The Silk Merchant's Daughter by Dinah Jefferies Read Free Book Online Page A

independence she craved. A place she could be herself without Sylvie breathing down her neck or her father telling her what to do and how to think.
    Upstairs it smelt musty, but she was relieved when close scrutiny revealed that the silk stored there in zinc-lined wooden chests was safe. The trunks had been locked and only she had the keys.
    Nicole opened the drawers of an old chest. The last people had left their rubbish behind so she bundled it all into a sack. In the bottom drawer she spotted an old purse covered in dust. She was about to throw that into the sack too but shook it first. Dust flew everywhere, and she began to cough, but another look revealed the purse was made of hand-embroidered silk. A Vietnamese antique, faded and a little threadbare, but still beautifully decorated with a mythical creature. She ran her fingertips over it, knowing she held the past in her hands. She turned the purse over and, as she did, she could almosthear the voice of its original owner. As she held it against her heart, she felt part of something special; the history of silk and the history of the Vietnamese people was her history too, and it had been woven into this little purse.
    With a French father, a French cook and a sister who, although mixed-race, looked French, Nicole knew the Vietnamese side of her life had rarely been given any space. Her mother’s parents had disowned her when she’d married a Frenchman, and Nicole had not only never met them but had absolutely no idea where they lived. The French had been dominant for so long in Vietnam that Nicole had always assumed she’d let the family down by looking the way she did. She was the only one who spoke the language perfectly and often wished she had her Vietnamese mother to talk to. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, if it hadn’t been for Nicole’s looks, they’d have thought the Duval family was wholly French.
    She cleaned out the top drawer, wrapped the purse in an off-cut from a bale of silk and carefully replaced it.
    After a couple of hours of sweeping, swallowing dust and mopping, Nicole brushed herself down. She had eliminated the smell of cats but not a putrid smell rather like rotten vegetation. Next time she’d bring a bunch of s
hi
leaves to deodorize the place. She was hot and sticky but it had been worth the effort. As she’d walked from room to room upstairs she’d uncovered some dark wood furniture inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and also a velvet chaise longue.
    In a cool dark room at the back overlooking the courtyard, she found an altar of incense and rotten green mangoes. She cleaned it up and opened the window, leaving it ajar for air to circulate, then stood still for a moment. Though Nicole was not sure she believed in God, she could feel the peace from what must have been decades of usage.
    The afternoon was closing in. Once the heat built up you longed to feel the cooler evening hours were on their way. She had been thinking of a bubble bath to dissolve the smell of cats when she was startled by a rooster crowing. Her head shot up and she spotted the young man she’d seen before, now staring at her through the window. He loosened the scarf at his neck and she noticed the tip of what looked like a purple birthmark.
    She went outside to confront him. ‘Why are you here?’
    ‘That creeper at the back could be useful. Better to keep things out of sight.’ He tapped his nose.
    ‘I have no idea what you’re on about.’
    He drew out a packet of matches and, inhaling deeply, lit a cigarette.
    ‘What is your name?’
    ‘You may call me Trần.’
    ‘Well, Trần, if that is your name, I want you to go before I call the police.’
    ‘You will soon be needing me.’ He grinned, showing the gap in his teeth again. ‘The Vietminh are already here in Hanoi.’
    ‘You know nothing about it. You’re just an overgrown buffalo boy!’
    He flicked his fringe away from his eyes and bowed before walking to the other side of the