The Thai Amulet

Chapter 7

The days and weeks following the death of the king are dangerous ones in Ayutthaya, particularly at this juncture, given that the dead king’s wives had not produced an heir.

This meant that various factions were plotting for control. Spies were everywhere, and one had to take great care not to be heard supporting one candidate over another.

There were really only two contenders with blood ties to the king: the king’s younger half brother, Prince Thianracha and Prince Yot Fa, now eleven years old.

Lady Si Sudachan, who heretofore had shown little interest in her sons’ welfare, and was well known to have had various flirtations while the king was away at war, suddenly appeared the grieving lover and doting mother. Her hypocrisy was completely transparent to me and, of course, to my mother, but apparently to no one else. Or rather, it suited some in the palace to support the dissembling, no matter how false.

In the midst of all this intrigue, my mother fell desperately ill. Just before she died, she took my hand, and with tremendous effort, exacted a promise that I would look after Prince Yot Fa and Prince Si Sin. I have wondered since, given both my mother’s robust health and the event that would follow, whether in fact she had been murdered. It is a bitter thought that coils around my heart like a cobra.

It was Prince Thianracha, finally, who resolved the issue of the kingship and brought the political turmoil to an end, at least for a time. Recognizing that our enemies would take advantage of a leader less Ayutthaya, the good prince withdrew to a monastery to lead the exemplary life of a Buddhist monk. Invited to reign by the priests, astrologers, and government ministers, Yot Fa ascended the throne with great ceremony. Given that he had not reached the age of the cutting of the topknot, however, his mother, Lady Si Sudachan, became regent. At that time, in a most ominous way, an earthquake racked our city.

Sometimes I think that because there is a certain sameness to big cities everywhere—oh, there are differences, architectural details, setting, and so on, but essentially every metropolis shares something fundamental—those of us from the West who visit cities like Bangkok delude ourselves into believing we understand the place. Or worse yet, that we share a common understanding with those whose city it is, a belief that they view the universe from the same perspective we do.

It is a pitfall I try to avoid. Doing business around the world teaches you over and over again the folly of assumptions like these. But still I am lulled, only to be jolted out of my complacency, usually by the smallest of details, the patronizing comment of a fellow farang, or insignificant events, on the surface at least, that remind me just how ignorant I am.

“I’m so glad you’ve come,” David Ferguson said. “And you must be Jennifer. Terrific! Please come in. The ceremony starts in about ten minutes.”

“We won’t be able to stay long,” I said, taking him aside. “Jennifer’s beau’s father died yesterday. She’s really upset, and I don’t know how long she’ll feel like staying. It’s a little complicated. She had a fight with her boyfriend, and now this happened, and she isn’t sure what to do.”

“What happened to his father?” Ferguson said.

“Massive heart attack, apparently. Jennifer found him.”

“Too bad,” he said. “Let’s hope this will take her mind off it. What’s her beau’s name, by the way?”

“Chat Chaiwong,” I said.

“Not the Chaiwongs,” he exclaimed. “Thaksin died. It was in all the papers.”

“Those Chaiwongs,” I said.

“Good lord,” he said. “I didn’t realize that. I suppose you never did mention their names. Why should you? That is quite the family your Jennifer has hooked up with.”

“They’re certainly wealthy,” I said. “She finds it all a bit much. This may be academic, of course. As I said, she and Chat had a fight. I’m not sure whether it’s a permanent rift or not.”

“I do have dealings with Ayutthaya Trading on a fairly regular basis,” Ferguson said. “They’re regularly courted by U.S. companies trying to set up joint ventures here. I’ve visited them with our trade people. Rather fabulous offices.”

“Speaking of fabulous,” I said, looking around. “This place certainly qualifies.” David’s new home was an old one, on stilts, with a steeply peaked roof and wide, decorative barge poles that curved gracefully at the ends. To top it off, it was right on a klong, with a staircase that went down into the water, so that visitors could arrive by boat. At one time it had probably been home to a family of ten, but it was really quite small. The front half was veranda, screened in, and at the back was a very small kitchen, a bathroom only partly roughed in, and a small bedroom with an alcove off it that overlooked what I assumed would eventually be a tiny garden. The walls were all paneled, and the door thresholds raised so that you had to step up and over them.

“It is great, isn’t it? I’m really pleased to have found it.”

“The teak is wonderful. It will look really beautiful once it’s been cleaned up. And I love the openness of it.”

“I think so, too. The place is nowhere near finished yet, and it’s small, I grant you, but I love it. It’s the first house I’ve had since I left Nebraska. I feel truly at home in Thailand. I don’t know why.”

“Didn’t you say you were born here?”

“Yes, but I left rather young. And even if I was born here, I’m a farang. You’re always a farang if you’re a white guy, even if you live here all your life. Still, this is where I want to stay.”

“I almost forgot,” I said. “This is for you,” I said, handing him a bottle of scotch. “And this is for the house.” I handed him a package wrapped in handmade mulberry paper.

“Thanks,” he said. “You didn’t need to do this, but I appreciate it. Aren’t these great?” he said, as he opened the package. “They’re for my spirit house, aren’t they? The little cart and the elephants. These are extraordinary. Where did you find them?”

“Robert Fitzgerald,” I said.

“You met him, did you? Was he the portrait painter?”

“No, his son, the wood-carver.”

“Did you learn much from him?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Too bad. These are way too good for my spirit house. I just bought one in the local equivalent of a hardware store. I was informed that the decision had been made as to where it should go, and I wasn’t ready. I bought the first one I could find.”

“Well if you’re ever in the market for a special one, go see Fitzgerald. His are amazing. Now where’s Jennifer?”

“I think she’s just sitting on the edge of veranda looking at the klong,” he said. “We can’t have her moping. I’ll introduce her to some of my younger friends in a minute. Come and meet my aunts, would you?” he said to us both, guiding us over to two elderly woman seated in deck chairs. “This is Auntie Lil,” he said, introducing me to one of them, a rather plump older woman of about eighty in a pretty blue dress. “And this is Auntie Nell,” he said, indicating her companion, a slim and still pretty woman about the same age. “Aunt Lily and her best friend Nelly raised me. They made me the man I am today.”

“Which is a shiftless wanderer who has finally got himself a home,” a tall blond man said. “Something most of us do long before we turn fifty. Now if he’d just find himself a decent woman, he’d be all set. I’m Charles Benson. I work at the Embassy with Dave here.”

“I’m Lara McClintoch,” I said, shaking his hand. “And this is my niece, Jennifer.”

“Lara. Jennifer. Those are pretty names,” Aunt Lily said. “Is this your first trip to Thailand?”

“Yes,” Jennifer said. “But Aunt Lara has been here many times. Is it yours?”

“Oh no,” she said. “I lived here for a number of years. It’s Nell’s first, though.”

“Now don’t you two be rushing down to the Pat Pong,” Charles said. “You’d better stay out of trouble while you’re here.”

Lily giggled. Nell did not. I found Charles rather patronizing.

“When did you live here?” I asked.

“A long time ago,” she said. “Just after the war. It’s quite different now. Bangkok is just another big city, like New York.”

“Ah,” Charles said. “Here it is again: the glorious past to which the present never measures up.”

I wished he’d just go away. I like stories about the past. It appeals to the antique dealer in me.

“It was very hot, then. No air-conditioning, can you imagine? And then there was the cholera every year. You had to boil and boil the water. The electricity was a bit on and off, too. You were never without candles. And you cooked on charcoal braziers. We didn’t cook, of course. There were servants for that. Such good servants, too, and so nice. Everyone was nice. There was none of the resentment of foreigners you saw in other countries. I suppose it was because Thailand was never occupied by one of the imperial powers, so they didn’t develop the hatred for Europeans that others did.” As she spoke, Charles, already bored, wandered off.

“We had such lovely parties,” she said. “You never go to parties like that anymore. Bangkok was ever so much smaller and friendlier than it is now. Everybody knew everybody. There weren’t all that many farang in Bangkok. There was always a ‘do’ for some charitable venture or another, or a coming out party for one of the young women. I had a splendid coming out party, didn’t I Nell?”

“I don’t know, dear. I wasn’t here,” Nell said. Nell seemed to be a better shape than her friend, Lily. Her eyes were bright and intelligent.

“I forgot,” she said. “It happens quite a bit these days. Pity, really. The best party of the year was the Fourth of July fete at the American ambassador’s. I looked forward to it for weeks. I always had a new frock for the occasion. My friends did, too. Oh, it was lovely.”

“When did you move back to the States?” Jennifer asked.

“I can’t remember. Can you, Nell?”

“It was 1953, dear,” Nell said. “That’s when we met.”

“That’s right,” she said. “Davie was just a toddler. There was a tram on New Road, but we loved to take samlohs. You know what those are, don’t you dear? Pedicabs, you’d call them, on three wheels, pulled by Thais. They had bicycle bells, and they rang them all the time. For years, whenever I heard a bicycle bell, I was carried back to Bangkok. They were much nicer than those noisy, dirty motorized things we have now.”

“I don’t suppose you remember Helen Ford?” I said.

“Oh yes,” Lily said. “I remember her. Very pretty girl. Something bad happened to her, didn’t it?”

“She was accused of murdering her husband,” I said.

“Yes,” she said, vaguely. “Terrible thing to happen. We got to know the better Thais,” she continued. Inwardly I cringed. “The well-educated ones,” she said. “And rich, of course. Some of them actually came to our parties. You know, sometimes in the rainy season, you gave your beau your shoes, and you hitched up your long skirt and waded up to the house where the party was. It was rather fun, now that I think about it. Some of the parties you got to by boat. Most of us had homes either on the Chao Phyra or one of the klongs. They’ve filled in so many of the klongs. It’s a shame. They’ve turned them into paved roads. It used to be such fun to go everywhere by boat. The tradesmen came by boat. The merchants delivered everything to your door that way.”

“Now Lily,” Nell said. “I’m sure that Lara and Jennifer have heard enough about the past. We should enjoy the party we’re at. I think the ceremony is about to begin.”

“I’m so glad Davie found this place and is having it all done properly,” Lily said.

Two monks in saffron robes officiated. The house was wrapped in a cord of some kind, which I was told could not be taken off or the magic would evaporate. David had already put his little animals and people out at the spirit house, which had been placed in a corner by a little pool filled with lotus flowers. I could smell sandalwood, which I think was part of the ceremony. I couldn’t understand a word, but it was very affecting, and I was happy for David.

Then the party got going in earnest. David, true to his word, introduced Jennifer to some younger people, and she seemed to be rallying. She’d been terribly shocked by Thaksin’s death and our unpleasant task of finding the rest of the family and telling them. Wongvipa had betrayed no emotion whatsoever when I found her in her room. Dusit looked merely puzzled. Chat was clearly devastated by his father’s death, but he did not seek solace with Jennifer. Instead, he stood by his mother and brother, without saying so much as a word to either of us, and watched as we drove away.

Jennifer cried all the way back to Bangkok and spent most of the next day in bed. I finally managed to get her up and to the party, something I think she did only to make me feel better.

At about ten in the evening, I noticed she looked very tired, and suggested we retire for the night. David walked us out to the main road and hailed us a minicab. “Thanks for coming,” he said to me. “I’m sorry about your troubles, Jennifer. I hope everything works out okay.”

“He’s very nice,” Jennifer said as we sank into the cab. “His aunties are cute, aren’t they? I love the house, too. I’m glad we came. Maybe if Chat and I decide to live here part of the year, we could find ourselves a little house like that. Oh, what am I saying?” she said. “What a dope I am. This will never happen.”

“I think you should just give this a little time,” I said. “See how you feel in a day or two. Couples do have spats, you know. They aren’t necessarily terminal.” We sat in silence for a few minutes.

“You want to go shopping tomorrow?” the cabdriver said.

“I don’t think so, thank you,” I said.

“No pressure,” he said. About twenty seconds went by. “I know very good places. Sapphires, rubies. Also good tailor for farang sizes.”

“No thanks,” I said.

“Okay. No pressure. I give you my card. You call tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I said.

“You could go shopping tonight. Some places still open. Very good.”

“I think we’ll go right back to the hotel,” I said, but then I changed my mind. “Are you up for one more stop?” I said, as a familiar building appeared off to one side.

“Sure,” she said. “You want to go shopping?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “Information only.”

I managed to convince the cabdriver to pull over, and we entered Will Beauchamp’s apartment building. “I’ve been intending to come back here at night,” I said. “But I’ve never really had the opportunity. I didn’t want to come alone, for one thing. I’m trying to talk to one of Will’s neighbors, and she doesn’t seem to be here during the day.”

There was light under one of the doors beside Will’s. I knocked and heard footsteps, and someone, whom I couldn’t see, opened the door only a little. The door was still held by the safety chain. “Are you Mrs. Praneet?” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“My name is Lara McClintoch, and this is my niece, Jennifer. I am a friend of Will Beauchamp’s wife, and I’m trying to find him.”

The door shut. I thought that was that, and turned to go away. But I heard the chain slide in the lock, and the door reopened. “Hello Lara, Jennifer,” a woman’s voice said. “Please come in.”

“Nu?” I said. “It is Nu, isn’t it? I’m delighted to find you, but I was looking for Mrs. Praneet.” It was indeed Nu Chaiwong, daughter of Sompom and Wannee, granddaughter of Khun Thaksin.

“I am Praneet,” she said. “Actually it is Dr. Praneet. I am a medical doctor. You perhaps don’t understand our custom of nicknames. I am always called Nu by friends and family. Nu means Mouse. Many of us are named after animals. Would you like some tea, soft drinks?”

“We’re really sorry about your grandfather,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said. “But please, sit down. I think you want to talk to me about Mr. William. I did not know how to get in touch with you and couldn’t ask Wongvipa. She doesn’t like me very much, and she obviously did not want me to talk to you. I was wondering how to reach you without her knowing.”

“I did come here a few times and knock on your door,” I said. “Even if I didn’t know it was you.”

“I work at a hospital, and my hours are quite irregular, so it is sometimes difficult to reach me,” she said. “You are here now, though, and I will tell you whatever I can.”

“Give me a minute,” I said. I went downstairs and tried to pay off the cabdriver, but he insisted upon waiting and charging me an hourly rate to do so. No pressure of course.

“Now what can I tell you about William?” she said, pouring us each a cup of jasmine tea. “I am very sad he is gone, but also angry.”

“Angry?”

“Yes, that he should go away like that without telling me. Unfortunately, it seems that is the kind of man he is.”

“What do you mean?” Jennifer said.

“He left his home in Canada, didn’t he? He told me about his wife and daughter, his house, his store there. He also said that when he left to come to Asia, he intended to go back the way he always did. He didn’t, though, did he? He just started all over again here.”

“Is that, like, normal?” Jennifer asked.

“Are you asking me as a doctor?” she said. “No, of course it isn’t. I wondered whether he had had a psychotic episode of some kind, a breakdown. And then having left like that, he couldn’t go back. But when he just disappeared again, I thought this was a pattern for him. Perhaps he is just a wanderer, the kind of man who really cannot make a true commitment to anyone or any place. The other thought I had was that he owed money to his landlord, which you may or may not know, is Ayutthaya Trading. This has caused me some embarrassment, you will understand. I introduced him to the family, and they lent him money to start up the store. It was a kind of partnership arrangement between William and Wongvipa. Not only that, but they invited him to their home, both the apartment in Ayutthaya and their place in Chiang Mai. I was disappointed that he returned their hospitality and my friendship with such behavior.”

“So you have assumed that he just up and left again.”

“Didn’t he?” she said.

“If I told you that he had enough money in the bank to pay them what he owed, but that the bank account hasn’t been touched since July, would you feel differently about him?” I asked.

She paused for a moment. “I think I would.”

“Can we start at the beginning?” I said. “How you met him, and what you knew about him while he was here?”

“Of course,” she said. “I met him here. We were neighbors. We would see each other in the hallway, and after a time we talked a little. He invited me to a party he had, and we became friends, at least I thought we were. When I was working very long hours, sometimes he would make tea for me when I got home late. When he went away looking for antiques for a few days, I watered the plants on his balcony. He did the same for me when I went to Chiang Mai for a holiday.”

“So when did you realize he wasn’t there?”

“A few months ago,” she said. “I had knocked on his door a few times. I have a key, just as he had a key to my place. I put a note under his door, but there was no answer. Finally I went in. The place looked as it always did, except he wasn’t there. My note was still on the floor inside the door. I looked around. All his clothes were there, so I assumed he would be coming back, but when he didn’t, I decided… well, you know, what I thought. I feel dreadful now that I may have been wrong, that something terrible has happened to him, and I did nothing.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“July, I think. He had a party to celebrate American Independence Day. I went to that. I don’t recall having seen him since then.”

“Did he have a lady friend? Or perhaps you…

“No, I was not his lover,” she said. “We were just friends. He did have women there from time to time, but I didn’t have the impression there was anyone special. I think he still felt married.”

“Tell me about that party. It seems to be the last time almost anyone saw him.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she said.

“Who was there?”

“I didn’t know a lot of the people. There was a very nice man from the American Embassy, David something, and another one, very blond and very sarcastic.”

“Ferguson,” I said. “The nice one, I mean. The other might have been Charles Benson.”

“Yes, I think so. There was also a rather unpleasant man who said he was William’s literary agent.”

“Bent Rowland,” I said.

“Something like that. Yutai was there. You met him at dinner, I think.”

“Yutai!” I exclaimed. “When I asked him about William the other evening at dinner, he said he didn’t recall the name. How could you come to someone’s party and not remember them?”

“Perhaps he misunderstood you,” Praneet said. “His English is not perfect. No one else from my family came. There was a young woman, a farang. Sorry, I shouldn’t use that term. An American. Very pale, with a lot of blond hair.”

“Tatiana Tucker. She said William was making a big play for her.”

“What does this mean?” Praneet said.

“It means he was interested in her and was trying to seduce her,” Jennifer said.

“Is that what she said?” Praneet replied. “I saw it differently. In my opinion, she was—what was that expression?— making a play for him. Very definitely. I don’t think he was interested at first, but then, you know, the party went on, there was much American wine and beer for the occasion. They did disappear into the bathroom together and stayed there for some time. One makes certain assumptions about what they might have been doing in there. Still, I would have said that she was more interested in him than the other way around.”

“Anybody else?”

“Some of the neighbors in the building stopped by. There was another man, I can’t recall his name, but he was very interested in a painting that William had in the bedroom. He told me his father had painted it.”

“Robert Fitzgerald,” I said. “He seems to have forgotten being there, too.” Apparently the rather grumpy wood-carver belonged to the ranks of those who had not been entirely forthcoming with me on the subject of Will Beauchamp.

“Perhaps that was his name,” she said. “I really can’t recall. I don’t think we were introduced, but I did speak to him for a few minutes. He brought his mother with him. She was visiting from England.”

“Do you know a Mr. Prasit, by any chance?”

“I know many Prasits. It is a very common name here. Can you narrow it down a little?”

“He’s the assistant manager of the PPKK.”

“What is that?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. He said he came and talked to you, asked you if you had seen Will.”

“There was someone who came asking for Will. I told him I hadn’t seen him in a long time. I have no idea who he was, and if he mentioned his name, I don’t recall it.”

“You implied Will and Wongvipa were in business together. Are you sure? That isn’t the way she describes it.”

“He certainly seemed to think so. He had cards printed up with some of her merchandise and sent it to his contacts. He even got an expression of interest from a couple of people. It seemed to me, though, that he worked hard at it for a while, but then lost interest. Instead, he started writing a book. I don’t know how serious he was about it when he started, but as time went by, he spent more and more time working on it, and he finished it last spring, some time.”

“Are you sure he finished it?” I said.

“He told me he had.”

“Do you know what it was about?”

“He told me it was about a murder that occurred in Bangkok many years ago,” she said. “He said he had happened upon the story quite by chance, but that the more he looked into it, the more interesting it got. That’s all I know. He did not share any of it with me, so I can’t tell you anything more.”

“He was looking for a publisher,” I said. “That horrible man Bent Rowland was his agent. He told me he was shopping it around in Singapore or something.”

“William had a publisher. He had received, what do you call it in publishing, money before the book is published?”

“An advance.”

“Yes. He was waiting to see if the publisher wanted any changes. He told me he had decided to throw the party to celebrate. The strange thing is, he didn’t mention it at the party. I would have thought he would have made an announcement or something, but he didn’t. He and Mr. Bent—is that his name?—had an argument about it at the party. They were in the kitchen with the door closed, and I was trying to help, so I went in with some of the plates, you know, that needed more food, not realizing they were in there having a private conversation. William was very upset about something, and Mr. Bent looked to me very, I don’t know the right word, but like he was avoiding telling the truth.”

“Evasive should about do it. Mr. Bent told me he was still looking for a publisher, and that William hadn’t yet finished the book,” I said. “Not quite the same story. Are you sure about the publisher?”

“Yes,” she said. “William told me last spring some time, perhaps April or May. He showed me the check from that Mr. Bent. It had the name of the agency on it. It was for about two thousand U.S. dollars. William said that was for half of the advance, and he would get the other half when the publisher finished reading it. He joked about the name of his publisher. I didn’t understand the joke, but he called them after a dessert you have in your country. It is a pie with limes in it, or something.”

“Key lime pie?” Jennifer said.

“Exactly,” she said. “That was not the name of the publisher, of course, but that is what William called them. I asked him if he was going to serve this at his party, and he said something about how it wasn’t funny any longer, and he was going to have to have a serious discussion with Mr. Bent. I am certain they were having that serious discussion in the kitchen at the party.”

“Did he say where this Key Lime Pie company was located?”

“I don’t recall. I had the impression it was here in Bangkok.”

“Where did Will work on his book?”

“Here, in his apartment. He had a laptop, and he worked on that. He also went away from time to time to work on it. I arranged for him to use the family home in Chiang Mai when he found he needed quiet.”

“What did he do with the store when he went away to write?”

“He just closed it. I don’t think the store was going to make him rich, but he thought the book might.”

“Where is the book now, do you think?”

“I thought it was at the publisher.”

“Do you think we could use your key and get in and see if we can find it?” I said in as casual a tone as possible. “A copy, perhaps. I can’t help thinking this has something to do with his disappearance.”

“I’m not sure…” she hesitated. “Why not? If I didn’t act when he first disappeared, I can act now, can’t I? Let me get the key.”

We looked up and down the hallway before we went to the door, unlocked it, and slipped inside. The place looked much as it had before, despite the fact the police had been over it.

“He worked here,” Praneet said, pointing to a desk set up near the glass doors that led to the balcony. We went through it, but there was no manuscript.

“Where’s the laptop?” Jennifer said.

“Good question,” I said. “Where indeed?” We searched the room as carefully as we could. There was no laptop.

“Perhaps he did just go away,” Praneet said.

“Perhaps he did,” I agreed.

“Let’s have a look in the bedroom,” I said.

“It looks different,” Praneet said. “I’m not sure why.”

“The painting’s gone,” I said.

“That’s right,” she said. “The portrait of that lovely woman. But how did you know that?”

“A friend of Will’s told me it was missing,” I said. That was partly true. “Maybe we could just take a look around for the painting, too.”

We did. It wasn’t there. “I guess that’s it,” I said.

“Yes, I’m afraid it is. Now, come to my place again,” Praneet said. “I want to give you my phone number at home and also the hospital, and perhaps you could tell me where to reach you as well.”

We went back, had another cup of tea, and exchanged information. “And you, Jennifer?” she said. “Will I see you in Ayutthaya for the ceremony tomorrow?”

“I don’t think so,” Jennifer said, tearing up. “Chat and I had a fight.”

Praneet looked at her for a moment or two. “Jennifer,” she said. “Chat is under a lot of pressure. I don’t know how to say this, but I suppose I should just tell you. William always told me that with farang, I should be more direct, clear in what I was saying, and not try to hide bad news. As blunt as this sounds, I think this is for the best. The Chaiwongs will never permit Chat to marry you. Even though my father is the eldest son, Chat is the heir to the family business. They may smile all the time and be very nice to you, but they are determined he will marry someone else.”

“Who?” I said.

“Busakorn, of course.”

“Of course,” I said, thinking of the young woman dressed, like Wongvipa, to match the tablecloth. “Why Busakorn, in particular?”

“Two reasons: one is business. Busakorn’s father, Mr. Wichai, is a business associate in Chiang Mai, head of a company called Busakorn Shipping, or in English, Blue Lotus Shipping. As you have noticed, he named the company after his daughter. Let’s just say it would be mutually advantageous from a financial perspective if Busakorn and Chat were to wed. Secondly, the family will never allow Chat to marry a farang. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.

“Thank you for your candor,” I said. “I think it’s time we went now, don’t you Jennifer?” She could barely nod her head.

“I’m really sorry, Jennifer,” Praneet said. “I tell you this because I know what they are like. As a family they can never be underestimated. I loved someone once they didn’t approve of, a farang. They drove him away.”

We had a very silent trip back to the hotel, punctuated from time to time with quiet little sobs from Jennifer. I just sat there beside her, ineffectually patting her arm. I was angry at the Chaiwongs and annoyed with myself for putting Jennifer through that, however inadvertently, in the name of finding Will Beauchamp.

When we walked into the lobby of the hotel, though, a man rose from his chair. “Hello, Jennifer. Hello, Aunt Lara,” Chat said. Jennifer just stared at him. “I’m sorry, Jennifer,” he said. “I’m not myself. My father… I have to run the company. My mother says that’s what my father wanted. I don’t know. I can’t. I need you with me, Jen. Is there anything I could say or do to convince you to come back? I mean…”

“It’s okay, Chat,” Jennifer said. “I’m here.”