Return to Mandalay (49 page)

In the early hours of the morning, she got up to look at her sleeping daughter. Would Lawrence think that she had trapped him? She could not bear that. What was best for Suu? What was best for Lawrence, the man she loved? What should she do, so that the two people she loved most in the world could be happy?

*

‘So you didn’t go back to Mandalay?’ Eva asked.

‘Not for six months.’

Eva raised an eyebrow. ‘Six months?’

Maya smiled sadly. ‘No man will wait forever, my dear,’ she said. Six months might not seem very long, but it was what she had agreed with her father.

‘If it is meant to be, it will survive six months,’ he had said, when they had next discussed the matter. ‘Stay here for six months. Think it over.’

It was perhaps the longest six months of her life.

‘I thought it was for the best,’ Maya told Eva.

Their eyes met. Maya didn’t say more. This young girl, the
granddaughter of the man she’d never stopped loving, understood. She could see it. It was, perhaps, a sacrifice she should never have made. Only six months. But life went on.

In 1947, the entire Burmese Cabinet under Aung San had been assassinated and this was a blow her father hardly recovered from. Aung San had eventually secured Burmese independence from the British, but for what? Her father became faded and diminished, from politics as much as from his experiences in the war. As for Maya, she had met San Thein, her husband, and her life had been good enough. Not earth-shattering perhaps, but he had been a kind man, a hard-working man who had done his best for them all under the harsh regime that followed. It had all been so far from her father’s hopes and aspirations, she thought sadly, and she almost thanked the Lord Buddha that he had not lived long enough to witness the worst of it.

And if she had ever wondered about Lawrence and what she had given up … Which she did. Oh, how she did. She could satisfy herself that she had done what she thought to be the right thing – for Lawrence and for Cho Suu Kyi.

‘Shall we have a last drink together before I take you back to your hotel?’ Ramon murmured, as he and Eva finally left the house.

She turned to him, surprised. ‘In a bar?’ She had already stayed longer than she’d intended. But it had been worth it, to find out the truth.

‘I was thinking of somewhere more private.’ He raised an eyebrow, gestured towards his own apartment.

‘Yes, let’s.’ Eva didn’t even want to resist. It would at least put off the moment of parting. And she didn’t want this evening to end.

She followed him inside.

But he walked right through the reception room and out of a door the other side on to a sheltered verandah with a bamboo roof. He held the door open for Eva.

She stepped through. Let out a small gasp. ‘It’s beautiful.’

The verandah was lit with a warm amber glow from two lanterns, one placed by the door and the other on a wooden table next to two cane deck chairs. Soft oriental music was playing and, as she looked up, Eva spotted the discreet speaker
up in the corner on the wall. On the table was a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket with two glass flutes set beside it on a black and gold lacquer tray. Beside this, was a shallow ceramic bowl filled with water and floating hibiscus and jasmine flowers.

She turned to him. ‘When did you do all this?’

‘I took a moment to come out here earlier.’

Eva smiled. He’d certainly set the scene. She sat down on the chair he indicated. ‘What a lovely idea,’ she said. It was so very special. Did that mean that the time they’d spent together had meant as much to him as it had meant to her? She hoped so.

He shrugged. ‘I wanted some time alone with you, Eva.’

‘And why would you want that?’ She watched his slender fingers as he loosened the cork in the bottle.

‘Eva?’ He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. ‘Are you flirting with me?’

The cork popped, they both laughed and Eva quickly held up the two glasses for him to pour. ‘Should I be?’ she asked.

‘Probably.’

They clinked glasses and he sat down in the chair next to her. ‘To you and your grandfather,’ he said.

‘And to the chinthes.’

‘Long may they live in the National Museum.’ He smiled.

‘Hear, hear.’ At first, Eva had been surprised by Maya’s decision, but now she realised that it made perfect sense. The family would no longer have to worry about owning something so valuable that might be stolen. And the chinthes could
remain with all the other treasures from the Royal Palace, as part of Myanmar’s history and heritage.

‘Eva, when I first met you,’ Ramon said, ‘I may have been a bit unfriendly.’

‘Just a bit.’ She smiled back at him.

‘The truth is that from the first moment I saw you standing there outside our house looking all earnest and asking to see my grandmother … I thought you were quite lovely.’

Eva felt a warm glow and it wasn’t just from the champagne. ‘You disguised it well,’ she murmured, and took another sip. On top of the wine she’d already drunk this evening, it was going straight to her head. But it didn’t matter. She was quite sure of what she wanted.

‘But I also distrusted you,’ he said. ‘To suddenly appear in the way you did. And with the chinthe … It all seemed so unbelievable.’

‘Yes.’ She could see that. She watched as a huge dark moth fluttered around the orange glow of the lantern. The night outside was as still and the darkness as dense as she’d ever known it here in Myanmar. They were tucked away at the back of the building, with no houses in sight, no lights and no signs of civilisation. The fragrance of the flowers gently floating in the bowl wafted up to her, mingling with the dry citrus sparkle of the champagne.

‘It seemed at first that you were only here to take from our country, our culture.’

Eva bowed her head.

‘And then …’ His voice tailed off.

She looked across at him. He seemed thoughtful. ‘And then?’

‘And then, when I realised who you were and what you were …’

Eva considered this. That she was the granddaughter of the Englishman Maya had loved? She supposed that was what he meant. That she was there to bring them their family’s chinthe, to meet them and to listen to their stories, rather than ask for anything in return perhaps? Or did he mean something quite different?

‘But it turned out by then that you distrusted me,’ he said.

She nodded. Very true.

‘And so we travelled full circle.’

‘I suppose that we did.’ Eva wasn’t sure that she had ever felt such a sense of peace. She leant back in the cane recliner and closed her eyes. The oriental music played gently on as if it were caressing her senses. This might be her last magical experience in Myanmar, she thought. And she would make the most of it.

‘Even so.’ His tone changed. ‘I have tried to resist you, Eva.’

And I you, she thought.

‘Especially now, seeing you lying there in that chair looking like some sweet-faced angel.’

‘Really?’ Eva opened her eyes. She’d never been called an angel before.

He was staring at her, leaning forwards and looking very serious. The dark wing of his hair had flopped again over his
forehead and again she reached out to brush it back, just as she had once before.

He caught hold of her wrist. ‘You are leaving my country very soon,’ he said.

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘You live in the UK. You belong to a different world.’

She couldn’t argue with that. Eva waited.

‘And yet,’ he said.

‘And yet,’ she whispered. She knew exactly what he was thinking. Hadn’t she been thinking the same thing these past days?

‘And yet I feel that I cannot let you leave without telling you.’

‘Telling me what, Ramon?’

‘That I have begun to care for you.’ He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, not taking his eyes from her face. ‘And I cannot let you leave without knowing what it would feel like to touch you, to kiss you once more, to feel you so close to me that nothing remains between us. Nothing at all.’

‘And I you,’ she said simply.

Ramon got up from his chair and he held out his hand to help Eva to her feet. She stood there in front of him, very close, and she looked up at him, recognised the desire in his eyes.

‘Eva.’ He held her face cupped in his hands.

When he kissed her, it felt good and it felt right. It began as a gentle kiss but as she responded to him, she could feel his urgency and answered it wordlessly with her own. He smelt
of wood and wax polish with that faint scent of cardamom and he tasted of champagne. His skin was smooth under her fingertips, his hair silky to the touch. His kisses became more demanding and their bodies cleaved together. Yes, she thought, she knew exactly what she wanted.

He led her into the adjoining bedroom and slowly, one by one, taking his time, he began to remove her clothes and she, his. He unbuttoned her blouse, she, his shirt. Their eyes met. She slid his shirt from his shoulders. Under the cotton fabric his chest was brown, muscular and almost hairless, his shoulders lean but strong. He unzipped her cotton skirt and she felt for the knot of his
longyi
. His hips jutted out and she ran her fingers gently over them and felt him shiver. He clutched her buttocks closer to him and then his hand was inside her bra, gently caressing her, the other hand unclasping the hook and eye. She nuzzled her lips into the softness of his neck, tracing the shape of his collar bone and he bent to kiss her bare shoulder.

‘Ramon …’ And then they were on the bed, pulling at the remainder of one another’s clothes, passion overtaking them at last.

*

Later, much later, for the light of dawn was creeping through the window and Eva knew she must have slept, Ramon hiked himself up on one elbow. He stared down at her.

She looked at him, ran her fingertip along his collar bone, smiled lazily.

‘There’s so much I want to say to you, Eva,’ he breathed.

She put her finger on his lips. ‘Don’t say it. Don’t say a word.’

‘Why not?’ His green eyes seemed dark in the half-light. His hair was unruly, his lean brown body flexed and smooth.

‘Because we may never see each other again, Ramon,’ Eva forced herself to say. It had been a magical evening, but the night was over now. Soon it would be morning, reality would set in, and she would be gone.

‘Do not say that,’ he muttered.

‘But it’s true.’ Dreamily she smoothed his hair from his eyes. ‘You live in Myanmar and I live in the UK. And we both know that long-distance relationships never work.’

‘But if we were determined for it to work …’ he said.

She shook her head. It was sweet of him to say, but she had stayed here last night fully knowing that she would probably never see him again. She had stayed here last night because, like him, she had needed to feel him, love him, even if it was only to happen once. Only once, but she would never forget it, never forget his touch.

‘I would like to say that one day …’

‘Please don’t,’ she murmured.

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t encourage me to hope,’ she said.

He stroked her hair, bent down and kissed her lightly on the lips. Now he tasted of night time, she thought. Night time and dreams. ‘You are right. I cannot make any promises,’ he said.

‘I know,’ she whispered.

*

An hour later, after they had dressed and showered, Ramon took her back to her hotel.

‘I have something for you,’ he said, as they drew up outside. ‘A souvenir, to remember us by.’

‘Oh.’ Eva felt bad. She had nothing for him. She hadn’t thought, hadn’t expected … And she didn’t need anything to remember them by.

‘I made it myself.’ He handed her a small intricately carved teak Buddha. ‘It is not old.’ He shrugged. ‘But perhaps you will like it.’

‘I love it.’ Eva ran her fingertip over the carving. ‘Thank you so much, Ramon.’

‘Just remember,’ he said gravely. ‘He must always be the highest in the room.’

‘Of course.’ She smiled.

‘And so …’

‘No more goodbyes,’ Eva said. In front of them, weaving down the road were two men on a scooter, a mattress held vertically between them. Only in Myanmar, she thought. ‘Just kiss me once and then I’ll walk away.’

‘You won’t look back?’ he asked.

‘I won’t look back.’

How could she look back? That would mean Ramon would see her tears.

Rosemary was giving her father a shave. ‘Mustn’t let yourself go,’ she told him as she gently massaged the shaving foam into a lather over the grey stubble.

‘You’re right, love.’ He sat up in bed, good as gold. The doctor was coming this afternoon, just to take a look at him. But Rosemary knew there was nothing any of them could do. The light was fading. Her job now was to make everything as comfortable as possible for him.

As she carefully manipulated the razor, Rosemary was aware of his gaze, fixed on her face. ‘Alright, Dad?’ she asked. He wasn’t talking so much about Burma now. He wasn’t talking about anything very much.

‘Where’s Alec?’ he asked.

Rosemary was so surprised that she stopped shaving for a minute. ‘Alec?’ She rinsed the razor in the bowl on the bedside table.

‘Your husband.’ He gave her a look.

She smiled, resumed the gentle strokes. ‘He’s still in Copenhagen,’ she said.

‘Waiting for you to go back to him.’

‘Don’t talk,’ she warned him. ‘No, he’s not really waiting. He knows why I’m here. He’s happy for me to be here.’ For the moment, she thought.

Her father gripped her wrist. Rosemary stopped what she was doing. Waited.

‘Don’t make him wait too long, Rosie,’ he said.

‘I won’t.’ She made her voice light. Little did he know. Alec wasn’t waiting for her to return to Copenhagen. He was waiting for her to say yes to Seattle, to say yes to them. Which was, apparently, one and the same thing.
But not for me
, she thought. As she’d already realised. It was the wrong question. And both questions might need a different answer.

He relaxed his grip and she finished off. Put the razor in the bowl beside the bed to rinse it, took his blue flannel and gently wiped his face. It was perhaps the most intimate thing you could do for a man, shaving him. She still remembered when she was a girl, watching her father standing in front of the bathroom mirror, his face covered in shaving foam, sweeping the razor in confident strokes from neck to chin while she watched goggle-eyed, amazed he didn’t cut himself to shreds. She remembered the scent of that shaving foam too, it was here now in the bedroom, sweet and soapy, with a hint of lemon.