Seacliff

Chapter forty: Japonisme and roses

1920

Cradling her rounded belly, Saoirse put her feet up on a velvety stool and reclined in the crimson armchair opposite the matching sofa in Natsume's sitting room.

Their host lay stretched on the couch, his head on James's lap, who combed his fingers through his Japanese lover's tresses. They usually avoided being affectionate in Saoirse's presence, because James feared she would feel cast aside, but she'd encouraged them to make themselves comfortable.

"Say, Natsume," she began, stroking her bump, "what do you do all day, if you don't mind me asking?"

James grinned and Natsume chuckled.

"I don't mind at all, madame. I am a scholar of English literature, like my namesake, the great Natsume Sōseki once was, except the poor bastard couldn't afford to go to Cambridge on his government bursary. Yours truly, on the other hand, born to a rich nobleman and an unofficial concubine, has been fortunate enough to study at Oxford.

"I liked being here very much, and my Lord Father liked my being away from his faux samurai even more, therefore I stayed, and I spend my days teaching Japonisme to wealthy ladies, young and old, with a fascination for the exotic. And sometimes I help with their French or their Shakespeare."

His hand shot up, his graceful fingers weighing an imaginary object.

"Eternity was in our lips and eyes," he recited, brushing James's jaw, "bliss in our brows' bent, none of our parts poor, but was a race of heaven..."

The young doctor kissed the fingers circling his mouth before pushing them back down.

"That was Antony and Cleopatra for you," Natsume said.

"How beautiful! You would make an excellent actor, I'm sure. Which Shakespeare character would you like to play if you were?"

"Shakespeare? Oh, I'd rather not, thank you very much. He is wonderful to quote from, however, because nobody really understands what you mean when you do, yet they pretend to when you tell them it's Shakespeare."

"Such a cruel man!" Saoirse laughed.

Natsume sat up and went to pour himself a drink.

"But, pray tell, what is this Japonisme, really? Is it some sort of Japanese art?"

"It is, in fact, European art, like the Van Gogh in your room."

Saoirse frowned. Natsume brought his lover a glass of Scotch, which James put down after only dipping his lips in it.

"Which Van Gogh?"

"The Courtesan above the bed. 'Tis a Van Gogh replica."

Her eyebrows jumped into her forehead. "Well, I'll be damned!"

"Indeed. He traced the courtesan from a Japanese woodblock print featured on the cover of a French magazine. He loved ukiyo-e prints."

Natsume rummaged around the drawers of his writing table and brought her a sketchbook-sized copy of Van Gogh's famous Self-portrait with Bandaged Ear.

"See this?" He pointed to a poster plastered on the wall behind Van Gogh. It depicted a couple of colourful humanoid figures, with greenery and a white mountain peak in the background. "It's a recreation of a Japanese woodblock print."

"Oh, wonderful! I had no idea."

"No, I reckon most people do not." He sank once more into the sofa, his legs crossed and one arm around James's shoulders.

Saoirse took the unintentional hint. "Well, gentlemen, I'd better leave you to it. It's been a long day." She heaved herself to her feet and James was by her side in a heartbeat. "My back is killing me. Goodnight, loves."

She kissed her husband on the cheek before shooing him away and navigated the stairs on her own. Up in her bedroom, her eyebrows knitted in concentration, she examined the courtesan until the swirl of Van Gogh's signature paint strokes finally became visible to her.

*

With summer slowly starting to take hold of the country and Auntie Aoife's rose garden in full bloom, Saoirse invited Natsume for an extended stay at the Lodge to take in all of the natural beauty. The sea and the verdant landscape would be sure to tickle his artist's sensibilities.

Saoirse no longer fancied getting up in the saddle in her condition, but she could still walk on James's arm down to the beach, where Natsume had ended his morning ride and set up an easel on the wet sand cleared by the receding tide. Lars and Queenie had tagged along and proceeded to chase each other in the shallow seawater lapping at the shore.

Natsume was sketching a likeness of the Selkie Stone. "There is a castle nearby, is there not?" he asked his audience.

"Yes," James answered, pointing north along the coast. "Tantallon."

Its ruins stood perched on a cliff's edge in the distance. Saoirse could just about make them out as she squinted and shielded her eyes from the sun.

"Might we go visit it?"

"You certainly should," she said. "The views from the top of the battlements are extraordinary."

The men settled to venture forth after dinner, leaving Saoirse in Anna's care. Nevertheless, the mistress of the house didn't much like to be fussed around, which Anna was prone to do a lot of. It was adorable and Saoirse appreciated it, but it also irritated her.

So, she found refuge on a bench under an arch of roses in the shrubbery.

There were roses plain red, pink, and orange. Lilac, white, and yellow. Some mixed colours, some mixed fragrances. Big, solitary flowers and clusters of small ones. Budding, withering, or in their best bloom. Their combined sweetness made Saoirse queasy after a while and she decided to counter the nausea with sea salt.

If she could spend all day and all night on the beach, she would.

Maybe her baby had a particular affinity for it, inherited from its father, which was now coursing through her veins, as well. Could Sorley feel their child growing inside her? She often wondered. She'd tried to read more of Aoife's journals, but it only made her sad and helplessly hopeful.

Saoirse stood on the shore, caressing her belly as the waves swelled and crashed. Spurred by the delicious breeze, she gathered up her dress, removed her shoes and stepped barefoot onto the sand. Her soles left behind a trail of fading prints until her toes curled in the cold seawater.

Her baby must have sensed it, because it began kicking vigorously. She cupped her belly and beamed. "I can't wait to hold you, my love. Kiss your little restless feet."

A warm trickle ran down her inner thigh and Saoirse checked to see if the coast was clear – her bladder refused to behave under the added pressure of pregnancy and she thought it best to empty it before starting on her way back. Except when she bunched up her skirt and glanced at her feet, red rivulets were streaming down her calves.

Fat drops of blood fell into the sea, there and gone in the ripples. A sudden sharp pain in her abdomen made her double over. She tried to scream, only no sound came out. Her body trembled, terrified of what might be happening to her baby. Weakened from the ache and overwhelmed by the shock, she fell forward on her knees, one hand on her belly, the other digging into sand.

It felt like her child was trying to rip its way out of her. Her legs gave in and she toppled sideways. Blood kept pouring from her womb, hot between her legs, like the tears spilling from her eyes.

"No, no, please... Please..."

The waves washed over her, filling her mouth with grains of sand and seawater. She prayed to any gods out there to spare her baby. Invoked Sorley to rise from the sea and save it. Unspeakable pain tore at her insides, while the cold water numbed her limbs.

All she could do was cry.

Cry and pray and hope for a miracle.

Foggy spots marred her vision and before it blackened completely, she thought she could see a man stand over her.