October 25, 1933
“Trieu?” I called out. I’d rung for her a few minutes before, but she hadn’t appeared yet. I squinted at the clock on my nightstand, its face barely visible in the shadowy bedroom. It was five minutes to six in the morning. I’d slept with the windows open and could see that outside the sky was still blue-black. It was late October, and somehow the early hour seemed darker than it had just the day before, when I’d also been awake before dawn. It was as if the earth had turned a bit too quickly away from the sun. Under the covers, I gripped the small silk bag containing my broken ring. When we were in the room together, I had knocked my hand on the wall and it had shattered, Red had said, surprised I didn’t remember. I had been too shocked to cry when I found it, but now, holding its poor remnants, I wanted to scream. How could I have smoked that poison and let myself go? How could I have broken my ring? I knew that emeralds were far more prone to breaking than diamonds, one of the reasons I’d been more careful with it than I had my wedding ring. But how could I have shattered it? I had been so foolish.
“Oui, madame, j’arrive,” I heard Trieu call from down the hall as I flicked on my lamp, her voice muffled by the closed door. She opened it a few seconds later, leaving it ajar so the hallway light poured in. She was in a blue ao and black pants, but her hair was unbrushed, and she had sleep in her eyes.
“Trieu, I need to be on the morning train to Saigon. What time does it leave?”
“The train south leaves at nine o’clock, madame,” she said. “But it does not go to Saigon. The railroad does not connect Hanoi and Saigon yet. It won’t for many years still. You can take a train directly to Tourane, on the coast, but then you have to travel by car or boat to Nha Trang. From there, you can continue by train to Saigon.”
“That’s right. Victor mentioned that,” I said. “Which is faster, car or boat?”
“Monsieur Lesage takes a car and spends one night along the route. There is a good European hotel in Quy Nhon, about halfway between the two rail stations. Le Grand Hôtel. There is running water, electric fans. It’s very near to the beach. It’s where your husband stays. I think this way is faster, or at least more comfortable.”
“Yes, that sounds fine. Please arrange it,” I said.
Trieu nodded and straightened the band-style collar of her ao. It was still open, and she quickly pushed the small gold button through its loop, murmuring an apology.
“Would you like to dress now?” she asked, stepping into the room.
“Not yet,” I said. “I can dress myself for something as casual as a train ride.”
“Of course,” she said and backed quickly out the door.
I drained the cup of tea that had been placed by my bed the night before, not minding that it was cold. My heart was broken over my ring, but I was physically feeling like myself again and was glad I had my appetite back. Since returning from Ha Long Bay on Sunday, I had stayed in bed, barely leaving my room, trying to right my mind. For three days I had ricocheted between deep sleep and restive wakefulness. Lucie had come into my bedroom a few times, lying down with me, telling me stories about her days at school, as well as her time in the kitchen, which she seemed to enjoy more. But even with her animated face in front of me, I couldn’t stop the images from those ten hours on the boat from flashing through my brain. I was unable to make sense of them, still feeling desperately unwell after the quantities of strong substances I’d consumed with Red. The champagne. The Pegu Clubs. The opium that had caused my nausea. That awful tar was still coating my lungs, I was sure of it. But one image that never appeared was my ring breaking. I had no recollection of it.
Trying to find peace in sleep, I’d close my eyes again and again, only for certain scenes to resurface: the guests pawing at one another, in the sway of desire and drugs; Marcelle in the arms of a man not her husband—and Red. Mostly I kept seeing my transgression with Red, the only misstep I’d made since meeting Victor. It felt as if that sin had broken my ring. Perhaps I had collided with the wall on purpose, knowing I didn’t deserve it anymore. And I certainly didn’t deserve to be Victor’s right hand, tasked with confidential dealings.
When I’d woken this morning, I expected another such day but was surprised to feel as if I could breathe again. I was able to shut down the images from the strange interlude at Ha Long Bay. Instead, I concentrated on the trip I wanted to make. The trip south to our vast miles of gray and red earth.
Victor had called the plantations a man’s world many times. He had never instructed me not to visit, but he hadn’t invited me either, and I hadn’t asked. But now I felt that I must go. Red was pushing for me to visit. Insisting. There had to be a reason why.
The way he had brought up the Michelin land the morning after our kiss, that stupid, reckless kiss. Why did he care if I’d seen it or not? It felt out of character. Red seemed like a man focused on living large without a care in the world. I supposed he had to dabble with the railroad expansion sometimes, but from what I could tell, his main priorities in life were getting highly intoxicated and making love to intoxicating women.
Lying between my sheets, which Trieu had been changing twice a day because of my cold sweats, I fingered the silk bag and thought about how I’d first met Red. He’d been one of the only men in the club when Marcelle and I had arrived for an early swim, an outing orchestrated by Marcelle. In hindsight, it was far too convenient.
I’d been wrong to stop worrying about her. I’d been too hungry to establish a life in Hanoi, and too desperate for friendship, especially with someone as vivacious and companionable as Marcelle. That childish longing, that need for intimacy, which I blamed on growing up with a horde of siblings, had made me silence my suspicions about her too quickly. I’d written off her mention of Switzerland as my tendency to overreact at times of change or upheaval. Victor knew that, too. But we’d made a mistake here.
I would explain to Victor my misgivings about Red, and he would understand why I needed to see the plantations.
I rang the bell that sounded in the servants’ rooms again, and Trieu reappeared a few minutes later. Her hair was brushed now, her appearance much neater.
“I’d like to send a telegram to Victor,” I said. I reached for the notepad and pen on my nightstand and scribbled a quick note. “Just in case I can’t get him on the telephone in time,” I said, handing it to her. “It’s difficult to connect to the plantation. The service out there is dreadful.”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ll send it at once.”
In the note, I estimated I would arrive in three days’ time, assuming the journey went smoothly. Victor would not be pleased that I was coming uninvited, but I told myself that when I explained about Red, he’d wonder why I hadn’t come sooner.
Visit the Michelin plantations, Red had said. His voice had been light, yet there was an urgency in his words and in his expression.
I wondered if he thought I was the kind of woman who just sat idle and had no interest in how her husband made his money. I hoped he didn’t. Regardless, he seemed determined to have me see more.
The door to Victor’s closet was slightly ajar, and I could make out his rows of perfectly pressed suits, each spaced two inches from the next. Victor had only taken two with him to the south. He said it was different there. He didn’t have to dress the way he had in Paris or even in Hanoi. Perhaps Red was right. Perhaps I didn’t know enough about life on the plantations that helped keep the Michelin name so prominent.
I emerged from bed slowly and looked at myself in the mirror. I was wearing an old pair of Victor’s pajamas instead of my nightgown. Trieu had helped me change when I’d sweated through it. I had eaten next to nothing for three days. My hair needed washing, my eyebrows shaping, my shoulders massaging so that their exhausted slump disappeared. I did not look like the elegant woman who had proven to be so confident, so capable in Haiphong. I looked like a stranger. I reached down and gripped my naked right hand. And now I had to make this journey without my ring.