There was something unique about airports, Grace thought as she waited for her mother and Daisy to arrive. They were a kind of time capsule, filled with a sense of excitement mixed with anxiety; so many people in one space, all going in different directions, lives intersecting perhaps only for a few seconds.
Daisy was clutching her nana’s hand, looking totally overwhelmed when Grace caught a glimpse of her. At that moment, Grace felt the tension in her shoulders ease and her heartbeat slow to normal. Lawrence or his lawyer could have stepped in right up until the last minute before the plane took off, and even though it seemed they hadn’t, it wasn’t until Grace actually laid eyes on Daisy that she could let go of the gripping stress she’d been feeling.
Tina and Daisy both looked a bit tired and cranky as they emerged through the Arrivals gate and started searching for Grace among the sea of Balinese drivers holding name signs and calling out for their unknown passengers. Grace rushed towards them, breaking into a jog when she noticed that Daisy seemed really frightened now.
‘Daisy, over here, hello, sweetheart,’ Grace called, a huge smile on her face.
The little girl turned her head and her pinched expression changed to one of joy. She dropped her grandmother’s hand and ran to Grace, squealing, ‘Mumma, Mumma!’
Grace swept her daughter up, holding her tight as Daisy threw her little arms around her mother’s neck. They were both crying and raining kisses on each other.
‘Oh, it’s so wonderful to have you here,’ exclaimed Grace as Daisy slid to the ground, then, holding Daisy’s hand, Grace embraced Tina. ‘Thanks so much for taking such good care of Daisy, Mum.’ She blinked back fresh tears.
‘It’s my pleasure, darling girl. We’re glad to finally be here!’ said Tina happily. ‘But I don’t recognise a thing in this new airport. I feel like an ant in a castle! And getting through Customs and finding our luggage took forever. Where to now?’
Grace introduced the smiling Sutini from the Kamasan, who stepped in and took charge of their luggage trolley. ‘It’s lovely to meet you both. Please, follow me,’ she said.
‘Well, that was kind of easy,’ said Tina. ‘Apart from the slow baggage, I’m impressed.’
‘Sutini has a local SIM card for you. If you give her your phone, she’ll put it in,’ Grace explained as they walked towards the exit.
‘Thank you, Sutini,’ said Tina, handing over her mobile. At that moment they stepped outside into the humid, soupy air that is the first sense of Bali, and Tina stopped still, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘Ah, I’m back.’ She smiled. ‘Kretek cigarettes. The cloves. Now this, I recognise.’
Sitting between Tina and Grace, Daisy snuggled up to her mother as Putu drove them out of the chaos of the airport. Daisy and Grace talked and giggled nonstop. Grace held her daughter’s hand, delighting in her excitement and her stories. Tina stared out the window and said to Grace that she was trying to spot anything that was familiar to the nineteen-year-old girl she’d been. So far, she said, it was all very new and different.
Sri was smiling a welcome as they arrived at the Villa Ramadewa and Putu carried their bags inside.
Tina exclaimed with amazement as they toured the pavilion rooms, and when Daisy ran through to the garden, she squealed as she saw the pool and the huge pink elephant inflatable bobbing in the middle.
After a quick swim, they showered and wrapped themselves in specially woven sarongs, which were samples of gifts for the future guests at the Kamasan. At a table by the pool, Kamsi had laid out a welcome lunch, a delicious chicken satay, nasi goreng and a fruit platter.
‘Oh, I remember this fruit!’ said Tina delightedly. ‘Mangosteens and rambutans – I lived on them when I was first here. There were trees in the losmen where I stayed; we just picked the fruit up as it dropped.’
Grace smiled at her mother, noticing how slim and fit she looked, and with wet hair and no make-up, she was even more energetic and youthful.
‘You look great, Mum. And you’re pretty damn hot in a swimsuit, too.’ She smiled at Daisy. ‘And you’re looking full of beans now, too! Shall we dress up and go out for a nice dinner tonight? I’m dying for you to see some of these ritzy high-end places, Mum.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ replied Tina.
‘Yes, I want to dress up and go out,’ said Daisy firmly.
‘Right. We’re going. But it might be a good idea to take a nap this afternoon to adjust to local time. I have to do some work, but I’ll be back in a few hours. Sri can help you unpack and iron your clothes, if you ask her politely, and Kamsi can get you a snack or a drink if you feel like one.’
Daisy’s eyes looked ready to pop out of her head at the idea of all this indulgence, and she ran off to explore her room, whooping and clapping her hands, as Tina stretched out on a deckchair.
‘What luxury, how relaxing. Though you deserve it – I know you work hard, too. Is everything sorted out now with your job?’
‘Yes. Well, so far so good. I don’t want to take anything for granted, of course,’ Grace said, sitting down in the deckchair next to her mother. She had filled Tina in on everything that had happened with Spencer and Johnny as she knew her mother was worried about it.
‘Okay, that’s a relief – I think. Have you thought about what you’ll do once this assignment is over?’
‘If this campaign is as successful as I hope, it’s likely I’ll be offered more jobs on the same basis – executing a major branded content campaign. It’s pretty amazing to work directly with the client, with no agency in the middle – so in a way what happened with Spencer might turn out to be a good thing. If I can make this campaign work without a middleman, it bodes well for the future.’
Her mother smiled at her and Grace felt that her life really was changing. Her family was with her and the future, in terms of her work, anyway, looked bright.
‘It’s better for me financially, too,’ she continued. ‘Johnny Pangisar insisted that all the submitted costs stay the same. That means I’ll pick up the agency mark-up on the job as well, which is pretty hefty.’
‘I’m pleased to hear that,’ said Tina. ‘I just want the Lawrence issue to get sorted. Has he been in touch, or sent you any money? What happened to the house insurance?’
Grace sighed. ‘Not a peep. I haven’t heard anything from him about money or about Daisy coming here for a visit. Mr Judd has put in the application for Family Dispute Resolution, but with the long waiting periods it could be ages before we get the compulsory mediation session. And who knows what Lawrence might do in the meantime? Plus I have that trust document to deal with. I don’t know when I’m going to find the time to get it all sorted. Has he contacted you since the smart watch episode?’
Tina shook her head. ‘Maybe he’s still in India. I hope he pulls something together with his work. That might get him out of your hair. I’ve noticed he always seems easier for you to deal with when he’s working and has money.’
‘Mmm. Yes, you’re right.’ They sat in silence for a few moments, both lost in thought, then Grace checked her watch and said, ‘Well, I have a meeting with Steve, the director. Will you and Daisy be all right if I leave you for a while?’
‘Of course, darling,’ Tina said, looking around at the pool and garden. ‘We are in paradise here.’
‘Thanks, Mum. It’s so good you’re here.’ Grace smiled and stood up. ‘I’ll be back to change for dinner. We’ll go to La Lucciola, on the beach. I’ll ask Putu to drive us.’
*
When Grace arrived at Steve’s villa, he was sitting at a long table facing the compact garden and pool.
‘Where’re the others?’ Grace asked as she sat down.
‘Henry is getting some equipment sorted at the studio with the production guys, and Mateo is out doing some stills. So, did Daisy and your mum arrive okay?’
‘Oh yes. It’s wonderful to have them here. Daisy is thrilled to have her own pool. We’re going out to dinner at La Lucciola.’
‘Cool. Want an iced coffee, juice?’
‘I’m right, thanks, Steve. I had a fresh fruit juice on my way here.’ Grace pulled her laptop from her bag.
‘All right, what’s up next?’ Steve saved the document he was working on and opened the spreadsheet containing the data for the segments they had decided on for the campaign.
‘Infrastructure and environment.’
Steve screwed up his nose. ‘Ugh. Not so photogenic!’
‘That makes it a challenge for you, and with your talent I know you’ll make it exciting, dramatic, cool and current,’ said Grace cheerfully.
Steve chuckled. ‘Righto, boss. Should we recap first on where we are?’ His fingers were poised over his keyboard.
‘Good idea.’ Grace scrolled down through her notes. ‘We’ve covered a lot of the ambience, the look of the hotel architecture and grounds in a scenic way, profiled venues, food, key staff. We still have to do the Pangisar family; they’re proving a bit reluctant.’ She looked at Steve and they both laughed, saying in unison, ‘Except Johnny.’
‘So, what do you want to showcase in these new pieces about the infrastructure?’ said Steve.
‘I think we need to give people a glimpse of what’s behind the façade; you know, some insight into the inner workings of the hotel buildings and its environment. We could show that the hanging gardens, the rooftop gardens and the “green” growing walls are not just design décor, they serve an ecological function. Then there’s the recycling, all the enviro-friendly, state-of-the-art technology. There’s Nyoman’s permaculture garden. The hotel’s a top-tier development in terms of sustainability – people will be amazed when they find out more about it, I reckon. Listen, I made some notes.’ Grace clicked open a document and read aloud: ‘The Kamasan property recycles all water, so it can be re-used for sewerage and gardening. All rooftops on the property are clad with solar panels or covered with plants. There is an extendable wind generator that is hydraulically raised skyward each night in the windy season and hidden during the day. The management is consulting with the government about bringing in charging stations for electric vehicles. In the near future, nothing on the property will be powered by engines requiring fossil fuel. It will all be electrical or biofuel. Apart from the distinctive front driveway, the property’s road system and paths are made from recycled plastic.’ She looked at Steve. ‘You get the picture?’
‘You betcha. Bloody amazing. Good on them.’ He studied his spreadsheet. ‘There’re many layers to this story,’ he said thoughtfully.
‘I know. My mind keeps going back to the old hotel.’
‘Have you finished reading the book yet?’
‘I keep dipping in and out. She makes the old days sound so romantic.’
‘Yes, maybe they were; certainly there must have been some wild times in Bali. When I made the film about the art colony at Ubud in the twenties and thirties, I researched the German artist Walter Spies and his amazing life up there. His paintings sell for a bundle these days – one went for eight million dollars recently at Sotheby’s. You should go up to Ubud when you have time. It’s a totally different atmosphere in the hills,’ Steve said. ‘Anyway, Spies’s home is now an up-market rental to the stars and royals. Bowie loved it; Jagger got married there. It’s been beautifully restored.’
‘Really? Will it be in competition with the Kamasan?’
‘Well, not really, although they both appeal to top-end clients. One is in the mountains and one’s at the beach, plus the Kamasan is a hotel, not a house,’ said Steve. ‘But both have their own unique appeal, and the Kamasan’s privacy and solitude at the beach is pretty hard to come by compared to most places.’
‘That’s what K’tut thought. I wonder what she’d make of Kuta Beach now.’ Grace smiled.
‘I think she might be happy about the Kamasan. It’s still got the privacy, the secret garden vibe . . .’
‘You’re right.’ Grace glanced at her notes. ‘Jumping ahead, we’ll have to film the blessing and opening ceremonies, when the hotel officially launches. Plus the big glittering opening party, of course. Has Johnny said anything to you about it?’
Steve shrugged. ‘No date has been set for it yet, as far as I know. But they have the money to buy any big name they want to launch it, I’d say. Johnny knows everyone. And if he doesn’t, his father does.’
‘That’ll be a pretty exclusive invitation. Okay, I’ll put a query next to that one.’ Grace made a note.
They talked on, developing ideas for the upcoming segments, making notes and finalising plans. Eventually, Grace pushed back her laptop and stretched. ‘We’ve covered a lot of ground this afternoon. I should head back now and get ready to go out to dinner. It’ll be a bit different from what Mum remembers – she told me on the phone last week that when she was here before they’d have suckling pig feasts on the beach. A group would get together for the festivities and a local family would have cooked the pig all day . . . I just can’t imagine that happening anymore.’
‘We should mention that to Andy. He’ll want to do suckling pig feasts at the Kamasan, for sure. You can imagine it – traditional preparation but with a modern and stylish twist.’
Just then Kadek, one of the local production guys, came running towards them, panting and looking distressed.
‘Hey, man, what’s up? Take it easy,’ said Steve, getting to his feet. ‘Sit down.’
Kadek shook his head, waving his arms and trying to catch his breath.
‘You all right? I’ll get some water.’ Grace jumped up to run to the kitchen.
Kadek waved his hand, gasping. ‘No . . . no. It’s the chef. Chef Emile. He’s dead.’
Grace stopped still. ‘No way!’ she said. ‘What happened?’
‘Bloody hell.’ Steve put his hands on Kadek’s shoulders. ‘Where is he? Are the police there? We need to check this out. Does Johnny know?’
‘He’s been murdered, by the gangs probably. The big boss Johnny is coming. They’re trying to keep it quiet. I was over near the kitchen when someone started wailing.’
‘So where’s the chef now?’ asked Steve briskly.
‘Emile, he’s on the beach,’ said Kadek, his voice shaking. ‘In the water.’
‘Maybe it was an accident and he drowned? He could have been zonked out with drugs,’ Grace said.
Kadek just shook his head.
‘You go to the kitchen and see what’s happening. I’ll go with Kadek. I’d better find Henry and Mateo.’ Steve paused, touching Grace’s arm. ‘Are you okay? If you want, you can go to your villa and we’ll get in touch when we know more.’
‘No. I want to check that everyone in the kitchen is all right. I’m sure there’re people helping, but –’
‘Okay. I’ll catch you up,’ said Steve, and he and Kadek hurried out.
The staff were gathered outside the back entrance to the main kitchen. As Grace approached, Andy was speaking to the young sous chef de Franco had been shouting at the previous week.
She kept her distance, not wanting to interrupt. Then Johnny strode along the verandah accompanied by two senior-looking police officers.
Grace spotted Bakti, a young kitchen hand she knew from one of the shoots, looking distressed and standing to one side. She had witnessed the chef’s bullying – had probably endured it herself, Grace suspected – but Grace knew she’d still be in shock.
She went to her and said gently, ‘Are you okay, Bakti?’
The young woman looked solemn. ‘He was a bad man. Trouble man.’
‘Because he lost his temper?’
Bakti shook her head. ‘He did bad things,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I saw him sometimes, with bad people. Chef Emile, he is . . . was . . .’ She struggled to find the right word, screwing up her face in distaste and giving a shudder.
‘Creepy?’ It was a word that had come to mind when Grace met him. ‘Because he used drugs?’
Bakti shrugged. ‘Lot of rich bule buy drugs. He was friends with bad people. They come from many countries – Russian, French, Arab people, Java people. Bad men.’ She glanced around and stopped speaking when she saw Andy hurrying over to them.
When he reached them and glanced at Bakti, he said quickly, ‘It’s okay. You go home, Bakti. If the police want to interview you, we will come and get you. This could get a bit messy.’
As the young kitchen hand hurried away, Andy turned to Grace and sighed.
‘You heard what happened? Nasty, but not totally unexpected, I have to say – de Franco was asking for trouble mixing with that mob.’
‘Was it something to do with drugs?’
‘Could well be. From what I’ve heard, de Franco would do anything to get the drugs he wanted, even if it meant mixing with the grim underbelly of Bali. Maybe it was a debt? Whatever it was, someone meted out rough justice. Poor bloke.’
‘Do you think he got so far into drugs because he wasn’t happy here?’ said Grace.
‘Who knows? Actually, I would have said things had been improving with him lately, but he ended up in a bad circle. I know more than I want to about some of the clubs he often went to. They can seem harmless enough if you wander into them. Hosted by ladyboys, and the drinks are cheap. But go further in and you discover they’re a front for a really sinister crime world,’ Andy said. ‘I warned him once, but it was like water off a duck’s back.’
‘It’s so sad. In spite of his temper, he was doing a brilliant job. He could have really made his name here.’ Grace sighed.
Johnny and Rosie Chow strode from the kitchen, followed by the police officers. Johnny paused and spoke to the police, who nodded and then quickly left. Rosie pulled out her iPhone and started furiously texting as Johnny approached Andy and Grace.
‘We have to keep this quiet. Get a lid on it. Rosie’s onto it now,’ Johnny said to Andy. Looking at Grace he said, ‘When we get the new chef, film him straight away, get him out there, make a fuss on social media. That way, people will be distracted from de Franco.’
‘Do you have someone in mind? Luckily we hadn’t shot much with the chef himself, more the food, the setting and the sous chef. It won’t be a huge problem to feature whoever replaces poor Emile,’ said Grace quickly.
Johnny spluttered. ‘There’s no “poor Emile”. Looks like he got some well-deserved rough justice.’
‘Has his family been notified?’ asked Andy.
Johnny nodded. ‘Farrouk spoke to them. They agree this is a private matter. Rosie will help make arrangements with the family so there is no publicity.’ He started to turn away. ‘See you later,’ he said to Andy. ‘You too, Grace. Around 10 pm at Forty Thieves? We will all deserve a nightcap by then.’ Johnny nodded at Steve who had just walked over, and then hurried off.
‘Do you want me to swing by and we’ll go together?’ Steve asked Grace, when she and Andy had filled him in on everything that had happened and the plans for the night.
‘Yes, please,’ said Grace. The chef’s apparent murder had unnerved her and the last thing she wanted was to go to a fancy bar. As it was, she didn’t know how she’d get through dinner.
*
Watching Daisy and her mother admire La Lucciola’s setting and enjoy its attentive service helped Grace to calm her nerves. She’d decided not to mention anything to Tina yet about the chef; she wanted them to enjoy their evening together first.
They had a drink before dinner as Daisy practised handstands on the lawn and played in the sand in front of the restaurant. Then Grace waved to her to come in and clean her feet and put her sandals on as they were going upstairs to their table.
On the balcony overlooking the beach, they watched the sky change from pink, to orange, to gold.
‘You never forget the Bali sunsets,’ said Tina softly.
‘Feeling nostalgic, Mum?’
‘Oh, yes. We’d eat dinner on the beach, right down there. Sit in the sand, and a local family would bring food and snacks and drinks, for pennies really. We’d light a fire, other friends might roll up, hire a bemo or a bike, or walk along the beach or down the sandy village lanes behind the palms. Some might share a joint, drink Bintang beers, or just talk. Occasionally someone might have a guitar. I used to carry a little torch because once the sun had gone down, there were hardly any lights and it could be pitch black. Then I’d go back to the little bamboo hut I rented for a couple of dollars, where there was a kerosene lamp, the smoky glass cleaned by the pembantu each day, and fall into bed. I remember my sheets were always dried in the sun and neatly folded with a flower left on my pillow.’
‘That’s a lovely custom that I notice is still followed,’ Grace said.
‘In the morning the pembantu would leave offerings in the house, at the shrine in the garden, and would sweep all the frangipani flowers off the sandy grass.’
‘And you’d head out for another day at the beach.’ Grace laughed.
‘Yes, a morning swim, then we’d move around, following the boys surfing. Or hire scooters and go into the hills to Ubud or up the coast. Kuta was the hot spot to hang on the beach and there were a few casual little bars. Occasionally we’d share a scooter over to the Rum Jungle Club in Legian, bumping over the potholes . . .’
‘And Sanur?’
‘It was quieter, a bit snobbier. I s’pose there’s still a bit of a class divide around here. Your hotel sounds like it’s going to be very exclusive.’
Grace nodded. ‘I can’t wait to show you around the Kamasan, especially Nyoman’s secret food garden and the place where the old hotel was.’
Daisy was getting a bit impatient, even with the colouring book and pencils they’d brought to entertain her, so it was a relief when the food started to arrive. Grace enjoyed Daisy’s delight as each dish was brought to the table, festooned with flowers.
By the time they arrived back at the villa, Daisy was nearly asleep on her feet, so Grace bundled her off to bed. She and Tina were sitting in the cool night air in the garden when Steve came by to collect her for their meeting with Johnny. Grace introduced him to Tina.
‘How was dinner? You chose a good spot,’ Steve said.
‘Lovely. Terrific food. Daisy had a ball,’ said Tina. ‘We all did.’
Grace smiled. ‘It brought back a lot of memories for Mum.’
‘The changes since the late seventies are mind-boggling,’ said Tina. ‘I can’t quite get over it.’
‘I’m sure some people would prefer that it were still as it was then,’ said Steve. ‘But if you know the island well, there are still places that are more or less unchanged, where you can step back in time.’
‘I’d love to travel around again like I did then,’ said Tina. ‘But not on a scooter, given the traffic I saw today.’ She rose. ‘Nice to meet you, Steve, and good luck with your production up here. It sounds challenging. Even a bit dangerous; Grace was just telling me about the poor chef.’
‘I know. It was a shock for all of us in our crew,’ Steve replied. ‘That reminds me, Grace, we’ve been told not to mention it to your pembantu – Sri, isn’t it? – as it will spook her. The local people are very superstitious.’
They all went back inside and Grace kissed her mother goodnight. ‘See you in the morning, Mum. Daisy is out like a light. I hope I won’t be too long. There’s a guard who minds the villa, so don’t worry, it’s very safe.’
‘I’m going to sleep like a log. Though I’d love to see the sunrise. Perhaps take an early morning swim.’
‘I’d pass on that if I were you, Tina,’ said Steve. ‘A walk’s okay, but there’re sometimes issues with the water quality around here depending on the tides and weather.’
‘We’ll find a spot for a swim in the next couple of days,’ said Grace.
‘You could take your mum to some of the outer islands. There’re some great beaches there,’ Steve suggested. ‘Otherwise swim in front of the Kamasan. It’s clear there, no drains.’
‘When we have time,’ Grace reminded him. ‘’Night, Mum.’
*
Forty Thieves was packed, but as usual Johnny had an island table to himself. Andy and Rosie were there as well as two people Grace didn’t know.
Seeing Rosie, Steve did a double-take. ‘Woah, Rosie has let her hair down. Literally!’
The beautiful Chinese woman, who usually wore her dark hair in a French knot, had let it spill down her back and over one shoulder, almost to her waist. She was wearing a clinging bright-red silk jumpsuit with strappy gold stilettos. Dramatic gold earrings swung almost to her shoulders, and from a long gold chain hung a large piece of carved jade.
She was sitting right up close to Andy, whose arm was resting behind her along the banquette. Johnny was in a casual white linen suit with loafers and no socks, his turquoise silk shirt was half unbuttoned, displaying a heavy gold chain. Andy was in what Grace considered to be his uniform of Hawaiian shirt and cargo pants.
Johnny waved at them as they approached. The other men were deep in conversation. Grace noticed that Johnny was smoking Dji Sam Soe Black, the expensive brand of kretek cigarettes. This was a sign he was uptight, she’d been told. Smoking was banned indoors, but rules never seemed to apply to Johnny Pangisar.
‘Thought this was a serious meeting, not cocktails,’ muttered Steve. ‘I’d rather be in bed.’
‘Me too. No choice, though,’ murmured Grace.
Steve and Grace greeted Rosie and Andy before Johnny introduced the other two men by first names only.
‘They’re Balinese lawyers, fixers, “cleaners”,’ Andy whispered to Grace as she and Steve sat down. ‘They know what the law is and how to break it “legally”. The justice system in Bali is complicated. These types of guys simplify it.’
Grace ordered an espresso martini. Steve had a Corona beer with a wedge of lime in the neck. Then Johnny leaned forward and the group around him huddled closer as he spoke in a low voice.
‘Our two friends here are part of my legal team, to help with details regarding Chef Emile. This event is tragic, if not entirely unexpected.’
One of the legal men cocked his head. ‘Indeed, we thought something like this might happen. The chef’s habits were well known among the staff, and to us. He was a difficult boss and we were aware of the degree to which he was involved in other activities outside meeting his Kamasan requirements. He was exceptionally good at his job, very creative, a great talent.’ The man stopped and took a sip of his drink. ‘Stephano, the executive chef, had asked us to overlook some bad issues with him so long as it didn’t affect his work,’ he added.
‘His work was brilliant, but he was tough on his staff,’ said Andy. ‘A few people are talking about that now, as the threat of retaliation has . . . disappeared.’
Rosie leaned forward to reach for her glass. ‘That has to be stopped straight away. We can’t risk people spilling the beans on him because they think he can do no harm now that he’s gone. That’s how information gets out there, and it could damage the hotel’s name,’ she said.
Johnny glanced around at everyone seated at the table, then said quietly, ‘de Franco met an unfortunate end. He was mixing with dangerous people – people who do not wish to be known. So any friend of Emile de Franco, or anyone who hints that they know who the perpetrators are, puts themselves in a dangerous position. The mob I’m talking about are seriously brutal if displeased or if you owe them something as, sadly, de Franco discovered.’
One of the legal guys nodded. ‘If you cross them, or don’t pay your debts, they’ll kick you till your guts come out your mouth. Who knows what state he was in when he went into the water.’
‘He would’ve been alive for a while,’ the other lawyer said grimly.
Grace shuddered. ‘Did he drown?’ she asked quietly, not certain she wanted to know the answer.
The first man turned to her. ‘You might say that. He was, well, bashed. But it seems they managed to keep him alive for a while longer. They tied his hands and feet and buried him in the sand to his neck, facing the sea.’
‘Until it came in over him,’ added the second man. ‘The idea is that you see your death coming. Slowly.’
Grace spluttered into her drink. ‘Oh, no! That’s appalling. Nobody deserves that.’
‘Apparently someone thought de Franco did,’ Johnny said.
‘What is his family doing?’ asked Grace.
‘A relative is coming to collect his ashes. Officially, he has gone back home. We just won’t say that it’s in an urn,’ said Rosie dryly. She turned to Johnny. ‘What’s the hotel’s position on why he left?’
‘Health problems,’ said Johnny quickly.
Everyone looked at Johnny as Rosie asked the obvious. ‘So . . . who’s going to replace him?’
‘It’s not that simple,’ said Andy interjected. ‘Stephano is pretty unhappy. I am too. For all his excesses on the dark side, de Franco could bloody cook.’
‘We’ve already done some research,’ said Johnny. ‘Stephano is in London and he has contacted Wayan Gede Antara.’
‘Yes!’ Andy punched the air. ‘Fabulous idea. He’s a star now. Talk about local boy makes good. Would he come back to Bali, though? He’s been working in starred restaurants in France and the UK for the last couple of years.’ He turned to Rosie, who had her iPhone in her hands and was typing quickly. ‘Gede’s a great story. He’s Balinese, trained at the Cordon Bleu Culinary Institute in Paris, and he’s been on the celebrity “must-have” chefs’ lists for some time.’
‘So is he on board?’ asked Rosie, leaning forward.
Johnny took a drag of his cigarette. ‘We made him an offer he’d be crazy to knock back. Depends if he’s ready to come home or not, I suppose.’
‘He’s certainly at the top of his game,’ said Andy enthusiastically.
‘Has he done any media? TV, masterclasses? How old is he?’ asked Steve.
‘Full details when he signs on with us, but as Andy said, his is a great story,’ said Johnny. ‘Perfect for the Kamasan.’
‘Sounds like he could be,’ said Steve. ‘With a Bali background to add to the picture, too.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Grace.
Rosie nodded. ‘He’s a big enough name, that’s for sure. Local star comes home . . .’
‘I think he’s acting coy. I made a flat offer. Take it or leave it,’ said Johnny. ‘He knows who we are. I also understand his grandfather is not well; that’s a big incentive for a Balinese person to come home. He has family obligations.’ Johnny looked at Rosie. ‘I want media ready to go as soon as he signs the contracts.’ He turned to Grace. ‘You might want to visit his family compound – there’s a story to film in the good, successful son returning for ceremonies, family stuff.’
Grace looked at Steve. ‘Could be poignant, a family reunion. Joining the Kamasan family while he comes home to his own family, that sort of thing . . .’
Steve nodded. ‘Sure. Maybe we should wait until he’s accepted before committing to the idea?’
To Johnny it was all settled. Grace was tempted to ask what his plan B was if the chef didn’t accept, but she kept quiet. It was clear not many people ever said ‘no’ to the Pangisars.
Johnny turned to his two lawyers. ‘How thoroughly are you looking into who’s responsible for de Franco’s death?’
‘As far as we need to.’
‘There won’t be any public noise about it,’ said the other man. ‘The word will go out. Your man was a warning to others to pay up and keep quiet. He was obviously getting too deep into their world and rocking the boat. They don’t like outsiders.’
This enigmatic comment seemed to satisfy Johnny, who lifted a hand and a waiter stepped forward.
Grace shook her head and stood up. ‘Nothing else for me, thank you, Johnny. It’s time I hit the hay.’
Steve rose too. ‘We have an early start. Thanks, Johnny.’
Andy dropped his arm around Rosie’s shoulder and Grace noticed how comfortable they looked together. ‘We’ll have one for the road, Johnny. Thanks,’ Andy said.
As Grace and Steve headed towards the door, Steve glanced back. ‘Poor Emile. Those lawyers of Johnny’s will hush this all up.’
‘Bit scary actually, and sad. What a horrible way to die.’
‘Yes. There’s another layer of life here that visitors don’t see. Family. Reputation. Funds. Money talks.’
‘I guess so.’ She sighed and changed the subject. ‘Did you see Andy cosying up to Rosie? She’s younger than me, and much younger than him – maybe thirty?’
‘C’mon, Grace! Andy is a red-blooded Aussie bloke. He’s fit. Still a good surfer. Successful and fun,’ Steve said, chuckling. ‘I’m not surprised Rosie would be keen on him, just as he is clearly keen on her.’
Grace shook her head. ‘Yes, you’re right. Today has been too much to take in, that’s all. There seem to be surprises at every turn. I’m exhausted.’
Steve looked at her then dropped his arm around her shoulders. At first Grace stiffened, wondering what was happening, but then she realised she liked the feeling, and made a conscious effort to relax.
‘Let it all go for now, Grace,’ he said. ‘Think about Daisy and your mum. What have you got planned for them the next few days?’
‘Well, Daisy doesn’t start school until next week. And after Johnny’s directive it seems we’d better visit the chef’s family compound, if he accepts the offer. I may as well invite Mum and bring Daisy along too,’ Grace said, turning to look at him, ‘if that’s okay with you.’
‘Of course.’ Steve smiled, then added, ‘Here’s your driver. Goodnight, Grace. I’ll text you about it first thing tomorrow.’
*
It was close to midnight, but Grace’s mind was in overdrive and there was no way she could get to sleep. After tossing off the sheets and sighing, she pulled out K’tut’s book. She’d reached a chapter where the war in the Pacific had started and Grace was reminded that whatever was going on in her own life was calm in comparison with what K’tut went through.
Surabaya we found in a state of chaos. Roads leading out of the city and the trains we could see from the highway were jammed with Dutch soldiers. They were, we quickly learned, trying to reach military headquarters at Bandung, on the other end of Java. Panic-stricken Javanese were fleeing by the thousands to the safety of kampongs in the interior.
Agung Nura was concerned, not about himself – the Japanese could have no particular enmity for a Balinese – but for me, as a white woman and an American. My nationality, even more than my color, might mark me for brutal treatment. The prince decided he must go to Solo in West Java to find out if there would be a hiding place for me in the Sultan’s palace.
I remained, comfortable for the moment but insecure, in Surabaya’s leading hotel, the Oranje.
It would have been a welcome relief to escape . . . but it was unthinkable that I should leave this troubled island. What of the prince, and all of my other adopted Indonesian friends? What of Agung Nura’s dream of freeing his people from all foreign oppression? What of my promises, during those days at his coffee plantation, to do everything in my power to help bring about a free Indonesia? With the Dutch forfeiting the reins, perhaps for all time, the Japanese might be most willing to hand over the power to the Indonesians.
There was another prospect also. High Dutch officials were confident that the Japanese had overreached themselves and that the war could not last more than three months. If they were right, this was still the time for Indonesia to assert its bid for independence. I could still be of service to my adopted land.
I would remain in Surabaya, awaiting developments. Agung Nura warned me not to push my luck and to stay out of sight of the Japanese as much as possible.
The Japanese commander of Surabaya ordered all Europeans to come to headquarters and register. Agung Nura went with me to the commandant and asked that I be given an order exempting me from internment, and that I be granted also a traveling pass between Java and Bali. He explained that I was his adopted sister, having lived at his father’s palace for many years, and that I was an artist, completely divorced from war activity.
Apparently my native clothes, my sandals, my dyed black hair and my ability to speak both Balinese and Malay impressed the commandant. ‘A white Balinese,’ he murmured. Obviously sceptical of the prince’s account of our relationship, he gave me a knowing look and good-naturedly wrote out an exemption order and a traveling pass for ‘one Balinese by adoption, K’tut Tantri’.
While the Dutch were feeling the weight of the invader’s heel, the Indonesians too began to learn more about their new rulers. The men from Japan began confiscating food and goods to meet their pressing war needs. As produce and supplies became costly and scarce, less and less made their way into the hands of the Indonesians. Wherever it suited their purpose the Japanese roughly thrust Indonesians out of their jobs. Many Indonesians were thrown into prison on slight pretexts, without fair trial.
Agung Nura and his friends moved back and forth between Bali and the key cities of Java. They told me that Sukarno, in spite of his fiery radio speeches in support of the Japanese, was in sympathy with an underground movement that had sprung up under a Christian Indonesian, Amir Sjarifuddin. The whole purpose, I was told, was to prepare Indonesia for self-government – since the Japanese were obviously not disposed to grant this – the moment it might prove possible.
So it was that Agung Nura became involved in an underground resistance movement against the Japanese.
Anak Agung Nura would go back to Bali to organize his many friends into a resistance group and to further the movement in the nearby islands.
My role was to become known as the girlfriend of Frisco Flip, and be introduced to Japanese officials and to mix generally in Japanese circles, and to paint pictures of pretty Balinese maidens and sell them very cheaply to the Japanese.
By day, then, I painted canvases, the quickly done, calendar-type pictures which I loathed, but which were greatly admired by the Japanese. I couldn’t turn them out fast enough to keep up with the demand. And at night I became a playgirl, an habitue of the night clubs, a friend of the Japanese and especially of Frisco Flip. For a city at war, Surabaya was surprisingly lively – in fact, almost gay – at night. The fighting had moved thousands of miles to the east.
An interesting addition to the after-dark attractions of Surabaya was a group of geisha girls and a theatrical troupe, recently arrived from Tokyo. They were to tour Asia, entertaining the troops. The geisha girls were bright and charming, not at all the rough type I had expected. And full of informative chatter about conditions in Nippon and elsewhere. The members of the theatrical troupe were most gracious. It was hard to associate them in any way with a war.
Weeks had passed since I had heard from Agung Nura and I was beginning to worry. Then a courier arrived, with an envelope from Bali. The young man’s face was very familiar; I could see that he was not a Balinese. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’ I asked.
The courier gazed at me intently for a moment and then his face lit up with a pixie’s grin. ‘Good American lady,’ he chanted. ‘You like good guide. I show you the way.’
Pito! It couldn’t be, but it was! The nine-year-old ragged urchin I had picked up on my first midnight ride in Java years ago, now grown into a handsome young man.
‘Your father, Pito, what of him?’ I asked. ‘Remember you told me the Dutch had kidnaped him and sent him to the land beyond the moon to die?’
‘Oh, yes, indeed. My father was liberated from Tanah Merah when the Japanese came. He has always been a freedom worker for his country. That is how I have become a courier.’
Pito said that when Anak Agung Nura asked him to take a letter to K’tut Tantri, he did not realize that this was the American lady he had met as a child.
Pito promised to visit me each time he passed through Surabaya.
The letter from Agung Nura asked that Frisco Flip send money and small firearms to Bali as soon as possible. All bank accounts in Bali had been frozen while the Japanese sorted out Dutch accounts from Native accounts. The need for firearms needed no explanation.
At the factory, Frisco Flip had managed somehow to fashion a crate with a false bottom. He brought it to my house, packed small weapons and ammunition into the bottom part, and filled the top part with books. Our problem was to get the shipment to Bali.
Some days later I learned that the Japanese theatrical troupe and the band of geisha girls had been ordered to go to Bali to entertain navy personnel. They would travel by special train to Banjuwangi, and then by a Japanese patrol boat across the Bali–Java Strait.
Calling at the hotel to say good-bye to my little friends from Tokyo, I noticed that their stage props had been nicely crated, ready for transportation. Suddenly it dawned on me; here was the way to get our shipment of firearms to Bali. I got in touch with Frisco Flip immediately, and we worked out the details. I would ask the head of the theatrical troupe if I could go along with them to Bali. If they agreed, Frisco Flip would put our crate among the stage props. Since he was a Japanese, it should not be difficult to deceive the Indonesian guard.
All went well. The head of the troupe was delighted that I would accompany them. ‘We need someone to speak Balinese, to interpret for us,’ he said. ‘It would be pleasant, too, to have you as a guide.’
Frisco Flip delivered the crate to the prop manager, and I saw it stowed with the rest of the baggage. Then Flip and I had dinner in seclusion together, laughing at our private joke that the Japanese would be transporting the firearms that might be used against them.
The long train ride to Banjuwangi was another of the ironies of my life in the early part of the war. Here was I, a white woman in Indonesian dress, sharing in the song and revelry of show girls from Tokyo whiling time away. The geisha girls were hilarious, and sang the whole distance. I sang too, partly to banish worries over what might lie ahead for me. I am thankful now that I did not know what the future held in store.
The Japanese cutter took us across the strait and in to Gilimanuk just after dark. All the way I was worried about how I would retrieve my crate from the show props. I might better have eased my mind. It turned out to be almost too easy. My friends found my crate and loaded it on a dokkar. ‘How heavy it is,’ one commented. My heart skipped a beat. I replied with what I hoped was nonchalance, ‘My books, I am taking them to the home of a Swiss artist, a friend living a few kilometres outside of the town.’
Anak Agung Nura had given instructions that the firearms be delivered to a certain hideaway. It was almost midnight when I reached the place. Anak Agung Nura was astonished at first, and then – after hearing my story – horrified that I had undertaken such a risky venture. ‘How could Frisco Flip have been so foolish?’ he raged. ‘Letting you travel with geisha girls, and on a warship! You might have been taken to Japan.’
‘Please, Nura,’ I replied, ‘it was not at all that bad. I was safe and comfortable and we had no trouble. We could think of no other way of getting the things here.’
The arms were removed, and the books replaced, with speed.
Good sense dictated that I remain in the house, in hiding, for the next few days. But good sense has never been one of my conspicuous features. My thoughts now turned to my beloved hotel, and to Wyjan, Njoman and Maday. I must find them. Nura had told me that the hotel had been completely destroyed but I wanted to see for myself. Early the next morning I found a local with a dokkar and set out for Suara Segara, my ‘Sound of the Sea’ hostelry.
My heart leaped as we came in sight of the sea, and the lovely white sweep of Kuta Beach, and my grove of date and coconut palms along the shore. But where was the hotel? And where were the beautiful guest bungalows that had blended so perfectly with the landscape that they were almost part of it?
As the rugged little horse pulled nearer, I could see that not one brick stood upon another. The great carved-stone statues were gone. The grove looked as though it had not been disturbed. The driver, seeing my distress, turned his eyes away. He murmured, ‘I thought you knew.’
Stumbling to the ground, I ran to the spot where my own cottage had stood. Not a piece of bamboo remained. I ran about frantically, looking for a brick, a stone, some evidence that there had been a building anywhere. The only sign of human habitation was a row of ketalas, or native yams, planted across the ground.
My legs gave way under me. Sinking into the grass, I burst into tears. Could wars planned and declared in far lands do this to peaceful Bali? Why should such beauty, so lovingly wrought, be so wantonly destroyed?
After a frantic day and night of phone calls, emailing and making plans, Grace, Daisy and Tina, Steve, Henry and Andy all crowded into the hotel’s minibus after breakfast, and Putu took off.
‘Where’re we going, Mumma?’ asked Daisy.
‘Into the mountains, where it’s cool and beautiful. We’re going to visit a special house. Well, a big family compound.’
‘What’s a compound?’
‘It’s where all the family live, the grandad and nana, brothers and sisters, cousins, uncles and aunties. You’ll see.’
‘Are they expecting us?’ asked Tina.
‘Yes. Gede’s family knows we’re coming. Now that he’s agreed to move back here and work for the hotel, they’re very happy,’ Grace said. The call had come through the previous day, just as they’d firmed up the arrangements to visit. Johnny had worked his magic again, it seemed.
‘He’ll have a bit of pressure on him back here, though, as he’s pushing thirty and that means it’s time to start taking on family obligations,’ said Andy. ‘In a gentle way I need to explain to his family that he will have a lot of duties at the Kamasan, and what a great honour it is to work there.’
‘We want to link his family story with our presentation of the hotel,’ Grace explained to Tina.
They wound into the verdant terraced hills, passing picturesque villages, but soon the garish ‘tourist-ville’ sprawled out before them. Tina caught her breath and sighed loudly when she saw all manner of accommodation, shops, stalls, clusters of ‘art centres’, restaurants, spas and yoga retreats. Signs covering many of the shops were advertising adventure trips on rivers, in canyons and down waterfalls, on kayaks and bikes, as well as ‘organic’ farms, coffee plantations, the elephant caves and monkey forest tours.
Tina looked aghast. ‘Oh no! I don’t believe this! Ubud was where you came for peace and simplicity; for Balinese culture. All the little villages have joined together so it’s one huge town,’ she said. ‘No! Look at all the tourist buses.’ She dropped her face in her hands.
‘Nana, what’s wrong?’ Daisy looked concerned.
‘It’s all right, sweetie,’ Tina soothed. ‘When I came here a long time ago, this was a quiet, sleepy place. I’m surprised at what it looks like now, that’s all.’
Andy chuckled. ‘Yeah, it was a very different scene up here in the mountains compared to the beach culture. But it was all pretty benign back in the day, eh?’
‘Depends,’ said Tina, and they laughed.
They drove past the monkey forest and up into the hills. Henry and Daisy were keen to see some monkeys and, when they did, their excitement made Putu burst out laughing.
‘These are just regular monkeys,’ he said. ‘Not far now,’ he added. ‘It’s through this next little village.’
In a dusty, shaded, tree-lined lane the minibus took up most of the road as they drove slowly, looking for the gateway and shrine outside the walled compound they’d had described to them.
‘That must be it – there’s an ornamental gateway in that big wall, with the little shrine by it,’ said Grace, pointing. ‘Unfriendly spirits not welcome.’
Putu parked under a tree and Andy led the way through the gate, where there was another angled wall, ‘To confuse evil spirits,’ he said. In front of them was the family temple, a covered platform raised on pedestals, with a shrine in the centre. It was surrounded by several smaller houses and open-sided pavilions.
Two curious, smiling children ran towards them, and a young woman sat on the stone steps of one of the pavilions, brushing a little girl’s hair. They smiled at Daisy.
‘The kitchen will be on the south side; I want to see that. The design of this place might look random but everything here is placed according to custom and tradition,’ said Andy softly.
‘It’s a whole little town,’ said Grace. She was already enchanted by this private and peaceful little family world, seemingly unchanged for generations.
Two young men came out of a small house to greet them. Andy spoke to them in Balinese and introduced everyone.
‘These are Gede’s younger brothers. Their mother and father are over near the kitchen.’
A dog frolicked beside them as they followed the young men towards a pavilion where smoke was rising and the tantalising smell of food drifted in the warm breeze.
A group of women were working around an open-sided cooking area. Grace could see that the room next to it was filled with cooking utensils, food storage pots and a preparation table. Behind the kitchen she glimpsed fruit trees and gardens.
They were introduced to Gede’s mother and father, sister and his brothers’ wives, who lived in their own dwellings in the compound. Finally, a stooped, white-haired man, who was possibly younger than Andy, came forward with a gap-toothed smile to greet them.
‘This is Gede’s grandfather,’ said Andy respectfully.
They were all invited to sit down on stools outside while the old man settled in a chair and lit a cigarette. Two of the women went into the kitchen to prepare some snacks for them.
The little girl who’d been having her hair brushed came and stood next to Daisy and spoke to her. Daisy smiled shyly and looked to Andy to translate.
‘She wants to show you the animals,’ he told Daisy. ‘They have new baby piglets. Over there behind where the granary is.’
Daisy smiled and looked at Grace.
‘Sure, honey, go and explore. But be careful of the mama pig!’
Gede’s mother, Chandri, spoke some English and was very happy that her first-born son was returning home.
‘Did you teach Gede to cook?’ asked Grace.
She smiled as she nodded. ‘He help me. He likes food.’
She reverted to Balinese to explain further to Andy, who told them, ‘Because Chandri had three boys first and no daughter to help with the cooking for a long while, Gede used to prepare vegetables and always watched her cook.’
‘He likes to eat,’ Chandri said.
‘Can I take a look around please, maybe take some photos?’ asked Steve.
‘May I go with you?’ said Tina, as Chandri and her husband nodded their assent.
As they wandered off with two young boys in tow, to admire the ornately carved doors on some of the pavilions, Grace asked Chandri, ‘So your mother taught you to cook? Now you teach your sons and daughters?’
Chandri held up a finger. ‘Just number one son cook. All girls learn to cook. Sometimes I cook for bule lady.’
‘She’s being modest, Grace,’ said Andy. ‘Chandri is famous. She and her mother started one of the first little warungs near the beach. Just a stall, really, she’d cook snacks and take them to the tourists in Kuta. She’d walk along the sand carrying them in a basket on her head. Then a couple of Aussie surfers got her to cook a version of Aussie meat pies and sausage rolls . . . Balinese-style, as it turned out. Maybe the recipes got a bit lost in translation but they were delicious and a huge hit,’ Andy added, laughing. He translated his words for Chandri, then said, ‘Warung Baba got bigger and became a place to sit down outside and eat. Gede grew up watching his mother cook for tourists.’
‘Oh, that’s a fantastic story. Does anyone have photos of her stall and Gede when he was younger?’
Andy asked her and the older woman called her daughter and spoke to her. The young woman smiled and disappeared.
‘Andy, how serendipitous is this? Is there a dish that could be unique to Gede’s family that we could promote?’
‘Meat pies? Sausage rolls?’ He laughed. ‘No one makes them like Aussies do.’
‘Maybe you could do a little stall of snacks at the Kamasan’s beachfront for the guests,’ said Grace.
‘Steady on, we want them to eat in our great restaurants and bars. But we do run food down to the beach. Hmmm, maybe reviving Warung Baba isn’t a bad idea for Gede to think about once he’s settled in.’
Tina rejoined them, sitting down. ‘Warung Baba, did you say? I remember that. It was on the little path from Bemo Corner that went to the beach. It sold delicious snacks.’
‘Get outta here. Well, I s’pose that’s no surprise,’ said Andy, grinning. ‘You were around in the good ol’ days too. Gede’s mum started it.’
‘Oh, my heavens!’ Tina clasped her hands and turned back to Chandri. ‘I’m honoured to know you. You are famous. Like your number one son.’
Chandri laughed when Andy translated this, and then her daughter returned, handing her a glossy magazine carefully wrapped in plastic. Chandri took it out and gently opened it and showed Grace and Tina. There was a photo story on the little Bali beach shack doing a roaring trade in ‘Balinese-style Aussie meat pies’.
‘Tracks magazine, 1980,’ said Grace and handed it to Tina.
‘Yep, that’s it. Well I never, how magical to meet you, Chandri, after all this time,’ Tina exclaimed.
Suddenly Daisy called out, ‘Mumma, look!’ And they all laughed as Daisy walked very carefully towards them with a plump, pink, wriggling piglet in her arms.
‘Quick, photo op,’ Grace laughed as Tina pulled out her phone.
By the time they’d had milky sweets and kopi susu, Balinese-style coffee, pressed on them, Steve and Henry had taken lots of photos with Chandri and her husband and all the family, and it was time to leave.
Daisy asked for some extra sweets, and as Grace was about to say no, already a little worried about tummy upsets, Daisy whispered, ‘They’re for Putu, Mumma.’
Putu had been sitting in the shade, smoking and chatting to Gede’s two brothers, and he scrambled to his feet, putting out his cigarette.
‘I will bring the car.’
Daisy handed him the sticky sweets and he smiled, giving her a pat on the head.
There was a lot of chatter about favourite haunts and food as they drove back.
‘What a gift Chandri turned out to be. Mother and son. Great stuff,’ said Grace.
‘From humble beginnings, eh? All very visual too, in that beautiful compound,’ said Steve.
Daisy scrolled through the photos on Tina’s phone and announced, ‘Nana, can we get a pig when we go home? For Sparkle to play with.’
‘That little piggy will grow into a big fat sow. We’d have to move out of our house.’
As they headed away from Ubud, a tourist bus sped past, honking its horn, forcing Putu to take evasive action. Grace checked that Daisy had her seatbelt on, as no one seemed to bother in Bali.
‘Do you mind dropping me off in the main Kuta drag, Putu? I have to meet a supplier there,’ said Andy.
As they drove down Jalan Pantai three large motorbikes driven by bare-chested young men wearing board shorts, thongs and back-to-front baseball hats, with girls in bikini tops behind them waving their arms, careened past, taking selfies as they rode, screeching with hilarity. Putu swerved to avoid them when the bikes weaved alongside. He only narrowly missed hitting one of the women on the bikes and several cars.
‘Drunken hoons,’ exclaimed Andy. ‘They wouldn’t do that back in Australia.’
‘Drunk as skunks. No helmets, no shoes, no brains,’ said Grace.
‘It’s the thing the Balinese dislike most about tourists, especially off-their-head Aussies, and who can blame them?’ Andy said. ‘There’s a couple of people killed or injured every fortnight up here. At least. And if there’s a sniff of alcohol involved, their travel insurer walks away. It can cost them a bucket of money – if they survive. Listen, Putu, pull in near the shopping complex. I’ll take a short cut through the mall. Thanks.’
Andy hopped out of the minibus and Putu headed back to the quiet streets and made a stop at Steve’s place, then pulled up at Grace’s villa.
As they climbed out, Sri came hurrying out, looking concerned.
‘What’s up, Sri?’ asked Grace. ‘Everything all right?’
‘You’ve got a visitor, Ibu Grace. He won’t go away. I tell him to come back later but he wait.’
‘What do you mean, Sri?’
She turned and waved an arm.
‘Oh. My. God,’ hissed Tina.
Sitting in the large carved teak chair, which was purely ornamental as no one ever sat out the front, was Lawrence, inscrutable behind dark glasses. He was wearing a polo shirt and cotton blazer as if he were on a cruise.
They stared at him in stunned silence, even Daisy, who was clearly trying to compute her father suddenly being there in this place far from home and where he was not expected to be.
‘Afternoon, ladies,’ said Lawrence with a thin smile.