing Sister

by Dinah Jefferies

  ‘We’re early,’ Harry replied. ‘I imagine it’s only just opened.’

  ‘But I can’t smell anything cooking, can you?’

  ‘Maybe not yet.’

  ‘I could do with a beer,’ Oliver said. ‘But there don’t appear to be any bottles behind the bar.’

  ‘They probably store them in the fridges out at the back,’ Harry said.

  Oliver snapped his fingers at the barman, who nodded and then slipped out through a swing door.

  ‘There you are,’ said Harry. ‘As I said. Out at the back. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find the conveniences.’

  While Harry was gone Belle and Oliver talked for a few minutes. He told her he’d missed her while she’d been away, and she told him about her thrilling balloon ride over Bagan. And yet, although he held her eyes, she was also aware that from time to time he was surveying the room as if in search of something. When, after a few more minutes, Harry hadn’t returned, Oliver stood abruptly, grabbed Belle’s hand and pulled her to her feet.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ he said, his voice tense.

  She shivered as she held on to him.

  ‘Come on. We’re getting out of here. Something isn’t right.’

  He pushed her out in front of him as they made a dash for the door. Once outside, he kept hold of her hand and they began to run.

  With a blinding flash of white light, the blast rocked the street, the heat so intense Belle felt her bones had melted. Thrown back against the wall of a house, she was helpless to save herself and her heart hammered wildly at the sound of terrified screams. Flying debris and exploding glass forced her to crouch down and shield her head with her arms. In shock and disbelief, she tried to swallow but with a mouth full of grit her throat hurt badly and the taste of acrid smoke on the tongue made her heave. At first it was like charcoal but when mixed with the blood in her mouth it turned bitter and rank. She tried to call out for Oliver, only faintly aware she might have lost him. She could neither hear him in the deafening din, nor see him in the thick cloud of black ash billowing above and around the street. She closed her sore, dry eyes and became aware of a pain in her head, as if someone had punched her. When she opened her eyes, her vision swam. It was hot. Far, far too hot. She tried to scream but her throat, still raw from the dust and heat, made only a rasping sound. For a moment she felt she was floating. Then everything turned black.

  When she came back to consciousness Oliver was squatting by her side, his brilliant blue eyes shining out from his dirty dust-streaked face. He’s alive, she thought. He’s alive. He stroked her hair and then sat down beside her. Dazed and horrified by what had happened, neither spoke. After a few minutes he seemed to collect himself, rose and then helped her to her feet too. Then they clung to each other, giving in to the overwhelming feelings of reprieve at finding themselves and each other still alive.

  ‘Do you think you can walk?’ he asked as they drew apart.

  She nodded.

  ‘I thought …’ Numb with shock, her voice cracked, and she couldn’t say the awful words.

  ‘Me too.’ And she could see his eyes were wet with tears.

  He supported her as she hobbled to the side of the street, where she leant against the wall, her head pounding. Then he turned back to help anyone else he could to their feet. Some with minor injuries were already scrambling up, while other more seriously hurt individuals still lay on the ground. Oliver ensured an ambulance was on its way and did what he could for each of them before returning to Belle.

  He reached out his hands to her. ‘Let me look you over.’

  Instead of taking his hands, she wiped a smear of black dust from his left cheek and then closed her eyes.

  ‘Belle?’

  She nodded, but feeling dizzy and light-headed, found it impossible to express the tumult going on within her. She wanted to weep so badly, but her eyes were dry and the unshed tears had somehow blocked her throat.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked when she eventually opened her eyes again.

  ‘I’m fine. Now let me look you over.’

  She was filthy from the dust and grit of the explosion and it was difficult at first to work out what was what, but after a few moments he deduced she only had a few cuts and grazes and no grave injuries.

  He suggested they call a doctor to come to the hotel instead of traipsing up to the hospital where the staff would be overrun and the care mediocre. Belle’s legs were still shaking as they made their way back through the winding streets, but she leant against him and he wrapped an arm around her as she took small shuffling steps, stumbling every so often. Finally they found a lone rickshaw.

  As he supported her through the front door and into the lobby they met Harry hurrying down the stairs, carrying his suitcase. His face lost all colour when he saw them and he tried to brush past, muttering something about being called away.

  Oliver grabbed him by the arm. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, and glancing at Belle to make sure she was all right, he let go of her and half dragged the smaller man through to a snug at the back of the main reception area. Belle followed behind.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Oliver demanded, his face thunderous.

  Harry stared and attempted to speak, but it came out as an incomprehensible stutter.

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘I – I – I went out to the back.’

  ‘Let me get this straight. You went out the back. Because?’

  ‘To – to – the conveniences.’

  ‘But you didn’t return?’

  Harry looked at his feet, then up at Belle, guilt written all over his face.

  ‘Listen, you fucking rat,’ growled Oliver, ‘you nearly got us both killed. Now you tell me exactly what’s going on.’

  Harry, pushing his spectacles back up his nose again and again, looked terrified.

  Oliver was gripping the man’s arm and now he shook him. ‘The truth, Harry.’

  Harry still didn’t speak.

  ‘Do you really want me to break your arm?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘Please don’t hurt me,’ he said with a sob. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Didn’t know what?’ Belle asked as she sank into a chair.

  ‘They said I had no choice.’

  ‘Or?’

  She’d spoken coldly and Harry blanched, his own voice coming out in a whisper as, head bent, he addressed his words to the floor. ‘If I didn’t do what they wanted they would hurt my wife.’

  Belle ran a hand through her dusty hair and scratched her scalp. Was he even telling the truth? Had Harry been responsible for the note she’d been given? Then she noticed a bleeding cut on her arm and, while Oliver watched, she dabbed it with her skirt. When she was done she scrutinized Harry’s face; saw the shattered state he was in. And, despite feeling so angry and shaken herself, couldn’t help feeling a trace of pity for this trembling wreck of a man.

  ‘And what did they want you to do?’ Oliver asked.

  Harry glanced up and met Oliver’s furious glare for the first time. ‘I swear I didn’t know it would be this bad.’

  ‘So, how bad did you think it would be?’

  ‘I thought they were just going to frighten her.’

  Oliver spluttered. ‘Well, that is big of you. Frightening a young woman who has done nothing to you is okay, is it?’

  Harry bit his lip and looked at Belle pleadingly. ‘They said they would hurt Angela. She already suffers with her nerves, you know.’

  Oliver released his grip and roughly shoved Harry into a chair.

  ‘I think you’d better tell us everything.’

  Harry did not speak.

  ‘Harry,’ Belle said, leaning forward. ‘You really do have to tell us.’

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said with a quick glance at her.

  ‘So?’

  Once again Harry didn’t respond.

  ‘Now look here, you little shit –’ Oliver intervened, but then paused, pacing back and forth for a
moment or two as he struggled to get his fury under control. Belle felt sure Oliver was itching to take a swing at the other man and beckoned for him to hold back.

  ‘Who was it, Harry? Who got you to do this?’ she asked.

  Harry’s face crumpled and his glasses misted up. ‘Delay her, they said.’

  Oliver turned on him. ‘Who?’

  ‘I swear I didn’t know it would be a bomb. They said I had to call a number and tell them Belle was on her way to the restaurant. The barman said he needed to talk to me about something and we went to the storeroom at the back and he said we had to leave. I heard the blast and then I knew.’

  ‘Right, Harry,’ Oliver said coldly, ‘I reckon this is what we are going to do …’

  43.

  Diana, Minster Lovell, 1923

  Dr Gilbert looks at me kindly from the sofa where he is leaning back against one of my feather cushions. ‘You lived in Mandalay, I understand, before you moved to Rangoon?’

  I nod.

  He questions me, asks if there’s anything I want to say about it. I take a moment before I speak and, as I do, I shiver at the memory of my husband’s irrational rage, his face scarlet with fury. I tell him Douglas was terribly angry with me, although that barely describes it.

  It was foolish, but I wanted a child so badly and couldn’t seem to conceive. When I went to her the burning red sun had softened into a sultry Mandalay evening. The heavily made-up woman, wearing satin and silk, danced for me and the other women, almost in a trance. She drank beer and we all pinned banknotes to her shiny costume sleeves. The spirits liked a party, it seemed. When it was over she said the spirits had spoken, though she didn’t reveal what they’d said. I tell the doctor how the people loved their spirit mediums. How they believed a Nat Gadaw, for that is what they called them, spoke to them and they thought the spirits could make wishes come true.

  Douglas was immovable. He’s a very rational man and was outraged I’d given in to one of their dark superstitions.

  ‘Did it work? The spirit medium?’ Dr Gilbert asks.

  I nod. Instead of feeling helpless I had taken matters into my own hands. I felt different afterwards. Hopeful. The next day came, the sun shone, and before long I became pregnant with Elvira.

  ‘And your husband forgave you?’

  ‘Apart from once more, we never spoke of it again.’

  ‘And does it still trouble you?’

  There is a long, unsettling silence.

  ‘The one time we spoke of it again, Douglas blamed the Nat Gadaw for the voices I began to hear.’

  I find it hard to say anything more.

  ‘A rational man, you say?’ Dr Gilbert smiles at me oh so gently.

  ‘Yes. Queer, isn’t it? He said I had brought it on myself by dabbling in perilous superstitious practices.’

  44.

  Oliver dragged Harry from his chair and narrowed his eyes. ‘This is what we are going to do.’

  Harry was shaking visibly, too scared to speak.

  ‘I’m going to take you straight to the police station and tell them what you did. I will explain how you lured us into a deadly trap. Attempted manslaughter, at the very least, and who knows how many of the injured might not recover.’

  Harry found his voice. ‘They won’t listen.’

  ‘No kidding? And why is that?’

  ‘Because …’ He paused. ‘It’s the police who … who threatened me.’

  Oliver stood completely still. ‘And by the police you mean?’

  ‘Er, not exactly the police.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘The Rangoon Intelligence Unit.’

  ‘That’s more like it. Who in the unit, Harry?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t know his name. A tall man. Dark-skinned, with short cropped hair.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘He wore a linen suit. I can’t remember anything more. He only said I had to delay her.’

  Oliver and Belle exchanged glances, then Oliver spoke. ‘Just get out of here, Harry. And I swear to God if you breathe a single word to anyone about Belle and me having escaped the blast with our lives, I will find you.’

  Harry didn’t need to be told twice and literally sprinted from the room.

  ‘But we must go to the police, mustn’t we?’ Belle asked, still trembling from the devastation of the bomb blast.

  Oliver looked scornful. ‘Waste of time.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘Corruption. If the Intelligence Unit were behind this, and I do believe Harry there, they have far-reaching antennae.’

  ‘Oliver, why did they do this? I don’t understand. Why did they want me hurt?’ Her voice was shaky as she stifled a sob. Although she was trying to hold herself together she felt her face crumple. It was too awful to think about.

  He placed his hands on her upper arms and squeezed. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, they attempted to kill you, my love, not hurt you.’

  She looked into his eyes and saw his deep concern for her. ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I know.’

  There was a short pause.

  ‘They tried to kill you too,’ she added.

  He gave a disgusted shrug. ‘Collateral damage. But it’s you the bastards want. This is about your sister. It’s clear your mother had nothing to do with it, but somebody here is definitely involved.’

  She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly to still her nerves. ‘Were we right to let Harry go?’

  ‘Harry Osborne is nothing. This goes much higher up.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I could make a guess but let’s see what we can find out.’

  ‘But, my God, what is it that they’re hiding?’

  He sighed. ‘I don’t know, but they’re prepared to stop at nothing to keep it secret. And they see you as a threat.’

  Belle rubbed her fingertips on her pulsing temples and wished she’d never started all this. An attempt on her life for heaven’s sake! Somebody wanted her dead and the thought of it made her feel sick to her core. But it was more than that. She clenched her fists as anger began to grip her, and she longed to lash out at whoever had done this. How dare they? What right did they have?

  ‘We won’t go straight back to Rangoon,’ Oliver said. ‘I have friends in Maymo. It’s about twenty-five miles west and a little north of here. We’ll go there and work out what to do. It’s cooler up in the hills, so we’ll get some respite from this wretched heat.’

  ‘How do we get there?’

  ‘Train. Do you think you need to see a doctor?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s mainly dirt and small cuts on my arm. I have plasters upstairs.’

  ‘Okay. Clean up and pack, but be quick. We’d better get our skates on.’

  ‘They’ll try again, won’t they?’ she said, unable to keep the fear from her voice.

  ‘The truth?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  An hour later and they had just made it in time. As the train slid out of Mandalay, Belle peered through the window at tree-lined avenues and large British mansions. For a while the route remained flat but wooden shacks now dotted the dusty lane running alongside the track. The lane teemed with caravans of bullock carts heading away for the late afternoon, dogs lying fast asleep in the dusty air, pretty Burmese girls with flowers in their hair and carrying water pots on their heads, and men bobbing on bicycles as they rode over the rocky terrain. Oliver explained how his friends, Jeremy and Brenda, ran a small hotel or guest house and that he had called ahead to let them know. Although Belle had changed her clothes, there hadn’t been time to wash her hair, leaving her scalp still itching and dry. The journey would take three hours and, shaken by the bomb blast and what they’d heard from Harry, Belle wanted nothing more than to sleep.

  She leant against the window but the rattling sensation as the train gradually rose prevented sleep. She opened her eyes and felt a little distanced from herself. Agonizingly slowly, they passed villages where rain trees gave shelter fr
om the heat, where banana palms grew profusely and where the hills in the distance glowed a deep hazy purple. The yellow acacia groves and green-carpeted foothills came next, but soon the track ran through steep rounded hills with rocky bases and deep vegetation beyond. Under the still blue sky they passed shrines and crossed a bridge over the valley, continuing to rise. She scanned the ridges of jungle, dark green close by, mid-green further on, then turning lighter and eventually becoming dusky blue.

  For a while Belle leant against Oliver and managed to doze fitfully. As they drew closer to Maymo she woke, surprised to see how green it was. Oliver pointed out the fruit growing nearby: strawberries, damsons, grapes, lemons and limes.

  ‘It’s incredibly fertile,’ he said.

  She gazed at his handsome, rugged face and nodded.

  He touched her cheek, and she felt something comforting about the simplicity of it. ‘You all right?’

  ‘I think so.’

  Close to the station, cattle sleeping on the line delayed their arrival, but soon they were able to climb down. A porter ferried their cases to a waiting pony and cart and then, passing the usual stalls and a Methodist church, they made their way up into the higher ground. There, red-brick colonial houses with forest-green shutters, brown woodwork, porches and gardens nestled among the trees. Soon after Government House, the Government Administration Office and the Surveying Office, they climbed another hill. Oliver pointed out a grand half-timbered mansion.

  ‘It’s Candacraig,’ he said, seeing her looking. ‘The British club. They call it the Chummery. We’re not far from my friends’ place.’

  As they arrived at the small hotel the sun was setting. Belle welcomed the cool breeze and glanced at the sky, now a deep shimmering coral shot through with violet.

  ‘It can be cold here at night,’ Oliver said, ‘depending on the season. They even have fires.’

  First Belle was introduced to Oliver’s friends, Jeremy and Brenda, an older American couple, now retired apart from running the guest house. Oliver explained that he’d lodged with them during his first few weeks in Burma and they had shown him the ropes. They certainly seemed exceptionally fond of him, enquiring after his career and asking about his health and so on. Brenda was welcoming and friendly, and a terrific cook Oliver had told Belle, and they could most certainly look forward to a delicious supper.