Over the following months Belle spent most of her time working, and, if not working, she spent it with Oliver. When she wasn’t actually with him, she usually found herself thinking of him. On one of their evenings together they had been drinking champagne beside the Royal Lakes, watching the fireflies, laughing at nothing, and slowly becoming a little drunk. Since she had given up resisting alcohol there had been several nights like this.
‘So,’ she had said, ‘will you stay on in Burma?’
‘I suppose that depends. They will achieve independence from the British sooner or later and who knows how things will be after that.’
‘But you do like living here?’
‘For now.’
‘And you came here because?’
‘I think I told you when we first met. There is change afoot and that’s newsworthy.’
‘But what about after?’
‘I don’t know, Belle. There are worrying rumblings going on in Germany, suspension of civil liberties and elimination of political opposition, that kind of thing, and I foresee trouble ahead.’
‘But surely that won’t affect us here?’
‘Maybe. Maybe not. Hard to tell at this stage.’
This had been followed by a long silence, after which he’d gently turned her head towards him. ‘Let’s not talk about depressing things,’ he’d said and then he’d traced the outline of her lips with his fingertips.
Happy to steal every possible moment together, they went to the races, too, where they lost money, watching keenly as Gloria did rather well, while her brother shook his head in gloom when the horse he part-owned came in last. They went to the Silver Grill for delicious dinners, and the park for walks in the evening when the heat of the day had faded. They ended up in his flat for coffee when they were tired and wanted to put their feet up. It was as if each was biding their time in an unspoken agreement that whatever this was, it must not be rushed. She was glad of the time getting to know him. To understand his funny turns of phrase, and then tease him over the American murder of the English language. He took it in his stride and never did she feel as if he was pushing her.
This was so different from her first and only real relationship, the one she’d had with Nicholas Thornbury. As a producer he’d promised her the world and had wanted to move so quickly. She’d tried to be what he asked of her, a serious girlfriend, but it hadn’t felt real. It would never have worked, although maybe she should have told him to his face, rather than just leaving a letter. She was sorry about that. He had been clever, and she’d found him stimulating. Had enjoyed the way he knew his way around town and associated with all kinds of exciting and unusual people too. But the truth was she’d been swayed by the glamour and, overly impressed that he’d been interested in her, she’d gone along with it. Only later had she realized she was with him for the wrong reasons and had felt a little ashamed.
After that, men had sometimes taken the view that because she was a singer her morals would be loose, that she’d be ready for anything. But Belle was not like that at all, with a reserve most failed to recognize. Oliver was different – sensitive – and increasingly she felt she could trust him. She loved that it felt a bit like coming home.
She’d written back to Simone, thanking her profusely for such a detailed letter. In fact, it had finally put her mind at rest about her mother. Clearly, the events of 1911 had affected her mother’s state of mind and for the first time Belle wished there was some way to make up for everything. They say sadness doesn’t kill you, she thought. But it does. It can. She was sure it had killed her mother. Yet there was something Belle still couldn’t work out. What had Simone meant when she’d said her father hadn’t understood his role in her mother’s illness? What had he done?
Nor could she figure out why her own birth had not been enough to redress the balance, or at least go some way to defuse the pain caused by the loss of Elvira. It still hurt. Though she’d never spoken about it with Oliver, she felt he’d somehow picked up on it, and had been able to sense her distress.
On the day she finally took possession of the keys to the house in Golden Valley, she thought of asking Oliver to accompany her again but then decided she preferred to go on her own this time. Now it was hers, she longed for something that she couldn’t totally explain. She needed space to touch its surfaces, feel the texture of its walls, and maybe sense whatever might still linger from the past. And she wanted to do it alone. There were decisions to be made about its future and, although she quite liked Edward, she wasn’t sure she wanted to sell to him.
She took the tram again and then walked the last part, passing the luxurious colonial homes, looking the same as they had before. Her house though – and a little quiver ran through her at the thought of ‘her house’ – looked different. On hearing she was to shortly receive the keys she’d employed a gardener to cut back the undergrowth. Now, as she opened the gate, she could see the change. It was as if the front garden had been unwrapped, making the house appear larger and lighter too. She glanced up at the incandescent sky and felt a surge of happiness.
Although the front door was stiff and at first would not budge after she turned the key in the lock, she was determined to enter the house the way her parents would have done, and not by illicitly sneaking in through a back door. She placed her shoulder firmly against the peeling door and pushed and pushed until a creak and then a groan hinted at its imminent surrender. When it suddenly did she fell into the hall and wobbled before reaching a hand out to steady herself. Sorry, old place, she whispered. It had not been the most elegant entry to her new home. She paused, taken aback by her train of thought. Was it really to be a home?
She left the door wide open. This house needed fresh air to blow the cobwebs away. Now she could see the hall properly she inspected the floor, a black-and-white-checked marble affair lit by shafts of light and, luckily, still largely intact. Then, walking through the rooms again, she began to see it with new eyes, and a spirit that longed to coax it back to life, though it became obvious the rest of the downstairs needed a great deal of work if the ghosts of the past were to be truly expunged. She opened any window that wasn’t jammed and then climbed the stairs, going directly to the room she believed might have been her parents’. From the veranda she looked out at the garden. The hired gardener had been at work there too and, now much of the jungle had been cut back, she could see how much her mother must have loved it.
The few good memories she had of her mother were of when they had been together in the garden of the Cheltenham house, but they were hazy images and Belle couldn’t really tell if they were merely a child’s wishful thinking. She did know her mother had loved flowers. That much was true.
After opening the upstairs windows, she went back downstairs and then out through some French windows to what had been the patio. It was treacherously patchy, most of the paviours broken and some missing altogether. As she picked her way, armies of ants scurried from her footsteps and a family of tiny lizards ran for shelter. She walked across the mown lawn, terribly uneven still, but no longer knee high, and headed for the entrance to the hidden part of the garden. Before she went through she turned to glance back at the house. It looked golden in the sunshine and a lump grew in her throat as she absorbed its faded beauty. It wasn’t hard to imagine her parents living here before everything went so wrong. She felt a moment of intense sadness, but it passed, and she went on through and headed for the tamarind tree. She lay on the grass beneath it to gaze up through its shady leaves and, although she had never lived in Burma before, she felt a connection, as if she’d finally found the place she really belonged.
Could she live here? Restore the house? Bring it back to life again? Was it possible?
The next evening, two minutes before going on stage, Belle received a note from Edward asking her to meet with him and another man straight after the show. Belle had spent so much time with Oliver she’d almost forgotten about Edward’s mention of the agent – or, if not forgotten, she’d certainly taken it with a pinch of salt and had put it to the back of her mind. However, here he was. A Mr Clayton Rivers, Australian, and an international theatrical agent. It was a pity she’d have to stand Oliver up, but it couldn’t be helped. She’d tried calling but there’d been no reply. They had agreed to meet at the Silver Grill for a nightcap and she’d been planning to tell him about her recent trip to the house. She knew he’d understand why she couldn’t keep their date but, at this late stage, there was now no way to let him know.
Despite a mixture of excitement and nerves the show went well and at half past eleven she adjusted her hair and make-up, put on her highest heels and headed past the few remaining drinkers to the bar where she could see Edward, looking relaxed and at ease in an open-necked shirt, sipping a whisky with another man. They both rose at the sight of her and, with a beaming smile, Edward introduced Belle to the theatrical agent, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a deep tan and white-blond cropped hair.
‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Rivers,’ she said, holding out a hand.
‘Clayton, please.’ He gave her a dazzling smile. ‘How about you and I make for a quiet table over there?’
They left Edward at the bar and settled themselves at the corner table. Clayton Rivers went on to say he was from Sydney and was currently travelling to all the top hotels and theatres in the East on the hunt for new acts to represent. As Edward, an old friend from his London days, had praised Belle so effusively, he’d felt obliged to make a slight detour. Hadn’t been disappointed either and would be prepared to accept her on to his books with all the usual terms and conditions, if she was interested.
Belle felt elated to hear all this and, listening intently, nodded as he explained that the paperwork would clarify all the details, although it wouldn’t come through for a couple of weeks or so. The only condition was that she’d have to be in Sydney at the end of the following week to audition for an understudy role in a successful musical for a sixth-month run.
‘No promises,’ he said. ‘You realize there will be others auditioning too, but … you’re good. Very good. It costs, but Imperial Airways will get you there in three days with a stop at Singapore and Perth.’
Apparently, the star of the show was struggling with personal and health issues and although she hadn’t given up the role just yet, a breach of her contract was very much on the cards. The current understudy had got herself caught out, by which Belle understood the girl was pregnant, and already showing, so time was of the essence, Clayton explained.
Belle nodded eagerly, at the same time feeling an undercurrent of hesitancy. Having an agent on her side would mean she’d be considered for jobs she might never have heard about, so why dither?
‘Could I have a couple of days to think about it?’ she eventually came out with.
He raised his brows in surprise. ‘Really? You need to think?’
‘I have some things I need to sort out, that’s all.’
It wasn’t exactly true. She felt torn about leaving Oliver precisely when they were truly getting to know each other, and also her house in Golden Valley, in all its faded glory, was playing on her mind. The house was a potent link to the past, to her parents’ past, and although the way she’d felt so at home there didn’t really make sense, it had felt like a part of her. And what of Elvira? There was still the story of the white baby seen travelling upriver with a Burmese couple to investigate. True, her missing sister hadn’t been at the front of her mind lately, but would Belle ever come back to Burma if she left now? Would she ever know the truth about what had happened? She took a long, slow breath. This was a terrific opportunity. How could she even consider turning it down?
She glanced across at Edward, who’d been joined by Gloria, and when she saw who was with them she hesitated. It was the red-haired woman, the one she had seen with Edward, and she was smiling across at Belle. She stared at the woman with questions spinning in her head. Who was she? And why did Belle feel as if she knew her? Could it be anything more than her resemblance to Diana?
‘Shall we join the others?’ Clayton said.
As they approached the bar Gloria beckoned Belle forward. ‘Come and meet Susannah.’
The other woman smiled and, in a moment of understanding, Belle realized the apparent familiarity was exactly as she’d previously thought: the woman did resemble her mother, who of course was no longer alive. When the woman spoke, Belle was surprised by a strong Scottish accent. And, though well preserved, with only a network of fine facial lines, she was older than Belle had first thought. Her upright posture and modern dress had, from a distance, given the impression of a younger woman but, face to face, she must clearly be in her late fifties. If Belle had harboured even a shadow of suspicion that she might have been Elvira, which of course she had not, not really, it was now quickly dispelled. The woman’s age made it impossible. Belle shook her hand.
‘I tracked Harry down the night of the regatta,’ Gloria was saying, ‘God, it seems ages ago, but when I looked for you you’d vanished. You never did say where and I’ve barely seen you since the races.’
‘Oh,’ Belle said, thinking rapidly and remembering how she’d made her escape with Oliver. ‘I had a headache that night so headed home. And since then … well, I’ve been rather busy.’
Narrowing her eyes, Gloria gave her a funny look.
Belle felt her colour rising. ‘Sorry, I did look for you at the regatta to say.’
‘Did you, darling?’ Gloria paused, clearly not taken in by the lie. ‘Well, never mind now. Harry went off to the wilds soon after the regatta, so there was no point bringing up the subject again, but he’s back now, and he and I will be at the Golden Eagle at eleven for an early lunch tomorrow. It’s the bar I took you to when you first arrived. You remember it?’
Belle nodded but couldn’t help feeling she’d been caught out. Now, wanting to get away, she muttered something about having had a long day but she’d see her in the morning, then bid them all goodnight.