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  Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  CHAPTER 30

  CHAPTER 31

  CHAPTER 32

  CHAPTER 33

  CHAPTER 34

  CHAPTER 35

  CHAPTER 36

  CHAPTER 37

  CHAPTER 38

  CHAPTER 39

  CHAPTER 40

  CHAPTER 41

  CHAPTER 42

  CHAPTER 43

  CHAPTER 44

  CHAPTER 45

  CHAPTER 46

  CHAPTER 47

  CHAPTER 48

  CHAPTER 49

  CHAPTER 50

  CHAPTER 51

  CHAPTER 52

  CHAPTER 53

  CHAPTER 54

  CHAPTER 55

  CHAPTER 56

  CHAPTER 57

  CHAPTER 58

  CHAPTER 59

  CHAPTER 60

  CHAPTER 61

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The Creative Landscape

  Discover Rosanna Ley

  First published in Great Britain in 2014 by

  Quercus Editions Ltd

  55 Baker Street

  7th Floor, South Block

  London

  W1U 8EW

  Copyright © 2014 Rosanna Ley

  The moral right of Rosanna Ley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  PB ISBN 978 1 78206 762 7

  EBOOK ISBN 978 1 78206 763 4

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  You can find this and many other great books at:

  www.quercusbooks.co.uk

  Rosanna Ley works as a creative writing tutor and has written many articles and stories for national magazines. Her writing holidays and retreats take place in stunning locations in Spain and Italy. When she is not travelling, Rosanna lives in West Dorset by the sea.

  For Grey, with love.

  And in memory of Peter Innes, John Sams and all the men who fought in Burma.

  Never forgotten.

  CHAPTER 1

  ‘Could you come through to the office, Eva?’ Jacqui Dryden’s voice was, as always, cool and slightly irritated.

  Eva was stooping over a Victorian dressing-table repairing the spring mechanism of a tiny drawer in the panelling. She straightened up. Ouch. Rubbed her back with the heel of her hand. It was a delicate job and she hadn’t realised quite how long she’d been stuck in that position.

  ‘Just coming,’ she called back. Briefly, she touched the top of the walnut dressing-table with her fingertips as if promising her swift return.

  Jacqui Dryden was standing staring out of the large bay window into the street below. It was a Thursday afternoon in late October and Bristol city centre was as busy as ever. The Bristol Antiques Emporium was well placed in a side street where rents were lower but there were still enough individual-looking shops to pull in passers-by. Vintage was in, business was brisk and Eva’s boss should have been happy. She looked anything but. Her make-up was as flawless as ever, but there was something despairing in her blue eyes that Eva hadn’t seen there before. Could it be anything to do with the raised voices she’d heard coming from the office this morning?

  ‘Come in.’ Jacqui turned towards her, the despairing expression vanished and Eva felt her scrutiny. Her boss had this way. She was a little over five feet tall, blonde and perfectly formed, and when she was around her, Eva invariably felt awkward, clumsy, too tall. She wasn’t used to feeling like that. She brushed some sawdust from her jeans. Her hands were dusty too and she realised she had a splinter in her thumb. She kept her nails clipped short because of the nature of the job and at work wore jeans, a T-shirt and a pair of old Converse, tying her unruly dark hair back in a ponytail so that it wouldn’t get in the way. She could imagine how she looked to Jackie, could see what she was thinking. She wasn’t at her most glamorous. But this was work and Eva relished immersing herself in it.

  Jacqui didn’t invite her to sit down, didn’t so much as smile. Several times over the past few months, Eva had been tempted to tap on her boss’s shell, try and make it crack a little and take a peek inside. But she hadn’t risked it – at least, not yet.

  ‘I need you to go away on an assignment,’ Jacqui said without preamble.

  ‘Away?’ Eva echoed. That was a first. ‘What kind of assignment?’

  She had worked at the Emporium for six months now. The job had attracted her because the company dealt mainly in Asian antiques. Thanks to her grandfather, as a child she had fallen in love with wood and with history; they were in her blood. At nineteen, she had left home in Dorset – a home that had splintered to pieces after her father’s death when Eva was only six – and gone to university in Bristol to study antique furniture restoration with decorative arts. Specialist subject: Asian artefacts. And that was thanks to her grandfather, too. That was sixteen years ago now. But there was still so much, Eva reminded herself, to thank him for.

  Jacqui didn’t answer the question. Her partner, Leon – in business and life – hadn’t answered her questions in the office this morning either. ‘Why should you care? Tell me what’s going on,’ Jacqui had demanded. ‘Or I walk out of here this minute.’ But Leon hadn’t and so Jacqui had. She had stalked out of her office in her pencil skirt and stilettos right past where Eva was busy repairing the scabbard of an old Japanese sword and pretending she hadn’t heard what was being said.

  ‘As you know,’ Jacqui said to Eva now, ‘our Asian stock is selling very well at the moment.’

  ‘Yes.’ Of course, she had noticed. The company were expanding that side of the business and soon perhaps Victorian walnut dressing-tables would be a thing of the past, so to speak. Many countries were opening up more than ever before and those in the Far East were in a position to take advantage of growing international interest in their colonial furniture, a legacy of days gone by, and in their cultural and religious artefacts too. Like their old stone Buddhas, for example – and they’d seen a few of those in the Emporium – often so badly eroded that they’d no doubt had new ones made by some local stonemason. The Bristol Antiques Emporium hadn’t wasted any time in forging lucrative partnerships with Far East traders who wanted to sell.

  ‘But there are problems.’ Jacqui tucked back a strand of fine blonde hair that had dared escape the fifti
es’ chignon she favoured. ‘Too much stock is arriving badly damaged, for a start.’

  ‘Which could certainly be avoided,’ Eva agreed. She was the person who generally had to repair it. She had joined the Emporium hoping to make use of the expertise she’d gained doing her degree. At last, she’d thought. It had been thirteen years since she’d graduated, but none of her jobs had quite fulfilled her expectations. She’d worked in a secondhand furniture shop for a man who specialised in cold-calling with the express purpose of parting old ladies from family heirlooms with as little money changing hands as possible, until Eva could almost feel his smug smile destroying her soul. She’d worked in a museum shop, where she’d met her friend Leanne. And she’d spent over a year as a seamstress in vintage wedding hire. This was the time – she’d hoped – for her career to take off in the direction she wanted it to.

  But the reality of the Emporium had proved another disappointment. Most of her time was spent doing run-of-the-mill repairs, cleaning, unpacking and often dealing with customers too. They might have formed a lucrative partnership, but the Bristol Antiques Emporium was under-staffed. Apart from Jacqui and Leon, there was only Lydia, who worked part-time in the antiques showroom above. And Eva who did just about everything else.

  ‘If we can find a way of avoiding it, yes.’ Jacqui frowned.

  ‘Can’t our contacts check the packaging before shipping?’ Eva asked mildly. Many of the countries they dealt with packaged the goods poorly – often only with shredded newspaper. They didn’t seem to appreciate the vulnerability of some of the more fragile pieces.

  ‘And …’ Jacqui dismissed this suggestion with a wave of her manicured hand. ‘Our contact has come across some unusual items we may be interested in.’

  ‘Unusual items?’ Eva’s interest flared.

  ‘Statuettes, wooden furniture, eighteenth and nineteenth century – even earlier, some of it. Unique, primitive, just the sort of thing we’re looking for.’ For a second her eyes brightened with enthusiasm. ‘But …’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t fully trust our contact there.’ She glanced at Eva as if to gauge her reaction.

  Eva shrugged. She didn’t need to ask why not. Firstly, six months working for Jacqui Dryden had shown her that her boss rarely trusted anyone, probably not even Leon, come to think of it. And secondly, she was aware that many of their contacts in the Far East had their own agenda. Why should they feel loyalty to their overseas dealers? Why shouldn’t they look out first for their own families, their own countries, when so many of them had lived in poverty for so long?

  ‘The provenance sounds more than plausible,’ Jacqui told her. ‘But they need to be authenticated.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Eva felt the fizz of anticipation. This was why she’d joined the company. Authentication, restoration, re-living history almost. And travelling too. That was an unexpected bonus. After the month she’d had, it sounded exactly what she needed.

  ‘You could do that, couldn’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’ It was what she’d been trained for. And this trip would give her the chance to prove her skills.

  Once again, Jacqui frowned. ‘You wouldn’t object to going on your own?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Eva preferred to work independently. And it would be an adventure. ‘I presume that you also want me to talk to our contact?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jacqui shot her an unfathomable glance. ‘You’ll need to reinforce our relationship with him.’ She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. ‘But it will need sensitive handling.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘And while you’re there, you might also get the chance to look around.’ Jacqui was still speaking cautiously, as if she wasn’t sure how much to say.

  ‘Look around?’ Eva wanted to be clear. She twisted the ring she wore on her little finger. It was a cluster of diamonds shaped like a daisy and set in gold, a present from her grandfather on her twenty-first birthday and she wore it every day, work or no work.

  ‘Explore other avenues. Go to some antique markets, chat to the dealers, make new contacts perhaps. Find some more items we may be interested in.’

  Goodness. The thrill returned. Eva tried to hide her surprise. With so much at stake, why wasn’t Jacqui going herself? She couldn’t be trying to get rid of her, surely? She’d only overheard an argument – although the embarrassment of that might be enough for someone like her boss. She was rather touchy, perhaps more so than usual.

  ‘I’ll be busy here.’ Jacqui moved from the window to the large leather-topped mahogany desk that dominated the room, and pushed a pile of papers to one side as if to demonstrate just how busy she would be. ‘There are some important shipments due to arrive.’ Once again, she seemed to almost lose her drift. And then snapped out of it. ‘I couldn’t possibly get away at the moment.’

  Leon, Eva thought. That was the real reason.

  ‘These people won’t wait forever. There’ll be others interested, you can be sure. So there’s nothing for it.’ Jacqui sighed. ‘You’ll have to go. You’re the only one there is.’

  Praise indeed. Eva raised an eyebrow. ‘And where exactly am I going?’

  ‘Oh.’ Jacqui plucked a piece of paper from her desk. ‘Didn’t I say? You’re to leave next week if we can get you a visa sorted out by then. I’ll book your flight and let you know the exact times. You’ll have to bring your passport in tomorrow morning. I’ll arrange for an agent to meet you at the airport and make the hotel reservations. Um …’ With the tip of her forefinger – nail varnished deep plum – she traced a path along the paper. ‘Yangon, Bagan and Mandalay,’ she said. ‘That’s where you’ll be going. Ten days should be long enough. You’ll have to take internal flights. I’ll give you all the details in advance, of course.’

  Eva stared at her. She hadn’t even dared hope … ‘Burma?’ she whispered. Her heart was hammering out an old tune, a familiar tune, the rhythm one that she had grown up with, that had become a part of her. She was going to Burma. She had heard so much about it. And now she was going to taste and experience it for herself. She wanted to fling open the window and shout it to the people down in the street below. There was a grin of pure delight bubbling inside and she wanted to let it out.

  ‘Yes. But it’s called Myanmar now, you know.’

  ‘I know.’ The grin emerged and Eva sent it Jacqui’s way. What did it matter that Jacqui sometimes didn’t seem to like her or felt threatened by her or whatever else it might be? What did it matter, when her boss clearly trusted her enough to give her this opportunity? What did it matter when Eva was going to Burma? She closed her eyes and felt the colours of the country flicker behind her eyelids. Blue and gold …

  There wasn’t much, she thought, that she didn’t know about Burma. Her grandfather had spent some of his most formative years there. He had worked in the timber industry and he had fought against the Japanese. His life in Burma had touched them all in different ways. And the stories he had told Eva when she was a child had wound their way into her heart.

  ‘You’ll go, then?’ Jacqui asked her. Though she didn’t look as if she’d take no for an answer. ‘I’ve printed out images of some of the things you’ll be looking at because it’s easier to have hard copy to hand. It’s all here.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’ll go,’ Eva replied. She’d always known she’d visit Burma one day. How could she not? In her twenties and early thirties, holidays had been short, usually city breaks in Europe, since they gave her the best opportunity to explore antique markets and historic buildings. And during her now rather distant gap year she’d made it to Thailand, along with Jess, her friend from college. Burma was an expensive trip to fund herself but more than that, for a long time, the country had been a no-go area politically. Eva had read about the unrest among the hill tribes, the repressive government, and the house arrest of Aung San Suu Kyi, the woman they all adored, who had sacrificed her personal life in order to fight for democracy for her people. Eva knew about the sanctions and that although tourists had be
come welcome in Myanmar, money from tourism tended to go straight into the pockets of the military government. And she understood that to visit the country was to support them.

  But things were different now. Aung San Suu Kyi had been freed, the political climate was changing and … Eva’s childhood dream was about to come true.

  Should she pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming again? She moved closer to the desk. The image of a seated and clear-eyed Buddha, probably gilded teak, gazed serenely back at her. Nineteenth century, she’d estimate from the picture, which wasn’t terribly clear. She peered closer, looking for tell-tale patches of wear on the gilding but she’d have to assess the condition more thoroughly when she was actually there. There were other figures she recognised from her studies too, some carved and painted, some gilded and inlaid, some possibly as old as seventeenth century. A delicately carved angel, a monk sitting on a lotus flower, spiritual guardians and nats. There was what looked like a carved teak scripture chest, an ancient wooden crib and a pair of highly decorative doors – most likely ancient temple doors, she realised with a jolt of excitement.

  Eva glanced across at Jacqui and met her gaze head on. Jacqui would no doubt have more information about these artefacts and she’d be giving it all to Eva to study before she left. But her boss was right. From the pictures alone, she could see that there were some remarkable pieces here. And she was being given the chance to see them, examine them at close hand, authenticate them and bring them back to the UK.

  ‘Thanks, Jacqui,’ she said.

  Her boss gave her a quizzical look.

  ‘For having faith in me. I won’t let you down.’

  And she left the office and drifted back to the Victorian dressing-table, her mind already halfway to Burma. She could still hardly believe it. Would it live up to her expectations? Would it fill the gaps in her grandfather’s story? And what on earth would he say when she told him? Going to Burma had changed his life. Eva couldn’t help wondering if it would do the same to hers.

  CHAPTER 2

  Eva let herself into her flat and closed the door behind her. It had been quite a day. What she needed, she decided, was a large glass of wine and a hot bath – and then she’d phone him. He was the person she most wanted to tell. But first things first. She opened her laptop, located her music file and selected an album. Japancakes. The soft lilting melody of the first track ‘Double Jointed’ began to float through the room, rippling like water lilies on a lake.