25

Louisa paced her bedroom, glancing from time to time at Elliot’s chest of drawers. She chewed her fingernail and, wanting to finally be done with him, decided the only thing to do was to be rid of his things. Out. I want all of it out, she thought. If everything was gone then he might be gone too.

In an overbright and determined tone, she instructed one of the houseboys to help her build a bonfire in the garden, but not to light it yet. They both carried old newspapers out and dragged across branches that had been pruned and left to dry. When the stack was tall enough, she went back indoors to their bedroom, where she gazed inside the wardrobe for a minute, then took out all of Elliot’s suits and shirts, leaving them piled up on the bed. After that she opened his chest drawer by drawer and heaped the contents up on the floor. She felt as if her heart might stop as she ran her hands over the familiar shirts. She held one to her nose to see if she could catch a trace of the familiar cedar scent of him, and then she tried another, but they had all been laundered and so there was nothing. She went through the pockets of his suits and jackets and then, from an old pair of corduroys, she fished out an envelope. It was sealed but not addressed, and so she ripped it open and removed a single sheet of paper. She read:

My darling,

I can’t tell you how distressed I am that you feel you must end it. As you know, I haven’t been able to see you as much as I’ve wanted since Louisa lost the baby and I have had to remain close by her side. It hasn’t been my choice. You do see that, don’t you? Please will you reconsider? I will try to come to you again soon and you must know I love you. You have to believe it and I promise the time will be right for us very soon indeed. I’m sorry it has taken so long, but I can’t wait to be with you and am not far off from being able to look after you both permanently.

I need to make a little more money before I can offer you the life you should have and I’m best placed to do it if I stay here a little longer. I have bought a new business, an old print house, and after a little work, hope to sell it at a profit. I did tell you at the very beginning that I still loved my wife. Do you remember? But of course that changed once Conor came into the world. Please look after yourself and him too. I shall send money via Leo if I can’t get to you soon and then I’ll take your next batch of paintings to Colombo to sell.

But whatever else you may feel, please reconsider. Don’t end it, my love. I just can’t face that.

Always your

Elliot

Louisa read it through twice and felt sick. Then she ripped it into tiny fragments and hurled them at the wastepaper basket, feeling as if she was ripping up her whole life. Not only had Elliot never intended to make the emporium a reality, he had been planning to leave her too. It seemed like the final nail in the coffin of their marriage and she felt as if her heart was separating from her soul.

As silence wrapped around her, a burst of anger surged through her. She took an armful of his clothes with her as she went outside to light the bonfire. Once she had a proper blaze going, she began piling on Elliot’s clothes, his suits followed his shirts, and his shirts followed his ties. She went back in to fetch more, watching as each item burned. Gone, she thought. All of it gone. That’s what she wanted. The houseboy observed all of this with a look of bemusement. It must seem incredibly wasteful to him, Louisa suspected, but she couldn’t bear for Elliot’s clothes to exist. She had loved him so much and now, as she listened to the crackle and hiss, she began to laugh wildly. As the flames caught at the edges of each piece of clothing and then devoured it, the fire was not simply feeding her anger—the destructive energy had become energizing.

She felt exhilarated. Almost lightheaded with relief.

Suddenly she heard a voice, and twisting around, saw Irene standing there in the garden with a look of horror on her face. Harold stood beside her with an arm around her shoulders. And Ashan stood behind them holding their suitcases. “I’m sorry, Madam,” he said. “I wanted to inform you of their arrival first, but they insisted on coming through.”

“What are you doing?” Irene screamed. “What are you doing with my son’s clothes?”

Louisa stood completely still. “I think, Irene, you may have worked out I am burning them, lock, stock and barrel.”

Irene ran up to the fire and, grabbing a stick, attempted to rescue a partially burning shirt. It hung at the end of her stick as she held it aloft, charred and smoking. Louisa almost laughed again as she watched her mother-in-law’s futile attempt at rescue and Harold pulling her away.

“Leave it!” she commanded.

Irene frowned. “But why? Why are you doing this?”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“Isn’t it a bit too soon?” Harold said. “It’s as if you’re getting rid of him.”

Louisa stared coldly. “Honestly? I wish I could. No, more than that, I wish I’d never even met him.”

And with that she turned on her heels, went upstairs and locked the bedroom door behind her. Then she spent the remainder of the afternoon in her room nursing her anger whilst feeling she no longer lived in a world of her own devising. Ashan knocked several times with drinks for her, gently encouraging her to open the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to see anyone.


That evening Louisa decided to dress for dinner. She was expecting her father and would make an effort for him.

Although she was furious Irene and Harold had arrived unannounced, she could hardly turn them away, and anyway the letter she had found overshadowed everything else. The euphoria from the effect of the fire hadn’t lasted and now, every time she thought about the letter, she struggled against a desire to rush to the bathroom to vomit. As for Irene, Elliot had been her only surviving son, and it would require a great deal of self-control on Louisa’s part not to spoil Irene’s illusions. Louisa didn’t know if she was up to the deception especially as, in Irene’s eyes, Elliot would have become even more saintly than he had been in life.

Louisa sighed. Why did everything have to be so difficult? She took a bath and washed her hair to rid herself of the smell of smoke, then dressed soberly in a light gray silk dress, slipped on her pearls and made her way to the main sitting room downstairs, where Irene and Harold were already ensconced on one of the sofas. As she entered the room she glanced about. Irene had a habit of moving ornaments to where she considered them more appropriate and, though Louisa had argued with Elliot about it, he had convinced her it was such a trivial matter there was no point causing a scene. Louisa saw it now as yet another sign of the woman’s interference.

Irene sat up a little straighter and sniffed, her gray eyes steely. “So, you have deigned to grace us with your presence.”

Louisa gritted her teeth. “I’m pleased to see you, Irene. And you too, Harold.”

He gave her a wan smile.

“Maybe you might like to explain why you were burning my son’s clothes?” Irene continued.

“It was time.”

“You didn’t think to ask if we might want some of them to remember him by?”

“His clothes were nothing to do with you. You may have his pen, pipe or hairbrush. Take all of them, if you like. There are still plenty of items. Take your pick.”

“But nothing he actually wore.”

“I didn’t think—”

Irene interrupted. “That’s exactly the trouble. It always has been. You don’t think of me, do you?”

“Come now, Irene, I’m sure you don’t mean that,” Harold said, attempting to take his wife’s hand, though Irene was having none of it and shook him off.

Louisa turned her back and stiffly went to the decanter to pour three sherries. She took one across to Irene and offered it to her, then gave one to Harold. “Please let’s not squabble. I’m really just too tired.”

Irene didn’t reply but took the glass.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Louisa listened as Ashan answered it and a minute or two later he brought Louisa’s father, Jonathan, into the room, followed by Margo.

“I found her struggling from the train station with her case.”

Margo laughed. “And so he did the gentlemanly thing and carried it for me. I came on the train to try to catch up with Mum and Dad. Luckily it wasn’t a stormy day, or the train would have been deluged with sea spray.”

Irene stood and held out her hands to Margo.

Margo hugged her mother, who seemed to cling to her.

“I hope you don’t mind me descending on you like this, Louisa.”

“Not at all, Margo. The more the merrier!” she said, in fact intensely relieved to see her sister-in-law. “I’m sure Cook can be creative with supper.”

After the new arrivals had seated themselves and had also been supplied with sherry, a strained silence descended. Perhaps sensing some awkwardness, Jonathan took it upon himself to get the conversation going.

“So, how do you think the government is getting along, Irene?”

“You’d have to ask my husband. I don’t bother myself with such matters, though I believe Harold is in full support of it, aren’t you, dear?”

Harold nodded. “Broadly speaking, yes.”

Jonathan inclined his head. “You don’t think the board of ministers should have control of the police and army too?”

“He believes that keeping them under the control of the British is the better option,” Irene chipped in, while Harold gave a resigned sigh. “After all, who wants these people to be in charge of ensuring law and order. No, that’s best kept in our own hands.”

“These people, Irene?” Jonathan said, his brows raised questioningly.

“I think you know what my wife meant,” Harold said.

Margo stepped in. “You don’t always have to stick up for her, Dad. Now come on, Mum, shift up so I can sit next to you for a bit.”

Irene moved and Margo took up her place next to her mother and father.

“So,” Louisa said, turning to her father and speaking softly while Margo and Irene seemed to be talking about the bus journey and how uncomfortable it was. “Did you go back to see the police? Do they know anything more about the break-in?”

He raised his brows. “I’ve done what I said I would do. Fat lot of good it will do, though.”

“Won’t the police take any action?”

Jonathan shrugged. “They weren’t sure what they could do.”

“Take action?” Irene piped up. “Must you speak in riddles.”

Jonathan glanced at Louisa before speaking. She in turn gave a brief shake of her head. “Just a spot of bother.”

“Well, I found your daughter burning all of Elliot’s clothing today. What do you make of that?”

“I’m sure my daughter is only doing what has to be done,” Jonathan said. “She can’t hold on to everything, and nor should she.”

“Anyway, it’s up to Louisa, isn’t it, Mum?” Margo added.

“Exactly. This has to be Louisa’s decision. My daughter is having a tough enough time without us interfering.”

A look of fury crossed Irene’s face. “Nobody thinks to consider my feelings,” she said. “Nobody.”

“Now, Irene, that’s not fair,” Harold interjected. “I know we’re both upset but—”

“I’ll tell you what’s not fair. Marrying a woman who couldn’t give him a living child. That’s all I ever wanted. Was it too much to hope for? You know Elliot would have been a wonderful father. So caring. So dutiful.”

Mother,” Margo said in a warning tone at the same time as Harold shook his head.

“A grandson was all I ever wanted.”

In a flash, Louisa got to her feet, her anger over the letter she had found uppermost in her mind. “Well, you’ve certainly got your wish, Irene!”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

Louisa glanced at Margo, who was gesturing wildly at her to stop, but Louisa had already gone too far to draw back, and now couldn’t help herself. “You do have a grandson, Irene. A little illegitimate boy. I hope that satisfies you.”


As Louisa got herself ready for bed, she went over what had happened. She felt mortified that things had come to this and knew telling Irene had not been wise. She would either deny all possibility of an illegitimate child, or she would want to take over. Either way Louisa would have to let Leo know. She picked up Elliot’s pen, the one he always kept on his bedside table, and began writing to the plantation owner. She’d give the pen to Irene in the morning and let her choose anything else she might want. As she rolled it between her fingers she pictured Elliot writing notes to himself just before he turned out the light.

She thought back to the moment they first met. She’d been out on her bicycle and, despite early signs of rain, had decided to head for the coastal road. But after only an hour the monsoon had begun in earnest. After seriously misjudging the weather she’d been swept off the road, grazing her leg in the process. She had crawled and found a rock to shelter against, but by then was completely soaked through. Half an hour passed and she’d felt immense relief when a car finally pulled up and the driver jumped out to help her. He bundled her into the car and her bike into the trunk and brought her back to Galle Fort. They each drank a mug of hot chocolate and her leg was bandaged before he prepared to resume his journey. But with weather too wild for him to continue to Colombo he had stayed the night, and then the next day, and the one after that. She’d fallen for Elliot’s charm and good looks right from the start and been so full of hope for the future.

She put the pen down and decided not to send the letter to Leo. She would go there instead.