alert again. So he’s back. For some time she had suspected that Christopher was stealing food. It wouldn’t have surprised her if he were selling it on the black market. One way or another they were all up to no good. What else could one expect from a family of gamblers and drunks? The cards were dealt. She began to turn them over, one by one. Perhaps they would offer her an explanation.
Christopher left the house through the back with a parcel under his arm. The servants were resting and so, he hoped, was his mother. No one else mattered. No one else took much notice of him. Now fifteen, Christopher found that Colombo had made little difference to the way he lived his life. He still came and went as he pleased and he still loathed Thornton. He would never forgive his father for sending his brothers to Greenwood while he had never even been to school. Rage, never far off, threatened to overtake him whenever he thought of Thornton. To distract himself he remembered his secret. For Christopher had a secret that of late had brought him immense happiness. None of his family knew that he had fallen in love and was conducting the most wonderful romance. The object of his adoration was a little girl called Kamala whose father ran a sherbet and betel kadé on Galle Face Green. It was to Kamala, with her emaciated body and her poverty, that he went with the outpouring of all those things he kept hidden from the rest of the de Silvas. With furious energy and great passion Christopher showered her with his stolen presents. He took food, money, books; anything he could think of that might bring her happiness. This afternoon he had found a cardboard box with some silk in it. His mother was always buying saris. Christopher felt sure she would not miss one. Picking up the box and a packet of English biscuits lying on the kitchen table, he hurried out. Jasper, who had moved to his lower perch, watched him leave with narrow-eyed interest.
‘Careful, my boy!’ he said, copying Aloysius.
But Christopher only grinned and tweaked the bird’s tail feathers affectionately before sauntering out into the sun. He crossed the road and headed towards the seafront. To his surprise he saw Thornton hurrying ahead of him. Christopher slowed down. Thornton was the last person he wanted to meet just at this moment. A bus passed and Thornton ducked suddenly, and then vanished. Christopher looked around, puzzled. There was nowhere Thornton could have gone. He glanced down the road but there was no sign of him. His brother had disappeared. Perhaps he had been mistaken, Christopher thought, continuing on his way. Stepping off the bus on his afternoon off, Jacob looked across the road. He too was certain he had glimpsed Thornton. Heading off furtively in the direction of the Jewish Quarter of the town.
Having decided to do something about Alicia’s musical education, Grace went to see the Director of the Conservatoire. She had known his family from many years before, in the days when her mother was alive and used to hold concerts in their house in the hills. All she wanted, she told the Director, was an opinion on Alicia’s ability. Then she would sell her land to pay for her daughter’s studies.
‘Bring her to me, Grace,’ the Director said, smiling at her. ‘Let’s hear her play, let’s see what she can do first.’
The Director had a soft spot for Grace. He had never really understood why she had thrown her life away with Aloysius de Silva. Seeing her lovely, anxious face, he was determined to help if he could.
Grace needn’t have worried. Three weeks later Alicia was accepted on her own merits, securing a scholarship for the entire three-year diploma. Her daughter’s talent would not be wasted and the last of Grace’s legacy would remain untouched. Waiting for that rainy day.
When he heard the news Aloysius looked with admiration at his talented daughter. Alicia was sixteen. Her future was bright.
‘You see, darl,’ he said beaming at Grace. ‘She’s got our talent! Thank goodness one of them has, eh?’
‘Well, I think we should all thank Myrtle, first,’ Grace said, handing the letter of acceptance to her cousin. ‘Without her lessons, Alicia, you would have been nowhere!’
‘You’ll be able to play on a Steinway, Alicia,’ Thornton said, pleased for his sister. ‘And everything sounds wonderful on a Steinway!’
‘This calls for a celebration, darl,’ Aloysius decided, much to Grace’s alarm. ‘Our family will be famous yet, you’ll see!’
And he went out to play a game of poker, to win some money and buy his clever daughter a present. Or if not a present for Alicia, thought Aloysius unsteadily, moments before he fell into the sea at Galle Face, then at least some whisky.
Myrtle watched him go. Afterwards, she wrote in her diary.
Thursday, September 4. So, my cousin thanks me as though I am her servant. How she loves to play the good mother while neglecting her husband. As for Aloysius he will die of drink.
Towards evening, an Englishman from the Tea Board brought Aloysius home. Grace would not go to the door. She was too ashamed. She sent the servant instead.
‘He’s had a slight accident,’ the Englishman said tactfully to the servant, helping Aloysius into the hall.
There was a brief pause.
‘Is Grace de Silva at home by any chance?’
Myrtle, hearing the commotion, opened her door stealthily and listened for a moment. Then she went back to her diary.
Four o’clock, she wrote, grimly. And Aloysius is drunk again. I shall continue to record what goes on in this house. Who knows when it might come in useful? If Grace is doing something illegal, if she is caught, my diary will be useful evidence.
Grace was furious. She recognised the man’s voice. How could Aloysius make such a fool of them both? He might not mind being humiliated, but what about her?
‘Charming bastards,’ said Aloysius staggering in, stopping short at the sight of his wife skulking in the doorway. ‘Why on earth are you hiding, darl?’ he asked cheerily. ‘I know he’s white but he’s not such a bad fellow, you know, underneath. My clothes made rather a mess of his jeep, I’m afraid!’
He laughed. Grace glared at him. She would never raise her voice in front of the servants.
‘They don’t like me much any more,’ continued Aloysius mildly, unaware of her fury. ‘They think I’m no use with the local idiots.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘They think I don’t know what’s going on, that I’m a bloody fool! But I know what the British are up to. I know what’s going on.’ He leaned unsteadily against the door. ‘Divide and rule. That’s been their game for years, darl. These fellows don’t give a damn about any of us.’ He made a gesture as though he was cutting his throat. ‘I think I’ll have a little lie-down now, if you don’t mind, darl.’
And off he went, first to wash off the seawater and then to pour out a small hair of the dog, after which, he informed the servant sternly, he would have a late afternoon nap.
All her life, Myrtle wrote, G has had everything she wanted. The looks, the wealth and the man I wanted. But she’ll never be happy. And he has wasted his life because of her.
In a month from now Alicia would leave for the Conservatoire. She would be a full-time boarder. Myrtle paused, staring out at the bright afternoon garden. That would leave Frieda, she thought.
The shadow, she wrote, whom no one notices!
