46.

They were to spend one more night in Maymo, and Belle could tell something fundamental had changed. Their relationship had tilted, become subtly different. She felt self-conscious as she undressed before him in tongue-tied silence, head bowed, full of an unfamiliar mix of feelings. Hope? Anticipation? Maybe even a little apprehension? Perhaps having survived such a close escape together had made her more attentive to her deepest feelings, maybe the peaceful day they’d spent had cemented their bond, maybe it was because she’d finally been able to talk about the massacre in Rangoon. Or maybe it was all of those things. Whatever it was, she felt she had lost the ability to communicate in words and the air in the room was alive with unspoken need. From the start there had been a strong pull between them. Now he didn’t take his eyes from her and when she lifted her head and returned his gaze she saw the depth of longing there. Whatever it was that had drawn them closer, the time had come.

He undressed too and, as they stood naked before each other, it was as if, unguarded, they had tacitly agreed to unwrap their innermost selves, expose their flaws, their insecurities, their open desire. It wasn’t cold, but she shivered slightly and held out a hand to him.

In the bed he commanded her to lie still. She barely moved as he caressed her body and, as he did, she felt every moment with such heightened sensuality that, still holding back a little, it was like exquisite torture. Each touch of his fingers – on her neck, her breasts, her thighs, her mouth – electrified her. Each brush of his lips left her gasping. And then it changed again. As the intensity soared she felt herself releasing all the tensions and worries she’d been carrying for so long; letting go of the pain and fear too. Now she wanted him so much her mind dwelt on nothing else.

‘Make love to me now,’ she demanded, her voice urgent.

The sex itself was powerful, exhilarating, and it made her want to cry, though not with tears of sadness; these would be tears of liberation, and of joy, and then, before she’d realized what was happening, laughter began to bubble through her. It tipped and soared and became unstoppable. Such innocent, natural laughter she could not remember experiencing before. She felt childlike, free, like one of the birds she’d released at the Shwedagon Pagoda.

He laughed with her, then raised himself up on one elbow and searched her face, his focus absolute. ‘If you knew how long I’ve been wanting to do that!’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘How long?’

‘Umm.’ He twisted his mouth to one side as if considering. ‘Since the first moment I set eyes on you.’

She grinned and felt the thrill all the way through her still-tingling body.

‘Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?’

She dug him in the ribs. ‘If that was hurting, please can you hurt me some more?’

‘Right now?’

‘Uh-huh.’

He laughed. ‘You’re a hard task master.’

This time they took it incredibly slowly and afterwards he told her he loved her and he always would. She took his hand and kissed the tips of his fingers, then snuggled in close to him, exhausted, but with her mind at peace.

The next day Oliver stowed their luggage in racks above their heads on what turned out to be a train to Rangoon with no first-class carriages. They shared theirs with a few sleeping Indian men and, intermittently, different Burmese women transporting fruit and vegetables further down the line. Apart from the smell of their cheroots, it wasn’t too bad. But when a fish-seller joined them, Belle was forced to stand, wilting, beside a window so badly jammed it provided only the slightest hint of warm air. From there she could smell smoke from village fires and vendors cooking on charcoal beside the railway track. The smoke made her cough but was an improvement on nausea induced by the smell of fish.

Every hour or so hordes of vendors battered at the windows or traversed the aisles selling sticky rice and chilli noodle snacks. Why the train kept stopping and waiting, Belle and Oliver didn’t know. In some cases, it appeared the tracks were still under repair, but other stops remained inexplicable and nobody seemed able to answer their questions about the delay. Whenever they halted, Oliver insisted she keep close to him as thieves were known to haunt the wilder and more desolate stations, ready to slip aboard and steal from sleepy passengers.

Now she was over the initial shock caused by the explosion, Belle felt happy and relieved to be with him again, although she wished the circumstances could have been different. Deep in the core of her she felt his presence. That he’d saved her life meant everything and she leant against him, drinking in the smell of his skin and praying nothing more would endanger them. Oliver, however, seemed on edge, constantly surveying the people climbing on and off the train as well as gazing out at the platform at every stop. He wore sunshades and a straw hat, making it tricky for others to spot what he was doing, but she could feel the tension in his whole body. She eyed any newcomers too but when half a dozen police officers boarded she relaxed a little.

After an execrable 386-mile journey taking three days, far longer than it should have done, they arrived back in the damp, clinging heat of Rangoon and headed straight for Oliver’s apartment. With a sense of enormous relief, and no thought for what might lie ahead, they both lay back on his bed without even changing. He reached for her hand and immediately his breathing slowed. Belle, too exhausted to feel much, nevertheless knew what had happened between them meant something she’d secretly hoped for but had only ever vaguely understood. It had meaning, this relationship, meaning that spoke of the present, yes, but also of the future. And she knew the strength of the love between them would bring a completely different kind of life. She felt sure of that, if nothing else. Then she closed her eyes, curled into him and slept too.

Belle woke first to find they were wrapped in each other’s arms as if their bodies had known what their souls needed even if they had been too tired. She touched the stubble on his chin, enjoying the comfort, the closeness, his warm breath on her cheek, and when he opened his eyes he smiled at her. She kissed him hard on the lips and felt again his hardness against her body. As she traced the contours of his dear face with her fingertips she saw how beautiful he was, his skin golden and glowing, his eyes blue and full of feeling. They made love, gently at first, but ending with such passion it made her shout out. He covered her mouth softly to stop her and whispered to be quiet. When the rise and fall of her chest had returned to normal she wriggled out from under his embrace and slipped into the bathroom for a wash. All her clothes were dirty now, so she rinsed out a blouse and a long skirt and hung them to dry above the bath.

When she emerged, her hair hanging wet and limp around her face, it was to see Oliver with his back to her, busily making coffee.

He twisted round when he heard her and smiled with such tenderness her heart literally missed a beat. To feel such love while in the grip of fear was beyond words.

‘Sorry, there’s no food,’ he said. ‘I’ll nip out and get something.’

‘I’m not really hungry. Coffee would be nice.’

‘Come here,’ he said, with an even broader smile brightening his face.

But suddenly harsh reality took over and with it the fear grew stronger. Her chest constricted as she whispered, ‘Someone tried to kill me.’ She remained where she was and inspected the floor. Anything not to have to think.

‘It will be okay,’ he said.

She raised her head to look at him. ‘Will it?’

He gave her a nod. ‘Come here,’ he repeated.

She walked over to him and he held her close, gently stroking her hair. ‘We are going to make sure it is all right. Together.’

She felt safer knowing he was there. This bond they shared was instinctive. It was an honest bond by which each declared to the other I know who you are and what I don’t know I want to find out. The words ‘a meeting of souls’ came into her thoughts and although it felt like a cliché, it was the truth.

When they set out for the Strand Hotel and began to tread the familiar streets, Belle felt a throb of anxiety. Although it was busy and people were everywhere, if someone wanted to trail them she knew it would be a moment’s work to slip unnoticed into the shadows. Oliver remained encouraging, but she feared another attack, worried every man they passed might be concealing a knife, or even a gun. She held tight to Oliver, but her eyes darted everywhere, and she was unable to corral her fears. Sensing her increasing unease, he steered her through the crowds and then quickly hailed a rickshaw.

At the hotel she left a letter of resignation at reception and was handed an airmail letter that had arrived while she’d been away. She stuffed it into her bag to read later, then hurried to her room to collect some of her things. The sooner she was out of there the better.

She didn’t take long and had just finished packing some of her clothes and toiletries into a case and was getting ready to leave when Rebecca entered the room, her curves enhanced by a typically clinging red dress.

‘Belle! Where have you been? You look terrible.’

Belle grinned at her friend and took in the tiredness in her eyes, and hair that needed a good brush. She looked as if she’d been out all night again.

‘It’s an extremely long story,’ Belle said.

Rebecca flopped on to her bed. ‘Well, at least tell me where you’re going now. Is it home to England?’

‘Not yet. I’m leaving the job and I’m going to Oliver’s.’

Rebecca’s eyes were huge with disbelief. ‘Crikey. Well, good for you, but what about the gossip-mongers? They’ll have a right old field day.’

‘I really don’t care any more.’

‘But why leave? You’re a wonderful singer.’

Belle met her friend’s eyes and pulled a sad face. ‘I’m really sorry I can’t tell you now, but when it’s all over I will. I promise.’

‘Is this something to do with looking for your sister? Have you found out what happened?’ Rebecca said, sharp as ever.

‘Not yet.’

There was sadness in Rebecca’s eyes as she nodded. ‘I’ll miss you.’

The two women hugged and then Belle joined Oliver in front of the hotel. The doorman agreed to arrange for her trunk to be sent to the station for storage and then Oliver asked him to repeat the tale his father had told about the baby screaming during the night. After accepting their assurance that they wouldn’t reveal from where the information had arisen, he went into a little more detail than he previously had.

‘The thing I did not tell you was this … soon after the incident, my father was dismissed on a trumped-up charge.’

‘He was silenced,’ Oliver said.

‘Why didn’t you say before?’ Belle asked.

The doorman glanced at the sky then back at Belle. ‘He was ashamed. I did not feel I should say. And I was nervous about my own job too.’

Belle nodded. ‘I’m so sorry.’

The doorman shrugged. ‘All so long ago, but it ruined my father’s life. He was given no reference and found it hard to work again.’

Oliver blew out his cheeks. ‘These people!’

They thanked the doorman and after they’d left the hotel they stopped to get some food supplies from a shop along their route. They then picked up a rickshaw while checking they were not being followed. When they arrived back at his flat he let them in and then explained he had a hunch and wanted to comb through a different newspaper’s archives. She would have to be alone and didn’t take much convincing to remain inside with the door locked.

‘At least nobody knows you’re here,’ he said. ‘So, you’ll be left in peace.’

She grimaced. ‘Rebecca knows.’

‘Will she keep a lid on it?’

‘Don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her. Or at least I should’ve told her to keep it to herself.’

‘Can’t be helped now. You’ll be fine if you don’t leave the flat but please don’t open the door to anyone. Won’t be long.’ Then he added as an afterthought, ‘Might be a good idea to keep away from the window.’

After he’d gone she made herself some toast and another cup of coffee before trying to settle down to read a paper. A few minutes later, too nervous to concentrate, she was back on her feet examining the spines of his books, and it was only then she remembered the airmail letter. She threw herself on to a chair, fumbled for the fragile paper, then opened and read it.

My dear Annabelle,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to let you know I shall be visiting Burma soon. I always promised myself I would return one day and if I don’t undertake the trip now I fear I may never get around to it. I’m hoping awfully much that we might meet. Of course, I don’t know if you are still living in Rangoon, but I shall call at the Strand at the first opportunity.

Well, my dear girl, I think that’s it for now. Do take care of yourself out there.

With kindest regards,

Simone

Belle read the letter twice then leant back in her chair, thinking about Simone. How extraordinary. She had never imagined she might meet Diana’s old friend here in Burma, but what a fantastic opportunity to hear more about her mother. She’d been eleven when her father had told her they would never see Diana again and all Belle could remember was that it had been raining and she had just started as a weekly boarder at Cheltenham Ladies’ College. Although she’d cried a little at the news of her mother’s death, the tears had felt forced, her emotions scrambled and hard to fathom. Diana had not been spoken of again. Now Belle’s feelings were even more confusing. Although she now understood how the loss of Elvira must have contributed to her mother’s illness and consequent neglect, the pain Belle had felt as a child remained. The child in her still could not forgive and it left her with a feeling of sadness. She couldn’t help thinking her mother might have found another way through the tragedy. Could have tried harder. As for Simone, Belle had no idea if she’d still be here to greet her mother’s old friend.

As she was thinking this someone knocked at the door very gently and, before remembering Oliver’s warning, she walked across. With her hand on the key, she hesitated, scolding herself. Stupid thing to do. Now whoever it was would have heard her moving. The knock came again, louder. Still she did not move, frozen in fear. She waited and after a few moments she heard a woman’s voice.

‘Belle, I know you’re there.’

Gloria. She’d know that voice anywhere. Should she say something? Let her friend in?

‘Belle?’

‘Yes?’

‘For heaven’s sake, let me in. I’m worried about you.’

Belle leant her forehead against the cool teak wood for a moment and then unlocked the door, uncertain if she was doing the right thing. Gloria was Edward’s sister after all and Belle was feeling increasingly doubtful about him.

Gloria marched in and began scrutinizing Belle’s face as if looking for clues. ‘What’s going on, Belle?’

Belle felt wary, her colour rising. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

Gloria seemed genuinely bemused. ‘Come on. You’ve left your job, you’re staying in the flat of a man I’ve already warned you is untrustworthy. This is madness.’

She flung herself down on the chair Belle had been sitting on. ‘Got any coffee, darling? I’m gasping.’

Belle nodded and was glad of the chance to hide her inflamed face while she turned her back to make coffee. She knew people would gossip once it got out she was staying here but why should it matter to Gloria? Her friend didn’t usually give a fig what other people thought, rather she prided herself on quite the opposite.

‘Here’s your coffee,’ Belle said, forcing her face into a smile.

Gloria took the coffee, then pulled out a silver cigarette case and offered one to Belle.

When Belle declined, Gloria tilted her head. ‘Oh, of course, your voice.’

‘How did you know I was here?’ Belle asked.

‘Oh, you know, a little bird. Was it supposed to be a secret? I did rather press it out of her.’

‘Rebecca?’

Gloria’s eyes narrowed and she gave a small, satisfied smile. Then, as her face became sterner, Belle felt apprehensive. True, Gloria didn’t like Oliver, but was there something else? Something she might know about?

‘Tell me why you left your job,’ Gloria said with a critical look that quickly turned to disbelief. ‘Good God, he didn’t ask you to?’

‘Oliver?’

‘Darling, you are being somewhat monosyllabic. Of course Oliver. This was his flat last time I looked.’

‘I’m simply having a rethink. He didn’t ask me to leave the Strand. I may go back to England.’

Gloria looked as if something about the news pleased her. ‘But why stay with Oliver? You know he has a reputation. Don’t go turning your back on your real friends.’

‘What reputation?’

‘Women, sweetheart. I said before. Getting on the wrong side of the law. We spoke of it, didn’t we?’

Belle nodded but felt increasingly suspicious of Gloria’s motive for coming here.

‘You never know who he’s really working for.’

‘He’s just a journalist.’

‘So he says, but you can’t trust him. And, of course, he’s American too.’

Belle sighed in frustration. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

Gloria’s eyes flickered and her mouth turned down at the corners. Just slightly. But it was enough to betray her prejudice. For all her rebellious posturing, Gloria was conventional under the skin.

‘Think of the consequences of being with someone like him,’ Gloria said.

‘What consequences?’

‘He’ll let you down for one thing.’

‘And the rest?’

Gloria tossed her head and shrugged as if Oliver’s flaws were glaringly obvious.

Belle sighed. ‘I’m fine, Gloria. And listen, I’ve now found out my mother had absolutely nothing to do with Elvira’s disappearance.’

Gloria glanced down at her coffee cup, looking a bit nervy. ‘How do you know?’

Belle hesitated and then decided not to say anything about the bomb. ‘It’s a long story.’

Gloria did not appear to be mollified and with dogged determination continued. ‘Darling, don’t stay here. You know how tongues wag once things get out. Come and stay with me instead, at least until you return to England. You’ll be much more comfortable.’

‘Let me think.’

‘I’d prefer you came with me now.’

‘Like I said. Let me think.’

‘Then I shall return to pick you up later today. Now –’ she glanced around – ‘tell me all about your adventures in Mandalay.’

Belle enthused about the river trip and the ride in the hot air balloon but didn’t say anything about Mandalay. She explained how the search for the white baby had come to nothing and, coupled with all the trouble in Rangoon, that was why she was considering going back to England. Gloria nodded and offered to enlist Edward’s support in booking an early crossing if she was adamant about leaving.

‘Whatever you decide,’ she added, ‘I’m sure Edward and I will do our best to help. But, Belle, I can’t emphasize this enough. You must get away from Oliver. He’s dangerous.’

‘Is there something about him you haven’t told me?’

‘What more do you need?’

Belle flinched at the smug way in which Gloria assumed she was in the right, then felt her colour rising again, this time in annoyance. She’d had enough.

Gloria, seeing the look on her face, shook her head and, with an attempt at a placatory gesture, raised her hands. ‘I only want you to be safe.’

One did not usually argue with Gloria, but Belle rose to Oliver’s defence, the bond between them the only motivation she needed to stand up for the man she loved. ‘You’re wrong about Oliver. He’s a good man. And I trust him.’

The two women held each other’s eyes and then Gloria raised one eyebrow and sighed deeply as if at some recalcitrant child. ‘Well, never mind. Let’s not quarrel, and my offer is there. As I said, don’t turn your back on your real friends.’

Belle looked away. She’d liked Gloria, admired her even. The woman had always been fun and ready to be helpful, but now Belle felt herself grow stiff with suppressed anger.

As Gloria drew out another cigarette, Belle retraced the course of their relationship, sifting through her memories and tracking back to their first encounter on the boat. She’d been flattered by Gloria’s interest back then, but now mistrust flooded her mind. Had their friendship really been so innocent? Or had Gloria specifically cultivated their acquaintance once she’d found out Belle’s surname?

Furious at Gloria’s repeated insistence that Oliver was not to be trusted, she shook her head. She knew her trust in him was not a result of some awful lapse in judgement as Gloria had implied, and she would not allow the other woman to persuade her otherwise. She had no right to march in here like this and virtually demand Belle should leave.

‘I think you had better go,’ Belle said eventually, successfully hiding the crack in her voice and aware something between them had been broken. The truth was, she no longer knew who Edward really was or what he was up to, and the same applied to Gloria.