32

The day of their departure dawned, and with it came the rain. Takouhi and Charlotte nevertheless left Tir Uaidhne and walked, under their umbrellas, towards the cemetery. Since the funeral, Takouhi had come every day to light incense and place flowers. She and Charlotte put candles under the cupolas to cast a flickering beam into the night. Charlotte, in their long conversations, had begun to learn something of Zhen’s philosophy. She knew they did this for themselves, for their own comfort, not for George. He had passed into the raindrops, the diamond glints on snow.

Takouhi had asked Tigran to stay until the seven-day slametan for George.

Yesterday, the house had been thrown open to all the town who wished to come to eat, drink and be merry. Half the town had passed through at some point or other. It had lasted until the night. A proper Irish wake, John Connolly had said. Maria had not come.

Now they entered the Armenian church and sat, breathing in the moist air, waiting for the rain to stop beating down, enjoying the building wrought by George’s hand. They talked of departure. The luggage had been sent to the brig, along with all the items that Takouhi wanted from the house. When she was ready, she would sell Tir Uaidhne and everything in it and leave Singapore.

She was not ready yet. She had kept the bed in which she and George had conceived Meda, in which Meda had been born, in which such final happiness had been found. Charlotte said nothing, but she was sure that Alexander, too, had been conceived in this bed the day Zhen had surprised her at the empty house. This would be the last thing to go back to Batavia with her.

They talked quietly, and Takouhi prayed. Charlotte and Tigran would leave on the afternoon tide.

The rain suddenly stopped, and, as it does in the tropics, the sunlight burst out like a furnace, throwing steamy shadows on the floor. They rose and made their way up the hill. George’s grave stood in the corner, with a simple white wooden cross. The workmen, who had been sheltering, had begun again to lay the foundation of the tomb into which his coffin would be moved.

Charlotte had seen the design which Billy had shown them. She was not sure George would have approved, but doubtless he would have laughed. Billy Napier’s tastes ran to dabbling in the new Gothic. It would have amused George to know he would spend his eternal rest under a monumental, spurious Gothic tomb designed by a Scottish lawyer. Still, none of them doubted Billy’s sincerity and the depth of his affection for his lost friend.

Or, it seemed, for his lost friend’s wife. Billy spent all of his spare time in consoling Maria, advising Maria, acting for Maria, looking after the probate, sorting out her affairs. Maria had not set foot inside the cemetery since the funeral. Charlotte and Takouhi had not dared call on her. From Robert, though, they learned of her grief. She had loved George, there could be no doubt; her deep disappointment merely concealed this fact. Charlotte would have liked to talk to her, console her, but it would have been unwelcome. Only once had they seen the baby, when the nurse had been rocking him in the front garden. They had stopped and looked, and there was little George’s face, for the son had been baptised with his father’s name. Takouhi had touched the tiny hand and smiled. Whilst she and this little boy lived, George could not die.

They walked home in rain, but, by the time of their departure, the sun shone. On the old jetty, Charlotte hugged Robert tightly. She embraced her friends: Evangeline, Teresa and her family, and finally Takouhi. She knew her friend would come back when she was ready.

Tigran helped Charlotte into the cutter, and with shouts and cries, the men began to pull away from shore. She watched as, once again with sadness, she left these shores. The tide was up, and the brig stood close in. It took them only a few minutes to reach the ship. Charlotte stood as she had before and looked over the town. It had changed; it had grown, but she loved it still. Her eyes went to Mount Wallich and the long ridge which bordered the bay. She could see only the luxuriant growth of the hill. It was impossible to see the Chinese town in Telok Ayer Bay, for it lay beyond the headland.

Then, suddenly, she saw him. He was standing on one of the piers which gave out from the back of the godowns on Commercial Square. She stood looking at him. He did not move, watching the ship. Tigran turned from giving some orders and saw her, leaning forward, looking to shore with an unconscious intensity. He saw her smile quietly. He went forward and stood next to her.

She dropped her eyes, but he had seen who she was staring at. Tigran said nothing; he, too, now stared at the man, frowning, trying to think. And then he saw, knew. This was the son-in-law of Baba Tan. This man was the father of Alexander. He knew now why the man’s face had been so familiar to him. The eyes, the curve of the jaw, the now unmistakable signs of blood and bone written into Alexander’s face. Charlotte had been seeing this man whilst he had been away, he felt certain. He did not even have to ask her. She had not moved, had not looked at him. Her gaze had returned to the man on shore, who turned and quickly disappeared behind the godown. She knew he had gone to Mount Wallich.

She faced Tigran. He stared at her, for the first time ever, with anger. He took her arm, moved her off the deck, into their cabin and shut the door.

“So, madam, I see I am to be deceived, cuckolded, if ever you are in Singapore. Whilst I have been struggling with death and misery, writing you letters of love and constancy, you have been playing your adulterous game behind my back.”

Charlotte looked him straight in the eye. She gave no thought for her words. They simply came rushing out.

“I do not wish to hurt you, Tigran. It was in this very cabin that I told you of my love for him. I thought those feelings had changed, but they have not. Love dwells not in our will. It is now over. I am returning to Batavia with you.”

“To think of him, to dream of him. Again, like it was before? No, it is too much.”

Chrlotte felt her temper rise. “How dare you! You destroyed his letters to me, which would have given me comfort in misery!” She stared at Tigran, her fists clenched. “What I dream, what I think, neither you nor even I can control.”

The ship lurched slightly as the winch began to weigh the anchor. The noise of barked orders and shouting came from deck as the sails were set, and the deep thrumming of the wind began in the rigging.

Tigran was lost for words. He wanted to strike her, tell her to stop loving this man. To go back was intolerable. It had taken too long for her to come to him, and now this. He had been her support, her friend, her lover, and she had betrayed him. Something like hatred entered his mind.

“Stay here in this cabin. I do not wish to see you for this entire voyage. You will take your meals here. Do not come on deck. Your maids will attend to you.” He turned and left the cabin.

Charlotte sat on the edge of the bed, shocked. He had flung these words at her with contempt. She felt the wind’s hand on the ship, turning it away from shore. He would not allow her even to wave good-bye to Robert, to Takouhi. She went to the door and opened it. A man had been stationed outside! She could not believe it. She asked him to bring her husband. The man, obviously confused about his orders, hesitated. The mistress was with child. But he had been ordered not to leave the door. He called a ship’s boy to send for the master.

Whilst she waited for Tigran, she found her composure. When he opened the door, he stood waiting, coldly.

“Tigran, this is intolerable. Please, may I wave good-bye to Robert and Takouhi?” she said.

Tigran motioned her to come and let her pass onto the deck. She went to the side and waved, and they all raised their hands. Safe voyage, they called. She looked up to Mount Wallich. When the ship had caught the wind, the sails cracking with air, it moved rapidly away from shore. Soon the figures were a blur. Tigran came up to her, grasped her by the arm and once again took her to the cabin. This time he took the key from inside the door and went outside. She heard it turn in the lock.

She gasped. A prisoner! Had he gone mad? She had not meant to provoke him. She had had every intention of returning to him a loving wife, giving birth to his child, sharing this joy together. This very evening in this very bed, she would have welcomed him into her arms. She could put Zhen quietly in her heart now. She had learned to accept this, he had taught her how.

And now, in the blink of an eye, everything had turned hideously sour. She went to the line of windows and opened one, letting the air rush in. She watched as the shoreline of Singapore receded, keeping her eyes on Mount Wallich. But now she was not sure which hill was which. And as they left the harbour, the sea became rough. She shut the window and lay on the bed. The baby had begun its churning. Surely Tigran would calm down, surely he would forgive her. She closed her eyes.