The Missing Sister

by Dinah Jefferies

  She nodded.

  For a moment Belle felt shocked but gradually, despite hearing the truth of what had happened, a bubble of something like hope was rising and taking over from all her other feelings. If the de Clementes had gone to America, and if something awful hadn’t happened to Elvira subsequently, then she might still have a real live sister. This was more than she had dared to imagine and her emotions swelled with possibility and hope.

  She gazed at the woman before speaking. ‘Do you know if the baby lived?’

  Liu Lin and her brother were taken to safety and gave statements to the police. Early the next morning, Belle was alone at Oliver’s apartment milling everything over, while he went out for food. There was a knock at the door and after a moment she heard Gloria.

  ‘Belle, if you are there, let me in. For Christ’s sake, it’s urgent.’

  Belle hesitated but felt so angry hearing her voice, she knew she had to see the woman face to face.

  When Gloria came in Belle was shocked. Her face was a ruin. She wore yesterday’s make-up and Belle could see how it had settled into the fine lines around her eyes and into the deeper grooves running from the sides of her nose to her mouth. She smelt of stale perfume and the whites of her puffy eyes were red.

  ‘You’ve really got to help,’ she said in a rush, not looking at Belle as she paced back and forth distractedly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Gloria stared at her as if she was stupid. ‘This is your fault. They’ve arrested Edward and he’s been charged with perverting the course of justice. If he’s convicted he stands to lose everything. Career, reputation, friends.’

  ‘Like my parents lost everything that really mattered, you mean?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Belle, but it was such a long time ago. This is now, and Edward still has such a bright future. Surely you don’t want to destroy it?’

  Belle was amazed how Gloria could dismiss what had happened to her parents so lightly.

  ‘I don’t think you understand how much my parents suffered. And how much that affected me.’

  ‘But you never knew your sister.’

  ‘It drove my mother out of her mind. I think she came to believe she’d hurt her own child.’

  ‘Edward was just helping out our uncle. He didn’t take the baby.’

  ‘He covered it up. A criminal offence, Gloria. And if I have anything to do with it he’ll also be charged with aiding and abetting, plus obstructing the police in their enquiries. As will you.’

  ‘I swear I knew nothing at the time. It was only later …’ She trailed off as Belle glared at her.

  Gloria lit a cigarette and then tried sucking up to Belle. ‘Look, whatever you want, I’ll do it. Maybe contact my cousin, Emily … Elvira that was? Could you help get Edward out if I did that?’

  Belle stood motionless. Still alive. Finally, she knew for sure. Her sister was still alive.

  And yet, now it had been confirmed, she hardly knew how to respond. After everything she’d been through, she stared at Gloria with mounting relief fighting against her rage. She steeled herself. Gloria and her brother had concealed her sister’s existence and that could never be forgiven.

  ‘Does she know? Emily, does she know the truth about what happened to her?’

  Gloria nodded.

  ‘When did she find out?’

  ‘After her mother died, Emily discovered a letter … Marie had confessed everything.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Just a few months ago.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘Does she know about me?’

  ‘No.’

  After a long silence Belle clenched her hands and snorted. ‘And you think contacting her would be enough to make up for what you did?’

  ‘Well, what would be enough? I have money.’

  As Belle’s anger turned icy cold she articulated her words with bitter precision. ‘You mistake my meaning. You knew I was searching for Elvira. You let me believe it might have been my own mother who had hurt her.’

  ‘I –’

  Belle held up a palm. ‘No! You don’t get to speak. You encouraged me to go off on a wild goose chase with Harry where, I might add, I was very nearly killed. How convenient it would have been. And I suppose my little brush with death had nothing to do with you or your brother?’

  Gloria shook her head. ‘I don’t know anything about it and I’m sure Edward doesn’t either. Can you prove it was him?’

  ‘Probably not, but our witness can attest to what happened twenty-six years ago.’

  ‘Please, Belle. Edward was so young at the time, scarcely starting out on his career. I’m begging you to ask the witness to withdraw her statement.’

  Belle stared at her in disbelief.

  Gloria threw herself into a chair and, covering her face with her hands, began to weep. ‘This will destroy our family name.’

  ‘Listen, Gloria, I’ll tell you what we are going to do. You are going to give me Emily’s address and I am going to contact her myself. It’s the least you can do.’

  ‘And Edward?’

  ‘Edward will get exactly what he deserves.’

  She shook her head as she stared at Gloria and neither woman spoke, but something about the other woman’s eyes, a knowing look, guilt maybe, made Belle’s mouth fall open. Suddenly she felt as if her blood had frozen. ‘It was you, wasn’t it? You sent those anonymous notes. For God’s sake, Gloria, why?’

  She’d expected a vigorous denial, but Gloria didn’t deny it. Instead, with a flash of defiance, her eyes lit up. ‘It was for the best of reasons. I wanted to prevent you from getting too close to the truth. I was worried it would put you in danger if you dug too deep.’

  ‘Danger from whom?’

  Gloria ignored her question though Belle knew she was referring to Edward. ‘I hoped the notes might encourage you to leave.’

  Belle whistled. ‘Oh my. That’s rich! You’re proud of what you did? You were looking out for me?’

  Gloria nodded numbly. ‘It’s why I encouraged you to go to Mandalay. I needed time to think of ways to persuade you to stop searching, especially in Rangoon.’

  ‘But you helped me at the beginning?’

  ‘It would have seemed too obvious I had something to hide if I’d tried to hinder you.’

  ‘Edward too?’

  She nodded. ‘Neither of us thought you’d ever uncover the truth.’

  ‘And so you warned me off Oliver. You knew he had the skill and the contacts. You realized he’d know where to look.’

  Gloria didn’t move a muscle, her face frozen but for the mascara sliding down her cheeks. Belle felt no pity whatsoever.

  51.

  Belle bent over the letter she was trying to write to Elvira, or Emily as she was now called. With too many unanswered questions clouding her mind, she’d already made five fruitless attempts. Would Emily want to know her? Would she be pleased at having been found and then contacted like this? Or would she still be so shocked at hearing about her origins that she was unable to contemplate anything more? Struggling to find the right words, Belle had scrunched each attempt at writing into a ball before tossing it aside. What did you say to a long-lost sister who still didn’t know you existed?

  She crumpled yet another sheet and flung it over her head in exasperation. Oliver, entering the room, caught it. ‘Whoa,’ he said, ‘as bad as that?’, then he came over and kissed the top of her head. ‘Finding it tough?’

  ‘It’s awful,’ she wailed, looking up at him. ‘Everything I write seems clumsy. You’re a journalist. Tell me what to say.’

  ‘You know I can’t, but my advice is to keep the story simple and straightforward.’

  ‘It’s hardly that though, is it?’

  ‘Just stick to the facts. Avoid too much explanation. Give her the space she needs to react in whatever way she chooses.’

  ‘What if she doesn’t want to know?’

  He raised his brows. ‘Sorry,
my love, but it’s the risk you have to take.’

  ‘Do I offer condolences about the death of the woman who became her mother?’

  He shrugged. ‘It’s up to you.’

  Belle hung her head for a moment, then glanced up at him again. ‘Are you sure you won’t write it for me?’

  He laughed. ‘Quite sure.’

  As he left the room she picked up her pen, drew out a clean sheet of airmail paper and began again. This time the words began to flow.

  Dear Emily,

  You don’t know me, but my name is Annabelle Hatton and I’m your younger sister, born after our parents left Burma. Your ‘cousin’, Gloria de Clemente, told me you recently became aware of the facts surrounding your birth and the first few weeks of your life. I imagine it must have been devastating to find out about what happened in the way you did.

  On another note, I’m so sorry to hear about your loss. Sadly, my mother, Diana (your birth mother), died too, some years ago, but she would have given anything to know you’re alive. I only found out about what happened to you when my (our) father died and I was astonished to discover newspaper cuttings reporting your disappearance. It had been silenced for so long and I didn’t even know I’d had a sister.

  As for me, I came to Burma to take up a job singing at the Strand Hotel but then spent many months trying to find out what had happened to you. I’d always wanted a sister and I’m so thrilled to have finally found you. You may not feel the same way, of course, and I will understand.

  I currently live in Rangoon and have decided to remain here, at least for now, mainly because I am so enjoying restoring the house where you were born. If it’s not too distressing I would love to hear from you and learn about your life. If you’re interested in meeting I have plenty of room here and you’d be most welcome to stay. I shall, however, accept your decision if you’d rather not. I know that finding out about a sister like this must be quite a shock.

  I am to be married in four months’ time to Oliver, an American journalist and a wonderful man. There’s so much more I’d like to say and to ask but I’ll keep this letter short and will hope very much to hear back from you.

  With sincere best wishes,

  Belle

  Belle was aware that to avoid bitter disappointment she’d have to keep a lid on her feelings of hope and anticipation, but she couldn’t help smiling. As she sealed up the airmail letter and caught the tram into town, her natural exuberance spilled over. Surely her sister would want to know her?

  52.

  Belle – Rangoon, three months later

  Belle carefully left her brush to rest on the lid of the paint pot, then stood back to admire the third bedroom she’d finished, mildew now gone and the walls as gleaming and fresh as the first. This room, with the veranda overlooking the garden, the one she was certain had been her mother’s, was to become her own, although at present her creature comforts only reached as far as a camp bed and a stool to sit on. But at least the services had been reconnected, she had a bathroom, the floors had been repaired and the roof made watertight. Some of the walls had been plastered, the rudimentary kitchen now worked well enough for breakfast and tea, and the sitting room, though bare, boasted a sofa and two armchairs. She’d painted each room herself and gradually, as the white paint brought fresh life to the walls, she regarded her new home with immense satisfaction. Her only sadness was that her parents could not be there to see it.

  All through the week she worked feverishly on the house, while weekends were reserved for her new job singing at the Silver Grill. It wasn’t much but luckily the inheritance from her father stretched far enough to cover the work on the house.

  As she washed out her paintbrushes at the Belfast sink in the little scullery at the back of the house, she heard the creak of the back door, now repaired, and Oliver came in.

  ‘Your carriage awaits, ma’am.’

  She grinned. ‘You mean you’ve hired a rickshaw.’

  He laughed. ‘Spot on.’

  ‘Just let me change,’ she said and pointed at her paint-streaked shirt and shorts.

  He came across to her, took the brushes from her hands and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘You have paint there,’ he said. Then he kissed her forehead. ‘And there.’

  While he kissed her cheeks, her neck and finally her lips, she tipped her head back, hoping for more.

  ‘Stay at mine tonight,’ he said, his face a picture of mock discomfort. ‘I don’t think my back can cope with sharing your camp bed for another night, especially as I usually end up on the floor.’

  Belle twisted the engagement ring on her finger and beamed with pleasure.

  ‘I need to be back early though. I’ve still got so much to do to get the place shipshape for Simone.’

  He tilted his head and gave her a curious look. ‘Anyone would think she was the Queen of England.’

  Belle smiled cheerfully, pleased to have been able to write and fill Simone in on everything she’d discovered. ‘Better than that. Anyway, last time I looked I think we had a king.’

  ‘Guess what?’ he said. ‘I’ve spotted some lovely antiques in one of the Chinese shops near my place.’

  ‘Expensive?’

  ‘No … When I say antiques …’

  ‘You mean junk.’

  He smiled. ‘Nice junk.’

  She slipped her arm in his. ‘I need new bed linen and an eiderdown.’

  ‘Rowe’s for those. But aren’t you forgetting something?’

  ‘I’ve already ordered the beds. They’re arriving the day after tomorrow.’

  She went upstairs to wash and change and afterwards opened the French windows to peer out at the garden and think of the day in 1911 when baby Elvira had been taken by Edward’s and Gloria’s aunt. After she had posted the letter to Elvira, or rather Emily, she’d alternated between anxiety and excitement, and when the reply had finally come she’d opened it with trembling hands. She took it out now and read it again, possibly for the twentieth time.

  My dear Belle,

  I don’t know what to say. I’m shocked. Flabbergasted in fact, but so, so excited to hear about you. I too never had a sibling but always wanted one. My mother – I’m sorry, I do have to call her that – well, she couldn’t have more children. Sadly, she only gave birth to one. A stillborn girl.

  I work in publishing here in New York, am married, and have a five-year-old boy called Charlie, your nephew of course. I would be delighted to come to meet you in Rangoon, though I will have to tie up a few loose ends here before I’m free to do so. There’s so much I want to know about you and Diana.

  You say you are to be married. If you can let me have the date, and I can make it in time, I’d love to be there, if I’m invited that is.

  Until then and with my love,

  Emily

  Every time Belle read it, she felt her eyes moisten. Was Emily genuinely happy to have heard from her or was she being polite and saying what she thought Belle might want to hear? She knew it couldn’t be straightforward for Emily to have to deal with what her parents had done, nor to come face to face with a sister she’d never even known she had. But she’d written back telling Emily it would be perfect if she could make it in time for the wedding.

  She’d thought it best not to mention anything about what had happened to Gloria or Edward in her two letters but was annoyed Gloria had left Rangoon without anyone knowing where she’d gone. Strings had been pulled and Belle was infuriated that it seemed she was going to get away with what she’d done. Edward, however, had been found guilty of perverting the course of justice and now languished in Rangoon’s jail, where he would serve an eighteen-month sentence. Everyone had thought he’d be released from police custody and sent back to England, his tail between his legs, but that hadn’t happened thanks to a young and conscientious lawyer for the prosecution who could not be bribed. In any case, Edward’s reputation was destroyed and his career lay in tatters.

  Belle closed the windows then extracted
a pair of red high heels from under the camp bed and slipped on some silver earrings. One last look in a tiny hand mirror to check her hair, then she was ready.

  In the late afternoon two days later, Belle paced her hall admiring the newly polished marble floor. She’d bought a delicately painted oriental table and a pretty mirror from ‘Oliver’s’ junk shop so now the place, though still sparsely furnished, looked more welcoming. The walls were white and the fragrance of fresh roses arranged in a glass vase on the table drifted through the air, masking the smell of paint. It had rained all afternoon and although it had stopped now, the sky remained bruised and brooding. She prayed the weather would not delay Simone’s arrival.

  Oliver, busy organizing the kitchen, was singing off-key. She’d been overjoyed to discover he was an excellent cook, not something she relished doing at all, and they had shared delicious meals together at his apartment. It had been after one of those meals when he’d surprised her by bending down on one knee, gazing into her eyes and proposing. Trying not to laugh, she had studied his dear face and the hopeful tilt of his head and had managed instead to smile and say yes. When he got up she called him a corny old fool, but they had drunk a bottle and a half of champagne, then made wonderful and utterly joyous love, and had been inseparable ever since. Her aversion to alcohol had, of course, been forgotten and she vastly preferred the more relaxed person she had become.

  He’d also surprised her with a new cooker, saucepans, cutlery, crockery, glasses, provisions – all of it brand new and delivered by Rowe’s. So they now had everything they needed to produce a first meal for Simone. Belle wandered upstairs to check Simone’s bedroom for the hundredth time. The new and gratifyingly comfy bed was ready, made up with sparkling white linen and draped with a silky ivory bedspread.

  So far, Belle and Oliver hadn’t discussed the future in detail. He was worried there might be another war and, not at all sure how it would affect them in Burma, had suggested they move to America if things became tricky. But he hadn’t objected when she’d expressed the desire to restore her parents’ old house, with a view to living there if they stayed on in Burma.