October 3, 1933
“I know you’ve had Lucie to look after, but have you been getting up to much in my absence?” Victor asked me over breakfast the morning after he returned.
We had fallen asleep early the night before, while still discussing his discovery on the plantation.
“I’ve been to the Officers’ Club a bit,” I said, “but Lucie loves to play here, so we often do.” I certainly did not intend to tell Victor about who I had met at the Officers’ Club.
“Now that I’m back in Hanoi for a spell, I can go with you to the club if you’d like.”
I nodded but didn’t look at him.
After Trieu had cleared our breakfast and closed the glass doors behind her, Victor gestured for me to come closer.
“And Marcelle?” he asked quietly.
“I do think it was just an unfortunate coincidence,” I said just as quietly, remembering our lazy hours by the pool together. “We went to the club together once, and I saw that she speaks frankly with everyone, sharing snippets about her life that most women would want to keep secret, and also giving a lot of unsolicited advice. She told one of the guests to apply sandalwood and turmeric to a sunburn. Likened them to a lobster. I’ve seen others taken aback by the things she says. But I’m sorry I was so dramatic about it all,” I said with a genuine laugh. “You don’t have to worry. I’m back to my usual self.”
“That’s a tremendous relief,” Victor said, leaning back again. “I understand why it worried you, of course, but it did seem highly unlikely to me,” he added. “I thought about every scenario. Could she know someone at the clinic? Could she know a friend of my mother’s? Someone maman could have confided in about you?”
“Whom would your mother confide in?” I asked, trying my best to remain outwardly calm. I was back to normal, after all—I’d just declared so to Victor. I couldn’t seem worked up about his mother. “Didn’t you once say that she never spoke of it because she didn’t want a stain on her family?”
“Yes, and I’m sure it’s true,” he said hastily. “But you were so distraught. I was just trying to get to the bottom of it.”
“I am sure it’s nothing. Just an odd coincidence that brought back old memories.”
“I think these are just the kinds of things that women talk about. Especially women like Marcelle. The bold, loud kind. You weren’t spending time with women like that at home.” He put his hat on as the sun moved over us, the parasol no longer fully covering our faces. “My mother kept you around all those aristocrats in Paris.”
“Marcelle isn’t exactly a street urchin,” I countered.
“No, but she’s a little more common than the ladies you saw at home. A little more eccentric, no?”
“I don’t think I can label anyone common,” I said, thinking back to my beginnings. Victor knew that I had not grown up with money, but I had told him nothing beyond that. It was all he needed to know.
“Some people shed their first skin better than others,” Victor said, his arm brushing against mine as he reached for his coffee. “I did ask around a bit about Arnaud. He’s quite the ladies’ man, it seems, but one of Governor-General Pasquier’s closest economic advisers. He remains prominent in the Alliance Républicaine Démocratique. He was also in Burma for a few years, one of the only Frenchmen there. It’s a bit of a unique position, since we have such little presence in Burma, but he seems to have come out of it well.”
“A ladies’ man?” I asked, remembering what Marcelle and I had seen in the billiard room.
“Those might just be rumors,” said Victor. “Men like to start such rumors about themselves when they’re abroad and there are willing native women in such large supply.”
“I hope they are just rumors, for Marcelle’s sake.”
Victor nodded. “On a different note, I have a proposition for you. A bit of a redo of that terrible situation that I put you in with the policeman. If you’re up for it, that is.”
“A redo? As in I have to live that nightmare again?” I said, my heartbeat picking up.
“No, I phrased that badly,” he said, smiling. “But I do need your help. We need your help,” he said, referring to what was bigger than us, “and this time I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
For many years I’d wanted to be more helpful to Victor, in his working life especially, but Agathe had always forbade it. Finally, she wasn’t here.
“What is it?” I asked, appreciative of Victor’s trust in me.
“I need someone to travel to Haiphong, eighty miles east of here, and meet with a man. He helps with recruiting and worker transport in the rural parts of the region. I’m told that he has some important papers for me, but I can’t make the journey myself, as our overseers down in Cochinchina are insisting I come back to the plantations straightaway. The hospital expansion at Phu Rieng is finished, and I’m to give the governor-general a tour. He is very invested in how we are bringing modern European health care to our workers. I can’t tear myself in two, but I don’t want our man in Haiphong to hand off the papers to just anyone. I want them in the possession of someone I trust. And given what happened with that overseer at Phu Rieng, I’m more cautious. But I know whom I can always trust. I can always trust you.”
“Yes, you can,” I said, feeling a rush of love and pride. “You can always trust me.”
“Plus, it would allow you to see more of the country,” said Victor. “Take the train and spend a bit of time relaxing. We can set you up in a lovely hotel and you can contribute to our success here in a more concrete way. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Very much so,” I said. Victor knew that I wanted to feel useful, to exercise parts of my mind that I’d ignored since we’d married. The parts that only belonged to a working woman.
Haiphong. I thought about the commotion on the docks when our boat had finally anchored in the port city. I’d barely slept the night before, anticipating our arrival at dawn, as the captain had promised. When the boat started to slow, I expected to pull into the quiet of the Far East, greeted by gentle waves, the murmur of soft voices. Instead, we heard loud shouting and the bang of metal containers moved around on the docks. There were huge cargo ships, piled high with wares—from household goods to bags of dried rice—and men running shirtless on the decks and below, wrapping rope around large containers, others trying to pull them to shore. The few women appeared to be carrying loads of at least fifty pounds on their backs, weaving unsteadily between the men, trying to keep their balance. There was nothing quiet or gentle about it.
But this trip would be different. I was no longer a stranger to Indochine. It was starting to become my home.