13.

Belle stopped outside a temple and stared. She could see a large space inside where red pillars, decorated with Chinese script and imagery, held up a wooden-raftered roof. She glanced over to where Rebecca had gone on ahead.

‘What’s this?’ she asked.

‘Chinese temple. Go in if you want.’

Belle nodded and took a few steps inside but was instantly assaulted by an overwhelming smell of incense and smoke rising from bowls stuffed with joss sticks. She coughed and spluttered as she tried to acclimatize, eyeing a golden canopy surrounding images of Chinese lions and various idols she couldn’t identify. Maybe Confucius and Buddha? Yellow and red chrysanthemums stood in vases on carved ebony tables and, above them, lanterns in the same colours hung from the rafters.

A man in robes approached Belle and, in broken English, asked if she’d like her fortune told. Encouraged by Rebecca’s vigorous nods, she agreed, and was told to frame a question. She hadn’t been able to forget the note, so asked if there was anyone she should not trust in Rangoon. Telling her fortune turned out to be a complex business involving wooden sticks and a round object made of red painted wood composed of parts that looked like the segments of an orange. The answer was simply that she had asked the wrong question and she would soon be going on a journey.

She exchanged looks with Rebecca, who only shrugged and said, ‘Lucky you.’

Leaving the temple, they ignored the street-corner tea shops and food stalls, eventually reaching the noisy area behind the waterfront, where Gloria had told her the Chinese lived. As she encountered the maze of hidden alleyways, thick with the scent of jasmine and fried rice, Belle couldn’t help remembering the older woman’s warning.

One takes one’s life in one’s hands.

‘Is it safe?’ Belle asked, feeling nervy among the swell of people crowding the steaming, claustrophobic streets.

Rebecca laughed and tossed her blonde hair. ‘On your own perhaps not but stick with me. It’ll be fine, I promise.’

‘Why are we here?’

‘For one, you are going to taste the best Chinese food you’ve ever had and, for two, you are going to treat yourself.’

Belle didn’t say she had never in her life eaten Chinese food.

She stared at the many shuttered shophouse blocks where narrow wooden houses squashed up against each other, most with a shop on the ground floor – selling cooked food, vegetables, fish, ornaments and so on – with living quarters above. Confused by the unfathomable high-pitched language of Chinese street hawkers, she watched as squawking chickens and squealing piglets sealed in bamboo cages added to the din. As they dodged the many dogs snaking the streets in search of scraps and the reckless children racing between bicycles and the legs of pedestrians alike, the whole place pulsed with life.

Once they dived into the heart of the quarter, the fragrance of jasmine faded and now the streets sweated beneath the mixed odours of burning charcoal, fried fish and drains. Rebecca was striding ahead without glancing back and again Belle worried if she really could trust her room-mate. What if she were to vanish and leave Belle stranded here? But then Rebecca stopped and took a bow in front of a tiny shop tucked inside a backstreet threading behind a wider alley.

‘Tra-la!’ she said with a grin and a flourish.

Belle gazed at the window, astonished to see row upon row of neatly folded, brilliantly coloured silk, ranging from the colour of a Burmese sunset, shimmering in rose pink and yellow, to gentle pearly blues.

‘It’s the best but also the cheapest in Rangoon. The British don’t like it here so they pay over the odds at Rowe’s. Shall we?’

‘You bet.’

Rebecca pushed open the intricately carved wooden door and a small bell tinkled.

Inside Belle stood transfixed, then trailed her fingertips over the bales of patterned silk, her senses on fire.

‘I’d love some, but what would I do with it?’

‘That’s where I come in. I have a Chinese friend who works as a waitress in the Silver Grill … have you been there yet?’

Belle shook her head.

‘Well, we must go, but the thing is, this friend of mine introduced me to the owner of this shop and her daughter is a brilliant seamstress. She can copy anything the top designers come up with.’

‘And where is she?’

Rebecca laughed. ‘Upstairs. And she has loads of magazines. She’ll give you local rates too, or very nearly. You go up, choose the style, she tells you how many yards to buy and then you pick your fabric.’

‘We can go up now?’

‘Knew you’d be keen. I haven’t told the other girls about this place.’

‘Why tell me?’

‘You were so miserable. There’s nothing like a new dress is there, especially if it doesn’t cost the earth. No guilt. And I wanted to make it up to you.’

Belle could have hugged her.

They climbed the narrow wooden staircase and upstairs Belle met Mai Lin, the seamstress. After flicking through several editions of Vogue, she settled on a sheath-like halter-neck dress, cut on the bias, gently skimming the hips and revealing a daring, completely bare back. She chose an evening jacket to match in a sweet boxy shape, for cooler evenings or after-show drinks.

After being served green tea in tiny porcelain cups, Belle was measured, and then they went back downstairs to choose her silk. Bewildered by all the gorgeous colours, Belle couldn’t decide. After much deliberation and several changes of mind, she chose a plain but beautiful silvery silk shot through with the palest blue.

‘Now for the food,’ Rebecca said, as soon as Belle had paid.

‘Aren’t you buying fabric today?’

Rebecca shook her head. ‘Not this time. I only paid for a new dress last week.’

As they left the shop, Belle surveyed the street.

‘Come on, slow coach,’ Rebecca called out, already ahead, but something had caught Belle’s eye, or rather someone. On the opposite side of the road Edward was walking with a red-haired woman. Belle was about to lift a hand and wave to him but, deep in conversation, he hadn’t seen her. As they walked on, Belle felt there was something familiar about the woman but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. And then she realized the woman reminded her a little of her mother. But was that all? Could there be the slightest chance? Could it be possible she might be Elvira? She dismissed the thought as far too unlikely.