‘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.’
&nb
sp; 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.’
Epilogue
Eighteen months later – November 1955, Paris
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. Wi
th 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?’
The Silk Merchant’s Daughter Page 33
