The Sapphire Widow

by Dinah Jefferies

  “You, my dear, are sounding like your mother!”

  They both laughed and the mood lightened.

  Louisa put on her business face as first they went to see the jeweler, the cousin of the dealer Louisa had spoken to in Galle. It turned out he was keen to expand and would be delighted to sell his sapphire range at the emporium and supply the stock for the main display. Louisa was satisfied. Next, they followed a narrow alley between tall buildings and found the silk designer’s sign. The woman took them upstairs to her workshop, a huge room flooded with light from floor-to-ceiling windows.

  She mainly made scarves and kaftans, but all the silk was hand dyed, hand painted or batiked into fabulous patterns in myriad colors. A row of the pieces hung like pretty flags from a line running the length of the room.

  “They’re still drying,” she said, seeing them looking and gently touching one or two. “Then they’ll be ironed and packed in tissue.”

  “Well, as I said in my letter, I’m looking for artists and craftspeople who would consider using my emporium as an outlet for their goods. We’ve floor space for a nominal rent, and I’d be happy to offer it free for the first three months. You sell and we take a percentage. For that we maintain the premises and take care of advertising. How does that sound?”

  “Interesting.”

  “I can employ reliable sales staff, unless you have somebody in mind.”

  “I have a friend who lives in Galle. Her children have just started school so she might be interested.”

  “Well, either way we’d love to have your beautiful silks.”

  The woman smiled and they discussed prices for a while and, when the deal was done, shook hands.

  The next stop was Elliot’s office for the spice business. As far as Louisa was aware of, the business ran itself so this was more of a courtesy call than anything else. Nihil, the middle-aged manager, was expecting her and when she arrived he commiserated over the loss of Elliot.

  “We were all so shocked,” he said, “when your father let us know what had happened. He told me to carry on as usual and that you would be coming at some point. And now, here you are.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” she said and smiled, managing to keep the exchange light. “That’s very kind.”

  “And may I ask if you have any plans?”

  She nodded. At least here there were no memories assaulting her. “The only plan I have is to keep going.”

  Nihil looked relieved. “I did wonder if you might be selling up.”

  “Not in the foreseeable future, but I’d like to look at the accounts.”

  “Of course. I shall fetch them directly.”

  He went to a large cupboard and brought out two black ledgers.

  “Your husband transferred a capital sum, to cover an acquisition, I understand.”

  “Can I see?”

  “Yes. Look here.”

  She glanced at the figures and confirmed to herself that the amount Elliot had taken out from the business account could have covered the deposit on the Print House. It still didn’t explain what had happened to the missing half of the money she had transferred to his personal account and that should have been left over after he’d paid the balance on the building.

  “But we’re not in the red, are we?”

  “Absolutely not. In fact, I feel we are approaching the point where it would be sensible to expand.”

  Louisa could see it wasn’t a huge enterprise but it ticked over nicely, and she promised to come up to Colombo once a month to ensure everything was running smoothly and do anything she could to increase supplies.

  After that they drove to Cinnamon Gardens, so named after the former cinnamon plantation that had once existed in that area, where they were to meet Savi Ravasinghe. The streets were lined with trees and grand colonial mansions, and he lived on the top floor of a large house divided into two apartments. It was surrounded by an extensive garden, resplendent with tall trees and rhododendron bushes. Louisa was feeling the heat and ran a palm over her forehead.

  “Aren’t you hot?” she asked Margo.

  “It’s close today.”

  “I’m actually looking forward to the rains.” Louisa didn’t add that she felt something about the rains, the hot drumming intensity of them, might somehow wash away the sense of grief and doubt that constantly consumed her. When she was a child she had loved to sneak out into the garden at night in just her pajamas and hold her arms up to catch the rain. Her ayah had usually found her and dragged her back in, but she had loved the freeing wildness of being out in the downpour.

  Savi met them at the door, looking as elegant and exotic as before.

  “Lovely to see you again,” he said and held out a hand to Louisa.

  After she had shaken it she introduced Margo, and then they followed him up the stairs and into a large open space. Sunlight flooded in from huge windows running right across one wall, the floor was tiled and laid with gorgeous rugs—Persian, he told them—and the pristine white walls were hung with paintings.

  “These aren’t all yours?” Louisa asked.

  “The portraits are mine, but the landscapes are by a friend.”

  Louisa stared at them, admiring the subtle colors of the landscapes and the singing colors of the portraits. “I like that you paint ordinary people. I would love to show some of these in my gallery.”

  “I have a few more portraits through here. Not by me, though.” He pointed the way to a long corridor and she followed him through. But when she saw the first portrait her mouth went dry. Staring out at her was an unmistakable image of Elliot, his arm around a red-headed woman.

  “These are by an acquaintance,” Savi was saying. “Zinnia. I think we spoke of her when we last met, though at the time I couldn’t remember her name. I came across them just recently as a job lot in a warehouse sale and, as I acquired them for a good price, I thought I might sell them on. They are particularly fine, I think.”

  Louisa made some excuse and said she’d prefer to look at the paintings in the main room. They were more what she was after, she said, but Margo had followed her into the corridor and, when Louisa glanced back, she saw her sister-in-law standing and staring at the painting of her brother.

  “They’re good, aren’t they,” Louisa called out. “But look at these, Margo.”

  They caught each other’s eye and Margo came back to the main room, visibly shocked. For a moment Louisa stood and gazed at the light from the huge windows. All the colors of the room began to swirl and meld together and she felt herself growing far too hot again. For one horrible instant she thought she was going to faint and reached out a hand as if to break her fall.

  “Are you all right?” Margo said, and the sound of her voice brought Louisa back.

  She took a few deep breaths and after she had regained her self-control, she told Savi she’d be delighted to display his own work and the landscapes too, though it would be some weeks before the conversion of the building from a printer’s to a shop would be complete.

  “I’d be happy to make some pictures especially for you. Maybe some smaller, more easily portable ones? Next time I’m back in Ceylon.”

  “Yes,” she said, “that would be perfect.”

  * * *

  —

  As they walked away from his place Margo turned to her. “Are you really okay?”

  “I think so. I saw similar paintings when I went to the plantation.”

  “But it must have been a shock. It was for me.”

  “I’d seen pictures of him with the child, but not with her. And I didn’t think these paintings were for the open market. I don’t know why, but I imagined she just kept them all. That they were somehow private.”

  “She must have needed the money.”

  “Yes. Though I suspect some of Elliot’s debts were because o
f her. I don’t imagine he would have wanted her selling any portraits of him. To be honest, I felt like buying them all and burning the lot.”

  “They’re a bit too graphic.”

  “It brings it home.” Louisa swallowed hard and then she spoke again in a low voice. “I thought they looked happy together, didn’t you?”

  “So, if they were so happy, why didn’t he leave you?”

  “Why didn’t your married man leave his wife?”

  Margo shrugged but looked sadder than before. “It was never in the cards.”

  “I suppose people must fall in love with the wrong person all the time.”

  “It happened to me, but that doesn’t excuse Elliot.”

  “Why not?”

  Margo sighed. “I can’t justify what he did, but I can’t justify what I did either.”

  “Did you try to stop it?”

  “At first, but then it seemed to become a compulsion. I found myself thinking of William all the time and, in the end, I got in touch again.”

  “It’s not really even the fact that Elliot fell for someone else. Well, it is, of course it is, but it’s the deception that cuts me.”

  “I can’t forgive myself, you know. Maybe Elliot was sorry for what he’d done too?”

  “Well, he had every reason to stay with me, didn’t he? Plenty of money, a nice big house, his job. My father would hardly have kept him on if he’d abandoned me. I’ve been such a fool to give my heart to someone who treated it so recklessly.”

  “He was always careless of other people’s feelings, but he loved you. I’m sure of it.”

  “Are you?”

  Louisa paced her bedroom, glancing from time to time at Elliot’s chest of drawers. She chewed her fingernail and, wanting to finally be done with him, decided the only thing to do was to be rid of his things. Out. I want all of it out, she thought. If everything was gone then he might be gone too.

  In an overbright and determined tone, she instructed one of the houseboys to help her build a bonfire in the garden, but not to light it yet. They both carried old newspapers out and dragged across branches that had been pruned and left to dry. When the stack was tall enough, she went back indoors to their bedroom, where she gazed inside the wardrobe for a minute, then took out all of Elliot’s suits and shirts, leaving them piled up on the bed. After that she opened his chest drawer by drawer and heaped the contents up on the floor. She felt as if her heart might stop as she ran her hands over the familiar shirts. She held one to her nose to see if she could catch a trace of the familiar cedar scent of him, and then she tried another, but they had all been laundered and so there was nothing. She went through the pockets of his suits and jackets and then, from an old pair of corduroys, she fished out an envelope. It was sealed but not addressed, and so she ripped it open and removed a single sheet of paper. She read:

  My darling,

  I can’t tell you how distressed I am that you feel you must end it. As you know, I haven’t been able to see you as much as I’ve wanted since Louisa lost the baby and I have had to remain close by her side. It hasn’t been my choice. You do see that, don’t you? Please will you reconsider? I will try to come to you again soon and you must know I love you. You have to believe it and I promise the time will be right for us very soon indeed. I’m sorry it has taken so long, but I can’t wait to be with you and am not far off from being able to look after you both permanently.

  I need to make a little more money before I can offer you the life you should have and I’m best placed to do it if I stay here a little longer. I have bought a new business, an old print house, and after a little work, hope to sell it at a profit. I did tell you at the very beginning that I still loved my wife. Do you remember? But of course that changed once Conor came into the world. Please look after yourself and him too. I shall send money via Leo if I can’t get to you soon and then I’ll take your next batch of paintings to Colombo to sell.

  But whatever else you may feel, please reconsider. Don’t end it, my love. I just can’t face that.

  Always your

  Elliot

  Louisa read it through twice and felt sick. Then she ripped it into tiny fragments and hurled them at the wastepaper basket, feeling as if she was ripping up her whole life. Not only had Elliot never intended to make the emporium a reality, he had been planning to leave her too. It seemed like the final nail in the coffin of their marriage and she felt as if her heart was separating from her soul.

  As silence wrapped around her, a burst of anger surged through her. She took an armful of his clothes with her as she went outside to light the bonfire. Once she had a proper blaze going, she began piling on Elliot’s clothes, his suits followed his shirts, and his shirts followed his ties. She went back in to fetch more, watching as each item burned. Gone, she thought. All of it gone. That’s what she wanted. The houseboy observed all of this with a look of bemusement. It must seem incredibly wasteful to him, Louisa suspected, but she couldn’t bear for Elliot’s clothes to exist. She had loved him so much and now, as she listened to the crackle and hiss, she began to laugh wildly. As the flames caught at the edges of each piece of clothing and then devoured it, the fire was not simply feeding her anger—the destructive energy had become energizing.

  She felt exhilarated. Almost lightheaded with relief.

  Suddenly she heard a voice, and twisting around, saw Irene standing there in the garden with a look of horror on her face. Harold stood beside her with an arm around her shoulders. And Ashan stood behind them holding their suitcases. “I’m sorry, Madam,” he said. “I wanted to inform you of their arrival first, but they insisted on coming through.”

  “What are you doing?” Irene screamed. “What are you doing with my son’s clothes?”

  Louisa stood completely still. “I think, Irene, you may have worked out I am burning them, lock, stock and barrel.”

  Irene ran up to the fire and, grabbing a stick, attempted to rescue a partially burning shirt. It hung at the end of her stick as she held it aloft, charred and smoking. Louisa almost laughed again as she watched her mother-in-law’s futile attempt at rescue and Harold pulling her away.

  “Leave it!” she commanded.

  Irene frowned. “But why? Why are you doing this?”

  “What do you expect me to do?”

  “Isn’t it a bit too soon?” Harold said. “It’s as if you’re getting rid of him.”

  Louisa stared coldly. “Honestly? I wish I could. No, more than that, I wish I’d never even met him.”

  And with that she turned on her heels, went upstairs and locked the bedroom door behind her. Then she spent the remainder of the afternoon in her room nursing her anger whilst feeling she no longer lived in a world of her own devising. Ashan knocked several times with drinks for her, gently encouraging her to open the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to see anyone.

  * * *

  —

  That evening Louisa decided to dress for dinner. She was expecting her father and would make an effort for him.

  Although she was furious Irene and Harold had arrived unannounced, she could hardly turn them away, and anyway the letter she had found overshadowed everything else. The euphoria from the effect of the fire hadn’t lasted and now, every time she thought about the letter, she struggled against a desire to rush to the bathroom to vomit. As for Irene, Elliot had been her only surviving son, and it would require a great deal of self-control on Louisa’s part not to spoil Irene’s illusions. Louisa didn’t know if she was up to the deception especially as, in Irene’s eyes, Elliot would have become even more saintly than he had been in life.

  Louisa sighed. Why did everything have to be so difficult? She took a bath and washed her hair to rid herself of the smell of smoke, then dressed soberly in a light gray silk dress, slipped on her pearls and made her way to the main sitting room downstairs, wh
ere Irene and Harold were already ensconced on one of the sofas. As she entered the room she glanced about. Irene had a habit of moving ornaments to where she considered them more appropriate and, though Louisa had argued with Elliot about it, he had convinced her it was such a trivial matter there was no point causing a scene. Louisa saw it now as yet another sign of the woman’s interference.

  Irene sat up a little straighter and sniffed, her gray eyes steely. “So, you have deigned to grace us with your presence.”

  Louisa gritted her teeth. “I’m pleased to see you, Irene. And you too, Harold.”

  He gave her a wan smile.

  “Maybe you might like to explain why you were burning my son’s clothes?” Irene continued.

  “It was time.”

  “You didn’t think to ask if we might want some of them to remember him by?”

  “His clothes were nothing to do with you. You may have his pen, pipe or hairbrush. Take all of them, if you like. There are still plenty of items. Take your pick.”

  “But nothing he actually wore.”

  “I didn’t think—”

  Irene interrupted. “That’s exactly the trouble. It always has been. You don’t think of me, do you?”

  “Come now, Irene, I’m sure you don’t mean that,” Harold said, attempting to take his wife’s hand, though Irene was having none of it and shook him off.

  Louisa turned her back and stiffly went to the decanter to pour three sherries. She took one across to Irene and offered it to her, then gave one to Harold. “Please let’s not squabble. I’m really just too tired.”

  Irene didn’t reply but took the glass.

  At that moment, the doorbell rang. Louisa listened as Ashan answered it and a minute or two later he brought Louisa’s father, Jonathan, into the room, followed by Margo.

  “I found her struggling from the train station with her case.”