Return to Mandalay Read Online Free PDF Page A

sense of dread. Burma. Would that country never loosen the claw-like hold it seemed to have on her life? She shuddered. First her father, and now Eva. What was it about the place?
    She slumped slightly in her seat, then straightened, clicked back to her inbox. She wouldn’t delete it, couldn’t delete it, and of course she’d answer it, later. Or maybe she’d phone Eva, which was much harder. Face to face had become harder still. Not that she’d ever intended it to be that way …
    Her daughter had explained that her company were sending her over there, but Rosemary knew she was delighted to go. Her excitement was written between the lines as clearly as the words themselves.
It’ll be so interesting to see the place after all Grandpa’s stories …
Grandpa’s stories indeed. And a lot he hadn’t told her too.
    Rosemary got to her feet and walked over to the window. She and Alec lived in Copenhagen, in a penthouse apartment in a residential borough just outside the old ramparts of the medieval city and the sweeping view of the city which was theirs to admire every day included the spires of Christiansborg Palace and City Hall. The people who lived herewere justifiably proud of Copenhagen. It was a thriving and cultural city and it was kept immaculately clean. Heavens, thought Rosemary, the harbour was so unpolluted you could apparently swim in it, not that she had tried. The city boasted plenty of parks and green spaces, wide promenades and waterfronts, and the infrastructure of cycle lanes, metro and other social services helped maintain a pleasant lifestyle. Alec earned a good wage working as a project manager for a large financial institution, and although taxes were high, the rewards were good. Rosemary couldn’t complain. And it was hardly Alec’s fault that sometimes she wanted to scream …
    The apartment was smartly furnished, modern, all clean lines and up-market furnishings. Stylish and tasteful. And, she thought, a million miles away from the house in which she’d grown up, in West Dorset. Her parents’ house, rambling both inside and out with its cubby holes, inglenook fireplace, winding stairs and bay windows looking out into the untameable garden. Her mother, Helen, had tried to keep it in check; they had even employed a gardener for a while. Helen and wild gardens were not a match made in heaven. But that garden, with its climbing roses, meandering paths, blowsy hydrangea bushes and pond with water lilies and frog spawn, would always go its own way.
    Like Eva. Rosemary put a hand to her hair and tucked a few strands behind one ear. She kept it in a short, shaped bob these days, smarter, easier to control. Her daughter had always been headstrong. But Burma … It was almost more than she could bear. How much did Eva know?
    When Nick had been alive, they’d laughed about their wild daughter, teased one another about who she took after, as she climbed trees or galloped across the beach playing what she called ‘horsacs’, her thick dark hair streaming behind her in the wind. She was a proper tomboy, unable to sit still for a minute. More than anything she had loved to spend time with her grandfather up at the house, and he’d been a wild one too in his time. For a moment Rosemary felt the bitterness creeping up on her. But their closeness had been a blessing, she reminded herself, after it had happened.
    Oh, Nick. When Nick was alive, Rosemary had been happy, blissfully happy. She used to laugh. Rosemary looked around the swish apartment, all chrome and beige, cream and leather. Original art from local exhibitions on the walls, cool wooden parquet flooring. She used to get up in the morning and sing while she was in the shower. If she sang in the shower now, Alec would probably think she’d lost her mind.
    She went into the kitchen and plucked her navy blue apron from the drawer. It was such a nice kitchen and everything was where it should be. And she wasn’t
unhappy
. How could she be