Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
A Meeting of Hearts
Mémère holds my hand as she leads us up the curved oak staircase, past yesterday’s sitting room to a hallway with pastel blue walls bordered in gold. Her cane keeps time with our steps.
She stops in the middle of the hall and turns to face one of the panelled sections of wall. Two of the panels swing inwards, revealing a large airy room overlooking the garden.
The windows are thrown open to birdsong and breeze.
In the middle of the room sits an oval pistachio-green table, big enough to seat twenty.
It’s painted with peonies in lavender and soft rose, like those carved on Mémère’s walking cane.
Each leg curves outwards from the table like a woman’s then slopes gently inwards again.
On the table sits a laquered wooden box, inset with mother of pearl.
‘Please sit.’ Marianne gestures to the chairs which share the same soft curves as the table, their silk cushions a matching pistachio green. Mémère positions herself at the head, pulling me along to the seat next to hers.
Ever since that note from Big Wang, Tony has made a point of staying by my side.
He even spent the night in my room, which I would have enjoyed a lot more if he hadn’t insisted on sleeping on the floor.
He’s much more careful with me now, keeping me at a distance and never letting us get carried away.
He won’t let me see the note and only repeats what I already know, that Big Wang tasked him with watching over me.
He slides into the seat beside me. Marianne sits on Mémère’s other side. Maximilien stalks around the table and drops into the chair beside Marianne, glowering at the painted flowers.
Gigi settles opposite my grandmother, leaving a ridiculous gap of six chairs between her and everyone else. Ah Lang ever loyal stays by her side.
‘Divine Goddess of Heavenly Peace, Imperial Princess of Jade, Lady Gi of the Silver River, thank you,’ Marianne says. Please offer your noble father the Jade Emperor our deepest gratitude. We will not forget the Pantheon of Tian’s kindness.’
‘It is not only me,’ Gigi says, tone regal. ‘Lady Jing also spoke in support of giving House Durand a second chance. After all, through Lady Jing, we are now kin.’
Gigi considers me kin? I glance at her, but she’s in full Official Minister Mode, her focus on the vampires. Marianne translates for her family.
‘Slanted parent dust’s bamboo shoot woman,’ Mémère says, her heavy French accent mangling her tones. She looks expectantly at me.
It takes a moment, but I puzzle out her real meaning: Thank you, darling granddaughter.
I squeeze her hand and she smiles with impish delight.
‘Where is your friend Rune?’ Marianne asks.
Gigi gives her our pre-agreed excuse. ‘He’s resting to recover faster from his illness.’
At Mémère’s nod, Marianne pulls the box on the table towards her and lifts the lid. ‘These relate to Papa’s travels to China.’
The first thing she takes out is a small black notebook. It is filled with neatly written dates in indigo-blue ink. ‘All the dates you’ve requested are listed here.’ She passes it to Gigi.
The next item from the box is a yellowed envelope, with a few lines written on the front, but no other markings. ‘This is the letter we received last year.’ This too she passes to Gigi, who takes one look at the French and slides it across to Tony.
‘What made Mr de Durand decide on the Middle Kingdom of all places?’ Ah Lang asks. ‘Lady Jing’s people are in Yunnan, deep in the interior, but with the Qing Empire’s prohibition against foreigners entering the Middle Kingdom proper, he must have had help to get there.’
‘Papa’s friend in Yunnan invited him,’ Marianne says as she pulls a green and silver brocade-covered jinzhe zhuang from the box and puts it on the table.
The label bears the name 陸羅門 – which I surmise is my father’s Chinese courtesy name – written in a lively flowing hand, and an ornate red seal.
The carved characters are stylised with eyes and sinuous lines giving the impression of cavorting dragons.
Gigi, Ah Lang and I all gape at the signature seal. Only five such seals exist in all of Tian: one for each dragon king.
‘Lady Longnu corresponded with my father?’ I think back to the first and only time I met her; she did me a great service when she intervened with Niang Niang on my behalf. She’d mentioned my father had done her a favour long ago – why didn’t she tell me they were friends?
Gigi huffs. ‘Lady Longnu has been keeping secrets.’
Mémère leans forward, speaks. Marianne translates: ‘You know this person?’
‘Lady Longnu is a wise and compassionate dragon king,’ Gigi says. ‘One of the oldest and most venerable creatures in existence, perhaps even older than the Cosmos itself.’
All my life I believed my father cowardly and dishonourable for abandoning my mom and me, though so much has changed now, it’s still strange to think of him in any other way, not least as a favoured friend to a dragon king.
‘My father knew a dragon king?’ Marianne whispers in awe.
‘I didn’t realise they were such good friends,’ Gigi says. Her words carry an edge to them, but she doesn’t look angry, more perplexed.
Finally, Marianne gingerly removes a battered notebook, spine torn, half its pages missing.
‘Papa’s journal,’ she says simply. ‘We received only this half five years after he left us. Usually Papa wrote his journals in shorthand but this he wrote in Chinese. We had it translated; it covers his travels to Yunnan and meeting your mother . . .’ Marianne’s grip on the journal tightens ever so slightly.
It’s obvious she doesn’t want to let it go, but after a slow exhale, she slides the journal across the table. To me.
Maximilien tracks it with a narrowed gaze.
I have memories of my mother – the sound of her voice, her warmth when she held me.
Her personality, things she liked, things she didn’t.
But my father has always been a negative space – an absence.
I know nothing of his personality, his thoughts, or his view of the world.
But in these pages, written in his own hand, is a chance to know him, at least a little.
The journal seems oddly light given the weight of expectation it carries.
I don’t open it, but tuck it safely into my pocket, to read when I’m feeling braver.
Maximilien slams his hand on the table, making us all jump. ‘Elle n’a pas le droit!’
Mémère speaks, slow and deliberate. Maximilien rears back, like he’s been slapped. His cheeks are red and blotchy, and his eyes shimmer with blood. With a screech of wood on wood, he shoves out of his chair and mists from the room.
Mémère bows her head and briefly closes her eyes. Her words are a low rumble before she disappears in a shimmer of mist.
‘Contain Maximilien’s ill-temper,’ Marianne translates through clenched teeth. ‘Please excuse my grandmother, she has things to discuss with my brother.’