The Perilous Life of Jade Yeo (9 page)

Margery, on the other hand, is thoroughly
sensible—gets dirt in her toenails, and pens caught in her hair—so
we understand each other. I do need people to be rooted in the
earth. It must be a legacy of my sensible upbringing. I like
artists but feel rather suspicious of them, and do not know what to
make of it when they go spinning off into the higher reaches of the
atmosphere.

When I said, trying to sound as if it were a
joke, "But what shall I do without you?" Margery's eyes went round
and moist like a spaniel's.

"Oh but Jade, you said you liked this place,"
she protested. "You chose it yourself."

"You have been far too convincing," I said.
"You have persuaded me that it is a hole. And now you are going
away—to the seaside, I suppose!"

"Cordelia did say we might go to the
seaside," said Margery.

"You will sit on the pebbles in a woollen
bathing suit and a cap and gaze at the sea through a telescope and
eat chips," I said. "And never a thought for your abandoned friend!
I will shut myself up in my room and go in for becoming an
immortal. With you gone I shall have so much time to kill that I'll
be forced to grow a beard and discern the secrets of the Tao to
entertain myself, and you'll be sorry that you did not stick around
to hear it."

"I hope you grow a very long beard indeed,"
said Margery unrepentantly. "I shall send you a postcard from
Brighton."

But just now there was a knock on my door and
Margery came in, looking soft and curly and sad. She said,

"Jade, you will not really miss me too
dreadfully? After all I have been such a bother to you. I will
write—I'll write every week—and I'll send you starfish for your
room if I can find them."

I felt so guilty! I hugged her and told her I
didn't mean it really.

"I was just being beastly because of my
overweening envy. I hope you do eat lots of chips, and wear a
fetching bathing suit, and lie on the beach for as long as you can
without getting pneumonia."

But she still looked wistful.

"You will not really be lonely?" she said.
"Could you not write to your friend? The nice editor you told me
about."

That gave me more than a twinge around the
heart, so I think I have overestimated the rate of my recovery. But
I tried to look cheerful.

"Oh, I shan't need to," I said. "I have lots
to divert me. You aren't to worry about me at all. I should hate to
think of you dripping tears into your kippers on my account."

Then she was satisfied and went away, saying
she would not interrupt the workings of genius. I'll admit it: I
sat down and cried. But I didn't do it for more than half an hour,
and I think it did me good. I wish I were out of love—past caring.
When Margery asked me what love was like I ought to have told her
the truth: it's just the most damnable thing.

It is eleven o'clock at night and I have
crept to an armchair to write this surreptitiously. I love the
feeling of writing in a dark room. One feels like a quiet busy rat,
going about its business behind the walls while the humans slumber
in their beds.

How cold it is! And it is April. But soon
spring will start tapping on the window, thinking of coming in—then
May—then warmth, and sunshine again.

I am so happy! Why do my feet and hands not
glow with it, why is my hair is not all a-frizz with joy? I feel
reborn—newly washed—leagues away from the wailing old misery I was
yesterday. Let me try to recount this day in full, so that when I
am old and my knees ache, I can read this to cheer myself up.

It was a grey day this morning. I opened my
eyes and saw the window silver-beaded with rain. And it kept
raining as I dressed and went down to breakfast, and went right on
after: a miserly persevering plip-plip-plip, nothing like a proper
tropical thunderstorm.

I prefer a storm with some self-respect, one
that puts its back into storming. At home you could expect thunder
like God rolling barrels across the floor of heaven, and rain like
spears that knocked trees over and destroyed gardens.

I sat in my chair in the thin grey light and
tried to distract myself with Anne Bronte, hating everyone. Margery
for going away, and Ravi for making me love him, and my parents for
being tiresomely attached to the idea of my marrying Ng Wai Cheong,
and Hardie for implanting me with the worm, and Diana for not
hating me. And my poor wormlet most of all, for numerous sins, none
of which were in the least its fault.

I was in no mood to see my visitor when Miss
Thompson told me I had one. I must have looked terrifically
lowering when I dragged myself to the drawing room, holding
Agnes Grey
like a shield. I thought it must be Hardie or
Diana, and rather fancied the idea of hurling the book at them.

I didn't think it would be Ravi.

"Have you ever read David Copperfield?" I
said, when I had got my breath back and he had helped me up. "Do
you know the part where he goes to see his aunt, and Miss Betsey
sits right down on the gravel path because she is so surprised? I
was just thinking what an education Dickens is. If I hadn't read
him I wouldn't have known that people sat down in times of
astonishment, and I might have thought that there was something
wrong with my knees. However, as it is, I know I am perfectly
normal. It is a great comfort."

Ravi was looking into my face. He looked as
if he had found a cold drowned cat crying on his doorstep.

"Your friend Margery Hargreve told me you
were here," he said. "I'm sorry I did not find you earlier. Jade,
will you come away with me?"

"Please," I said. My throat ached. I felt as
if there were a rock lodged in my chest, pressing against my ribs.
"Ravi—I have been so unhappy!"

"Let's get you away first," said Ravi.

After that he didn't say much, but was very
efficient. I packed a bag of things I would need for the night, and
then I crept down the stairs to the gate, where Ravi had a car
waiting. As I jumped in and the motor started I saw Mrs. Crowther
gaping at me from a window on the first floor. I waved, and we were
off.

It is a bit silly now I think about it,
because of course nobody was keeping me there and there was no need
to stage any sort of escape. But it felt wonderfully liberating at
the time. And I shan't go back, though Hardie has paid Mrs.
Crowther a six-month advance for my keep. I expect he can afford to
write off the loss.

"I have something to say to you," Ravi said
when we were safely on the road.

He paused.

"I know you would never say something you did
not mean, or do anything you did not want to do," he said. "But
perhaps it's worth saying that you do not need to say yes, or give
me your reply straight away. At the same time, I hope you will
consider it. I think it might be the best solution, if you could
bring yourself to do it."

"What are you going on about?" I said.

"I'm getting to that, Impatience," said Ravi.
"Jade—Geok Huay—will you marry me?"

How do I describe what I felt then? I felt as
if my heart had climbed out of my chest and gone a-roaming. I felt
as if my spirit had leapt out of me, leaving me rudderless. A great
empty space floated under my ribs, hollowed out by shock.

I said, "What did you say?"

Ravi was glaring furiously at the road.

"Don't reply at once," he said. "Think about
it. I know it's not what you want, and you deserve better. But I
would help you as much as you let me, and be a father to your
child. You wouldn't have to live alone. I know how you must be
feeling, but—"

"I'm going to have Hardie's child," I said,
too loudly. I swallowed. "I should have told you. I'm sorry."

Ravi blinked. He pulled over to the side of
the narrow road and turned to me.

"I know," he said.

"You know?"

"This is not a very gallant thing to say,"
said Ravi. "But Jade, you're .... "

He couldn't bring himself to say it, so I
said it for him:

"I'm the approximate size of St. Paul's
Cathedral?"

"And I knew before I saw you," said Ravi.
"Miss Hargreve wrote to me saying she thought you needed a friend,
and that I ought to come to visit you since she was leaving Mrs.
Crowther's. It didn't take me long to work out why you were at Mrs.
Crowther's. I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me, after what
happened the last time. But I had to try."

"Is that why you're proposing?" I said.
"Because you knew about this?" I gestured down at my belly, which
for some time now had introduced a pronounced irregularity in my
figure.

"Well—" said Ravi. "Jade. May I take your
hand?"

I gave him my hand mutely. He held it flat
against his palm and looked down at it.

"You know I love you," he said. "I should
like to look after you and your child, if you would let me. But I
promise I would never expect anything more than friendship from
you. I think we could rub along happily all the same. We are
friends, aren't we? Will you consider it?"

"You love me?" I said. "Did I know that?"

Ravi's eyebrows drew together.

"I thought you knew," he said.

"Did you tell me?" I said. "No, you didn't
tell me. I'm sure I would recall it if you had told me!"

"But—that day, when you came to see me at my
office," said Ravi. He looked confused, though he couldn't be any
more bewildered than I was. "I told you, I was thinking of letting
my parents arrange a marriage for me, since I hadn't had any luck
with my choice. I said I didn't mind being in love with you. I
thought you understood. You seemed sorry for me."

"I didn't understand a thing," I said.

It was beginning to dawn on me how very true
this was.

"But then why did you kiss me?" said
Ravi.

"Never mind that," I said, cheeks burning.
"If you liked me, why did you stop?"

"It wouldn't have been fair to you to take
advantage of your pity," said Ravi. "I knew you loved Hardie and he
had hurt you, so you were seeking comfort. I didn't feel I
could—"

"Oh, blast Hardie!" I roared. "Will you stop
talking about that confounded man? I don't give a fig for Hardie! I
shouldn't be sorry if I never saw him again!"

"What?" said Ravi.

"What?" said I.

We gazed at each other in wild surmise, like
stout Cortez's men on the peak in Darien. Then Ravi ran his hands
through his hair and sat back.

"You are having a baby," he said.

"I certainly hope it turns out to be a baby,"
I agreed.

"And it is Hardie's child."

"It can't very well be anyone else's," I
said. "Biologically speaking."

"But you didn't have an affair with him in
Paris, and he didn't drop you afterward."

"That is a nice way to talk about me," I said
indignantly. "As if I were a bit of paper to be dropped in the bin.
No, we did have an affair in Paris, but Hardie didn't drop me. He
wanted to go on as we were. It would've been part of his
arrangement with Diana—they have a very modern sort of marriage—but
I didn't like to. And I wouldn't have seen him anymore, except
socially, only then I found out the baby was going to come. So we
decided I should go to Mrs. Crowther's home to have the
baby—discreetly, you know."

"'We' decided?" said Ravi.

"Well, I did," I said. "They wanted me to
come to live with them, but can you imagine living with the
Hardies? Dinner parties every other day and having to remember
everyone's lovers' names?"

Ravi was still looking as if he'd been hit on
the head with a blunt object, but he started to grin at this.

"That would be a difficult life," he said.
"On the other hand, you'd be able to have tea at the Ritz every
day."

"You know me too well," I said sternly. "But
even that couldn't tempt me. You see, I like Diana, but Hardie is
such a cad."

"Is he?" said Ravi.

"He's a well-meaning cad," I said. "And he's
been decent enough to me. But that doesn't absolve him of
caddishness. Don't you think he's a cad?"

"The thought has crossed my mind before,"
Ravi admitted. "But why did you have an affair with him if you
thought so?"

I looked down at my hands, folded meekly on
top of the slumbering worm.

"I was just so curious," I said. "I wanted to
know what it would be like. And he is awfully good-looking, you
know. I am sorry, Ravi. You must be shocked at my lack of moral
fibre."

Ravi's mouth worked. Then he started
laughing.

"I have got hold of entirely the wrong end of
the stick, I see," he said. "You've got it all sorted out."

"I thought I did," I said glumly. "But I was
really horribly unhappy at that beastly home. I didn't know a
person could be so unhappy. I was so glad to see you. It was like
the sun coming out after rain. I suppose .... are you cross at me,
Ravi?"

"Why would I be?" said Ravi.

"Oh, you know. For being such a fool."

"As far as I can make out, I'm the only fool
here," said Ravi.

"If you aren't cross at me, would you still
like to marry me?" I said. "I would like to marry you, if you're
sure you asked because you like me, and not just because you
thought I needed it, and wanted to save me. And if you are sure you
wouldn't mind about the baby. You must be sure you'd be kind to the
baby."

"Of course I'd be kind to the baby," said
Ravi. "I like babies. And your baby would be bound to be nicer than
any other baby."

I was pleased by this.

"I had suspected that myself," I
confided.

Ravi was pressing his fingers against his
forehead. "But Jade, I'm sorry—did you say you would like to marry
me?"

"Yes," I said. "Because I love you. That's
why I kissed you, if you must know. I don't kiss out of pity. I
only kiss people if they're good-looking, or if I'm in love with
them. Or both. You're both. Do you still love me?"