The Sapphire Widow

by Dinah Jefferies

  She gazed at him. He wore frayed shorts and a turquoise short-sleeved shirt against which his deep tan shone, although there were also red scratches on his arms. Wanting him to say something first, she waited, but when he did not, she knew it had to be her. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “We’ll go indoors. I was bitten to death earlier on, cutting back the undergrowth.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hell of a job. That’s how I got these scratches.”

  She got to her feet.

  “After you,” he said, and held open the door.

  They went inside and then up the stairs. She stood still, glancing around her and feeling nervous. So far, they were being very polite and careful with each other and the atmosphere felt uneasy.

  “I’ll get Kamu to bring us a beer.” He called the boy out and then turned back to her almost as an afterthought. “Sorry. Will beer do you?”

  She nodded, and thought again about the wisdom of coming here. Then, waiting for her beer, she breathed in the scent of cinnamon that hung around Leo. He sat too, and puffed out his cheeks. “Kamu told you where I was?”

  She swallowed the lump that had developed in her throat. “He said you’d taken a doctor to see your cousin.”

  He nodded. “She refused to even see him.”

  The boy brought out their beers.

  Finally, she found the courage to speak. “I wanted to ask you…”

  “Yes?”

  “…if everything you told me was true.”

  He grimaced. “I’m afraid it is. I’m so sorry.”

  She stared at him while he looked away and gazed across the treetops.

  There was another long, uncomfortable silence. She didn’t want to know or even to ask, and yet she sensed she had to.

  “How old is the child again?”

  “Seven.”

  “Where is he now?”

  He glanced up at her and then away again. “About the place somewhere.”

  “Doing what?”

  He shook his head. “She won’t let him go to school because of the stigma of being illegitimate. People around here know there’s no husband.”

  “A boarding school?”

  “Too expensive.”

  “Nanny?”

  “He needs education at this stage, not a nursemaid.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  “Zinnia teaches him, but she’s not well enough now and if she won’t accept medical attention…well.” He spread his hands out wide.

  She looked down at the terracotta-tiled floor and then up at him and felt sick. “Did you see Elliot when he used to come?”

  His eyes narrowed, as if he found the whole conversation difficult. “Kept themselves to themselves,” he said, now gazing at her with such a look of compassion that she took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly.

  “And Conor knew Elliot was his father?”

  Leo nodded.

  “You might not know, Elliot and I had a stillborn baby. A little girl. I called her Julia.”

  His eyes softened even further as he looked at her, but then she turned away as the memories assailed her.

  “I didn’t know, no,” he gently said.

  She didn’t know the sex of her two miscarried babies but thought of them both as boys, with Julia sandwiched between; one older than his sister and one younger. The daughter who had not even breathed was dark-haired, like Elliot.

  “She’d be getting on for three, had she lived,” she said.

  She didn’t say that her hair would be curly; she’d have Elliot’s lively green eyes too. And she’d always be demanding they push her higher and higher on the garden swing. Higher, Mummy. Higher! Shrieking and shrieking with unbridled excitement. The boys were harder to picture, but she thought they might have her own fairer coloring. She allowed the images to fade and turned back to look at Leo.

  “I’m very sorry,” he said.

  “I had two miscarriages as well, so you can see that finding out about this child is particularly distressing.”

  “It really isn’t something I would have lied about.”

  She shook her head. “I think I knew all along. I just didn’t want to believe it.”

  “Forgive me. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”

  She shook her head again. She couldn’t tell him that she felt as if her heart had been ripped out and it was taking every shred of her strength not to fold. “I can’t believe how Elliot was able to keep this secret for so long.”

  It went quiet between them and the silence persisted. In the end it was Leo who spoke.

  “I’m worried about Conor. Zinnia is ill and can’t look after him. Neither can I. At least not well enough. Because of the drought up north, my cinnamon is now in huge demand. I just have to keep going.”

  “Have you thought about having him fostered or looked after in a children’s home? Temporarily, I mean, while Zinnia is ill.”

  “Dear God, no. I couldn’t do that—do you know what those places are like? And Zinnia obviously wouldn’t countenance it!”

  “No, of course. It was a stupid idea.”

  “If I had the funds I’d send him to boarding school in Colombo, but I don’t. As it is, I need to find a way of distributing my cinnamon more widely to properly shore up the business.”

  “I’ve been thinking…” She hesitated for a moment and inhaled sharply. “Would it be possible to see your cousin?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not sure of anything at the moment. What’s wrong with her?”

  “I think she’s suffering with her nerves. I doubt she’ll see you. Half the time she won’t let me in, though I try to sort her place out when I do get in. She’s living in a bit of a mess.”

  “Do you mean since Elliot died?”

  He nodded.

  She sucked in her breath. “She loved him?”

  “I think so.”

  “Can we go there?”

  He frowned as he scrutinized her face. She took another deep breath but didn’t speak.

  “Won’t it distress you? There are portraits she painted in her house.”

  “Of Elliot?”

  “Yes.”

  She gazed at him with an increasing sense of determination. “I think I need to see for myself.”

  “Very well.”

  He led her out of his house and then down the track, past undergrowth where a laughing thrush was singing. About halfway down the hill, there was a little turning toward a small building, an old bungalow, almost hidden among the trees. They passed a row of heavily overgrown scented plants in pots, then he went ahead of her and opened the front door. He twisted around to her and whispered, “We can still turn back.”

  “I want to see.”

  He took her into a living area, and she gasped when she saw the canvases hanging on the walls. There were paintings of a red-haired woman with golden skin, paintings of a small boy at different ages, and paintings of Elliot. Many, many portraits of Elliot, either on his own or with the child. Louisa felt her legs shaking and reached out to Leo. He steadied her, then held her by the arm.

  “Who is there?” a voice called out.

  “It’s me, Leo,” he answered.

  “She sounds fragile,” Louisa whispered.

  “She is. In more ways than one.”

  It was suddenly all too much. Louisa turned on her heels and ran outside, Leo following behind her. She stood with her arms wrapped around herself, shaking from the devastation of this betrayal. I’ll never forgive him, she thought. Never.

  “Come on,” Leo said. “I’ll take you back to the car.”

  Just then a boy walked up to the house, kicking the leaves as he did. He stood and stared at her, and Louisa immediately saw Elliot’s dark curly hair, and his bright gr
een eyes. There was no mistaking this was Elliot’s son. She saw Elliot’s smile, his way of looking out from under his lashes; she saw his charm. And the image in her mind was a photograph Irene had once shown her of Elliot as a boy. All this time he had been the father of this boy. She heard his voice, pictured him playing with Conor, cuddling him at night. It hurt more than she could ever explain. She heard the noises of the plantation, the sound of the birds, the rustling of the many creatures scuttling about, and the breeze in the trees. In the background, she could even hear the sea. Everything seemed to distil into this one moment, and she felt as if she might never emerge from it.

  She nodded numbly and blinked rapidly to suppress the tears. For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Leo broke the silence.

  “Say hello, Conor.”

  The boy just stared at his feet.

  She twisted away. “I can’t…I can’t do this.”

  He told the child to go inside and that the houseboy would bring him down some lunch, and then he took Louisa back up to her car. They stood together, the sun blazing down, but Louisa was unable to even speak.

  “I think you’d better come in. You don’t look as if you’re in any state to drive.”

  “I need to get away…”

  “Come on, Louisa. A drink and a sit-down is what you need.”

  She longed to be able to sob out the pain and the grief but her eyes were dry. The paintings flashed in her mind and she took a step away.

  “No. I need to go home. I need to be at home.”

  She got into her car and drove down the track onto the main road. When she reached the turning for the beach she decided to take it. She parked, and pocketing the shells she had collected earlier, she walked down to the water’s edge. Once there she threw the shells into the water with as much strength as she could muster; then she sat on the sand with her head in her hands.

  Elliot’s betrayal had scarred her deeply and Louisa’s sense of self had taken a battering. Just the thought of putting her trust in somebody other than her father filled her with anxiety. She pondered Elliot’s absences. There had been so many but she had simply accepted his excuses, tolerated his occasional ill-humor too. She felt a burning sense of shame that somewhere along the line she had settled for less and must have chosen not to see.

  She felt her world rocking and it frightened her, so for the next week she worked all the hours she could to finish drawing up the plans for the emporium. When her father dropped by for coffee on a morning when the early haze had cleared to reveal a sunny day, she tried to say she was too busy to stop, but he took her by the hand and insisted she come to the sitting room with him.

  “So,” he said while Ashan poured their coffee. “You’re definitely going ahead with the emporium?”

  “Yes. I have a potential jeweler on board, and I’m going to Colombo next week to see him and some artists too. I’d like to have a gallery of artworks for sale as well. I met one of the artists I’m considering when I stayed at the Hoopers’ tea plantation—Savi Ravasinghe. I’m also going to sell some of those little secret boxes and carved ebony elephants. There’s a silk designer in Colombo I want to see too. I’ve already been looking at some samples. I’m not sure if we will stock fabrics or not but it’s an idea. And—”

  He interrupted. “Darling, take a breath.”

  She felt suddenly deflated and stared at the floor.

  “What’s the matter? Won’t you tell me? There’s no need for you to be working this hard.”

  “I have to.”

  “But there’s something you haven’t told me, isn’t there?”

  “I went to the cinnamon plantation,” she said flatly and without looking up.

  “Ah.”

  “It’s all true.” She gulped and couldn’t look at her father. Saying it could only make it even more real. She pictured again the curly dark hair, the green eyes, the composed look. “I saw the child. There’s no mistaking who his father was.”

  He reached out a hand to her. She took it, squeezed it once and then let go.

  “It’s not so bad if I keep busy.” She had to go on pretending everything was normal—for how else was she to cope?

  “Are you sleeping?”

  The truth was, when she slept, it was to dream everything was ordinary again. Elliot was alive. There were no debts and definitely no child.

  “Only if I have a strong gin first,” she said. “Then I sleep. Fitfully.”

  He sighed. “That’s not good.”

  “It’s worse when I stop. I just don’t know what to do with the anger. I go off and cycle like a lunatic. I swim. I’ve even been diving off Flag Rock. But it’s cluttering my head all the time. Boring away at me. I want to know everything about Elliot and yet at the same time I don’t.”

  “My love. You have to slow down. Let the pain out.”

  “How? I want to shout at Elliot, scream at him, but I can’t. I want to hurt him. Really hurt him. That’s what makes it so much worse.”

  But that didn’t express the true violence of her feelings, or the awful things she imagined doing to him.

  “He’s gone and there’s nothing I can do to show him what he has done to me. I feel he has taken me away from myself. Do you see?”

  “I’m wondering if you should see the doctor.”

  She had considered it. Thought maybe she was going a little crazy, constantly fending off the echoes from the past, and feeling as if she could stretch out her hand to touch them, yet unable to find a way.

  “I don’t want any pills.”

  “Do you want me to come to Colombo with you?”

  “No. I’m meeting Margo there. She’ll accompany me to the meetings.”

  * * *

  —

  On the way to the capital Louisa passed the usual Buddhist shrines and temples. Groups of saffron- and ochre-robed monks sauntered along, while drumming and chanting could be heard from nearby villages where a wedding or some other ceremony was happening. She held her breath at the place where Elliot had veered off the road but couldn’t stop herself feeling angry. Maybe I’ll see a devil dancer, she thought, knowing Ceylon’s wild men of the jungle were famous for worshipping the demons believed to be living in the trees. Maybe that’s what I need. A demon. Elliot had taken her to one of these rituals where she’d witnessed the horrible masks they used. It had scared her but the atmosphere had been electric too. And something about that matched her own ragged feelings.

  In contrast, the packed streets of Colombo smelled of coconut, cinnamon and fried fish, plus the sweet scents from the various tea and cake stalls lining the pavement. Louisa parked close to the fancy red and cream brick-built building that was Cargills department store, closely avoiding a bright blue bullock cart, creaking and groaning as it swerved in front of her. Flies and mosquitoes swarmed everywhere as she walked through the Chinese bazaar on Chatham Street, passing small fabric outlets laden with silks, two or three herbalists, and several shops selling lacquered goods.

  Everything shone in the fierce heat and dust.

  Further on, in air now smelling of dung, fruit and spices, British civil servants and missionary ladies mingled with Sinhalese and Tamil workers. Crows soared above them, perching where they could as they spied out any scraps of food. She had to maneuver around several rickshaws blocking the way, until she eventually reached the tea shop she was looking for, and spotted Margo sitting in the window. The younger woman gave her a wave and a broad smile and Louisa steeled herself. This was to be a working day and she simply could not give in to her emotions. She pushed open the door, heard the tinkle of the bell, and approached Margo.

  “I’ve ordered tea for both of us,” Margo said.

  “Lovely.” Louisa seated herself and put her bag on a spare chair. “So how have you been?”

  “I’m fine. Although Mother isn’t. She wants to come an
d stay with you again, but I’ve been trying to put her off.”

  “Why does she want to come?”

  “I think she wants to be where Elliot was.”

  Louisa shook her head. She didn’t want to tell Margo how bad she had felt lately, but Irene would really be the last straw. “To be honest, it’s a terrible idea. I could kill Elliot, the way I feel right now.” She winced. “If he wasn’t already dead.”

  “It is true, then? About the child?”

  She inhaled deeply before replying. “I saw him, Margo. He’s the spitting image of Elliot.”

  “Oh, my love. I am sorry.”

  Louisa sighed and decided to change the subject. There were times when talking did not help. “Let’s not talk about it. I’m more interested in you.”

  “Me? I just feel such a fool for having gotten myself involved with a married man and pretending everything was normal. He said his marriage was over and I allowed myself to believe it because I wanted to.”

  Louisa thought of Elliot and almost retreated into silence. She forced herself to speak for Margo’s sake. “We’ve both believed what we’ve wanted to believe. Maybe you couldn’t help falling in love with William.”

  “It’s what I told myself, but really there’s a point where it became a choice. I could have turned my back on him.”

  “Is that how Elliot felt, do you think?”

  “That it was a choice, or that he could have walked away from it?”

  “Both, I guess.”

  “Who knows? All I’m sure of is William’s marriage wasn’t over, and neither was yours. I feel guilty as hell.”

  “But at least you ended it. Elliot didn’t.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you still miss William?”

  “I miss having somebody in my life. The thing is, he made me feel so special. I’ve never felt special before.”

  Louisa patted her hand. “You’re special to me.”

  Margo flashed her a quick smile. “In our house everything revolved around Elliot. He was the one who got all the attention. He could do no wrong. Even the slightest achievement was hailed with cakes and treats. At the school sports day, when he came third in the hundred-yard dash, you’d have thought he’d won all the races of the day. Whatever I did, my mother barely noticed me. Anyway, it’s all done and dusted…Now how about a cream bun? You are looking too thin.”