The Silk Merchant's Daughter Read Free Page B

tips of a fern, she knew it would be horribly humid outside, though with a cool tiled floor, giant indoor ferns and the light shining down from a high glass cupola, the hall felt like a shady garden. She glanced down as she picked up her keys from the mother-of-pearl tray, pulled down the skirt of her tight-fitting dress and slipped on the matching high heels. She needed to get away from the house to think over her father’s announcement and had decided to walk into the centre.
    As she left the house behind, she twisted back to see Lisa throwing open the deep green shutters. Their three-storey house was gleaming, its ochre plaster freshly painted, and the overhanging eaves of the roof shaded the sweeping verandah circling the exterior. An entirely French exterior disguised the fact that indoors Indochinese style had made its mark in the form of red-lacquered panels placed either side of the ground-floor doors and decorated with gold leaf.
    Nicole walked in the direction of the town centre but, a few turnings past their road, she was dimly aware of a shout. She hesitated, but hearing another shout and then a shriek coming from a lane running at an angle behind the main road, she took a step back. Glancing down, she saw nothing. It must be children playing, she thought, and began to move on. The shrieks grew louder and more alarming. Without making a conscious decision, she turned into the lane where severalhouses with shattered windows overlooked ruined tarmac. After the Second World War and the battle afterwards with the Vietminh, a few streets still awaited repair. She removed her shoes and, as far as her tight dress allowed, jumped over the rubble at the bend where trees hid the remainder of the narrowing lane from sight.
    Now she could see half a dozen overexcited French boys. When she drew closer, she was horrified to see they were driving a little girl back against the wall behind a tree. The child, trapped with no escape from the circle of boys, looked younger than her tormentors, who seemed about thirteen. Nicole took it all in and ran closer.
    ‘
Métisse, métisse!
’ one of the boys chanted.
    The others joined in, sneering at the girl, their faces twisting in contempt.
    ‘Dirty
métisse
.’
    ‘Go back where you belong.’
    Nicole tensed, recognizing the child’s tear-stained face as she was spun round, her bright blue skirt billowing out – Yvette! She didn’t stop to think but tore down the lane. The boys saw her coming and most backed off, though the two biggest stood firm. One of Yvette’s blue hair ribbons came loose and a boy snatched hold of her plait.
    ‘Let her go,’ Nicole commanded in her most authoritarian voice, trying to appear in control. She was vaguely aware of the sounds of the city around her: car horns, the creak of rickshaws, human voices, though she was more aware of her pounding heart.
    ‘She’s a
métisse
herself. Don’t listen to her,’ the tallest boy said.
    Nicole smelt alcohol and glanced at the ground where wine bottles and cigarette ends lay discarded among the leaves and clumps of cement.
    ‘But her father …’ one of the smaller boys piped up.
    Nicole raced towards the tallest boy, grabbed his collar and hit him with her shoes. ‘My father will report you!’
    Full of himself, he fought back, but one of her heels caught him in the temple. He stood still and, like any bully, began to whimper as he touched his head and saw the blood on his fingers.
    Nicole narrowed her eyes. ‘You ever touch her again …’
    The boy gave her the finger but began to back off.
    ‘That’s it, run away like the cowards you are. Picking on a little girl! Very brave.’
    Another boy turned to come back; one of the quiet ones at the back, whom she hadn’t even noticed. He was thin and well-dressed and, now that she looked, seemed familiar. When she caught the glint of a knife in his hands, she glanced at Yvette.
    ‘Run, Yvette,’ she yelled and pointed behind her. ‘Back that way. Run