Amelia Dee and the Peacock Lamp (19 page)

Amelia glanced helplessly at her parents, at Mrs Ellis, who were all staring at her. ‘I was trying to get the door open,’ she explained, although that didn’t exactly answer the question in their eyes.

‘And that made it happy?’ whispered Kevin. ‘What does that mean?’

‘When I was a little girl,’ said the Princess, ‘there was a man called Ali El. His job was to open that little door and light the oil in the lamp every night. He was a giant man, but even he could not reach it, and he would come with a special ladder, and when he stood on that, he could reach it and open the door. Do you remember, Asha?’

‘Yes, my Princess.’

‘One night, after I had asked him and asked him, he held me up so I could see all the little animals in the lamp. The peacocks on the bottom, of course. And the monkeys. Have you found the monkeys in the lamp, Mademoiselle Amelia? You must find the curve of a tail. Find the curve, and follow it, and it will take you to the monkeys.’

Amelia nodded. ‘I know.’

‘Ah. I couldn’t find them at first, but Ali El showed me how. That night, I dreamed about the monkeys, that they came to life and played with me. And the next night, the revolution came and everything was gone.’ The Princess frowned, and gave a little shrug, as if there was no other way to express everything that meant. ‘That dream, when the monkeys come to life, sometimes I still have it. Even now.’

There was silence.

‘Tell me, Mademoiselle Amelia, do you know what is on the top of the lamp?’

Amelia shook her head. ‘I’ve never been able to see.’ ‘No, I never saw either. I have always wondered.’

‘I wonder as well,’ said Amelia.

‘I am sure one day you will find out. Something tells me that you will.’

Amelia smiled. The Princess smiled as well. At that moment, on the pavement outside the house that Solomon Weiszacker built, the two of them, the girl who lived on Marburg Street and the Princess who had been born sixty-eight years before in a kingdom which no longer existed, shared something that no other two people in the world could have shared.

The Princess nodded to herself. ‘May I keep your story, Amelia?’

Amelia nodded.

‘You made my lamp happy again.’ Tears were starting in the Princess’s eyes once more. ‘Promise me that you always will.’

‘I will,’ whispered Amelia. Her eyes were misting as well.

‘Mademoiselle Amelia,’ said the Princess, ‘do you think a person can change?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Amelia. ‘I think so. I hope so.’ ‘Even someone like me?’

‘Yes,’ said Amelia. Her voice was hoarse. ‘Even someone like you.’

‘In these last few weeks, I have been thinking. It is not easy but . . . I hope so too. And to hope to do it, that is the first step, don’t you think?’

‘I think so.’

The Princess stood there a moment longer, gazing intently at Amelia. ‘Goodbye, Mademoiselle Amelia. Thank you.’

‘Goodbye, Princess,’ said Amelia, as the Princess got into the car.

Asha closed the door. He went around to the other side of the car. Then he paused. ‘Thank you, Mademoiselle.’

Amelia shook her head. ‘Not Mademoiselle, Asha.’

Asha nodded. ‘Thank you, Amelia,’ he said, and he bowed to her, very smartly despite his age and the bend of his spine, then straightened up, took off his hat, got into the car, and started the engine.

Amelia watched until the car turned the corner.

When she looked around, Kevin was staring at her.

‘What’s this about a story?’

‘I . . .’ Amelia hesitated. But it was now or never. And if the Princess had the courage to admit that she wanted to change, surely she could have the courage to admit the truth as well, couldn’t she? ‘I wrote a story for her,’ said Amelia.

Kevin started to laugh.

‘Two, actually.’ Amelia took a deep breath. So much for choosing her timing. The Princess had chosen it for her. Or her parents would. Amelia could feel them watching her. If she didn’t say something, she knew, her father was certain to blurt something out. ‘Sometimes I write stories.’

Kevin laughed again. ‘Since when?’

‘Since . . . for a long time.’

The expression on Kevin’s face changed. ‘You’re serious. Why didn’t you ever tell us?’

‘Have you ever heard the things you say about Martin Martinez?’

‘But that’s Martin Martinez! He’s always boasting about the stupid stories he’s written. He deserves what we say about him. You should have told us, Amelia. We’re your friends!’

Amelia looked at him in confusion.

‘I bet your stories are way better than Martin Martinez’s. Right, Eugenie?’

Eugenie didn’t reply.

Kevin looked around. ‘Eugenie?’

Eugenie was staring down the street, as if she could still see the cream-coloured car. ‘She curtsied to me.’

Kevin rolled his eyes. ‘Eugenie, she didn’t curtsy to you. She was showing you
how
to curtsy.’

Eugenie sighed. ‘She said she enjoyed meeting me, and then she curtsied.’

Kevin turned back to Amelia in disbelief. ‘See what you’ve done?’

Amelia laughed.

‘We’re never going to hear the end of it!’

CHAPTER 25

Mr Vishwanath was sitting on his chair under the verandah, gazing at the garden. Amelia thought he hadn’t even noticed her as she came outside.

‘Amelia,’ he said.

‘Hello, Mr Vishwanath. I didn’t want to disturb you.’

‘I was hoping you would come. Sit down, Amelia.’

Amelia sat on the chair beside Mr Vishwanath.

‘Wait a moment,’ he said, and he got up and disappeared into his shop.

Amelia waited. There was a second lamp sculpture in the garden now. You couldn’t say exactly what shape it was, except it was all angles and corners, without any of the twisting lines of the first sculpture. When you looked at it from one direction, it looked like one thing, and when you looked at if from another direction, it seemed like another. In an odd kind of way, Amelia liked it.

It was more than a fortnight since the Princess had come to see the lamp for the second time. Afterwards, everyone had wanted to see the story Amelia had given the Princess, but she didn’t have a copy, so she had to write it out again from memory. Kevin said it was exceptionally well written, and asked if he could show it to his cousin, Mr Chan, who enjoyed a good story. Eugenie cried at the end, which Amelia took to mean that she thought it was good as well. Then Kevin asked quietly if he could read some of the other stories Amelia had written, but Amelia wasn’t sure about that. For about a minute.

Martin Martinez had a competitor now, said Kevin. And about time!

Eugenie, of course, was soon telling stories of her own, mostly about what the Princess had said to her. Apparently, the Princess had stated that she, Eugenie, must really be a princess herself, which is why she had curtsied to her and nobody else, and had said that she must check her family tree carefully to make sure she wasn’t the long-lost daughter of some ancient family of royal Edelsteins, and that Eugenie must tell her all about it next time they met. And no doubt Eugenie would be telling even more extravagant stories next week, or the week after. Amelia herself didn’t know when she would see the Princess again. But that was alright. Amelia had never really known what effect her story was going to have when she gave it to the Princess. Even if the Princess never came back, she thought, she couldn’t have asked for anything more.

Mr Vishwanath returned.

‘The Princess gave me something to give to you,’ he said.

Amelia looked at him in surprise. ‘The Princess?’

Mr Vishwanath held out a small packet wrapped in plain brown paper, tied with a piece of string.

Amelia took it.

‘Aren’t you going to unwrap it?’ asked Mr Vishwanath.

Amelia untied the string and pulled back the paper. Inside was a golden box. It was quite plain, except that in each of its faces was set a small, sparkling jewel. There was a ruby in one, a topaz in another, an emerald in a third and a sapphire in the fourth. And in its lid was set a diamond. Amelia opened it. The box played a mechanical tune. Amelia listened. The tune came to an end. The box itself was empty and lined with black velvet.

Amelia closed the lid.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, and she held it out for Mr Vishwanath to take.

‘It’s for you. The Princess left it for you.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Amelia.

‘She told me to tell you it’s the only thing she still has from the Grand Palace. On the night her family fled, this was the only thing she managed to take. She picked it up as she left, and has held on to it ever since, no matter what happened to her.’

Amelia began wrapping it up again. ‘I can’t take this, Mr Vishwanath. It’s all she has left. I have to give it back to her.’

‘You can’t,’ said Mr Vishwanath.

Amelia looked at him in alarm.

‘The Princess has gone.’

‘Where?’

‘To Irafia.’

Amelia stared at Mr Vishwanath. ‘When did she go?’ she whispered.

‘Yesterday.’

‘But she’s never been back . . .’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Vishwanath. ‘And now she’s going. She said it was long enough. She said she wanted to get to know her country again before it is too late.’

Amelia frowned. She gazed at the box. She had told herself it would be alright if she never saw the Princess again, but it didn’t feel alright now. And yet, deep down, perhaps Amelia already knew she had seen the Princess for the last time. When the Princess had said goodbye to her on the pavement outside the green house, she hadn’t been saying goodbye until the next time they met. She had been saying Goodbye. It was all in the look the Princess had given Amelia before she said it. That look said more than any number of words could have done.

‘Amelia, it’s good that she has gone back to her country,’ said Mr Vishwanath gently. ‘Don’t you think it is good?’

‘Yes, Mr Vishwanath,’ whispered Amelia. ‘It’s very good.’

It was funny, Amelia found herself feeling sad and happy at once. Yet they weren’t different feelings, but two sides of the same feeling.

‘She said to ask you to make it happy,’ said Mr Vishwanath. ‘The box, I mean.’

Amelia smiled. And yet she almost felt like crying as well.

‘Do you know what she meant?’ asked Mr Vishwanath.

Amelia nodded. She knew what she meant.

There was silence. Amelia wasn’t really feeling sad now. She was happy. Happy for the Princess, who had finally gone back to the country from which she had been driven so many years before. Amelia gripped the box in her hand. She would make it happy, she thought, as the Princess had asked.

Suddenly she looked up. ‘Mr Vishwanath! That means you’ve lost one of your customers!’

Mr Vishwanath shrugged.

‘And all because of me! I feel terrible!’

‘Don’t feel terrible,’ said Mr Vishwanath. ‘I am very happy that the Princess has gone back. For years, I have been trying to get her to do this. Things that seem so complicated, sometimes, when you decide to do them, they are actually very simple. Isn’t that right, Amelia?’

Amelia frowned. Those words had a familiar ring. ‘Mr Vishwanath . . .’ A strange idea came into Amelia’s mind. But it was crazy. Or was it? ‘Mr Vishwanath, that isn’t why you wanted me to meet the Princess, is it? So that something like this would happen?’

‘How could I know what would happen when you met her, Amelia?’

‘But is that what you hoped? I mean, is that what you . . .’ Amelia stopped. It really was a crazy idea. And Mr Vishwanath probably wouldn’t answer the question anyway, even if she kept asking. And, besides, did it really matter?

‘Sometimes you open a door,’ said Mr Vishwanath. ‘And maybe something will happen. Maybe more than one thing.’

Amelia frowned again. What else was Mr Vish-wanath talking about?

Mr Vishwanath smiled. ‘Tell me, Amelia, do you think you will write any more stories?’

‘People say I should.’

‘Really?’

Amelia grinned. ‘I think I’d like to write a story about your wild youth, Mr Vishwanath.’

The old yoga maestro chuckled. ‘So wild was my youth, Amelia, there is not a story that could compare.’

‘Then I’ll write a book!’

Mr Vishwanath nodded. ‘Maybe one day I will tell you about it.’

‘Will you, Mr Vishwanath?’

‘Maybe,’ murmured Mr Vishwanath.

Amelia waited. But if he was going to tell her about it, he obviously wasn’t planning to start today.

‘Well, what
are
you going to do, Mr Vishwanath?’ said Amelia eventually. ‘Seriously. You can’t afford to lose a customer. I could make a sign for you. I could put it in your window . . .’

‘Amelia, everything will be alright.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Believe me. Everything will be alright.’

The doorbell in Mr Vishwanath’s shop chimed.

Amelia stared at him in amazement. ‘Do you think that’s a new customer?’

Mr Vishwanath got up to answer it.

Amelia waited in suspense. She turned the box around in her hand. The jewels sparkled.

Mr Vishwanath came back.

‘Well?’ said Amelia eagerly. ‘Was it?’

‘Was it what?’

‘Don’t pretend, Mr Vishwanath! Was it a new customer?’

Mr Vishwanath nodded.

‘What happened?’

Mr Vishwanath sat down. ‘After I heard what he had to say, I could see he would be happier at Fitness Fanatics.’

‘Mr Vishwanath!’

‘I would rather have one true student than a hundred followers,’ said Mr Vishwanath softly.

‘What does that mean, Mr Vishwanath?’ said Amelia.

Mr Vishwanath didn’t answer. He gazed at the two sculptures in the garden, smiling that smile that was hardly even there.