The Missing Sister

by Dinah Jefferies

  What had her mother known, she thought? And if it wasn’t Diana who had buried the baby, who had? Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t catch what Oliver was saying.

  ‘Did you hear?’

  She shook her head, spirits sinking.

  ‘I said it doesn’t say whose place it was, Belle. But it was number twenty-one, so not your parents’ house.’

  ‘But so close. Surely it must prove my sister is buried there?’

  He nodded. ‘Could be. As I said, I went through another paper’s archives – a friend is editor there – and found it stuck between two other articles about building and developments in Golden Valley. There’s nothing else about the skeleton. I reckon the whole thing was suppressed. I found nothing more.’

  ‘Do you think they informed my father about it?’

  ‘Not sure. The case had been closed years before. Nobody followed this up, although someone obviously destroyed the rest of the article this scrap came from …’ He paused. ‘It must mean something. In any case, I’ll do what I can to find out whose garden it was.’

  ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘If it was Elvira buried there, don’t you want to know who was responsible?’

  An hour later they arrived at the Land Registry where they eventually managed to trace the family who’d been living at number twenty-one at the time. When it turned out to be George de Clemente, Commissioner of Rangoon Division, married to Marie, with one baby daughter, Oliver whistled.

  ‘Did Edward ever mention anything about number twenty-one to you?’

  She shook her head. ‘He said he’d like to buy my house.’

  Oliver raised his brows. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘This George must be a relative of Edward and Gloria’s. It’s an unusual name.’

  ‘I’ll check who inherited the house or who bought it.’

  As he read on for a few minutes more, Belle could not understand why nobody had told her about a skeleton having been found buried in the garden of twenty-one. Had that been deliberate? Or was it simply someone else’s dark family secret and nothing to do with Elvira at all? An unwanted pregnancy perhaps?

  ‘Here we are. It seems the house was inherited by their nephew, Edward de Clemente, so there’s your answer.’

  ‘Gloria has a house in Golden Valley. I’ve never been, but perhaps she lives there. And if it is the same house, why did she never tell me about a skeleton having been found?’

  ‘Exactly what I was thinking. Odd, isn’t it?’

  She nodded. ‘What do you think Edward has to do with any of this?’

  He pulled a face. ‘I don’t know. Maybe nothing. However, I’ve known for some time that Edward doesn’t simply work as an advisor to the Commissioner.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘The Rangoon Intelligence Unit.’

  Belle was horrified. ‘You don’t think he was behind the bomb in Mandalay?’

  ‘Better not jump to conclusions. We’d need something irrefutable to be able to prove that.’

  ‘So, what do we know about this George de Clemente?’

  Oliver furrowed his brow as he considered her question. ‘Well, it says they had one daughter. Of course, he and his wife might have had another baby. Perhaps twins, one of whom died.’

  ‘But why bury it in the garden?’

  ‘Stillborn?’

  ‘That doesn’t explain anything. Why not in the graveyard at the church? It has to be Elvira.’

  ‘They may have had some other reason. Perhaps a servant’s child?’

  Belle bowed her head.

  ‘First, let’s establish what happened to this George chap. Find out where he is now.’

  From the Land Registry they went to the governmental employees’ archives to see if they could find anything in the few records available to the public. Admittedly much would be classified, but it was worth a chance. After half an hour their persistence was rewarded when they read a footnote to the paragraph on George de Clemente detailing how he and his family had moved to Kalaw in 1911.

  ‘The year Elvira vanished,’ Belle said.

  ‘I know a guy who has worked at the Department of Health in Kalaw for years. He may tell us more.’

  A small Department of Posts and Telegraphs had been founded in 1884 and, as a journalist, Oliver’s paper had helped him acquire a telephone line early on. While he made some calls, Belle watched him, chewing the inside of her cheek and wondering about the de Clemente family. What on earth could be the connection between them and her dead sister? Belle felt exhausted by the questions whirling in her mind, but excited too. She hungered to know exactly what had happened all those years ago and why so much information had been lost or hidden.

  When Oliver ended his calls, it was to tell her that the de Clemente family had left Burma to live in America but up until then they had employed a Chinese nanny who, after the family left, returned to Rangoon to run a small newsagent’s shop. ‘They weren’t in Kalaw for any time at all.’

  ‘That’s odd.’

  ‘Yes. Why go to Kalaw if they were bent on leaving the country?’

  ‘Unless it was a holiday. It is a hill station, isn’t it? A bit like Maymo.’

  Oliver nodded. ‘I think we have to go back to the Secretariat. I know the clerk at the Office of Trading Licences. If we can find the nanny, she might know something about the baby buried in the garden of twenty-one.’

  Belle laughed. ‘Because nannies know everything.’

  ‘And, if she has a licence for her shop, we’ll find her.’

  ‘They know everything and you know everyone.’

  He made a mock bow. ‘All in the line of duty, ma’am. The British keep everything tight, so I have no option but to ferret out information however I can.’

  She pulled a grateful face. ‘Well, I’m jolly glad of it.’

  ‘How British you sound,’ he said, smiling back at her. ‘But don’t raise your hopes too much. The nanny may well have moved on, maybe even gone back to live in China.’

  As they neared the Secretariat again, Oliver pointed out a small tea shop with chairs and tables placed outside in the shade beneath a wide awning.

  ‘Best if you wait there.’

  She shook her head determinedly. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  ‘Honey, I know the guy. Old school. Won’t deal with a woman. If you come, you’ll only raise suspicions. If I go on my own he’ll just think it’s something connected with a story for my paper.’

  ‘Talking of your paper, shouldn’t you be at work?’

  ‘Leave of absence. Now, I won’t be long, but do watch out. Whoever was behind the bomb may well see you.’

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘It might not be a bad thing. Might help flush him or her out. It’s too public for anything awful to happen here. If you sense the slightest hint of trouble, go inside the café and ask for the owner’s help. He’s a friend.’

  Oliver left, and Belle made her way across to one of the tables where she sat close to a group of women, and then ordered a pot of tea. The day was hot with the promise of heavy rain and she felt herself wilting beneath the extreme humidity. In the distance the hum of Rangoon’s busy streets went on relentlessly. All nerves, she sat eyeing the people milling about outside the grand Secretariat. Some, who weren’t British, fretfully waited to be allowed in, while bustling self-important men entered and left the main entrance at will. She prayed Oliver wouldn’t be too long. But how conscientious he’d been, leaving no stone unturned and fully proving himself as an investigative journalist.

  The closer Belle came to knowing about the past, the more real it felt. How devastating it must have been to have been accused at the same time as dealing with overwhelming grief. She’d judged her mother for so long. She told herself she’d only been a child and couldn’t have known any better. But it didn’t help. Sorry, Mummy, so sorry, she whispered to herself. But it was much too late.

  A voice broke into her thoughts and, squinting into the brightness, she g
lanced up to see Edward approaching her table. A shiver of fear ran through her and she struggled to steady herself. He looked uneasy, his skin redder than usual, as if he was troubled by the heat.

  ‘Belle.’ It was a terse greeting.

  She swallowed hard but her throat had closed, so she flicked her wrist to indicate an unoccupied chair.

  He didn’t sit and, frowning, seemed to be studying her. ‘I hear you’ve been making enquiries. You must be more careful to whom you speak and who speaks on your behalf. If you’d wanted to know anything you only had to ask me.’

  ‘I –’

  ‘Leave your tea, my dear, I’d like you to come with me.’

  He’d spoken urgently and in a tone that brooked no argument but she shook her head and, with a thumbnail digging sharply into her palm, she found her voice. ‘Sorry, Edward, it’s absolutely lovely to see you, but I’m waiting for Oliver.’

  ‘I thought we were friends, you and I.’ He tilted his head to one side and now he did smile, but there was little genuine warmth in it and she noticed the dark shadows beneath his eyes.

  ‘You look tired,’ she said.

  ‘It’s the time of year.’

  Although she knew what he meant, his grim face told her something different. She wiped her brow with her palm and prayed Oliver would get back quickly. ‘It’s so hot, isn’t it? But as I said –’

  ‘This is just a request, Belle. I wouldn’t dream of forcing you, but really, I do need you to come with me. For your own good, you understand.’ His tone had changed now, become more cajoling.

  ‘But, Edward, the thing is, I don’t understand,’ she said, keeping her voice as light and conversational as she could, despite a nagging undercurrent of fear. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘I have a car waiting,’ he said, without answering her question. ‘I can’t explain here. It’s a small matter and won’t take long at all. You’ll be in and out in no time. We’d purely like to ask you a few questions. You won’t come to any harm and I’ll have you back in the blink of an eye.’

  ‘Who is we?’

  ‘My department, who else?’

  Belle took a breath and then exhaled slowly. The heat had been building and building and now it had become unbearable.

  While Edward took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow, Belle glanced to her left and spotted Oliver in the distance, now heading towards them. She hoped Edward hadn’t heard the way her sharp intake of breath had given away the rush of relief she’d felt at seeing her lover. She remained seated and played for time by talking about how much she longed to see the monsoon. Inside, she was trembling. There wasn’t any way on this earth she was going to go with Edward.

  ‘How is Gloria?’ she then asked.

  ‘Gloria is fine, really fine. Thank you for asking. Anyway, shall we go? I’ll have you back in a jiffy, there’s a good girl.’

  Patronizing, she thought, but he was definitely rattled.

  When Oliver had almost reached them, Edward must have heard his footsteps because he twisted round to see who was coming.

  Belle caught Oliver’s eye, then she rose to her feet and picked up her bag to give the impression she was intending to do what Edward wanted, though her legs were shaking. She pressed down on the table with one hand to keep herself firm and hoped she could carry off the deception. ‘Edward wants me to go with him. Says it won’t take long. So, I’ll just –’

  ‘Is this police business?’ Oliver asked the other man, interrupting her. ‘Is she under arrest?’

  Edward had no option but to shake his head. ‘Of course not. Why would she be? I am simply trying to look out for her.’

  ‘In that case, unless you do wish to have her arrested, she stays with me. I can do the looking out. Right, Belle?’

  She nodded.

  Edward turned to Belle and gave her a hard, regretful look. ‘I can’t tell you who to choose as your friends, I can only say you are making a grave mistake. I just wish you had listened to me.’

  49.

  Diana, Cheltenham, 1928

  Cheltenham hasn’t changed. Still the same elegant Regency buildings I’ve always loved, still the same tree-lined streets, still the same expansive parks. It’s me who has changed and, as Simone draws the car up close to my old home, I turn to her.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll be fine now.’

  She reaches out and squeezes my hand. ‘I’ll walk in the park for half an hour, then wait in the car.’

  I get out, close the door and walk slowly up to the house with such new-found confidence I could never have imagined. For a few moments I do nothing, just allowing the fact that I’m there to sink in. But then, out of the blue, I think of the evening Douglas and I first met. I was eighteen. It was midsummer, one of those perfect warm nights. The kind that leaves you aching with the scent of honeysuckle and roses in full bloom and longing for the night to last for ever. My father had thrown a party for friends and neighbours as they used to do each year when my mother was alive.

  I spotted Douglas before he even noticed me and inexplicably couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was tall and academic-looking, certainly not the type to set a young girl’s heart fluttering. But when I sat on a bench at the back of the garden, hidden away from the main crowd, he came across and asked if he could join me. His smile was sincere and there was a kind of expressiveness in his voice as he introduced himself and asked my name. My heart did flutter but I managed to reply and smile back. Once the rest of the party faded into the background and only the two of us remained, we sat for a long while, talking and laughing, and he asked if he might call on me the next day. I went to sleep hugging myself and knowing something special was going to happen. Whatever it was we both felt so keenly that first evening, it quickly grew into love, and I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with this man whose dancing eyes, behind his serious-looking spectacles, spoke of hidden passion.

  The sound of laughter in the park brings me back to the present. I knock and wait. After what seems an interminable amount of time, I hear footsteps and then Mrs Wilkes opens the door. With raised brows she mutters an unconvincing welcome and ushers me in. It makes me wonder if Douglas has even told her to expect me. Then she indicates I should wait in the formal drawing room. I feel more anxious now I’m inside the house, but can’t let myself succumb to nerves, so I don’t sit but slip over to the window instead. I had forgotten how different the view is from down here. I can’t see as much as I used to from upstairs, and what used to be my window on the world.

  When Douglas enters I notice he’s not smiling, and he looks much older.

  ‘Won’t you sit, Diana? Mrs Wilkes will bring us tea in a moment. So –’ and now he gives me a brief smile – ‘how have you been?’

  I smile back at him. ‘As I said in my letter, I’m enormously much recovered and longing to see Annabelle. Doctor Gilbert is a genius.’

  He nods. ‘I’m exceedingly glad to hear it.’

  ‘And how is our daughter?’ I say brightly.

  ‘She’s well. But this is rather tricky, Diana. You recall our agreement?’ He has spoken noticeably slowly, and I wonder what it signifies.

  ‘Of course. I was to stay away,’ I say, still bright.

  ‘Exactly.’

  I give him a broad smile and keep my tone light. ‘But I’m better now and that changes everything.’

  He narrows his eyes and looks uncomfortable. ‘No, Diana, I’m sorry but it changes nothing.’

  I blink rapidly and try to ignore the first hint that this isn’t going to go well. Surely, he can’t mean it? I wait but he says nothing more, so I lean forward as if to encourage him. In the end it is I who speaks.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Douglas. I’m different now and naturally I have a right to see my girl.’ I glance about in excitement. ‘Is she here? In my letter I told you I wanted to see her today.’

  ‘She is a weekly boarder at Cheltenham Ladies’ College, so no, she is not here.’

  ‘But, Douglas –’
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  He holds up a hand, and I sense a hesitancy he is trying to conceal. ‘It really is quite impossible for you to see Annabelle.’

  I feel as if he has punched me in the stomach. ‘Why?’

  He tilts his head as if scrutinizing me, then speaks carefully, enunciating every word. ‘Let me finish. If you remember, we agreed that after some time had elapsed I would tell her you had died.’

  ‘Don’t speak to me as if I were stupid.’

  ‘Diana, she thinks you’re dead. I told her four years ago. She has adjusted to the fact. Got over it.’ Now he’s firm, decided, rigid, more like the Douglas he became later in our marriage.

  My heart pounds in horrified alarm. Dear God, he can’t mean it. He can’t. I reel at the dreadfulness of what he’s saying but will not let him browbeat me. ‘For heaven’s sake, I was sick when I agreed.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear, she’s thriving now, and I feel it would undo all the good work we have done with her if you came back, suddenly alive. It would be too unsettling for her after all this time.’ His voice is hard, brooking no argument. But I will argue. I will. And I clench my fists.

  ‘But, Douglas, this is insane! I’m her mother. We can think of something to tell her. You were mistaken about my death. Misinformed or something. There has to be a way.’

  He shakes his head and speaks quietly as if to defuse my anger. ‘I really must insist we stick to the letter of our agreement.’

  As Mrs Wilkes carries in the tea tray, his words hit home. I feel myself beginning to shrink so to prevent it I get to my feet, stand tall, and take a few steps away to gaze out of the window again while calming my breathing. After a moment I glance back to see Mrs Wilkes pour us both a cup and then leave the room.

  ‘Biscuit?’ he says and holds up a plate. ‘Do come and sit down again. They are Mrs Wilkes’s favourite recipe.’

  ‘I couldn’t give a damn about her wretched biscuits!’ I say, angry and staying where I am. ‘I want to see Annabelle.’

  He puts down the plate, gets up and walks across to me but I turn my back on him. ‘You need to understand, Annabelle is fifteen now and very settled. I can’t have her life disrupted. Surely you see that?’