Cold Grave (7 page)

Stepping out of the shower and towel-drying her hair, she tried to push images of death from her mind. She was here to relax and enjoy some time with Ben. Once dressed, she stood on the balcony with arms stretched across the railing. Dark clouds had collected in the sky, but the wind and patches of the sun injected body into her fine, clean hair. The shorter layers flicked about her face and the breeze massaged the rest. As a child she had always imagined this was what unconditional freedom felt like.

She heard a sound inside and startled.

‘Sorry, ma’am. I knocked but no one answered. My name is Junta; I am your cabin steward. I brought you some more fresh towels and some bottled water.’

The woman was the same height as her but with wide hips, highlighted by a belt for the navy trousers pulled in tight at the waist. The striped polo shirt stretched over her substantial chest. She smiled, like so many other staff members, with dazzling white teeth. Her skin was dark and her cheeks scarred by past acne.

‘Thank you, Junta. I’m Anya.’

The badge beneath Junta’s name read Jamaica. Judging by the speed with which the cabin had been cleaned, Anya assumed staff worked in pairs, and was curious about who to tip at the end of the cruise. ‘Do you work with anyone else?’

Junta placed the towels on the bed. ‘No, ma’am, we work alone so we have to work hard. But I have only three weeks to go. Then I return home to my family.’

‘How long have you been away?’

‘Eight months now. My baby girl turned two last week.’ She busied herself straightening a crease from the corner of the bed. ‘I gonna be home with my baby.’ She beamed.

Anya knew that could not have been easy. Eight months was a third of the daughter’s life so far.

Junta quickly glanced around the room, and nodded, satisfied. ‘You have a great day. And if you need anything, you call big old Junta.’

‘Thanks again for the towels.’

Anya admired Junta’s dedication and self-sacrifice and couldn’t help feeling as if she should be more conscious of the state in which she and Ben left the cabin. She picked up her key. She was sure she had deadlocked the door when she came in, so how had Junta got inside? She must have been mistaken.

She headed to the internet cafe to check her emails. On the way, she heard lilting violin music coming from the library. She stopped and listened to what sounded like a CD. Halfway through the piece, a woman screamed ‘Stop!’. The room fell silent.

Anya stepped inside the doorway.

A young teenage girl stood, eyes downcast.

‘You will fail if you do not pay attention to the fingering. That was careless. Sloppy! Do it again!’

Anya could barely believe what the older Chinese woman was saying to her pupil. Then she recognised the pair. They had entered the lift with the ship’s doctor. They were members of Lilly’s family. The older woman turned around and stopped when she saw Anya.

‘This is a private rehearsal,’ she said in a husky tone. ‘Please leave us.’

Anya regretted interrupting. ‘I don’t mean to disturb. There was shouting—’

‘My daughter Jasmine. She has much work to do.’ Puffy tissue encased the mother’s brown eyes. The woman tugged on a silk neck scarf, turned to her daughter and sighed. ‘I suppose it is time for a break. Bad practice is worse than no practice.’ After collecting a canvas bag and stuffing it with folders of sheet music, she added, ‘Lilly would have wanted you to practise. But not like this.’

Jasmine stood motionless until her mother had gone. After that, she folded herself into a chair, violin and bow still in her hands.

Anya stepped closer, trying to process what had just happened. Lilly’s family had known of her death for less than a few hours yet her mother was forcing another child to practise the violin. It didn’t make sense. Grief affected everyone differently, but this was an extreme response, with or without denial.

‘Are you all right?’

The girl looked up, through a mane of black hair. ‘Things are never going to be all right again.’

Part of Anya wanted to tell Jasmine she should be with her family, another thought she was better away from her mother for the moment. Anya knew that nothing anyone could say would ease the pain they were all feeling.

‘I heard you playing. You have a real gift.’ Anya pointed to another lounge chair. ‘May I?’

The teenager stayed motionless, almost catatonic. Anya dragged the chair a few feet closer and sat.

‘I’m so sorry about Lilly.’ The words sounded empty, despite her sincerity.

The girl had a puzzled expression. ‘Does everyone on the ship—’

‘No. I’m a doctor and I happened to be there. I promise you, we did everything possible.’

‘I saw you outside the medical centre. We had just been told. My mother, she had to . . .’

Anya gently nodded. The words didn’t need to be said. Identifying the body of a child was something no parent should ever have to do.

The girl sat forward. ‘Please don’t judge her by what you just saw. She’s trying to do what’s right.’

‘It may not be the right time to practise, if your heart isn’t in it.’

‘I insisted we come back here. Lilly and I found this place not long after coming on board, and thought it would be a great place to rehearse.’ She gazed around. ‘Lilly loves books. She reads everything.’

It was easy to see why the library was appealing. A gold spiral staircase in the centre led to another gallery. There had to be two storeys of bookshelves with only a few empty spaces. The only spare piece of wall was covered with a large painted portrait of the ruddy-faced man Anya had read about, Sven Anderson.

Jasmine stood, placed the violin on the chair and moved to one set of shelves. Stretching, she reached up and pulled down a paperback with a tattered spine.

‘She put this here yesterday.’

Anya rose and moved closer.
To Kill A Mockingbird
. It had been one of her own favourites, one she returned to every few years.

‘Lilly loves this, but thought it should be shared. We counted how many shelves high and how far across, so if we ever come back, we would know if it’s been moved. There’s a note for whoever takes it.’ The young woman shook her head and took a deep breath as tears welled. ‘It seems so stupid now. It was our version of putting a message in a bottle. Lilly hoped we would find it again some day, either here or in a second-hand bookshop somewhere in the world.’ Jasmine’s voice quavered as her long slender fingers loosened their grip.

Anya stepped closer and extended a hand to take the book. ‘May I?’ The inscription read: If you love the story as much as I do, pass this book on and rewards will come to you. Lilly Chan, aged 16,
Paradisio
.

The handwriting was printed, with circles instead of dots on top of the letter ‘i’.

‘I have an audition in Vienna next month for a scholarship. Lilly is a cellist.’ The sister gave a part smile. ‘Except she’s rebellious and only practises for three hours a day. She prefers books.’

Regular playing explained the calluses on the fingertips of Lilly’s left hand. Three hours every day sounded impressive, but apparently not to Jasmine and her mother.

‘What does your father say?’

‘He says children should have fun, but he’s American and grew up with eight brothers and sisters. They used to go out and play after breakfast until dinner. He lives in Hawaii.’ Her eyes brightened. ‘We’ve just been there for a week. When our parents divorced, our older sister chose to live with him. We miss her so much but Mother says she’s a bad influence, with her Western ways.’

She paused. ‘Who’s going to tell them? They are so close to Lilly.’

‘Probably your mother.’

Silence hung heavily.

Anya tried to distract Jasmine. ‘What about your mother? Where was she born?’

‘In China. Her parents farmed and did anything they could to earn money. They worked day and night to give her an education. It was my mother’s duty to do everything they ever asked. While other kids played, she studied and now she is head of radiology at Angel Bay Hospital in Hong Kong. Since we were visiting Hawaii, our father paid for this cruise. He thought we would love it and have a break from our routine. Mother thought this was frivolous but gave in to our father this one time . . . She believes we are Chinese, which is why she wants us to be known by her family name. Our friends see us as more American, but we are neither.’

This family wasn’t divided just by divorce, Anya thought, but also by culture.

‘It isn’t easy being half of anything. Chinese people have a saying about success. They believe the third generation destroys what the first two have built.’

Anya thought of the number of moguls whose offspring destroyed the business within two generations. ‘Westerners say the same thing, usually about wealth.’

‘Then you understand. She is afraid that Lilly and I will waste our lives and dishonour our grandparents. She has many rules and expectations. My father made her promise to give us more freedom on this holiday. Even so, music must be practised at least four hours a day. When we are not playing music, we are supposed to study.’ Jasmine smiled. ‘Well, Mother is often too busy working so we are not
always
studying . . . She sounds hard, but without her discipline, I would never be auditioning in Europe.’

Jasmine bent over beside the chair and opened the violin case, removed a block of rosin, and slid it back and forward along the horsehair on the bow.

‘Do you ever get tired of working so hard?’

‘Mother doesn’t believe in wasteful activities. She says anyone can do one hour of music or study. Every hour after that gets harder, but that’s what makes you the best. There is no such thing as a holiday from practice. The hands, mind and instrument need to work every day. Besides, when you become good at something, it becomes easier and more enjoyable.’

It was true to an extent, Anya thought, but the practice and study schedule left no time for socialising with peers, movies, and things that would become topics of conversation in years to come. With no focus on social skills and empathy, she had seen the lack of compassion doctors and lawyers could show, and this upbringing did nothing to encourage imagination or lateral thinking. Being a good doctor required infinitely more than rote learning and diagnostic skills. Finding common interests with others was important. Some knowledge of popular culture was a significant part of that.

‘You said your sister has a rebellious streak?’ It seemed kinder to discuss Lilly in the present tense.

Jasmine lowered herself to her knees and sat back onto her feet. ‘Let’s say she doesn’t like all the rules. She fights Mother every day. They argue and shout at each other over the tiniest things. It started as soon as she was born. I remember even though I am only two years older. If Lilly didn’t want to do something, she would refuse, kick and throw things. But Mother would not give in.’

Anya sat back on the chair, book still in hand. In some ways, the family situation was similar to her own. Being the older sister by two years, she was compliant and fitted in with the routine; in particular, her mother’s work as a solo doctor and her father’s legal practice. Then came Miriam, full of personality, headstrong and stubborn. It was the first time Anya had ever seen a tantrum.

Jasmine stared at her bow. ‘Lilly was almost uncontrollable and used to hate the violin. She was left-handed and would hold it in the wrong hand, which drove Mother crazy until Lilly discovered the cello. She fell in love with it. I may have more prizes, but she has more natural talent. You should hear her play.’ Jasmine’s almond eyes widened. She dropped the rosin in her lap and her hand opened as if projecting the music. ‘If you shut your eyes you can hear it sing, cry. She can even make it dance.’

No one would ever hear that again. Anya decided to do everything possible to find out what had happened to Lilly. She knew exactly how the questions would haunt Jasmine and her family for the rest of their lives otherwise.

Jasmine’s fingers closed at the end of the bow. ‘That probably sounds strange.’

‘Not to me, I know exactly what you mean.’

After a prolonged silence, Jasmine straightened, positioned her violin and closed her eyes.

The first few bars sounded familiar. A few more and the tune was obvious, ‘Feed the Birds’ from
Mary Poppins
. A tear escaped, down Jasmine’s cheek, onto the chin rest, as she played the final note.