The Sapphire Widow

by Dinah Jefferies

  Margo laughed. “And so he did the gentlemanly thing and carried it for me. I came on the train to try to catch up with Mum and Dad. Luckily it wasn’t a stormy day, or the train would have been deluged with sea spray.”

  Irene stood and held out her hands to Margo.

  Margo hugged her mother, who seemed to cling to her.

  “I hope you don’t mind me descending on you like this, Louisa.”

  “Not at all, Margo. The more the merrier!” she said, in fact intensely relieved to see her sister-in-law. “I’m sure Cook can be creative with supper.”

  After the new arrivals had seated themselves and had also been supplied with sherry, a strained silence descended. Perhaps sensing some awkwardness, Jonathan took it upon himself to get the conversation going.

  “So, how do you think the government is getting along, Irene?”

  “You’d have to ask my husband. I don’t bother myself with such matters, though I believe Harold is in full support of it, aren’t you, dear?”

  Harold nodded. “Broadly speaking, yes.”

  Jonathan inclined his head. “You don’t think the board of ministers should have control of the police and army too?”

  “He believes that keeping them under the control of the British is the better option,” Irene chipped in, while Harold gave a resigned sigh. “After all, who wants these people to be in charge of ensuring law and order. No, that’s best kept in our own hands.”

  “These people, Irene?” Jonathan said, his brows raised questioningly.

  “I think you know what my wife meant,” Harold said.

  Margo stepped in. “You don’t always have to stick up for her, Dad. Now come on, Mum, shift up so I can sit next to you for a bit.”

  Irene moved and Margo took up her place next to her mother and father.

  “So,” Louisa said, turning to her father and speaking softly while Margo and Irene seemed to be talking about the bus journey and how uncomfortable it was. “Did you go back to see the police? Do they know anything more about the break-in?”

  He raised his brows. “I’ve done what I said I would do. Fat lot of good it will do, though.”

  “Won’t the police take any action?”

  Jonathan shrugged. “They weren’t sure what they could do.”

  “Take action?” Irene piped up. “Must you speak in riddles.”

  Jonathan glanced at Louisa before speaking. She in turn gave a brief shake of her head. “Just a spot of bother.”

  “Well, I found your daughter burning all of Elliot’s clothing today. What do you make of that?”

  “I’m sure my daughter is only doing what has to be done,” Jonathan said. “She can’t hold on to everything, and nor should she.”

  “Anyway, it’s up to Louisa, isn’t it, Mum?” Margo added.

  “Exactly. This has to be Louisa’s decision. My daughter is having a tough enough time without us interfering.”

  A look of fury crossed Irene’s face. “Nobody thinks to consider my feelings,” she said. “Nobody.”

  “Now, Irene, that’s not fair,” Harold interjected. “I know we’re both upset but—”

  “I’ll tell you what’s not fair. Marrying a woman who couldn’t give him a living child. That’s all I ever wanted. Was it too much to hope for? You know Elliot would have been a wonderful father. So caring. So dutiful.”

  “Mother,” Margo said in a warning tone at the same time as Harold shook his head.

  “A grandson was all I ever wanted.”

  In a flash, Louisa got to her feet, her anger over the letter she had found uppermost in her mind. “Well, you’ve certainly got your wish, Irene!”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  Louisa glanced at Margo, who was gesturing wildly at her to stop, but Louisa had already gone too far to draw back, and now couldn’t help herself. “You do have a grandson, Irene. A little illegitimate boy. I hope that satisfies you.”

  * * *

  —

  As Louisa got herself ready for bed, she went over what had happened. She felt mortified that things had come to this and knew telling Irene had not been wise. She would either deny all possibility of an illegitimate child, or she would want to take over. Either way Louisa would have to let Leo know. She picked up Elliot’s pen, the one he always kept on his bedside table, and began writing to the plantation owner. She’d give the pen to Irene in the morning and let her choose anything else she might want. As she rolled it between her fingers she pictured Elliot writing notes to himself just before he turned out the light.

  She thought back to the moment they first met. She’d been out on her bicycle and, despite early signs of rain, had decided to head for the coastal road. But after only an hour the monsoon had begun in earnest. After seriously misjudging the weather she’d been swept off the road, grazing her leg in the process. She had crawled and found a rock to shelter against, but by then was completely soaked through. Half an hour passed and she’d felt immense relief when a car finally pulled up and the driver jumped out to help her. He bundled her into the car and her bike into the trunk and brought her back to Galle Fort. They each drank a mug of hot chocolate and her leg was bandaged before he prepared to resume his journey. But with weather too wild for him to continue to Colombo he had stayed the night, and then the next day, and the one after that. She’d fallen for Elliot’s charm and good looks right from the start and been so full of hope for the future.

  She put the pen down and decided not to send the letter to Leo. She would go there instead.

  Louisa rose as dawn was painting the sky a subtle shade of lilac, reflecting in the sea as palest pink. It was her favorite time of day. She glanced through the window up toward the hills to the north, still shrouded in a mist, and even in her garden the leaves were dripping with dew. She might occasionally spot a civet cat tempted into her garden by the sweet palm seeds, but not today. Her durian and jackfruit trees attracted birds in large numbers, and she usually liked to watch them, though today just one solitary imperial pigeon with metallic-green wings strutted on the lawn.

  She didn’t have time to linger. With a house crammed full of people, she hoped not to have to mention where she was going. Even Jonathan had stayed the night, perhaps feeling his daughter might need moral support with Irene so likely to make trouble.

  After Louisa’s shock announcement, the questions had gone on and on. Who is this child? Are you sure he is Elliot’s son? How did you find out? Had you known all along? Why hadn’t I, as his grandmother, been told? And when Irene discovered Margo had already known about Conor, she turned puce with anger. She hadn’t, however, seemed the slightest bit concerned that the existence of this child meant Elliot had betrayed his wife.

  Louisa dressed quickly and then went down to the kitchen where the cook was still stoking the boiler, so no coffee on the go yet. As she got into the car she turned over a new idea she’d had for what was now her spice business. Her manager, Nihil, had said the business was ripe for expansion, so this might be just the thing to enable its growth. While driving along the coastal road, she considered what she might say when she got to Cinnamon Hills. First, she’d have to tell Leo that Irene now knew about Conor’s existence. It might not come to anything but, knowing Irene, Louisa couldn’t be sure; and, next, she would run her new idea past Leo.

  As she turned off the main road and began to make her way up the hill, she passed the place where you could just make out Zinnia’s bungalow nestled among the trees. Her jaw stiffened. What am I doing? she thought. Was it foolish to involve Leo in her new idea? Perhaps not, because something inside her, something in the place where the remnants of hope and faith still resided, was forcing her hand. Maybe in some convoluted way the very reason she was even considering this plan was an act of defiance, conceived despite Elliot’s betrayal. In any case, she would not be cowed.
/>
  She stopped the car before she reached the top and climbed out to smell the air, enjoying the mix of cinnamon and the salty scents of the ocean. She glanced around her expectantly. Would she spot Leo at work, or maybe glimpse the child playing in the clearing? But then, seeing nobody, she continued on. While the child’s very existence had shaken her to the core, she had to remind herself he had lost his father and, as someone who had grown up motherless, she accepted how devastating that was for a youngster.

  She pulled up at the top, stilled the engine and then got out to stand and admire the panoramic view. The birds were still singing and she relished the feeling of being in the midst of a plantation bursting with wildlife. When it came, his voice startled her and she spun around. He was wearing his usual threadbare shorts, and a bright blue shirt that brought out the color of his eyes and the red of his hair.

  “Leo.”

  “Hello. I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “I have something to tell you.”

  “Shall we walk?”

  He led her along a narrow path between the cinnamon trees. Just then a drift of exotic butterflies flew past.

  “So. What did you want to say?”

  She swallowed nervously before she spoke. “I’m afraid Elliot’s mother knows about Conor now.”

  “And?”

  “Well, she isn’t the easiest of women. She may interfere.”

  He scratched his head. “I don’t know. If she is prepared to lend a helping hand while Zinnia is ill, that might not be so bad.”

  Louisa was aghast at the idea. “I don’t recommend it. It would never be just lending a hand. She’d take over completely, and that would be awful.”

  “Does she know he’s here?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve given her no details other than that he exists. I wish I hadn’t said anything.”

  “I wouldn’t worry.” He hesitated and appeared to be thinking. “Hopefully Zinnia will be better soon. In the meantime, I’m doing what I can for Conor. He’s lonely, so I try to have lunch with him every day and take him with me when I can.”

  “His illegitimacy might prevent Irene from becoming involved.”

  He nodded, took a few steps and then twisted back to look at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I was wondering if you’d like a drink. Or, if you have time, maybe see more of the plantation?”

  This was just what she wanted and, thinking of her new idea, she nodded. “Tell me about it—I’d love to know how the cinnamon is produced. Is it very labor intensive?”

  “Well, the first thing to know is that the workers are paid a share of the profit, so the more productive and profitable the team, the more they get paid. So yes, a third of my revenue goes to labor costs.”

  He led her along a wide, leaf-strewn track. “The harvesting process is laborious. We can harvest twice a year, but it’s better if the bark is peeled during the rainy season, when the sap flows freely.”

  “So you aren’t harvesting quite yet?”

  “We are, but we’re mainly coppicing and gathering the dried leaves to produce oil.”

  “Hard work.”

  He smiled and she noticed how at ease he was in this environment.

  “Once the branches are cut, the outer bark is scraped off and the inner bark is cut, then peeled so that it coils up into quills. The larger sections are rolled up together then filled with small quills and broken pieces to add strength. These are then cut into pieces of three or four feet in length.”

  “And Ceylon cinnamon is particularly good?”

  “It has its own identity and is world renowned. Did you know it was first taken to the Middle East by sea in antiquity? And Nero is said to have used it at his wife’s funeral. Our cinnamon has even triggered wars. I can show you how we produce the oil if you like.”

  “Please.”

  “The peelers collect the stems for the day’s work in the morning when it’s cool and take them to the peeling sheds on carts or tractors, although we can collect the leaves at any time.”

  While they had been walking, Louisa had seen he had been taking her down the hill toward a place where smoke and steam almost obliterated several straw-roofed sheds from sight. He led her around the corner where another fire had been lit in a simple boiler.

  “We produce the oil from leaves and twigs. It’s steamy work.”

  She watched as a man filled a tall cylindrical vat with leaves while another worker inside it was treading the contents down.

  “Gosh, it must be hot.”

  “Yes, he’ll tread down the leaves until the column is tightly packed. Watch, he’s just about finished.”

  The man climbed out and then, using mud, sealed a lid onto the vat.

  “See the pipe at the bottom?”

  She nodded.

  “The steam passes through that from the boiler, extracts the oil from the leaves and then passes out again. The steam condenses to a liquid as it travels through a pipe submerged in cold water.”

  “And then?”

  “The oil is skimmed off from where the liquid is collected in tubs. Gravity takes care of the separation for us.”

  “It’s fascinating—and seeing all this brings me to my second reason for coming to see you.”

  “Shall we go back up to the house for a coffee?”

  “Thank you.”

  They walked in silence with just the sound of their feet crunching the dry leaves on the path. Once they reached his house, they took the stairs to the veranda and he ordered their drinks.

  “You love this place, don’t you?” she said.

  His smile spread slowly and lit up his eyes as it widened. “I suppose I must do, though sometimes it has me tearing my hair out!”

  “Like all the things we love.”

  “I guess.”

  She took a breath before beginning. “I don’t know how you are placed to export your cinnamon, but Elliot had a spice company, exporting all over the world. It’s mine now, and I think it’s time to expand…I was wondering if I could tempt you to export through us. I’d ensure my manager offered you good terms.”

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting that,” he said, but looked genuinely interested. “I’ve been wondering about changing my middleman. I deal with a chap in Galle, but the quantity I’m now producing is becoming too large for him to handle.”

  “I could take you to meet Nihil, the manager in Colombo. How about the day after tomorrow?”

  “Sounds good to me. Kamu will look after Conor just this once.”

  “Yes.”

  He grinned. “Deal. I can’t offer you a lift in the van, it’s conked out and the mechanic can’t work out what’s wrong. But…I’m not sure if this would appeal…We could go all the way on the motorbike, if you like, though it’s an old bone shaker and it will mean coming back very late.”

  Why not, she thought. Wasn’t it time to spread her wings? “I like the idea,” she said, then hesitated for a moment, wanting to appear calmer than she really felt about what else was on her mind. “How is your cousin?”

  He shrugged. “She has been a little better lately.”

  “How shall I put this?” she said. “If we are to do business together I’d prefer not to see her.”

  “She doesn’t usually come up here. I go to her.”

  “What is she living on?”

  He looked a little embarrassed and pulled a face. “Elliot helped her out. She might have a little of that money left.” He glanced away and then back at her. “I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “She sells paintings too?”

  “Elliot took them to Colombo for her.”

  “I saw some of them.” Louisa took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “When we go to Colombo I shall withdraw the money Elliot left to you.
Will you see that she gets it?”

  “That’s very kind.”

  “No, it isn’t. It’s the law. And she has a child to support. Does she go to the shops in the village? For supplies, I mean.”

  “She used to, but since she’s been ill, my houseboy has been getting things for her when he gets mine.”

  “So you’ve been supporting her.”

  He shrugged. “As best I can. It’s Conor I worry about. He’s a strange little boy but he touches my heart.”

  “Maybe he needs to go to school, as you said before? Children need other children, don’t they?”

  “Try telling Zinnia.”

  * * *

  —

  When she got home, Margo was waiting for her. “Mum’s taking a nap and Dad has gone back to Colombo for work. We had lunch but there’s plenty left. She won’t stop talking about her grandson, I’m afraid.”

  “I was worried that might happen.”

  They walked into the dining room and Ashan agreed to bring in her lunch.

  “It’s just a salade niçoise made by the French girl, Camille. So nothing to keep hot. I didn’t know how long you were going to be,” Margo said.

  “I went to see Leo.”

  Margo’s eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up.

  Louisa laughed. “He and I are going into business together, or at least we may be.”

  “Well, I’m all for you seeing more of him.”

  “He showed me around the plantation.”

  “It’s obviously his world. But listen, the reason I came is because I have something to tell you. With everything else going on last night I didn’t get a chance to say anything, and then you were gone so early this morning…”

  “So?”

  “Right after Mum and Dad left on the bus yesterday, a man came to their house. Said he was looking for Elliot’s parents to talk to them about some of their son’s debts. He didn’t leave his name. I haven’t mentioned it to Mum or Dad but I thought you should know.”

  “These awful debts…really, it breaks my heart. Did you recognize him at all? Was it that man, De Vos, the one we saw at the jeweler’s the day we went to the Print House? Do you remember?”