The Silk Merchant's Daughter (29 page)

‘I need to decide the best way to get her out in a hurry. Saigon maybe? What do you think?’

As Sylvie was about to reply, the lights went out.

Nicole spun round. What did it mean? Were the Vietminh in the city? Had they blown up the electricity generators?

‘Here, take Celeste, I’ll go down to the basement.’

She imagined the entire city in darkness and men and women in black sneaking through the streets. The houses either side of them were empty now and there would be nobody they could trust. She held on to her nerve and looked for the torch they always kept in the hall. When she reached the electricity cupboard, she found a fuse had blown. That was
all. She sorted it out and, as the light came on again, she glanced at the old brick wall where the phone cable should enter the house. Something didn’t look right. She pulled away a board that had been resting against the wall and concealing the cable. The trouble with the phone didn’t seem to be at the exchange at all. Nicole made a mental note to get hold of an engineer in the morning. The line looked as if it had been accidentally disconnected.

For some time after Sylvie’s prediction of impending doom, nothing seemed to come of it. There was a brief lull and all the talk in the papers insisted morale had improved. Despite fierce fighting and heavy casualties, French troops could still gain an advantage, they said. The headlines continually demanded aid, and more American intervention, which had eventually come.

But it was hard to get hold of accurate information and the atmosphere in the streets had grown tense. Nicole longed for the oblivion of sleep but couldn’t drop off for worrying about Mark. She tried talking herself out of it but as each night went on too long she felt that her heart might break. When she looked in the mirror in the mornings the purple shadows under her eyes revealed the strain. Despite attacks and counter-attacks, French successes were few. Bad news followed bad news and panic hit Hanoi. Nicole hated waiting, hated the terrible feeling of not being able to do anything and having no control over what lay ahead. And during one impossible night she decided to wait no longer. Whatever Sylvie said, it was long past the time to go.

She decided to look through her father’s filing cabinet for anything they might need to take with them. At first there seemed to be nothing useful, but then she noticed an unmarked file. She opened the file and found two envelopes addressed to her, plus three of her own letters to Mark that hadn’t been posted. Though reeling from the physical pain in her chest, she managed to hold herself together. Both envelopes
addressed to her had already been opened. She withdrew a wad of dollars and a single sheet of white paper, dated 6 February, just after Celeste was born. In this letter Mark told her how overjoyed he was about the baby and how much he longed to see them both. She could hear his voice. Actually hear it. Almost overcome with emotion, she read on – he told her he wanted her to keep safe, and he suggested it was time to sell up. She drew out the second letter, dated 5 March. Here he told her he couldn’t wait until they could be together again but didn’t understand why she’d stopped writing. He hoped it was because she’d already left for France, but insisted that if she hadn’t already left, she should wait no longer and go ahead without him immediately. There was no point delaying. He repeated that Lisa was living in Narbonne and had scribbled the address again.

Nicole felt as if she might pass out with the relief of knowing he was still alive – or had been, at least, in March.

He went on to say that as he was constantly on the move he was unable to leave an address but that she was to let him know where she was via the embassy. At the end he told her that he loved her and begged her not to forget that. She held the letter to her heart: as if she could ever forget.

But it could only be the briefest moment of joy because an instant later the truth hit her. When the intensity ebbed away she was left with a feeling of shock and a growing knot of anger in her throat. How could her sister have been so cruel? She slammed her palm against her forehead and tried to think clearly. After a moment she went up to her room, hid her passport and Celeste’s birth certificate under a loose floorboard, along with the money, and covered the board with her rug.

Determined to confront Sylvie over the letters the moment her sister came home, she paced back and forth. She had so wanted the reconciliation with Sylvie to be real, especially
after her sister had been so wonderful at the birth, but was furious with herself for having believed things would ever change. Now she must save herself and her daughter. Nothing else mattered.

She tried to find out Mark’s whereabouts through the old CIA office, calling on the few clerical officers who remained on the second floor of the Métropole. Nobody could tell her anything and they hadn’t any news of Mark. She gathered what she could to sell at an impromptu market that had sprung up in the heart of town; the more money she could raise, the better chance they’d have. Everyone was selling anything portable so she took the black mother-of-pearl tray they used to keep in the hall. It sold for peanuts. After that she successfully sold their collection of blue and white fifteenth-century Vietnamese pottery. Then she piled silk lampshades, jewellery and whatever else she could lay her hands on into the pram with Celeste before wheeling it to the market. She did it without nostalgia; only at a time of peace could there be the luxury of time and space for looking back.

When Sylvie returned that evening she barged into Nicole’s room looking as if she’d run up all the stairs from the kitchen in the basement.

‘What have you been doing? Everything’s gone.’

Nicole was lying on her bed trying to read, the baby asleep at her side. She stared at Sylvie, closed the book and sat up. ‘Don’t wake Celeste.’

Sylvie frowned and seemed to find it difficult to keep still.

‘Why are you so jumpy? Can’t you see it’s what the whole of Hanoi is doing? I told you we should liquidate everything while we had a chance. Mark said it too.’ Nicole rose to her feet, but carefully, so as not to disturb Celeste, then drew herself up to her full height. ‘Why did you hide his letters, and mine to him?’

Sylvie took a step back but didn’t speak. To her astonishment,
Nicole noticed her sister’s trembling lips and eyes so wide they looked as if they belonged to somebody else.

‘Sylvie?’

Her sister looked as if she was about to launch an attack, but instead staggered back and seemed to deflate. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking pale and drawn.

Nicole tried to control her temper but what Sylvie had done was unforgiveable. ‘For heaven’s sake, Sylvie. You know how much I was longing to hear from Mark. How terrified I was that he was already dead. How could you do that to me?’

When Sylvie didn’t speak, Nicole wanted to shake her. Instead she folded her arms and waited.

‘I felt left out,’ Sylvie whispered.

‘
You
felt left out? I’ve felt left out all my life. You and Papa made sure of that.’

Sylvie looked up. ‘I know …’

The moment went on as they stared at each other. Closeted together with Sylvie like this, Nicole became more aware of her sister’s unravelling.

‘I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have done any of it.’

Sylvie began to weep and beneath her sobs the semi-coherent words struck at Nicole’s heart. What else had her sister done?

Sylvie wiped her eyes with her sleeve. ‘After Mark came to see you, I felt awful. You didn’t need me. Nobody needed me.’

‘You weren’t left out. You must know how good you’ve been with Celeste.’

‘I felt I’d lost everything. Our business, our old life … Mark.’ She paused, her eyes filled again, then she bent over, holding her head in her hands.

‘You wanted to destroy my relationship with Mark?’ Nicole said with a break in her voice.

Sylvie shook her head as she looked up. ‘I don’t know what’s happening. Sometimes I feel like I’m disintegrating. As if little
bits of me are breaking off. I was frightened I was going to lose you and Celeste too. You said it yourself, you and Mark might have gone to live in America.’

As the tears rolled down Sylvie’s pinched cheeks, she looked vulnerable and so touched by sadness that Nicole couldn’t hold on to her anger.

‘Oh, Sylvie. Why did you do it?’

Sylvie shook her head from side to side.

‘It didn’t have to be like this. You wouldn’t have lost me or Celeste. She adores you. We would always have been in your life.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Of course. You’re her only aunt. You were there when she was born. That means something. Think how much she chuckles when she’s with you. But now, Sylvie, how can I ever put my faith in you? You must see what you’ve done.’

Sylvie gave a small nod. ‘I feel so alone. I always have. And the world is so dangerous now. I feel it coming in on me and I’m frightened.’

‘But you’re not alone. You were never alone. Now come on, dry your eyes. We have to plan what to do.’

‘I’m sorry, Nicole. I sometimes feel as if I don’t know what I’m doing. Like there’s someone else inside me.’

Nicole held out her arms. Sylvie stood up and, as they hugged each other, Nicole felt her sister’s heart thumping and her chest heaving with sobs. It seemed as if Sylvie’s heart might break. Struck by her sister’s remorse, Nicole wanted to believe her and it was clear Sylvie was struggling, but the fragile trust between them had been damaged. She wanted to leave right away with Celeste and wait for Mark in France, but how could she abandon Sylvie in this state? They’d have to leave together. And, even if she wanted to, how could she choose between her sister and the man she loved?

While Sylvie left to try to get them a passage out of Hanoi, Nicole went to the Cercle Sportif, the sporting and social club that had always been such a pillar of their French colonial society. There were often soldiers at the pool and it was the best place to pick up the real news while they were off guard. With the baby in the pram, she walked there. The temperature was rising and soon Hanoi would be sweltering. Consumed by anxiety, Nicole glanced up to check the sky; there was always a chance of rain or drizzle at any time. A few heavy black clouds lurked in the north, but with a bit of luck they wouldn’t reach the city. Far worse than the clouds was the increase in the number of planes circling overhead.

Nicole asked the attendant to keep an eye on the baby while she swam a couple of lengths. Afterwards she lay in the weak sunshine to dry off, watching the army officers whoop and splash as if there was nothing to worry about. When they got out one of them looked at her with narrowed eyes and offered her a cigarette.

‘Thanks, but no.’

‘Your baby? Or are you a nanny?’

‘My baby.’

‘You don’t wear a wedding ring.’

‘I don’t,’ she said, feeling defensive.

‘Would you like to come to my place for a drink?’ he said with an eager look. ‘You can bring the baby.’

She looked at him: one of those empty, facile men who think they’re doing you a favour with their interest. ‘No thanks.’

‘Well, do you mind if I sit with you?’

She shrugged. ‘I’ll be heading home in a few minutes.’

He pulled up a chair and threw himself into it. ‘Lord, but I’m tired!’

She sized him up. ‘How’s it going at Dien Bien Phu?’

He drew on his cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. ‘I’ve come back for treatment. Had an infected injury.’

‘So what’s it like out there?’

‘The enemy have thousands of peasants who drag supplies and machinery through impossible mountain ranges. Things aren’t going our way. I’d say it’s only a matter of days.’

‘We’re going to lose the war?’ she asked.

He sighed deeply and reached out a hand to touch her arm.

Nicole flinched.

‘Good God, girl!’ he said, and touched her ringless finger. ‘You surely can’t be fussy. I could get you a flight to Saigon for your trouble.’

‘I’d rather pay.’

He laughed. ‘You mean it, don’t you?’

She nodded. ‘I’ll need two.’

‘Well, I admire your spirit, but the price is high.’ He told her how much and scribbled his name on a scrap of paper. ‘If you decide you want them, call at the Métropole early tomorrow morning with the money. I’ll have tickets for you on the midday flight.’

‘Thank you.’

Though she had expected it, she felt sick at the knowledge that the French were now facing certain defeat. She believed the Vietnamese had the right to govern themselves, but would have preferred a graceful acceptance by the French and a dignified retreat, followed by a peaceful handover of power, like the British in India. She knew things hadn’t gone well during the partition and many blamed the British, but why such a long drawn-out battle here? And a war that had been so hungry for rape and murder. Or were all wars like that? Once civilizing restraints were no longer in place, anything seemed to be fair game, no matter how cruel.

As she imagined how it would feel to leave the country she
loved, she thought of her journey after escaping the camp – how she’d travelled down through the tiny hamlets in the north on her own, how in the open she’d been forced to cross narrow bridges over mountain streams and how she’d scratched around for food and shelter in abandoned villages. Though she had been frightened most of the time, she’d seen the rural beauty of the north in a way she could never have imagined, and the trees, so many trees in a million shades of green.

She thought of Huế. It was still her favourite place in the world. She so wanted to give her daughter the kind of experiences she’d had when they’d lived by the river. Apart from one, of course. She thought of the way she used to watch the water and sky turn purple at night and smiled at the memory of spying on the robed monks chanting at their tiered octagonal temple overlooking the Perfume River. They never noticed her there – or if they did, they never let on.

The officer by her side stood up. ‘Anyway, I have to leave. Nice to meet you.’

Nicole prepared to leave too, and a little later she wheeled the pram round the lake, sniffing air smelling of water and flowers. She glanced around at the broad French streets and tree-lined boulevards and felt shaken by how much she had grown to love Hanoi’s gentle serenity. She went to the bank and found that Sylvie had already closed her shop’s business account.

It was time to feed Celeste, who was now wide awake and beginning to cry. Nicole put a palm to the baby’s forehead. She felt too hot. Once they reached the house the clouds had blackened and the beginning of a storm was rolling over, setting off the hundreds of city dogs, whose howls would continue to echo long after the storm was spent. At home, the house was silent. Nicole prised up the floorboard, gathered together the
cash, her passport and Celeste’s birth certificate, and added them to her purse with the money from selling off the family belongings. She stuffed some nappies and some of Celeste’s clothes into an already half-packed carpet bag and left it in the hall while she waited for Sylvie.

Luckily the storm passed quickly. At teatime, after Celeste had been changed – the little girl didn’t seem to be hungry – Nicole wheeled the pram out through the conservatory to a sheltered spot under an old apple tree, hoping the fresh early-evening air might help her daughter feel better. The sun had come out and it was a little bit brighter.