Jasmine in Paris

Chapter 1-2

‘Of course not.’

‘I didn’t want to hurt you. To cause you pain.’

Evie smiled. ‘The pain I felt about your father’s infidelity is in the past. It can’t hurt me now. I have never been happier in my life than I am with Arthur. That Douglas fathered another child is a shock. I can’t deny that. But it can’t hurt me. Not anymore.’ She stroked Jasmine’s hair. ‘Arthur said Douglas never knew. Is that so?’

Jasmine nodded. ‘Amir’s mother, Nayla, told me she didn’t know herself when Daddy sent her away from Batu Lembah.’

‘It must have been a shock to find this out about your father.’

Jasmine smiled at her mother. ‘I suppose somewhere in my subconscious I already knew what had happened between you and Daddy, but I was too young and later I didn’t want to think about that time when you were so unhappy.’

Evie pulled her into her arms. ‘My dear sweet girl.’

‘You’re not angry?’

‘No. Sad, perhaps. Thinking about how you lost your father. And how that little boy lost his mother and never knew his father. In a funny way I’m sad for Douglas as well. That he died without ever knowing he had another son.’

‘Amir has the Hyde-Underwoods now. They’ll be wonderful parents to him.’

‘No one better.’ Evie was about to get up when she said, ‘Arthur says you have a snap of Amir. May I see it?’

Jasmine stretched over the side of the bed and grabbed her satchel. She handed the small photograph to her mother.

Evie’s lips tightened. ‘Yes. There’s no mistaking it. A darker version of Hugh.’ She handed it back. ‘He looks a sweet boy.’

‘He is. And clever. I’d love Hugh to meet him.’

‘One day he will, I’m sure. But in the meantime, I’d rather you said nothing about this to him. He’s still very young, and he never knew your father. I don’t want him to grow up thinking badly of Douglas. And it would be a confusion that’s unnecessary. No need to tell him about this boy thousands of miles away. It would only unsettle him.’

Jasmine nodded. Mummy was right.

Evie kissed her daughter goodnight and left the room.

On the days when Arthur worked from his office in Nairobi – which was most days – Jasmine stayed at home, painted, and worked on her French. There was still no news regarding her application for a place to study at the École des Beaux-Arts. She was anxious but refused to give up hope.

Setting up an easel on the veranda which skirted the substantial colonial bungalow, she spent the mornings painting. After lunch, she walked in the garden with her mother, went with her to the sports club to swim, or swotted up on her French.

‘I never expected to see the day when you’d bury your head in a French grammar book,’ said Evie, one afternoon, on finding Jasmine curled up in a chair reading. ‘You hated it at school.’

‘It’s not grammar. It’s a novel. Arthur picked it up for me last week at the Alliance Française in Nairobi.’ Jasmine held up the book.

‘Ah! Madame Bovary,’ said Evie knowingly, as she slid into a chair beside her. ‘A bit grim, don’t you think? I read it several years ago – but in translation of course. Jolly good show to tackle the original.’ She smiled. ‘But I’m sure you can find a better model for living your life than Emma Bovary.’

‘I don’t need to find one. I’ve already got two. You and Mary. But yes, it’s depressing. I hope all French people aren’t like that. So much misery and despair.’ She sighed. ‘Assuming I ever get to find out, which I’m starting to doubt.’

Evie adopted a confident tone. ‘The start of term is months away. It must take a great deal of time for them to assess all the applicants. You did say it’s frightfully popular.’

‘They’ve never even acknowledged receiving my portfolio. It went ages ago. I’m worried it might have gone astray.’

‘Don’t be silly, darling. The British Embassy will have delivered it.’

‘It was good of Arthur to arrange that.’ Jasmine hesitated, frowning. ‘Gosh. They won’t think I’m trying to pull favours, will they? That might count against me.’

‘Of course, they won’t. The people at the Beaux-Arts won’t even know we used the diplomatic bag. The portfolio will have been dropped off by a courier, not the British ambassador himself, for heaven’s sake! Stop worrying.’

‘I was crazy to think they might accept me. They turned down Rodin!’

‘Maybe they don’t like sculptors.’

‘They have a sculpture course, too. But their standards are so high. How could I have ever thought that a school that taught Monet and Renoir would want me?’

Evie looked at her stepdaughter with a sad expression. ‘You really want this, don’t you?’

‘More than anything, Mummy.’

‘Then I’m sure you’ll get in. I have a powerful feeling. It means, though, that I’ll have to give you up again. And this time it could be for years. Maybe forever.’ Evie looked stricken.

Jasmine stood up and moved across to her stepmother. Standing behind her chair, she bent over and wrapped her arms around Evie’s neck. ‘I’ll miss you too. But I’ll come home in the long summer break.’

Evie looked at her, doubtfully, but said nothing.

Gichinga, the houseboy, arrived with a pot of tea. When he’d gone, Evie said, ‘You’re bound to fall in love in Paris. Apparently everyone does. There must be something in the air there. You’ll marry a handsome Frenchman and all I’ll have of you is a letter once a year with a Christmas card.’ She gave Jasmine a playful smile.

‘I don’t intend to marry anyone at all. I will dedicate my life to art.’ Jasmine was conscious of sounding overdramatic and immature, but she wanted to make light of the trip to her anxious mother. ‘I’ll live in a garret in Montmartre with views over the rooftops and spend all day painting. At night I’ll emerge and spend the evenings drinking absinthe and smoking smelly French cigarettes in seedy basement bars.’

Evie looked horrified, then laughed. ‘You’d better not!’

‘Look, Mummy, you’ve no need to worry that I’ll stay in Paris forever. I’m not a city girl. And you know I’ll hate the winters. Remember London.’

‘You’ve never been to Paris. How do you know you’ll hate it?’

‘Because it’s full of buildings and people and traffic and smoke.’ She began counting on her fingers. ‘Because it’s bound to be grey. Because it’s not wild and open like it is here. Because it’s not green and alive and surrounded by sea like Penang.’

‘Don’t cast judgement before you’ve experienced the place. You used to loathe being here and now you seem quite fond of it.’

‘I am. But mainly because you and Arthur and Hugh are here – and because I don’t have to go to that hideous school anymore.’

Evie sipped her tea. ‘I don’t know Paris well, but when I was a girl, I visited it a few times en route to the South of France for summer holidays. I found it charming. Once you’ve settled, I may well pay you a visit.’

Jasmine broke into a smile. ‘I’d love that. Bring Arthur too.’ She looked wistful. ‘I hope I won’t be lonely there. I won’t know anyone.’

‘Darling, it doesn’t sound to me as if you really want to go at all. You can always change your mind. Even if they make you an offer. There are other things you could do, like go to teacher training college––’

‘No! I want to go to the Beaux-Arts. I have to go. I’m desperate to learn more. Everything I do now is just experimentation. I know nothing of technique. I’m hugely ignorant and if I don’t get proper training, I’ll stagnate. And it’s my chance to be among genuine artists. I can learn so much.’

Evie gave a long sigh. ‘You have natural talent. It’s all that experimentation that keeps you fresh. I’d hate them to train that spontaneity out of you. I think it was George Bernard Shaw who said, “Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.”’

‘That’s harsh. What about Mary? She’s a teacher and one of the most capable people we know. And, besides, you just suggested I go to teacher training college. You can’t have it both ways, Mummy!’ She gave Evie a playful shove.

‘I did, didn’t I? You’re quite right. I’m just clutching at straws.’

‘Actually, you’ve given me an idea. I really loved helping Mary out at the village school on the estate. Do you think Arthur might arrange for me to work as a volunteer here at one of the local schools? I don’t mean a place like my rotten old convent with only white girls, but a village school. I could do what I did at Bella Vista – hear them reading, help out with games and maybe set up an art class.’ She felt a rush of excitement. ‘Part-time. I’ll need time to paint and be with you, but it would give me something else to focus on and keep my mind off worrying about my application. When I’ve visited settlements with Arthur, the children are so sweet and some of them have no schooling at all. I’d love to help.’

Evie looked thoughtful, then said, ‘I don’t see why not. We’ll ask Arthur tonight and find out if it’s possible. It’s all good experience, isn’t it? Yes, I think it’s a jolly good idea, my love.’

Over dinner that night, Arthur had another idea. ‘Jazz, I was talking to the French cultural attaché today. Did you know they’re running conversation classes at the new Alliance Française? They also have a programme of French films and lectures on all kinds of topics.’

‘Really?’

‘They’re putting a lot of energy behind it. I think some classes there would make more sense for you right now than helping in a village school.’

‘Arthur’s right. Conversation classes would be just the ticket. And talking to actual French people will help you enormously with pronunciation.’

Arthur got up from the table. ‘I picked up a flyer with the times of the classes and another with the programme of events. Hang on, it’s in my briefcase.’ He went into the room he used as a study and returned with a couple of mimeographed sheets.

Jasmine studied them. ‘There’s a film there tomorrow afternoon. Les Enfants du Paradis. Gosh. Over three hours long. That’s a bit of a marathon. Sounds an ordeal.’

Evie was looking at the other sheet. ‘Beginners’ conversation classes every morning. Oh dear, that interferes with your painting time.’

‘She’s not a beginner.’ Arthur leaned back in his chair, studying Jasmine. ‘You must be at least intermediate, if not advanced. You only need help with pronunciation and a broadening of your vocabulary from whatever useless nonsense they stuff into you for the school certificate.’

‘Arthur!’ Evie arched an eyebrow. ‘Anyway, the classes don’t begin until next term, so the question’s academic.’

‘Next term?’ Jasmine frowned. ‘That’s a couple of weeks away. That’s terrible!’

‘Considering you weren’t even aware of the existence of the classes until a few minutes ago, there’s no need to turn it into a tragedy, darling,’ said Evie. ‘Until then, you can go along and watch the film shows.’

The following afternoon, Jasmine went into Nairobi to see Les Enfants du Paradis.

Entering the building, she was surprised how many people were there. The French diplomatic wives were out in force, as well as several groups of students, both African and European. As soon as the titles came up, Jasmine lost herself in the theatrical world of the beautiful Garance and her admirers, and was transported to the streets of nineteenth-century Paris, captivated by the magic of the experience and the powerful performances of the actors.

There was a break between Parts One and Two of the film, and she went to the ladies’ room. Afterwards, in the lobby, people were gathered around in small groups, chatting and drinking tea. Jasmine knew no one and, feeling shy, headed back into the room where the film was being shown, keen not to break the spell the film had cast over her.