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NOONIE WALKED INTO the yard at seven and sat down beside Tasanee. Tasanee drummed her fingers and sighed a hello. Noonie picked up a women’s magazine and scanned the photos and the banners. She passed it across. They washed, dressed, watched the sky change, listened to the traffic. Two hours passed.
“I wonder what it means if he’s been delayed,” Tasanee said.
“Do you think he’ll try to contact us some other way?”
“He said this morning.”
“Could he contact us some other way?”
“I don’t know.”
They yawned.
“Has he written?” Noonie said.
“I’d have told you.”
Tasanee went to make some breakfast. She brought out a pitcher of orange and two glasses and cut up a watermelon. They each took a slice then fell into torpor again. The flies gathered. Tasanee took it back inside and scraped it into the bin.
Noonie awoke from a doze and sat up in her chair, aching. How long had she been asleep? She looked at the clock. Thirty minutes? She went indoors, ran herself a glass of water and splashed her face. The tension was becoming unbearable. She watched the insects buzzing round the yard until she imagined there were messages for her in their flight-paths.
“Should one of us go over to Phuket Town?” she said.
“Why?”
“Perhaps he’ll go to his office first. Perhaps one of us should wait there. Or perhaps he’s left someone in charge, someone who knows where he is.”
“He hasn’t left anyone in charge, he told me that. That’s why I say he’s being such a good friend. Think of the money he’s losing. If he does go back to his office it’s up to him, but if one of us is waiting for him there it’ll look like we don’t trust him.”
Noonie sighed. Tasanee didn’t get it, she never had. The best it was possible to say about David Blameworth was that he was a good businessman. For him to shut up shop for four days for a mission of mercy was unheard of. She was tired, she wasn’t thinking properly, but she had to work out his real motive before it was too late.
Then she knew. It was obvious. He was about to hit the jackpot.
Charles was about to propose marriage.
Her brothers’ ordeal must have come at the worst possible time for him. He must have realised it needed resolving post haste. He’d said he was coming round to bring news this morning and that was exactly what he would do. He’d have to, given the stakes.
Her heart thudded in her chest, a bulge formed at the back of her throat and her mouth went dry.
The answer would have to be yes. After all, Charles was all she looked for in a man. The future she’d rehearsed so many times flashed before her eyes with new intensity, rich and sedate. And her mother and her brothers would be secure for the rest of their lives. He’d see to that, even if she couldn’t. They could visit her in England and she’d make regular returns here. She would definitely say yes.
Or rather, there were no serious objections to saying yes. She was too tired to know whether the need for a bride-price to bail her brothers out played a subconscious part in her thinking. She guessed, probably.
For some reason, though, she suddenly thought of Edward Grant. She should go back and consider the question more carefully. More, it was imperative she should. She had no idea what made her think so. What did Edward Grant have to do with anything? He was about the same age as her -
“He’s here!” Tasanee shouted from indoors.
Noonie stood up and knocked her chair over. A black film came down over her eyes and she heard a crashing sound like the sea against a high wall. She tried to steady herself by reaching for the wall. Everything went black.
When she recovered, she was lying on the sofa. David Blameworth’s smile came into focus. That wet thing on her forehead was Tasanee stroking her with a damp towel.
“David says they’re fine!” Tasanee said. She wiped her eyes, smearing salt water across her temples. Noonie hauled herself up into a sitting position. Her head ached.
“They’re fine,” David Blameworth said.
“How do you mean, fine?” Noonie said.
“They’re unharmed. As your mother’s probably told you, I’ve got contacts in Bangkok. It was entirely a case of mistaken identity. I paid to have it cleared up and I paid to have their flat refurbished. Twenty thousand Bahts, all in.”
“We’ll pay you back of course,” Tasanee said.
“Well, that brings me to my next bit of good news. I won’t beat about the bush. Charles Swinter is in love with your daughter, Tasanee. With you, Noonie. Very deeply in love. Ready to commit his whole life to you. Ready to lay his considerable wealth, belongings and social standing at your feet ... if you’ll consent to be his wife. I should warn you, he’s the sort of man who is unwilling to take ‘no’ for an answer, so unless you’re adamant that you want nothing to do with him, I’d advise you to consent just to save time.”
Tasanee gasped and put her fingers to her lips. She trembled. Noonie was still light-headed. She felt she was in a burlesque and someone behind the scenery was playing a drum roll.
“The dowry’s a mere formality as far as he’s concerned,” David Blameworth said. “He’s offering two million Bahts. I think we can push him up to three if you play hard to get. Remember, I’m on ten per cent. Even with two million, you can afford to pay me back for what I’ve just been through in Bangkok and have enough left over to change your entire lives for good.”
“Don’t rush in,” Tasanee said. “Listen to David. He’s prepared to go up to ... three million!”
“Of course, with three million, you could bring the boys home from Bangkok. You could put down a deposit on a little bar somewhere on the beachfront – ‘Tasanee and Sons’, imagine that – and never have to worry about them or anything again. And Noonie, you could be sure he loved you. At three million you could be absolutely sure.”
Noonie rubbed her head. “Maybe, maybe. I don’t know. Maybe, yes. Yes, I’m going to say yes.”
“I expected a little more enthusiasm,” David Blameworth said.
“I’ve just recovered from a faint. I’m still a bit shaky, sorry. I’ve got to put my calculating hat on. Two million, three million. I don’t want him to think we’re trying to fleece him. Perhaps I should speak to him.”
“I’m afraid you can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a cultural thing. The English don’t really understand the dowry system. Someone like Charles realises he’s got to play along with it, because he respects your culture but at bottom he doesn’t really get it, and he certainly doesn’t like it. For your typical Englishman, paying a dowry for a wife is a bit like paying a ... well, sorry to be blunt, but paying a prostitute.”
Tasanee dropped the towel she was holding. “But that’s - ”
“Different,” David Blameworth said. “I know that, you and Noonie know that, even Charles Swinter does when he thinks about it properly. But you can’t ask him to overcome God knows how many years of conditioning just for you and the moment. He recognises the need for a dowry. He’s willing to pay an exorbitant amount to clear the psychological hurdle it represents for him. He just doesn’t want to talk or think about it.”
“Did he say that the dowry payment was like ... like a prostitute’s payment?” Tasanee said.
“Of course not. I’m just going by experience.”
“That’s okay, then. I suppose.”
“Which is the whole point of a marriage-broker. To aid communication across cultural barriers. People say love’s a universal language, but they’re wrong.”
“What when we get back to England?” Noonie said. “What when I want to send something to Phuket? Will he regard that as a prostitute’s payment?”
“Lots of English people send money to support their families. That is part of the culture.”
Noonie and Tasanee looked at one another. Tasanee shrugged. Noonie nodded her assent. Tasanee burst into tears and threw her arms around her. Noonie’s eyes filled with water and stayed glassy.
Two hours later, Tasanee opened the front door to find two men dressed in suits, each with a bouquet of flowers. They broke into grins and Wai-ed her. She returned the gesture and brought them inside.
In her white blouse, scarf and beige trouser-suit, Noonie was as Western as Tasanee could make her. She remained seated as the two men entered. Charles went down on one knee, presented her with his bouquet – the bigger of the two - and, before she had time to respond, said:
“Miss Nongnuch Kitkailart, I declare that I am deeply in love with you. I humbly ask for your hand in marriage.”
Noonie had always envisaged that when she married the proposal would be solemn and perhaps a little fearful. But Charles was grinning like a player in the burlesque she’d imagined earlier.
Nevertheless, she’d made her mind up. He was probably just nervous.
“I accept,” she said.
He took her finger and fitted a diamond ring to it, pushing it right down till it dug into the skin at the base. He stood up and shook David Blameworth’s hand and the two men hugged.
“Congratulations,” David Blameworth said.
“Congratulations yourself. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
David Blameworth detached himself from Charles and passed him the smaller bouquet of flowers. “You’ve still got to ask mum, remember?”
“That’s right,” Charles said. “Silly moi.”
He went down on one knee in the same manner as before but in front of Tasanee. “I humbly beg permission to marry your daughter,” he said, thrusting the bouquet at her.
Noonie couldn’t help thinking there was nothing humble about it.
All the requirements satisfied, the couple agreed to meet up for a celebration dinner at the Brunton Taylorforth, tomorrow noon. The wedding was pencilled in for next Saturday – exactly a week away, after which Charles would return to England to get his house ready for their new life together. Once she’d given in her notice, she would have a month to carry on working at school. Then her life would begin anew.
