The Silk Merchant's Daughter (26 page)

Nicole glanced up as one of the kinder women guards came in. She smiled and unlocked the cage, then briskly removed the shackles and chains. But when Nicole stood up her legs felt too weak to bear her weight, her knees gave way and the woman was forced to hold her up. Feeling raw with fear, she shot the woman a puzzled look.

‘What’s happening? I must speak with Giraud.’

The woman put a finger to her lips. ‘No talking.’

She led Nicole through to the yard. With the assistance of another female guard she used a hose, a brush and some carbolic soap then scrubbed her red. Where her legs and wrists had been bitten by insects her stinging skin became almost intolerable, but at least she’d be clean again. She held on to that. Then a searing pain ripped across the small of her back. Her heart lurched: the baby wasn’t due until February so she shouldn’t be feeling this now.

She doubled up. ‘Oh God! The baby.’

The women guards exchanged looks and one fetched her a glass of water while the other gave her a stool to sit on.

Dazzled by the sunlight, Nicole shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted as she took the glass. The pain in her back passed but she’d felt so constricted it took a full minute before she could even drink, let alone stretch or breathe properly. When she had finished the water, one of the women handed her a pair of elasticated trousers and a smock.

‘I must speak to Giraud,’ Nicole said as they helped her climb into the trousers. ‘I have information.’

The woman shook her head before taking her through the prison and out of the front gate to the pavement beyond the high stone wall. Nicole felt terrified that this might be the day of her trial. If it was, it would be too late for anyone to help her. Next to the prison the equally daunting Palais de Justice towered, just the sight of it enough to make any unfortunate prisoner quake. Nicole closed her eyes and allowed the outside world to wash over her. Everything smelt so clean and, as the beautiful sound of people living their lives filtered through, she opened her eyes on streets that seemed to glow in the sunlight. She glanced up for a moment, longing to lose herself in the empty blue sky. She heard children laughing and turned her head to watch. She wanted to run over and hug them; tell them to live every precious moment. When she saw lovers passing by, as if in a movie, she pictured herself walking there with Mark and, aching with a loss too vast to bear, she wanted to cling to life. To feel. To love. To bring up her child. She felt that she’d tell Giraud anything. But she’d made her decision – it had taken her half the night to reach it – and she would only give him the name of the man with the knife. Her conscience would allow no more.

She heard a taxi draw up and turned to look. She stepped back in shock when her sister climbed out.

‘Get in, Nicole. Quickly, before they change their minds.’

Her knees buckled but Sylvie grabbed her and bundled her into the back of the car.

‘I’m taking you home,’ Sylvie said.

There was a moment’s dizzy silence while Nicole tried to take it in.

‘I’m sorry it took so long,’ Sylvie said. ‘I tried to get you out straight away. I’ve been so worried.’

‘I’m frightened I’m losing the baby.’

Sylvie reached out a hand. ‘I’ve already called a doctor to come to the house.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Nicole said. ‘How did you get me out?’

Sylvie smiled. ‘Giraud likes me and I also reminded him of certain information confirming the use of American cash to fund the African prostitutes.’

Feeling hot and dizzy, Nicole was barely listening. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’

‘Shall we stop the car?’

The wave of nausea passed and Nicole shook her head.

‘But not just that. Planting evidence too. The French High Commissioner has ordered a clean-up. Giraud is corrupt. We can easily prove a personal vendetta against you.’ Sylvie put an arm round Nicole. ‘Are you all right? They didn’t hurt you?’

Nicole leant her head against her sister’s shoulder and her tears began to fall. ‘They didn’t.’

‘Don’t cry. It’s over now.’

All Nicole could do was nod, the emotion of the moment too overwhelming for words.

‘Now we just have to make sure the baby is safe.’

Nicole began to cry again. ‘I don’t think it is. Something terrible has happened.’

‘I’m going to wind down the window. I think you need fresh air.’

With the window down, Nicole gazed in wonder at the golden buildings, at the trees rustling in the wind and at the elegant pavement cafes. They passed the Opera House, the Métropole Hotel, the villas overlooking the lake, the Louis Finot Museum. How beautiful Hanoi was. But where was Mark? He’d said maybe two weeks and she’d been in the prison for longer than that.

That evening Nicole inspected herself in the mirror, touched her transparent skin, ran her fingers over her cheeks, pulled at the dehydrated skin of her lips and picked up a comb to untangle her hair. Lifeless and dry, some fell out in small clumps. She scratched
her bitten legs and pulled on some loose trousers to cover them, embarrassed that Mark might see her looking like this.

Sylvie came into the room. ‘Now let’s get you properly dressed, shall we?’

‘I am properly dressed,’ Nicole said, but when she glanced down at her clothes, she saw her trousers were inside out.

‘Never mind.’

‘I don’t know what I could have been thinking,’ she said.

‘You’re very weak. It doesn’t matter.’

Why did she say that? Of course it mattered. It mattered that her relief at being free was tempered by guilt. It mattered that Mark wasn’t there. It mattered that some things you couldn’t undo, despite how hard you might wish otherwise. And it mattered that she had lied about Sylvie’s letter. Everything mattered. Every bloody thing.

‘Look, I bought you some lovely maternity clothes,’ Sylvie said, holding out an embroidered silk smock in her favourite shade of grey.

Nicole glanced at it and then up at her sister, surprised by the tender look on her face.

As Sylvie helped her change, Nicole watched her sister’s eyes. Neither of them said a word but they both listened as a fierce rain started up, hitting the windowpanes and splashing on the paving as it fell in a sheet from the eaves.

‘Just tell me the father of your baby isn’t your Vietminh boyfriend.’

Nicole stared at Sylvie. ‘The baby is Mark’s.’

Sylvie looked at the floor for a few seconds before looking up again. Nicole had never been sure what kind of face Sylvie was wearing, nor how to interpret what she saw. This time her sister’s face showed no emotion.

‘I see,’ was all she said.

The next day Nicole was lying on the sofa in the sitting room when Sylvie showed Mark in. Sylvie smiled at them both then left the room, closing the door carefully behind her. Nicole struggled to get to her feet but Mark held up a hand to stop her.

‘Stay put,’ he said and came straight across and knelt on the floor. As he took her hand, a lump grew in her throat and she could say nothing.

‘Oh my love, I’ve only just heard what happened. A friend at the embassy got wind of it and I managed to cadge a flight on one of those old French rust buckets.’

He wrapped his arms round her and she leant against him, the side of her cheek pressed against his, and they stayed that way for a few minutes. She sighed deeply, her relief at his presence so profound she still couldn’t find her voice. She never wanted him to stop holding her like this.

‘Sorry, I haven’t shaved,’ he said.

She didn’t care. He was there and that was all that mattered.

‘I could kill Giraud for what he’s done to you. Are you all right?’ He glanced at her stomach. ‘Is the baby –?’

‘I wasn’t sure yesterday. I had a terrible pain …’ She paused. ‘I was so frightened.’

He stroked her hair then pulled himself up to sit beside her. Leaning against him, she felt the thump of his heart against the palm of her hand.

He moved and held her at arm’s length for a moment in order to study her face. ‘Have you seen a doctor?’

‘Yesterday. He’s coming again tomorrow.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He didn’t really say anything about the baby except that he could hear a heartbeat.’

‘Well, that has to be good news. And you, what did he say about you?’

‘He took some blood and said he’d be back.’

‘Do you want to talk about what happened?’

She shook her head. She didn’t even want to think about it.

Mark stayed with her all afternoon and by the evening she was feeling a little better. But Sylvie seemed agitated and kept coming into the sitting room with odd questions as if she couldn’t quite leave them alone. Did they want tea? Were they hungry? Did they want the window open? In the end Mark suggested that maybe Sylvie could prepare a light supper for her sister, as Nicole ought to sleep.

That night Mark and Nicole lay together in one of the spare rooms. He touched her face gently and then kissed her on the lips.

‘I don’t want to do anything you can’t cope with,’ he said.

She smiled. ‘I’ll be fine.’

They made love gently and Nicole allowed the feelings to wash over her. He was an infinitely caring lover and she felt as if she was being rocked in the arms of the softest wave. When they had finished she lay close to him and listened as his chest rose and fell.

‘Are you okay?’ he said.

‘Better than before. But what happens next? How long can you stay?’

‘I leave in the morning.’

‘I don’t think I can bear it.’

‘I have to go. One of our agents has disappeared. We think he is somewhere in Moscow and I have to find him.’

‘But isn’t that terribly dangerous? What if they capture you?’ She felt his sigh go through her own body. ‘Mark?’

‘I won’t lie to you. It is dangerous, but I know what I’m doing. It’s you I’m worried about and as soon as you are well enough, we need to get you safely out of here.’

‘I’ll be all right here with Sylvie.’

‘She’s acting oddly, don’t you think?’

‘Well, she has only just found out that you’re the father of my baby.’

‘I’ll write,’ he said, ‘as often as I can. And you must write to me at the embassy in Saigon. If they can, they’ll forward letters, though probably not to Russia.’

After he left the next morning Nicole tried to remain happy but she missed him terribly. And although he’d tried to reassure her, she couldn’t help feeling anxious. The doctor arrived and confirmed her blood pressure was still a little high and her pulse a fraction too fast. He told her to keep her feet up as much as possible and prescribed iron supplements, good food and gentle exercise.

Sylvie seemed less agitated and gave her the space she needed to recover from the prison ordeal, also preparing her meals and bathing her sores. But despite her relief at being free, and her joy at seeing Mark again, images of the prison cell continued to storm her mind. Although her incarceration had been relatively short – just over two weeks – it had shaken what little remained of her French sympathies. And though she’d told Mark everything was fine with the baby, secretly she was worried by niggling pains. An inconsolable feeling of loss gripped her as she was forced to face up to her own vulnerability and that of her child.

She did little but rest and eat, and felt lucky that she could at least sleep. Her sleep was like a drug, blanking out the fearful thoughts that led her into the darker places of her mind. During her waking hours she still feared the baby might not live because of what she’d been through. But one day as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, she felt a small kick. She pulled up her nightdress and spotted a little bump appear on her rounded
belly. Then another kick and another small bump. She laughed with the joy of it and tried to speak with the little one by gently pushing back the bumps as they appeared. A feeling of hope zipped through her and with it the sense of something going right at last. The baby was stronger than she’d thought possible. This little person would save her and she would save him. Or her.

It went on to rain all day and a pool of water started to collect in a dip on the kitchen floor. Nicole watched as Sylvie fetched a mop and dragged it over the tiles to absorb the water. When she’d finished she gazed at Nicole.

‘Sit down. I have something to say.’

The light in the room had faded. Nicole had no idea if evening had come or if clouds had suddenly blackened the sky. It felt so gloomy she went across to glance out of the window, her body still slow and aching. Just clouds it seemed. She turned on a lamp and then struggled to settle herself in a chair.

She saw her sister’s look grow more serious.

‘I want you to know that Mark explained what happened,’ Sylvie said. ‘He told me everything.’

Nicole felt anxious and rubbed her fingers back and forth across her forehead. She had known this moment was bound to come.

‘Your letter?’

Sylvie nodded and gave her a tired smile.

Nicole shifted in her seat. What could she say? ‘I’m sorry I lied about it. You must be angry.’

Sylvie didn’t reply for a moment, just narrowed her eyes.

‘Sylvie?’

‘A bit. Well, wouldn’t you be angry?’

‘Yes, I suppose I would.’

There was a long silence as Nicole put herself in her sister’s
shoes. Of course her sister was angry, but other than that she had no idea what Sylvie was feeling.

‘There’s something disturbing about this time of day,’ Sylvie said eventually, rubbing her hands together. ‘Don’t you think?’

Nicole didn’t speak.

‘Still day. Not quite night. It’s the transition, I think. You don’t know where you are with it. I’ve never liked it.’

Nicole watched her sister. ‘I’m so grateful that you got me out of that terrible place.’

Sylvie scratched her neck. ‘Papa would have expected no less. All I want is for you to fully recover.’

‘And the baby?’

‘Of course.’

Nicole nodded, relieved Sylvie was taking it so well.

Sylvie smiled. ‘Now you need to regain your strength. The less excitement the better. As soon as you feel well we will take a daily walk. Giraud won’t be a danger now, especially as most of his old colleagues are gone and the new force has far bigger fish to fry than you.’