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

street.
    Though longing to get back home for her bath, she ducked back inside and kept watch for a little while, looking through the slats of the blind. A convoy of military cars went by, a rare sight in the old quarter, though it seemed more of the French army were arriving in the city now. Across the street a grandmother dragged a protesting child out to a bathtub she’d prepared on the narrow pavement. She dumped the child in the water and began to scrub its thin back. Nicole grinned.Here in the old quarter, life was lived outside. She liked that. It felt open and honest. A tea boy approached, his bamboo pole balanced across his shoulders; along its length tiny tin cups, pipes and teapots rattled a tune as they swung. The young Vietnamese man, Trần, paused to speak to him. This was her chance. She slid out of the shop, quickly locked the door and slipped away.
    Round the corner she passed an old Vietnamese woman who was airing her views for all the world to hear.
    ‘They don’t care, the French,’ the woman was saying.
    Nicole slowed her pace.
    ‘My neighbour says there’s been a bomb,’ a younger woman said. ‘Not far from you. Got it from the doughnut pedlar. Did you hear it?’
    ‘No, but my nephew said everyone round his way was talking about it.’
    The other person lowered her voice. Nicole couldn’t catch it all but made out that they both believed the Vietminh were closer to Hanoi than anyone suspected, just as the young man had said.
    And they’d spoken of a bomb. Again. Her father had told her there had been no bomb, had even shown her the newspaper denying it. She felt suddenly nervous. Even though many were still loyal to the French, she hated not knowing who to trust. Now overhearing this conversation, it worried her to think that the situation might be worse than anyone in her family was willing to admit.

7
    As Mark and Nicole passed the large ponds around the banks of the lake, she pointed out the sea of fragrant pink and white lotus flowers coating their surface. Climbing out of the rickshaw, her worries about the ancient quarter evaporated and she suddenly felt so happy that her fear of being in a small boat faded a little. A blind beggar man, squatting on the bank, took no notice of them, but after a few minutes of searching they identified the man in charge of boats, smoking and drinking coffee at the water’s edge beside a wooden jetty. He glanced pointedly at his watch when Mark made his request, only agreeing when offered a few extra dollars.
    The sun was still warm and as she’d forgotten her hat Mark lent her his straw boater. He had on a crisp white shirt that seemed to make his skin glow, and she wore a kingfisher-blue shirtwaister.
    ‘Maybe high heels weren’t such a good idea,’ she said and laughed nervously as the boatman passed her a cushion. She made herself comfortable. ‘I should have worn pumps.’
    Mark laughed. ‘You’re fine.’
    Once he’d climbed in, he rolled up his shirtsleeves and took hold of the oars. The boat slid away from the jetty. As he rowed, Nicole watched the sun catch the gold hairs on his forearms. His outdoor upbringing had made him muscular and, remembering how quickly he’d responded to danger when he’d grabbed Daniel Giraud by the throat, she could see he would never be destined for an ordinary office job. Nor was he a man you’d ever want to cross. She wondered if that botheredher. You’d need to know, she thought, before committing yourself to wanting him as much as she felt she already did. She smiled to herself. As if there was any choice.
    When they reached the centre of the lake he stopped rowing and smiled at her. ‘Happy?’
    She nodded and watched the surface of the lake blur into a mix of pink and gold. ‘They don’t usually let you on the lake so late in the day.’
    ‘I wanted us to be out here together, even if only for a few minutes. I used to swim to the middle of our lake at sunset when I was a kid.’
    ‘How