The Silk Merchant's Daughter (32 page)

He waved a tall woman across.

‘You are French?’ she said as she came over and held out her hand to Mark.

Nicole stepped forward. ‘I am French. I have a French passport.’

‘But you look …’

‘My mother was Vietnamese.’ She held out her hand with her passport in it. ‘Nicole Duval. I am looking for my sister, Sylvie Duval. She –’

‘She came on ahead,’ Mark interrupted. ‘She had a baby with her.’

‘Celeste. She wasn’t well.’

The nurse frowned. ‘I don’t recall the names. With insufficient sanitation and water, there are constant outbreaks of disease. I’ve seen too many babies.’

She turned to go but Nicole put out a hand to stop her.

‘Please. She has red hair. The baby. Reddish hair.’

The nurse shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

Nicole stared at the ground, feeling as if it was about to swallow her.

‘Hold on,’ the woman said.

Nicole glanced up and felt a flicker of hope when she saw the woman was frowning.

‘And blue eyes?’ she said. ‘Yes, I remember. So unusual.’

‘Is she alive? The baby?’ Nicole whispered.

‘Very much so, although it was touch and go. Her mother wanted to get her on to a ship that morning, but I told her without medical treatment the child would die. She was dehydrated so we kept her on a drip here.’

‘Sylvie Duval was not her –’

Mark touched her arm and interrupted again. ‘Do you know if they managed to get on a ship?’

‘There is a French ship sailing for Saigon today. It’s only recently docked. I believe she was hoping to get on that.’ She patted Nicole’s hand. ‘If you hurry you should catch up with your sister.’

‘How do we get tickets?’

‘You don’t, you go with your French passport. As long as there are spaces, you’ll be able to embark.’

By the time they found the French liner, Nicole felt so winded she could barely walk; the fever had drained her more than she’d realized. As she glanced around she saw the people at the dock now stood a dozen deep and the queues were still swelling with new arrivals. Frightened they might become separated, she gripped Mark’s arm as they approached a tent set up at the dockside to register evacuees. She showed her passport and was told to hurry as the ship would soon be sailing. But an argument developed as the French officer told
Mark he was required to board an American ship. Nicole’s heart plummeted as Mark waved her away.

‘Get on the ship,’ he said. ‘Quickly. Go on!’

She hesitated, but was being pushed forward by the people crowding behind her. She called out to Mark. ‘If we are separated, go to Paris. Find my father in Le Marais, Rue des Archives, or go to Lisa.’

People were now pushing past, grabbing at each other to gain a better place in the queue. She couldn’t stand to be separated from him again, not after everything they’d been through, and tried to hold back, but was forced to take a few steps as people surged forward, carrying her with them. She had no choice and began moving with the crowd.

As she slipped deeper into the throng of people waiting to board, the jostling became more desperate. She glanced around and saw she was not the only one close to tears; they were the lucky ones, the ones who would probably get away, but many would be left behind and she knew it was not only her world that was breaking. She gulped back her tears. She had no idea what might lie ahead and she would far rather have faced it with Mark, but if it was not to be, she would do it alone; her love for Celeste would drive her on. The wall of noise grew more frantic as people huddled in teeming ragged groups, barking orders at each other and endlessly counting to ensure all the family were together; their fractured voices revealed their terror of separation, their shadowy eyes showed their fatigue. People were carrying children, cases, bundles of clothes, even pots and pans.

When the narrow steps were just ahead of her, she took a deep breath. This was it. Once on the gangway there could be no going back.

‘Nicole!’ she heard Mark call.

She twisted her head and saw him squeezing past people,
who shouted out in frustration and anger. The feeling of relief hammered in her chest.

‘Typical Frenchman!’ he said. He paused and then had to yell to be heard. ‘He only let me through when I told him we’re to be married in a fortnight … so what do you say?’

A cheer broke out and, for that sweet moment, hope returned.

After about an hour, the ship began to slip away. Nicole stood on the deck with Mark and watched as the liner left the shores of Vietnam. Giddy with the bitter-sweet intensity of her feelings, she held on to Mark, and knew she’d never return. She had loved her country, but she was consoled by the knowledge that people mattered more. Her daughter, her sister and the man who would be her husband. She would never forget O-Lan’s generosity, but it was time to say the last farewell.

There were a huge number of people on board. Nearly two thousand, they found out later. But they had three days to look and if Sylvie was on the ship they would surely find her somewhere. It took several hours to locate anyone in authority, and as they searched they talked.

‘I wrote, you know, but didn’t hear back.’

‘I found two letters, with some money, but only recently. Sylvie had hidden them.’

‘Dear God, why? I feared you hadn’t received them but it didn’t occur to me that your sister might intercept them. And then it was months before I could get back to Vietnam. I did try to phone but it wasn’t easy.’

‘I think she disconnected the phone too.’

He shook his head. ‘I was so worried about you and the baby. I found our man in Moscow, but he was badly injured and that slowed our progress getting out of the country.’

The danger he must have been in while in Russia caught at
her throat and she clutched hold of his arm as if to stop them ever being ripped apart again.

When they finally caught up with a French officer, he told them a passenger list had been compiled as people boarded, and was now held below, but they couldn’t be absolutely sure of the accuracy. Only those with French passports or special clearance would be allowed to continue on from Saigon to France.

‘This ship does sail to France then?’ Nicole said as an immense feeling of hope swept through her.

‘Indeed. Why not come along to my office?’

They followed him down slippery metal stairways to a lower deck, and a drab room painted green, where he opened a ledger.

‘I’m looking for my sister, Sylvie Duval.’

‘Very well,’ the man said as he scrutinized the list.

Nicole could feel her nerves tighten. What if Sylvie was not on this ship?

After about ten minutes, during which time nobody spoke and the atmosphere was very strained, he stopped and tapped a name on the page. ‘Sylvie Duval and her child, Celeste.’

‘She said that? Her child?’

‘Yes, it’s here in black and white.’

Nicole showed her passport and also Celeste’s birth certificate with Mark’s name on it too. The man raised his brows. ‘So, not her child?’

‘No. Her niece. Do you know where they are on this ship?’

‘The ship isn’t policed but ask any of the women who are looking after children. They keep their eyes open. They’ll know more than anyone where people are to be found.’

Nicole felt dead on her feet, but still they went on. They would ask every single person on the ship if they had to. Mark forced her to eat the bread and soup provided free, and then they carried on looking.

A day and a half later, they got a lead.

A young French girl told Nicole that a woman and child answering the description had gone to the upper deck. They had needed air. The baby was pale and her mother thought the sea air might put the roses back in her cheeks.

As they climbed to the deck, Nicole heard the seabirds screeching and the ship’s timbers creaking as the sea slid around them, a wild empty place that seemed to go on for ever. Worse even than the bottom of the river, it felt as if she’d reached the world’s end. She glanced up at a sky the colour of iron, and froze.

‘I’ll go first, shall I?’ Mark said.

Nicole saw at once that he was right. There was no knowing how Sylvie might react. She walked on, allowing him to lead the way. While below deck many were seasick, few had braved the icy winds above. A sailor was attempting to stack crates and another was staggering to keep his balance as he wound ropes to secure them. The rest of the crew had stayed safely below. Nicole struggled to remain upright and felt the thump of the water as it slammed against the sides of the boat. A wall of water surged over the railings. They both drew back and waited for it to subside. They scanned the deck. Nicole spotted Sylvie at the same moment Mark did. Elated by the mixture of hope and relief that poured through her, Nicole had to force herself to remain still by gripping the salty edge of a lifeboat.

Sylvie stood with her back to them, leaning on the railings and gazing out to sea, Celeste cradled in her arms.

‘Sylvie Duval,’ she heard Mark say. ‘Is it you?’

Nicole gasped at her sister’s ravaged face as she whipped round. Her clothing was ripped and her hair looked matted, as if it hadn’t been combed in days. A flurry of fearful thoughts flipped through Nicole’s mind.

‘How are you?’ he said.

Sylvie stared at him. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Going to Saigon and then France. Like you, I imagine.’

Sylvie drew back and leant against the rails. Her eyes darted about as he took a step forward and then she turned back to the ocean again. For a horrible, terrifying moment Nicole pictured Sylvie dropping her baby into the water. The fear felt so real she almost shouted out, but instead tightened her grip on the lifeboat until the skin of her knuckles turned blue.

Mark stepped closer. ‘Would it be all right if I held Celeste?’

Sylvie glanced round and Nicole immediately saw there was something really wrong with her sister. Her expression was blank as if she were looking with sightless eyes.

‘I promise I won’t hurt her.’

‘I’m looking after her.’ Sylvie glanced over the rails at the sea again, then passed the child to Mark.

‘Thank you.’ He stepped away from the rails.

Sylvie followed him. ‘She has been ill, but she’s better now.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. But you don’t look too well, Sylvie.’

Nicole could bear it no longer, and stepped towards them. Sylvie seemed startled by the sound and spun round.

‘I looked after her. I promise.’

Nicole went closer. ‘I know you did. It’s all right. We’re here now.’

The air, drenched with the smell of salt and fish, hit the back of Nicole’s throat. Her confidence wavered and she felt as if she was being pulled into the ocean surrounding them. She squeezed her eyes shut and dragged herself out of it.

Sylvie frowned. ‘I don’t seem to be able to remember …’

The tone of her voice had been neutral and Nicole took another few steps towards her sister. Then she halted, horrified by something inexplicable in Sylvie’s hazel eyes.

‘Come on,’ she said to Sylvie. ‘Come with me now. It’s all right.’

The silence hung between them, broken only by the
occasional shriek of a seabird. Nicole watched her sister’s face. Something was dreadfully wrong. Sylvie glanced away and then back at Nicole but did not move.

‘I looked after her.’

‘I know you did.’

Nicole couldn’t bear to see the despair in Sylvie’s eyes. She heard a rumble in the distance and fixed her own eyes on the clouds, holding on to such complex feelings she barely knew how to comprehend them. Despite everything that had gone on between them, she loved her sister and hated to see her so broken.

She turned from Sylvie for a moment and went over to Mark who, with a look of amazement on his face, was still cradling their daughter. She felt her heart flip at the sight of them together.

‘I didn’t know she would be so beautiful,’ he said, his voice hoarse with emotions she could only guess at.

She nodded and for a moment couldn’t speak.

‘Don’t you want to hold her?’ he said.

She swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘I do. More than anything in the world I do, but I’m shaking so much I think I might drop her.’

He held Celeste with one arm and put the other round her shoulders. ‘Come on. We’ll find somewhere to sit down on the lower deck. It’ll be safe there and you’ll be able to hold her for as long as you need.’

‘In a moment.’

As the sky turned even wilder the ocean heaved again and a cold rain began to fall. Nicole turned and went back for Sylvie, who was still standing in the exact same spot.

‘Come now, Sylvie,’ she said, holding out a hand. ‘You can’t stay out here. You’ll catch your death. Come with us.’

Nicole’s father lived in a top-floor flat in a crumbling gothic corner building in Le Marais, Paris. He’d bought it for the view, he said. So far above the street, he could see for miles and didn’t need to pay attention to what was going on below. Though his mobility wasn’t as limited as she had expected, Nicole was relieved that the cranky old lift still functioned. Standing on the balcony, she glanced down at the street. On the opposite corner stood a hairdresser’s salon but, in this area heavily frequented by prostitutes, that wasn’t what caught her attention: it was the extraordinarily bright hair colours of the women going in and out. Her father didn’t care. With his favourite cafe for his morning hot chocolate, a fresh food market on the next street, plus a boulangerie and a boucherie close by, he was content, which, considering his previous attachment to Vietnam, surprised Nicole. But this simple lifestyle seemed to suit him and his health had improved.

With the help of an excellent Parisian doctor, Nicole’s health was now completely restored. It had taken longer than she’d expected, but Mark had always maintained she’d underestimated how ill she’d been after that perilous journey south, and how vulnerable she’d been after her time in prison. She leant on the intricate filigree railings surrounding the balcony and gazed at Paris, wanting to fasten the image in her mind.

‘Mama,’ a voice called out, and Celeste came racing out after a ball, the strawberry-blonde curls tumbling around her face, her blue eyes sparkling.

‘What have I said about playing ball out here?’

She looked so thoroughly at ease, so happy and pleased with herself, and luckily seemed to remember nothing of the past. Nicole laughed, picked her up and swung her round. Celeste loved it and begged for more, but it was time.

‘Go and play with Grandpapa. I must finish packing.’

Celeste ran back into their sitting room and her grandfather helped her clamber on to his lap where she blew kisses at him. Nicole followed her daughter through.

‘I shall miss you, little one,’ her father said as he kissed the child’s cheek.

‘You will visit us,’ Nicole said.

She didn’t blame him for the past now. What would be the point? They had all made mistakes – some dreadful ones – and, not without tears, they had sorted out most of their differences.

‘I will miss you too, Nicole,’ he said.

‘
Moi aussi, Papa
.’

‘Will you speak French to Celeste?’ he said. ‘Not just English?’

She nodded and glanced at her watch.

Mark would be arriving soon and they planned to head south to visit Lisa at her little house in Narbonne. Nicole felt a thrill of anticipation at the thought of being with her old friend again after all this time. After that, a flight to London, and then on to Washington in the USA. Mark’s new job in security, thankfully not as a member of the CIA, gave Nicole the financial support to launch her fledgling silk business; she was already working with a Parisian fashion house.

The door bell sounded and her father spoke into the grille. Mark had been incredible since they’d caught up with Sylvie on the ship, though at times Nicole had thought they’d never make it home, especially when Sylvie appeared to sink into
a terrible internal darkness and had remained silent throughout the voyage. Nicole sighed at the memory. The fact that Sylvie was now receiving treatment for the emotional problems that had, since childhood, dogged her life, had to be a good thing, but it was distressing that Sylvie now lived in a long-term hospital. They all prayed for her recovery. And before leaving for the south, Nicole had decided to take Celeste to visit her aunt.

Sylvie was living a few kilometres from Saint-Cloud, and about fifteen kilometres from the centre of Paris. As châteaux went, this one was not so grand, and had been used as a residential hospital for some time, but as you approached along the curling wooded driveway, you could see it still retained an aura of charm. From her previous visits, Nicole knew that the shabby interior, with its dusty rooms and neglected air, didn’t bother Sylvie. This peaceful, spacious building was just what her sister needed.

Nicole had arranged to meet Sylvie outside and as she, Mark and Celeste made their way round the side of the building to the back, they passed a few people sitting at tables quietly reading, and others dozing in the sunshine. A large terrace extended right across the back of the château, overlooking lawns and flower beds now looking wintery and bare. She couldn’t see Sylvie at first, then spotted her sitting on a bench fronting a small lake, about fifty metres away. All alone.

Feeling taut inside, Nicole stood for a moment, struggling with her mixed emotions: the fear of what Sylvie might yet do if she reached a vanishing point, but also huge relief that her sister was, at least, still there.

With her back to them Sylvie didn’t hear their footsteps as they swung Celeste between them. The child had been warned not to be noisy and it was amusing to watch her attempting to
suppress her glee at seeing her aunt again. When they were within ten metres of Sylvie, Celeste pointed at her. They let her go and she raced across to Sylvie, who lifted her up and hugged her.

Then she turned, nodded at Nicole and put Celeste down again. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘I have some bread in this bag. Why don’t you feed the ducks while I talk to Mummy? Your daddy will go with you.’

The breeze got up and a gust ruffled the surface of the water. Celeste reached up for the bag, then Mark took her hand and they wandered down to the water’s edge. With plenty of ducks bobbing about, Celeste chattered excitedly as she picked out her special favourite.

‘How are you?’ Nicole said, and held out her arms to her sister, who looked aged by fatigue and despair.

They embraced briefly.

‘Will you sit?’ Sylvie said.

Beyond the lake the wind whipped up the fallen leaves of the oak trees. While Nicole felt Sylvie slip in and out of the past, they sat in silence. Celeste and Mark were still laughing at the ducks and the sight filled her with love, but she didn’t know how to make this meeting with Sylvie bearable.

‘So you are going to America?’ Sylvie said, and glanced at her hands where they lay folded in her lap. Quiet, obedient hands, that gave no hint of the turmoil she had been going through. Her nails were clipped short, as was her hair.

‘It’s for the best. And when you are well I want you to come and stay.’

Sylvie sighed and the tension between them softened. ‘Maybe.’

‘So how are you? You didn’t say.’

As if waking from a trance, Sylvie drew back her shoulders and gazed around her. ‘I’m not sure. At times I feel quite mad,
and it’s hard to sort what happened from pure imagination. But other times I feel happier and calmer than I ever have. Being here is good.’

‘It must be hard, though.’

‘It is hard to look at oneself clearly.’

Their eyes met and at that moment a rare glimpse into her sister’s soul shook Nicole. ‘You like to sit here close to the lake?’

‘I love the water.’ Sylvie paused, hesitated for a moment longer, frowned and brushed off a fly that had landed on her knee. ‘What about you? Do you still dream of drowning?’

Nicole felt the cold on her cheeks and realized she was intensely aware of her sister’s every move. ‘Not so often now.’

‘You must be happy.’

She noticed an odd expression on Sylvie’s face, a reckless look that disturbed her.

‘I have something I need to say,’ Sylvie said. ‘It’s about Huế. It was my idea to go out in the boat, not yours. I lied and told them it was you. I’m sorry.’

‘It doesn’t matter now.’

Sylvie grew agitated and began to rub her hands together. ‘Everything matters. Don’t you see? Some things have to be said. It’s what I’m learning. All the things I thought didn’t matter … well they do. And I’m sorry.’

There was a short, uncomfortable silence.

‘It was my idea that you should jump into the water too.’

Nicole felt a chill as her sister spoke. After all this time, to hear Sylvie admit that she had wanted her to drown was more than she could bear.

‘I knew it was deep.’

‘Sylvie, I’m not sure I … you don’t have to do this.’

‘I do. I wanted to maintain the illusion that you were the one who always caused the problems.’

They both stared at the lake and watched a gull skim across the water.

‘Do they remind you of Huế? The gulls?’ Sylvie said.

That day came racing back. Nicole could see the sun spanning the entire horizon and the stream of silvery bubbles of her breath. The terrifying feeling of sinking had never diminished and she felt the heat of tears pricking her lids.

‘You wanted me to drown.’

Wide-eyed with shock, Sylvie shook her head. ‘No. Did you think that? Really, no. You mustn’t cry.’

Nicole frowned, feeling uncertain. Sylvie reached for her hand.

‘Nicole, I tried to save you. As soon as I saw you were in trouble, I jumped in too. I held on to one of the boat’s ropes with one hand and kept on trying to reach you with the other. I wanted you to see that I was there and that you weren’t on your own.’

‘When I dream of it I always see your face. I thought …’

Nicole gulped and there was a slight pause as she listened to Celeste’s happy shrieks and her laughter at the ducks squabbling over bread.

‘I thought you pushed me under.’

Sylvie seemed to fold in on herself.

‘Are you all right?’

Sylvie nodded. ‘I couldn’t reach you, so I screamed for help. A fisherman dived down. When he brought you up I thought you were dead. He pumped your chest, you spluttered, water spurted out and, thank God, you were alive. But when I think of what so nearly happened …’

Nicole could hardly take it in.

‘I would never have forgiven myself.’

‘I thought you wanted me dead.’

‘I resented you, yes, but never that. I was so frightened. I
knew it was my fault but I lied about the whole thing. Told Papa it was all your idea. Told him I’d said we mustn’t jump in. I’m so sorry.’

Nicole warmed Sylvie’s icy-cold hand in her own.

‘It’s in the past. I’m glad you told me, but let’s leave it back there now, shall we?’

Sylvie nodded. ‘I miss it, you know. Hanoi. Huế. Our old life together.’

‘I miss it too.’

Sylvie’s face dissolved and for a moment it looked as if she would collapse into tears, but then the old Sylvie came through and she held up her head. ‘We have to carry on, right?’

Nicole reached for her other hand too and her sister gave her a bleak smile.

‘I wanted to secure my place in the world back then. It seemed to be the only thing that mattered.’ She let go of Nicole’s hands and reached for a brown leather-bound book lying beside her on the bench. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Take this with you. It will tell you everything you need to know.’

‘About?’

‘About you. And me. Our childhood. How it was when our mother was alive. I want you to know everything. I never could bear to share her before.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I want you to have it.’ As she passed the book to Nicole, her hands were trembling.

At that moment Mark and Celeste came up to the bench. The sisters both stood.

‘I think we should be heading off now that Celeste is flagging,’ Mark said, and held out a hand to Sylvie. She took it, squeezed, then let go.

‘Will you come round to the front to wave us off?’ Nicole asked.

Sylvie shook her head. ‘I find goodbyes too difficult.’

The sisters hugged again and then Sylvie picked up Celeste, kissed both her cheeks and, with unshed tears in her eyes, put the child down.

‘We will see you,’ Nicole said.

They began to walk away but as they neared the house Nicole twisted round to gaze at the figure of her sister still in exactly the same position as they had left her. In air that smelt of wintery dampness and smoke, Sylvie raised a hand and waved, looking so terribly alone it was all Nicole could do to stop herself rushing back and gathering her in her arms.

As they left the château behind, Nicole gazed out of the car window and thought of Vietnam. After the fall of the French garrison at Dien Bien Phu on 8 May 1954, the Geneva Accord was finally signed in July the same year. People in Paris asked them how they had lived their lives back then. How could they live not knowing if they were going to die? How could day follow day? Meal follow meal? Sleep follow sleep? She would tell them you did what you had to. Just as they’d had to in Paris during the German occupation.

But she was so glad they had decided against returning to Saigon since, as part of the Geneva agreement, the country had been divided into North and South Vietnam. The Vietminh, now known as the Vietcong, were in power in the north, but a battle was brewing for control of the south. When it came, and she and Mark were both certain it would, the war would be between the communists in the north and the Americans. But Vietnam would always be part of Nicole, and it devastated her to think there might be more bloodshed.

She thought of their lovely old house beside the Perfume River in Huế. The river was deeper in colour in her memory than it was in reality, but in her mind she was still watching
the birds fly over the river; back and forth they went, ducking and diving. And Lisa was still sitting on the back steps lighting a Gauloise. The happiest and the saddest of times. For her it would always be the most beautiful place on earth.

Over time, though the rest of what happened in Vietnam would not be forgotten, it would be laid to rest. It had to be if they were to move on with their lives. It hadn’t been easy for those who were left behind, and stories reached them about how the people were now learning what it meant to live under the yoke of rigid communism. She prayed O-Lan was safe.

So who was she now?

She was Nicole Jenson Duval, half Vietnamese, half French, married to a Russian-American and, at last, no longer searching for where she belonged. In the end she didn’t have to choose one part of herself over the other, as she once thought she’d be forced to. Soon her thoroughly mixed-race daughter would live in America. She crossed her fingers and hoped the world would change enough so that her daughter would never be faced with having to make that kind of choice either.