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IT WAS A CLEAR EVENING. The moon and the sun were in the sky together and the breeze was thick with the scent of pine trees and the sea. The taxi stopped in the pull-off before the hotel entrance. Charles hailed it and went over.
The driver – a stocky man with stains under his armpits - got out. “Sorry, sir.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I was stopping for that gentleman over there.”
He indicated the man coming up behind Charles – another European, as smart as him but considerably younger. They looked at each other and laughed.
“Good heavens,” Charles said. “What are the chances?”
“You again.”
Yet Charles found it difficult to hide his vexation. The same fellow? This was the fourth time. He was beginning to feel like he was being stalked.
The stranger was in his mid-fifties with a beard, silver cufflinks and a Rolex. His shirt and trousers looked newly-ironed. “Which direction are you going in?”
“You’re English,” Charles replied.
“North London.”
“Never heard of it. Strictly Tunbridge Wells.”
“So which direction are you going in?”
“West. Phuket Town.”
The stranger smiled. “The same. You don’t mind sharing, I hope?”
“Certainly not. You got there before me. Apparently.””
“What part of the town?”
“Any. The town centre. I’m a tourist. I just want to wander and take things in.”
“David Blameworth.”
Charles shook hands and they climbed onto the back seat. “Charles Swinter.”
“Swinter?”
“Winter with an S in front.”
David Blameworth scowled. “A relation of the infamous Leslie Swinter, I presume.”
“Not that I know of.”
“It’s an unusual name. Alternatively, you might recognise his credentials.” He handed Charles a business card, gilt-edged and bigger than standard. ‘Leslie Swinter, PhD, LSFO, General Director, Microsoft’.
“The Microsoft?” Charles said, handing the card back.
“The Microsoft.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, what’s he done? Maybe I can help somehow, although I’m damned if it’s my responsibility.”
David Blameworth raised his eyebrows, put his hand over his mouth and nodded. “Yes, I suppose it could work.”
“What could?”
“Forgive me, I was thinking aloud. It may take a while to explain.”
“We’ve got the journey. What else are we going to talk about?”
“Fair point, I suppose.”
“Well, chop chop, then. I can’t help if I don’t know the facts.”
David Blameworth straightened his back and looked straight ahead. “Mr Swinter, I’m a marriage broker by profession. I put western men into long-term relationships with Thai women, and for every marriage that results I get a percentage of the dowry. I’ve lived on this island a long time and I care deeply about its people. It’s my job to see off unscrupulous Westerners and take care of the native women who choose to do business with me. For example, chaperoning them on dates or arranging for a female member of my staff to chaperone them, if I deem that more appropriate.”
“Yes, yes, I see.”
“Now, all I want is to make people happy, but you’ll understand I’m also a businessman. Assuming all the western men I agree to help are equally sincere, honourable and upright – and they won’t get past my front door if they aren’t – and assuming the same of the Thai women, I have to set about maximising my profits. That means the prettiest, most intelligent, most eager-to-please Thai women get paired with the richest western men. I have to make a living.”
“Sounds perfectly reasonable,” Charles said.
“Occasionally, a truly outstanding Thai woman comes along. And I mean, outstanding. And occasionally, a very wealthy Western man comes along. A match made in heaven. And I stand to make an awful lot of money. Leslie Swinter was prepared to pay a cool two hundred thousand dollars in dowry to the family of the woman I was set to introduce him to. Had all gone according to plan, I’d have received ten per cent.”
“A lot of money,” Charles said.
“Only half what she’s worth. I thought since he was American, he’d play the American way and pay the asking price. I didn’t expect him to barter. But well, barter’s the name of the game in this country. Next time, I’ll start at eight.”
“So where is he now?”
“Sadly, I had to send him packing. Last night, quite by chance, I was passing Molly Malone’s Irish Bar, by Patong Bay. I went in to quench my thirst – although I’m pretty much a teetotaller, nowadays - and who should I see, but Leslie Swinter. He was pretty well gone and he was making some – let’s just say, very offensive comments about Thai women in general.”
“Oh, dear.”
“I had to tell him the whole thing was off, of course. No choice. It’d be disastrous for business if it got around that I was pairing the island’s girls with men like that.”
“So the Swinter name’s mud, I take it.”
“He wasn’t here long enough to make many friends. The – your – ‘family name’ is safe. As far as I’m aware there’s only one person who knows it and it’s going to be my unpleasant duty, tonight, to tell her everything’s cancelled. You asked me a moment ago if you could do anything to help.”
“Bloody cad.”
“You can.”
“Yes, okay. Fire away then.”
“I’ve got another husband lined up for her. I always have a Plan B. The problem is, it’ll take me about three weeks to get Elmer over here.”
“’Elmer’?”
“Elmer works for General Motors, another North American. The trouble is, I promised this young lady I’d bring a ... ‘realistic prospect’ round to take her out in three days time. If I let her down she’ll go with another marriage-broker. What are you doing in three days’ time?”
“I haven’t planned that far ahead, to tell you the truth.”
“In that case, if you really want to do me a favour ...”
“I’m always up for a bit of adventure.”
“I’ll pay for everything. You two just spend the evening together, that’s all. I’ll accompany you. You’ll enjoy it. What made you come to Phuket, anyway?”
Charles started to speak but stopped himself. “Curiosity”, he said at last. “Various sorts of curiosity. Coincidentally, it began with me thinking I might be in need of a wife. That’s out of my system now. I’m here for the sun and a celebration, that’s all. My wife’s just died.”
“Oh.”
“Estranged.”
They sat in silence. Charles rubbed his hand up and down the armrest.
“If you change you mind,” David Blameworth said, “I could still find you a nice little lady, you know. They’re not all as expensive as the one I’ve been describing. Ten thousand pounds, I’ve known some go for.”
“But you’d – I’d – if I was to go for a woman - which I no longer am – I’d want the best. I don’t think a hundred thousand is too much. I wouldn’t want a substandard one.”
The taxi slowed and pulled up by the pavement.
“Delighted to have met you,” David Blameworth said.
Charles shook his hand. “Give me a call tomorrow. I’m at the Brunton Taylorforth. Let me know what the arrangements are. I’m at your service. And ... and I was talking theoretically a moment ago, that’s all.”
