At the hotel she left a letter of resignation at reception and was handed an airmail letter that had arrived while she’d been away. She stuffed it into her bag to read later, then hurried to her room to collect some of her things. The sooner she was out of there the better.
She didn’t take long and had just finished packing some of her clothes and toiletries into a case and was getting ready to leave when Rebecca entered the room, her curves enhanced by a typically clinging red dress.
‘Belle! Where have you been? You look terrible.’
Belle grinned at her friend and took in the tiredness in her eyes, and hair that needed a good brush. She looked as if she’d been out all night again.
‘It’s an extremely long story,’ Belle said.
Rebecca flopped on to her bed. ‘Well, at least tell me where you’re going now. Is it home to England?’
‘Not yet. I’m leaving the job and I’m going to Oliver’s.’
Rebecca’s eyes were huge with disbelief. ‘Crikey. Well, good for you, but what about the gossip-mongers? They’ll have a right old field day.’
‘I really don’t care any more.’
‘But why leave? You’re a wonderful singer.’
Belle met her friend’s eyes and pulled a sad face. ‘I’m really sorry I can’t tell you now, but when it’s all over I will. I promise.’
‘Is this something to do with looking for your sister? Have you found out what happened?’ Rebecca said, sharp as ever.
‘Not yet.’
There was sadness in Rebecca’s eyes as she nodded. ‘I’ll miss you.’
The two women hugged and then Belle joined Oliver in front of the hotel. The doorman agreed to arrange for her trunk to be sent to the station for storage and then Oliver asked him to repeat the tale his father had told about the baby screaming during the night. After accepting their assurance that they wouldn’t reveal from where the information had arisen, he went into a little more detail than he previously had.
‘The thing I did not tell you was this … soon after the incident, my father was dismissed on a trumped-up charge.’
‘He was silenced,’ Oliver said.
‘Why didn’t you say before?’ Belle asked.
The doorman glanced at the sky then back at Belle. ‘He was ashamed. I did not feel I should say. And I was nervous about my own job too.’
Belle nodded. ‘I’m so sorry.’
The doorman shrugged. ‘All so long ago, but it ruined my father’s life. He was given no reference and found it hard to work again.’
Oliver blew out his cheeks. ‘These people!’
They thanked the doorman and after they’d left the hotel they stopped to get some food supplies from a shop along their route. They then picked up a rickshaw while checking they were not being followed. When they arrived back at his flat he let them in and then explained he had a hunch and wanted to comb through a different newspaper’s archives. She would have to be alone and didn’t take much convincing to remain inside with the door locked.
‘At least nobody knows you’re here,’ he said. ‘So, you’ll be left in peace.’
She grimaced. ‘Rebecca knows.’
‘Will she keep a lid on it?’
‘Don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her. Or at least I should’ve told her to keep it to herself.’
‘Can’t be helped now. You’ll be fine if you don’t leave the flat but please don’t open the door to anyone. Won’t be long.’ Then he added as an afterthought, ‘Might be a good idea to keep away from the window.’
After he’d gone she made herself some toast and another cup of coffee before trying to settle down to read a paper. A few minutes later, too nervous to concentrate, she was back on her feet examining the spines of his books, and it was only then she remembered the airmail letter. She threw herself on to a chair, fumbled for the fragile paper, then opened and read it.
My dear Annabelle,
I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to let you know I shall be visiting Burma soon. I always promised myself I would return one day and if I don’t undertake the trip now I fear I may never get around to it. I’m hoping awfully much that we might meet. Of course, I don’t know if you are still living in Rangoon, but I shall call at the Strand at the first opportunity.
Well, my dear girl, I think that’s it for now. Do take care of yourself out there.
With kindest regards,
Simone
Belle read the letter twice then leant back in her chair, thinking about Simone. How extraordinary. She had never imagined she might meet Diana’s old friend here in Burma, but what a fantastic opportunity to hear more about her mother. She’d been eleven when her father had told her they would never see Diana again and all Belle could remember was that it had been raining and she had just started as a weekly boarder at Cheltenham Ladies’ College. Although she’d cried a little at the news of her mother’s death, the tears had felt forced, her emotions scrambled and hard to fathom. Diana had not been spoken of again. Now Belle’s feelings were even more confusing. Although she now understood how the loss of Elvira must have contributed to her mother’s illness and consequent neglect, the pain Belle had felt as a child remained. The child in her still could not forgive and it left her with a feeling of sadness. She couldn’t help thinking her mother might have found another way through the tragedy. Could have tried harder. As for Simone, Belle had no idea if she’d still be here to greet her mother’s old friend.
As she was thinking this someone knocked at the door very gently and, before remembering Oliver’s warning, she walked across. With her hand on the key, she hesitated, scolding herself. Stupid thing to do. Now whoever it was would have heard her moving. The knock came again, louder. Still she did not move, frozen in fear. She waited and after a few moments she heard a woman’s voice.
‘Belle, I know you’re there.’
Gloria. She’d know that voice anywhere. Should she say something? Let her friend in?
‘Belle?’
‘Yes?’
‘For heaven’s sake, let me in. I’m worried about you.’
Belle leant her forehead against the cool teak wood for a moment and then unlocked the door, uncertain if she was doing the right thing. Gloria was Edward’s sister after all and Belle was feeling increasingly doubtful about him.
Gloria marched in and began scrutinizing Belle’s face as if looking for clues. ‘What’s going on, Belle?’
Belle felt wary, her colour rising. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Gloria seemed genuinely bemused. ‘Come on. You’ve left your job, you’re staying in the flat of a man I’ve already warned you is untrustworthy. This is madness.’
She flung herself down on the chair Belle had been sitting on. ‘Got any coffee, darling? I’m gasping.’
Belle nodded and was glad of the chance to hide her inflamed face while she turned her back to make coffee. She knew people would gossip once it got out she was staying here but why should it matter to Gloria? Her friend didn’t usually give a fig what other people thought, rather she prided herself on quite the opposite.
‘Here’s your coffee,’ Belle said, forcing her face into a smile.
Gloria took the coffee, then pulled out a silver cigarette case and offered one to Belle.
When Belle declined, Gloria tilted her head. ‘Oh, of course, your voice.’
‘How did you know I was here?’ Belle asked.
‘Oh, you know, a little bird. Was it supposed to be a secret? I did rather press it out of her.’
‘Rebecca?’
Gloria’s eyes narrowed and she gave a small, satisfied smile. Then, as her face became sterner, Belle felt apprehensive. True, Gloria didn’t like Oliver, but was there something else? Something she might know about?
‘Tell me why you left your job,’ Gloria said with a critical look that quickly turned to disbelief. ‘Good God, he didn’t ask you to?’
‘Oliver?’
‘Darling, y
ou are being somewhat monosyllabic. Of course Oliver. This was his flat last time I looked.’
‘I’m simply having a rethink. He didn’t ask me to leave the Strand. I may go back to England.’
Gloria looked as if something about the news pleased her. ‘But why stay with Oliver? You know he has a reputation. Don’t go turning your back on your real friends.’
‘What reputation?’
‘Women, sweetheart. I said before. Getting on the wrong side of the law. We spoke of it, didn’t we?’
Belle nodded but felt increasingly suspicious of Gloria’s motive for coming here.
‘You never know who he’s really working for.’
‘He’s just a journalist.’
‘So he says, but you can’t trust him. And, of course, he’s American too.’
Belle sighed in frustration. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
Gloria’s eyes flickered and her mouth turned down at the corners. Just slightly. But it was enough to betray her prejudice. For all her rebellious posturing, Gloria was conventional under the skin.
‘Think of the consequences of being with someone like him,’ Gloria said.
‘What consequences?’
‘He’ll let you down for one thing.’
‘And the rest?’
Gloria tossed her head and shrugged as if Oliver’s flaws were glaringly obvious.
Belle sighed. ‘I’m fine, Gloria. And listen, I’ve now found out my mother had absolutely nothing to do with Elvira’s disappearance.’
Gloria glanced down at her coffee cup, looking a bit nervy. ‘How do you know?’
Belle hesitated and then decided not to say anything about the bomb. ‘It’s a long story.’
Gloria did not appear to be mollified and with dogged determination continued. ‘Darling, don’t stay here. You know how tongues wag once things get out. Come and stay with me instead, at least until you return to England. You’ll be much more comfortable.’
‘Let me think.’
‘I’d prefer you came with me now.’
‘Like I said. Let me think.’
‘Then I shall return to pick you up later today. Now –’ she glanced around – ‘tell me all about your adventures in Mandalay.’
Belle enthused about the river trip and the ride in the hot air balloon but didn’t say anything about Mandalay. She explained how the search for the white baby had come to nothing and, coupled with all the trouble in Rangoon, that was why she was considering going back to England. Gloria nodded and offered to enlist Edward’s support in booking an early crossing if she was adamant about leaving.
‘Whatever you decide,’ she added, ‘I’m sure Edward and I will do our best to help. But, Belle, I can’t emphasize this enough. You must get away from Oliver. He’s dangerous.’
‘Is there something about him you haven’t told me?’
‘What more do you need?’
Belle flinched at the smug way in which Gloria assumed she was in the right, then felt her colour rising again, this time in annoyance. She’d had enough.
Gloria, seeing the look on her face, shook her head and, with an attempt at a placatory gesture, raised her hands. ‘I only want you to be safe.’
One did not usually argue with Gloria, but Belle rose to Oliver’s defence, the bond between them the only motivation she needed to stand up for the man she loved. ‘You’re wrong about Oliver. He’s a good man. And I trust him.’
The two women held each other’s eyes and then Gloria raised one eyebrow and sighed deeply as if at some recalcitrant child. ‘Well, never mind. Let’s not quarrel, and my offer is there. As I said, don’t turn your back on your real friends.’
Belle looked away. She’d liked Gloria, admired her even. The woman had always been fun and ready to be helpful, but now Belle felt herself grow stiff with suppressed anger.
As Gloria drew out another cigarette, Belle retraced the course of their relationship, sifting through her memories and tracking back to their first encounter on the boat. She’d been flattered by Gloria’s interest back then, but now mistrust flooded her mind. Had their friendship really been so innocent? Or had Gloria specifically cultivated their acquaintance once she’d found out Belle’s surname?
Furious at Gloria’s repeated insistence that Oliver was not to be trusted, she shook her head. She knew her trust in him was not a result of some awful lapse in judgement as Gloria had implied, and she would not allow the other woman to persuade her otherwise. She had no right to march in here like this and virtually demand Belle should leave.
‘I think you had better go,’ Belle said eventually, successfully hiding the crack in her voice and aware something between them had been broken. The truth was, she no longer knew who Edward really was or what he was up to, and the same applied to Gloria.
47.
Diana, Minster Lovell, 1928
I’ve lived in Minster Lovell for six years now. For the first year Simone lived with me almost all the time but afterwards, as I grew stronger, she went back home and only stayed occasionally. For the past two years I’ve lived alone. I go out. I greet my neighbours. Every day, weather permitting, I leave my cottage, the last in the village street, and then I take a few steps upward before quickly turning right and down Church Lane. The old vicarage, close to the bottom of the hill, is where the doctor lives. If I see him pruning or dead-heading his roses – he has a beautiful rose garden – we smile knowingly at each other, then exchange a few pleasantries as if he hasn’t heard everything there is to know about me. The lane ends at Manor Farm, so there I turn right and walk through the grounds of the Cotswold stone church of St Kenelm. I like reading the names on the gravestones and imagining the lives of the folk who have gone before me. The first time I saw how many families had suffered more than one loss of a young child, as I have, it did not make me feel gloomy. Instead I felt an affinity with these people that roots me here in a way I have never felt so strongly before. After the church I usually slip through the atmospheric ruin of Minster Hall, then down to the path where the river Windrush flows, and as I walk among the delicate flowers, the place throbs with the sounds of wild birds, ducks and coots.
I often wonder how we know when we are happy. Is it the absence of worry or the absence of sorrow? Or, in my case, is it because I have found a wonderful, gentle rhythm to my life? The right beat that at last allows me to live with ease and able to appreciate the refreshing simplicity of things. Yet for all of us, happiness is fragile. I’d be a fool if I didn’t acknowledge that.
Something inside me was broken. Maybe it still is. But now I know I can live with it. Before I could not.
I no longer live in a world of ghosts, apart from those who once inhabited Minster Hall and they are not mine alone. And, even though I sometimes strain to hear, the voice is extraordinarily silent. If it ever reappears my forward-thinking Dr Gilbert has taught me to talk to it. Don’t be frightened, he says. He’s taught me it is I who control the voice and not the other way around. It isn’t always easy. Sometimes, when I’m alone in the thick dark night and I feel the dense foliage and the grasping branches of the trees in Rangoon, I fail. Then the past still has power over me, but when dawn curls around my bedroom, gradually lighting every corner, I find my way again. Overcoming difficulty is simply a part of life, the doctor says. For the first five years I lived here I saw him twice a week and there were many, many times I swore it was all a waste of time and money. Now I see him only once a month. He has saved my life and I can never repay his kindness and dedication. He, along with my dearest Simone, has been my greatest friend.
And now there is just one thing left.
I’ve been nursing feelings of guilt and loss over Annabelle for all these years and it’s time to do something about it. I long to see her again and want so much to try to find a way to make up for my neglect of her in the past, if Douglas will permit it.
And so, next week, with much trepidation, I’ll be travelling back along the road I came by. To
Cheltenham.
48.
As she paced the room, Belle felt hot and searched for the switch to operate the ceiling fan. She found it and flicked it but the warm air it shifted around didn’t help. How desperate she was to see Oliver, hoping the feeling of connection between them would ease the reservations Gloria had planted in her mind. And although the need to believe in Oliver went deep, a tiny seed of doubt had crept in, even as she had defended him. What if there was the slightest chance Gloria could be right? But no, that couldn’t be. She was just frightened and worried and didn’t know how to feel any more.
When he did finally appear, carrying his briefcase, his eyes seemed impenetrable and she felt a wobble. I am scared to love you, she thought, and dipped her head so he might not see what was in her eyes.
‘Something wrong?’ was all he said.
‘Gloria came.’
‘But I –’
Belle interrupted. ‘She said I shouldn’t trust you.’
A look of irritation crossed his face. ‘Why did you let her in?’
They stared at each other.
‘Belle, it isn’t me you need to worry about.’
‘I know. But who?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know yet, but look, I have something.’ From the case he extracted a yellowing scrap of newsprint that, judging by the blackened edge, looked as if the rest of it had been burnt.
‘I found it by chance when I was looking up references to Golden Valley. It’s just a tiny part of something longer but you can still see the date. Eight years ago, and only weeks before I arrived in Burma. Apparently, during renovations of a house in Golden Valley, a skeleton of a baby was discovered as they dug up the ground ready to build a summer house.’
Belle felt the blood drain from her face. ‘My parents’ house? Is that why my mother was digging?’
The Missing Sister Page 24