Read Online The Silk Merchant's Daughter by Dinah Jefferies - Free Book Online
Authors: Dinah Jefferies
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‘I’m having the courtyard painted and the kitchen spring-cleaned. The smell is too strong for the customers.’
There was a rap at the back door. When Lisa went over to open it, Nicole caught sight of an urchin, who handed something over. The cook closed the door.
‘It’s for you. Who is sending you little notes, my butterfly?’ Lisa passed her an envelope and sat down to roll a cigarette.
Nicole glanced at her name on the front. Straightaway she got up to leave.
‘Secret assignation, right?’ Lisa said with a laugh.
‘Right!’ Nicole laughed.
When she reached the hall, she tore open the envelope and first of all glanced at the signature on the notepaper. Mark. Relief flooded through her as she read that he wanted to meet at Les Variétés that afternoon at four. It would be worth her while, he said. Her first response was to whoop out loud, after which she flew upstairs, all the time working out what to wear.
By ten to four Nicole was pacing the pavement outside Les Variétés, Hanoi’s oldest theatre and considered rather downmarket. So as not to be late or get wet, she had taken the tram rather than walk, but by the time she arrived the drizzle had died down and patches of blue patterned the sky. The theatre was situated on a crossroads and if she stood outside the imposing front door she could see every direction from which Mark might approach.
She’d never been inside, though Papa had taken her and Sylvie to the French musical appreciation society, the Société Philharmonique. But, much to her father’s disappointment, it was not the kind of music Nicole liked. After that he’d taken her to see a visiting French theatre company perform Molière at the Municipal Theatre, known by the Vietnamese as the Western Theatre. It was a beautiful building with arches and domes, but as it had only served to increase her longing for excitement, the visit had not been repeated. The place she loved best and went to alone was the beautiful Cinéma Palace, with its wonderful arched entrance, on what the Vietnamesecalled Trang Tien Road. Her favourite films recently had been
The Red Shoes
and
The Three Musketeers.
What Papa liked was listening to the French military band playing in a square near to the lake. Luckily they weren’t there today, and as she waited for Mark she watched the flower girls from the villages. Daily they brought in flowers loaded up in great panniers either side of skinny little donkeys. You always saw the girls squatting along with the birds at the edge of the road circling the lake. The scent of the flowers was overpowering and as Nicole took a few steps away she collided with a boy on a bicycle loaded with dozens of baskets intended for steaming dumplings. He tried to persuade her to buy, but when she laughed and told him she was French he called her a
métisse
and spat on the ground. She felt upset but was not going to let it spoil her afternoon.
Soon after she heard Mark call her name. She swivelled round. How confident he looked, she thought, with his arms swinging and a spring in his step.
‘On time, I see,’ he said and gave her a wide smile.
‘I was early.’
‘Well, you look lovely.’ He touched her hair, lifting it slightly away from her face. ‘I like your hair loose like this.’
She grinned with pleasure. After several changes she had decided on a red slim-fitting dress, reaching just below the knee, with a flat broad-brimmed straw hat in cream which she now held in her hand. She felt elegant and knew the outfit made her seem older.
As he held out a hand, she felt the thrill of being with him again.
‘Shall we?’
Once inside the theatre it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dark. When they did she gazed at an old-fashioned music hall complete with red velvet seats and oillamps fixed to the walls, though on closer inspection she saw they had been converted to electricity. The smell of greasepaint, sweat and stale perfume filled her with a thrilling
There was a rap at the back door. When Lisa went over to open it, Nicole caught sight of an urchin, who handed something over. The cook closed the door.
‘It’s for you. Who is sending you little notes, my butterfly?’ Lisa passed her an envelope and sat down to roll a cigarette.
Nicole glanced at her name on the front. Straightaway she got up to leave.
‘Secret assignation, right?’ Lisa said with a laugh.
‘Right!’ Nicole laughed.
When she reached the hall, she tore open the envelope and first of all glanced at the signature on the notepaper. Mark. Relief flooded through her as she read that he wanted to meet at Les Variétés that afternoon at four. It would be worth her while, he said. Her first response was to whoop out loud, after which she flew upstairs, all the time working out what to wear.
By ten to four Nicole was pacing the pavement outside Les Variétés, Hanoi’s oldest theatre and considered rather downmarket. So as not to be late or get wet, she had taken the tram rather than walk, but by the time she arrived the drizzle had died down and patches of blue patterned the sky. The theatre was situated on a crossroads and if she stood outside the imposing front door she could see every direction from which Mark might approach.
She’d never been inside, though Papa had taken her and Sylvie to the French musical appreciation society, the Société Philharmonique. But, much to her father’s disappointment, it was not the kind of music Nicole liked. After that he’d taken her to see a visiting French theatre company perform Molière at the Municipal Theatre, known by the Vietnamese as the Western Theatre. It was a beautiful building with arches and domes, but as it had only served to increase her longing for excitement, the visit had not been repeated. The place she loved best and went to alone was the beautiful Cinéma Palace, with its wonderful arched entrance, on what the Vietnamesecalled Trang Tien Road. Her favourite films recently had been
The Red Shoes
and
The Three Musketeers.
What Papa liked was listening to the French military band playing in a square near to the lake. Luckily they weren’t there today, and as she waited for Mark she watched the flower girls from the villages. Daily they brought in flowers loaded up in great panniers either side of skinny little donkeys. You always saw the girls squatting along with the birds at the edge of the road circling the lake. The scent of the flowers was overpowering and as Nicole took a few steps away she collided with a boy on a bicycle loaded with dozens of baskets intended for steaming dumplings. He tried to persuade her to buy, but when she laughed and told him she was French he called her a
métisse
and spat on the ground. She felt upset but was not going to let it spoil her afternoon.
Soon after she heard Mark call her name. She swivelled round. How confident he looked, she thought, with his arms swinging and a spring in his step.
‘On time, I see,’ he said and gave her a wide smile.
‘I was early.’
‘Well, you look lovely.’ He touched her hair, lifting it slightly away from her face. ‘I like your hair loose like this.’
She grinned with pleasure. After several changes she had decided on a red slim-fitting dress, reaching just below the knee, with a flat broad-brimmed straw hat in cream which she now held in her hand. She felt elegant and knew the outfit made her seem older.
As he held out a hand, she felt the thrill of being with him again.
‘Shall we?’
Once inside the theatre it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dark. When they did she gazed at an old-fashioned music hall complete with red velvet seats and oillamps fixed to the walls, though on closer inspection she saw they had been converted to electricity. The smell of greasepaint, sweat and stale perfume filled her with a thrilling
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