Grace walked along the beach in the fresh, early morning air. It was a lovely way to start the day. The tide was out and the wet sand shone like gleaming glass. This part of the beach was deserted, though once guests were in residence at the Kamasan, Grace knew this pristine strip would be ‘claimed’ for them, with beach lounges, deckchairs, sun umbrellas and staff in attendance.
As Grace turned into the hotel grounds she caught a glimpse of Nyoman collecting fallen palm fronds from the immaculate lawns. The gardens were flourishing; she noticed some plants had grown even in the short time she had been here. Artfully trained bougainvillea spilled in controlled clumps, while frangipani, white jasmine, hibiscus and trailing orchids looked as if they’d always been there. The huge hibiscus, heliconia and, in the shady spots, exotic anthuriums all made for a dramatic backdrop.
She picked a sweet blossom and, waving to Nyoman, turned off the path and went through the bamboo and pandanus grove to the hidden back garden and the remains of K’tut’s hotel. A startled bird screeched at being disturbed and darted away into the greenery.
Passing the crumbling, lichen-covered remains of a carved stone gateway, Grace spotted a simple shrine with the sculpture of the Hindu deity, Vishnu, on top. A flower offering had already been placed on the pedestal. Grace tucked her blossom in her hair, its perfume trailing behind her.
She recalled reading about K’tut’s despair – coming back here to see her beloved hotel in this peaceful setting ruined by the Japanese invaders. It was almost unfathomable to Grace that K’tut had suffered torture and solitary confinement for many months on another island, only to return to further hardship and disappointment – and yet she had survived it all, and gone on to make a positive difference to the world around her in spite of it. Grace thought about K’tut’s strength, perseverance and fortitude. It didn’t seem right to her that K’tut Tantri had been forgotten. She sighed and turned away, taking the short cut through Nyoman’s kitchen gardens to the back of the hotel.
She followed the smell of pungent Balinese coffee and the murmur of voices and found Johnny, his father and, to her surprise, Madame Pearl, seated at a table on the terrace.
Johnny waved her over. ‘Grace, hello. Have you had breakfast?’
Grace grinned and walked towards them. ‘Not yet. Good morning, Pak Pangisar . . .’
‘Harold, Harold,’ the older man said, smiling.
Johnny pulled out a chair for her and Grace sat down. ‘Thanks, Johnny. How are you, Madame Pearl?’
‘I am doing quite well,’ the elegant older woman replied. ‘Very much looking forward to this evening.’
Grace wondered if Madame Pearl was spending the day at the hotel, as she was already dressed formally enough to be ready to go to the evening’s art auction in a silk dress with multiple strands of fat pearls and large diamond and jade earrings. She was wearing a narrow Cartier Tank watch. Daywear, thought Grace, rather bemused.
‘Oh yes, please tell me about this evening.’
‘Breakfast first. Have anything you like,’ said Johnny.
A waiter who’d been standing nearby came over and smiled at Grace, ready to take her order.
‘I’ll have creamy eggs with smoked salmon,’ she said, ‘and sourdough toast, please.’
After they had given their orders for tea and coffee, the waiter bowed and left, having not taken a single note. Johnny gave a nod of approval. ‘He’s going to be good. They have to keep every detail of every order in their head.’
‘So what’s happening tonight, exactly?’ asked Grace again.
Johnny leaned forward. ‘Auctions like this one are for serious collectors. A lot of money will be spent and a percentage will go to charity,’ he said. ‘There’s significant Balinese art going under the hammer tonight. Some of the works are culturally very important; I’d hate to see them leave the island.’
‘We are only interested in the pieces from Kamasan village,’ Harold reminded his son.
‘Naturally,’ added Madame Pearl. ‘Make sure they are well insured, Johnny, before you put anything you buy up on public display in the hotel.’
Johnny nodded, seemingly unconcerned that he was planning to purchase hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of valuable art to hang around the family’s hotel.
‘Do you know about Kamasan village?’ Johnny asked Grace.
Grace nodded. ‘I’ve heard it’s an important centre for Balinese art, but I don’t know much more than that.’
‘Very old classical art was produced there, based on the wayang puppet stories – stories that come from the heart of Bali. They bridge two worlds, the spirits’ and ours,’ Johnny explained.
‘It’s always been a collaborative effort. To this day, the whole village paints and creates the artworks,’ said Madame Pearl. ‘You should go there sometime, Grace, to Klungkung, to see the village.’
Johnny grinned at Grace. ‘More to film!’
‘I’m going to end up with a full-length feature film about the Kamasan.’ Grace laughed. ‘Though we do need a lot of online material. MGI have started releasing the TVC teasers on Instagram, YouTube and Facebook – the online ads and infomercials, that is – leading up to the hotel’s opening,’ she said, turning to Harold. ‘The ads and teaser will be released in Australia and on iflix across South East Asia. They expect a viewership of forty million plus. The travel tourism magazine editors and travel bloggers will start coming in soon too.’
‘Excellent. What great show are you planning for the opening?’ Harold asked his son.
‘You’ll know soon enough.’ Johnny smiled. ‘We’re tying up a few loose ends, locking in the last big name.’ He winked at Grace.
‘We need to fill this place,’ said Harold.
‘Well, just don’t overspend on art tonight, Johnny. I know you consider yourself quite the collector,’ said Madame Pearl.
‘Oh good, here’s breakfast,’ said Johnny cheerfully, perhaps happy to change the subject.
*
Grace was working at her computer when she heard Daisy and her mother return after Daisy’s second day at school.
Daisy ran to her, waving a few sheets of paper. ‘I have to get some books and things, Mumma.’
Tina followed her. ‘Gosh, that school is great, lovely staff. Lots of amenities and a pool with its own waterslide! Daisy will be swimming lengths and diving before you know it.’
‘Did Daddy like your classroom?’
‘Um, I don’t know, Mum,’ Daisy said and dashed away. ‘I have to give a drawing to Sri,’ she called over her shoulder.
‘He didn’t see it,’ said Tina, rolling her eyes. ‘Said he’d seen the school the other day, before she started, and he didn’t have time for her to show him the classroom. Had a meeting, apparently.’
‘Story of his life. My life. He went to a “meeting” one time and I found him a few blocks away near the park, sitting in his car on the phone,’ said Grace.
‘He excused himself just when the subject of spending money came up,’ said Tina. ‘I mentioned to him that there are fees to pay and a uniform and books to buy. The usual expenses that come with starting a new school.’
‘That’d be right,’ sighed Grace. ‘I just wonder what the hell he’s up to.’
‘He mentioned possibly going to Singapore.’
‘Did he? He used to go there fairly regularly on business. But mainly to have his suits made. Bet he can’t afford them anymore.’
‘He asked if he could take Daisy to an early dinner tonight. Just the two of them.’
‘Where?’ asked Grace. ‘She loves La Lucciola and it’s close by. I’ll text him. That works out well as I’m going to that art auction in Ubud I was telling you about. Steve and the boys are coming too as there’s sure to be some action worth filming. Would you like to come along?’
‘No thanks, honey, I might stay in tonight,’ said Tina.
‘No worries. If you decide to go out, Sri will be here to look after Daisy and help her get ready for bed when she comes home from dinner. I don’t want Lawrence to come in here on his own,’ she added. ‘Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I worry about him snooping around.’
‘It’s hard to move on when he’s under your feet like this,’ her mother said. ‘You have to get the mediation process worked out soon, darling.’
‘I want to, but I don’t know how to stop Lawrence stalling and refusing to cooperate,’ said Grace with a sigh. ‘I’ve spoken to Mr Judd about it. We’re still waiting on a date for our mediation – the family courts are so clogged up, a wait this long isn’t unusual, apparently. I’ve asked Mr Judd to try to get Lawrence to agree to parenting orders now – apparently we can do that at any time on our own and lodge them with the court to make them legally enforceable. But so far, of course, Lawrence’s lawyer has told Mr Judd that “his client” is not prepared to do anything yet.’
‘He does like to be in control, that’s for sure.’
‘Well, I hope he leaves soon. It’s so distracting having him hanging around. He might say he came here to see Daisy, but I’m pretty sure he also wanted to nose around and upset me. And it’s working,’ Grace muttered crossly.
‘You know, I heard him say to Rosie Chow at dinner the other night that he might go to London,’ said Tina. ‘Time to see his family, he said; his father’s getting on. Went on about them still going to the polo and shooting weekends in the country.’
‘Oh, give me strength,’ said Grace. ‘For a start, where’s he getting the money for the airfare? And who the hell are his family, anyway? Are they Odfords or Hagens?’
‘Have you got to the bottom of that strange business with the passport yet?’ Tina said.
‘No, I really don’t know what the story is,’ said Grace, hiding her face in her hands for a moment. ‘Copies of the expired passport are in Mr Jamison’s safe and I sent that message on Facebook. You never know what might come out of the woodwork.’ She stood up and paced around, trying to ease her anxiety.
At that moment Daisy walked down the stairs wearing her swimmers and with a towel draped over her shoulder, and Grace smiled, welcoming the distraction.
‘Can you come for a swim with me, Mum?’
‘What a good idea, sweetie. I have time for a quick dip before I have to go back to work. Wait here for me while I get changed. I’ll be back in a minute,’ she said, and, gazing at her daughter for a moment longer, it occurred to her that Daisy was growing up. The ‘Mumma’s and ‘Mummy’s were getting fewer and farther between. Daisy plonked down on a chair looking onto the garden and swung her towel around, obviously keen to get into the water.
Grace turned and said quietly to Tina, ‘I’ll pay for whatever’s needed on the school list. If I let Lawrence pay for those things, he’ll start telling Daisy what she can or can’t do, because he’s paying for it.’
‘Being here really is a wonderful experience for her,’ said Tina. ‘Lots to occupy her developing brain; new people, different language, and an exciting school. Not to mention all the delicious new food she’s trying.’
Grace smiled, guessing that her mother was trying to lighten her mood. ‘Did you see what she wrote in her homework book yesterday?’ she said. ‘“I love dragon fruit but I hate durian.”’
She relished these light conversations; they helped her overcome the dark moments. Sometimes she felt as if she couldn’t fit anything more into her head. Just as things had been going well, along came Lawrence to throw a rock into the smooth pond of her life.
She squeezed her mother’s shoulder affectionately and went to get changed.
Later, when Grace had finished editing the latest script and Daisy was busy with Sri, ‘helping’ her cook noodles – Sri had the patience of a saint, Grace often thought – Grace settled down in the garden with K’tut’s book.
Really, thought Grace, how could she complain about her life, compared with what K’tut went through? And so many of the people K’tut knew had died or simply disappeared. Grace found it hard to imagine this sunny, happy island under the terrible cloud of war, and it had all happened so close to Australia.
By this stage in the book, as K’tut recounted, the Japanese were mortified at the lowering of their flag. That was nothing in comparison to the Dutch colonials’ anger. They had expected to return to their elegant homes in Indonesia with their servants and countless labourers who worked, indeed probably slaved, on their plantations and in their factories.
K’tut seemed proud to record that Sukarno, the leader of the freedom movement, had stepped forward. In the square in front of the palace of the Dutch governor-general, which was filled with thousands of local people, Sukarno had declared his country’s independence on behalf of the Indonesian people. The thousands gathered in the square had begun weeping and shouting, ‘Merdeka . . . Merdeka . . . Freedom . . .’
Then, read Grace, British troops moved in. Mountbatten, their commander, was misled and manipulated by the Dutch, who were hoping to reclaim their hold on Indonesia with the backing of the British soldiers. So, if the British were fighting for the Dutch, the Indonesians, against their will, would have to fight for their freedom. And, as K’tut wrote, the Dutch smiled and waited, biding their time.
Grace poured herself a glass of pineapple juice and returned to her book.
During the first month after my deliverance from the Japanese prison hospital I lived in the shadow of death. Under the gentle care of the Indonesian doctor I gained strength, day by day. Every morning and evening he unfolded for me the story of the Indonesian declaration of independence. He read the daily news to me. Later he brought me a radio.
One day I asked the doctor the reason for his kindness and consideration. Why had he nursed me, a stranger, back to a semblance of life?
‘You are not a stranger to me, K’tut Tantri,’ he replied. ‘It is important to me that you get well.’
The news of Indonesian freedom had filled my heart with gladness. How happy Nura must feel. But as I thought of him, something told me that he was in danger. I could not shake off this presentiment, although I told myself it was foolish. But was it foolish? The radio said that the Dutch had reinstated themselves in Bali. Guerilla warfare in Bali against the Dutch was rampant. Nura was bound to be in the middle of it.
One morning the doctor came to my room with a bigger smile than usual, and said, ‘K’tut, make yourself pretty. You have company.’
I replied, ‘What company could I have? No one knows that I am here.’
I was astonished when the doctor ushered in four Indonesian men in their early twenties. I gazed at them blankly for a moment, and then recognized one.
‘Pito, darling little Pito,’ I sobbed.
He came over to my bed, bent down and rubbed my nose with his, drew in his breath. Such is the custom of the Indonesians when embracing.
Pito was dressed, as were the others, in khaki shorts and a khaki tunic on which was sewn the rank of a first lieutenant. He introduced me to the other young men. I smiled at their titles, but then remembered that these young men were in the midst of a revolution.
‘How did you know I was here?’ I asked.
‘I am in the intelligence department. In any case, the doctor sent word that you were here.’
‘The doctor!’ I exclaimed. ‘How would he know where the guerilla headquarters were?’
‘He is one of our most important guerillas.’
I sat up in amazement. The doctor! A member of Bung Tomo’s ragged bamboo army of freedom fighters. What next!
After the pleasantries were over the doctor joined us, and his pretty wife brought native coffee – kopi tubruk – and rice cakes. We sat around talking about the revolution. One story led to another until Pito suddenly broke into the general discussion.
‘K’tut,’ he said, very serious. ‘We came here to find out how you were getting along, and to see if you were getting the proper care. But we also came to ask you to consider two propositions. We hope you will find one of them agreeable.’
He drew a paper from his pocket and began to read in his soft, musical voice.
‘K’tut Tantri: We, the guerilla fighters of Java Timor, know only too well the suffering and torture that you have been subjected to by the Japanese, just as we know how the Dutch persecuted you for so many years in Bali.
‘Because of the love and understanding you have had over the years for our people we pledge ourselves to help you in every way possible to reach your own countrymen at Batavia. This will mean smuggling you through Dutch and British territory, but we will see that you are delivered safely to the American consul. Then you can be evacuated to your own country where you will have the proper medicine and food, and peace away from the strife in Java.’
Pito halted and looked at me for my reaction. My face must have shown how deeply touched I was. I knew that any effort to get me through the British lines would require these young men to risk their lives.
‘Go on, Pito dear,’ I whispered. ‘What is the second proposal?’
Pito tightened his lips and cleared his throat.
‘It is our hope that K’tut Tantri, health permitting, will not desert us in this great hour of Indonesia’s destiny. It is our hope that K’tut will find it in her heart to stay in Indonesia and help to bring our beloved country to the same state of freedom that her own people enjoy.
‘But before any decision is made we should like to point out that the road to freedom will be fraught with danger. We have nothing to offer K’tut Tantri in return for such a sacrifice, except the love and esteem of seventy million Indonesians.’
If I remained in Java I definitely could not have the care, the medicines, the good food I required to build up my health again. My thoughts turned to the American Revolution, and to the men of other lands – Poles, Frenchmen, Germans and Englishmen – who had played important parts in shaping the destiny of that great democracy. I thought of Thomas Paine, who wrote in his book The Rights of Man: ‘There can be no freedom for one unless there is freedom for all.’
My decision was made.
To the lovable golden people standing before me I said, ‘Come what may, I shall throw in my lot with the Indonesian people.’ To Pito, quoting his child’s words to me so many years ago, I mischievously added, ‘Take me with you, gentle Pito, for now I shall be your eyes and your tongue. I shall help you get the right change, and I’ll show you the road. Or I will die in the attempt.’
Pito fell to his knees, hid his face in the bedclothes and wept.
Just before he was leaving, Pito asked me what had become of the charm he had given to me when we first met, knowing that I had worn it constantly around my waist on a silver chain.
I told him that the Japanese had ripped it off when they questioned me at Kediri and that I had never seen it again.
‘I have another charm for you,’ Pito stammered shyly. ‘This one is much stronger, and must be worn next to the skin. It will protect you from all harm in these dangerous days that are ahead of you.’ He pulled from his tunic pocket a long strip of white cloth stitched with designs of gods and demons and with magic words of protection in ancient Sanskrit. Handing it to me, he said, ‘May Allah protect you always, K’tut.’
We said good-bye, rubbed noses, and drew in our breath. ‘Selamet tinggal – live in peace,’ said Pito. ‘Selamet djalan,’ I replied. ‘Go in peace.’
‘Mumma, Mum.’
Daisy squeezed in beside Grace on the sun lounge. ‘Nana asked what am I going to wear tonight?’
‘Let me see. What would you like to wear?’ For a moment Grace was tempted to suggest that Lawrence could take Daisy shopping, but then thought better of it. If he was broke, Daisy would be disappointed. ‘What about a sundress? It’s fun to dress up to go out to dinner.’
‘Okay. Maybe the yellow one . . . no, the green one. With the hearts on it . . .’ She ran off.
Looking at the time on her phone, Grace said to herself, ‘I’d better think about what to wear too.’ She picked up the book that had fallen to the ground and tucked it under her arm just as her phone rang.
‘Hi, it’s me,’ said Steve. ‘We’re heading up to Ubud now. Mateo wants to see what the light is like and how the gallery is laid out. Sounds like it could be a bit ordinary from a visual point of view.’
‘Hopefully the auction will make it more interesting. I’ll ask Putu to take me and I’ll see you there.’
‘Sounds good. Do you want to have dinner afterwards? There’re some great places in Ubud. Maybe Apéritif or Room 4 Dessert?’ He paused, then said, ‘Or do you want to come straight back and start editing?’
‘Dinner sounds good. Let’s see how we go, but it should be fine. We’re pretty much on schedule,’ Grace said. ‘I’m trying to find the right music to go with the rough edit, before we send it to the music production company. Something upbeat,’ she added. ‘Any suggestions?’
‘Well, I could ask Johnny to buy the rights from Coldplay or someone,’ Steve said.
‘Don’t joke and don’t suggest it. That’ll blow my budget – I’ve already used their music once in this campaign and you wouldn’t believe what I had to pay for it.’
‘I can guess! Let me think about it and I’ll come back to you,’ he said, laughing. ‘Meet you there around five thirty?’
‘Fine. See you then.’
Grace went inside and opened her laptop. Before checking her emails, she looked at her Facebook page, which she’d been far too busy to check lately. She was surprised to find there was a message for her from a Beatrice Odford.
Shakily she opened the message to read:
Hello. My name is Beatrice Odford. You say you are searching for relatives of Justin Kenneth Odford. From the full name and date of birth you provided, it sounds like you’re talking about my brother. We have had little contact with him, as we are estranged. After he left for Australia years ago, he cut off any connection with his family. He didn’t get on with our father. But I think my mother regrets not hearing from him. Mum feels he thought we were never good enough for him. My father is retired but worked in the fishing industry at the port. I run a hair salon in Grimsby. I’m sure my mother would like to know how he is. Does he have children? That sort of thing. Our parents are in their eighties and my father’s not well. It would be good for them to know he is doing all right.
If it is the same Justin Odford, please message me with a photo. We won’t bother him. I am sure he is successful, and, we hope, happy in his life. I apologise for taking so long to respond. I don’t use Facebook very often. And, of course, your message surprised me somewhat. I will check my Facebook more often now, though, for your response.
Kind wishes, Bea Odford
‘Mum!’ Grace called shakily. ‘Come and see this.’
‘What’s up?’ Tina raced over to Grace and peered over her shoulder to read the message. ‘Good grief! How sad. Didn’t you write to his mother when Daisy was born? I thought you said you sent photos, and of your wedding?’
‘I did. But I didn’t post them myself. I always gave the mail to Lawrence to send when he went in to the office. I was home such a lot with Daisy, it was easier that way. He probably gave me a fake address and never sent the packages. When we didn’t get a reply, I talked to Lawrence about it and he just said they weren’t close, and not the sort of people who sent presents or photos or that sort of thing,’ Grace said.
‘But didn’t you used to get Christmas cards from them? With the name “Hagen”?’ asked Tina.
‘We did,’ said Grace, frowning. ‘Although, now that I think about it, I never saw the envelope, which is where you might see a surname. Lawrence only ever showed me the cards themselves after he had already opened them at the office – or said he had.’ She looked at Tina in shock. ‘Do you think Lawrence wrote them himself? That would be crazy, surely. What sort of person “fakes” a Christmas card?’
‘Nothing about that man shocks me anymore,’ said Tina, though the tremor in her voice contradicted her words.
‘I used to feel sorry for him that his family were so aloof. Now I feel so sorry for his mother. It sounds like they’re just ordinary people. Probably quite nice.’
‘Not good enough for Lawrence, apparently, so he invented a new family. Amazing that he got away with it for so long,’ said Tina. ‘If he is this Justin Odford, of course. What a bolt from the blue! What’re you going to do?’
‘It’s hard to think straight; I feel quite shaky. I’m not sure if I want to open this can of worms.’ Grace drew a deep breath. ‘I’ll answer her – I have to. But I won’t get involved,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to confront Lawrence with this until he and I are divorced. He’ll have a fit if he finds out what I’ve uncovered.’
‘Not to mention a whole new identity. Who knows what “Justin Odford” got up to before he moved to Australia and became “Lawrence Hagen”?’ Tina said, sitting down next to Grace. ‘Poor Daisy. Seems like he may have intended for her never to meet her other grandparents . . . So what if this lady writes again and wants to get involved with us?’
‘I’ll be firm and tell her Lawrence and I are divorcing. But I can’t help being curious, and I feel I should get to the bottom of it for Daisy’s sake. This could be her family, after all. I’ll see what I can find out. Ammunition is always useful with Lawrence,’ said Grace. ‘I’ll send her some photos and ask for some family history.’
‘Well, good luck. Be careful that Lawrence doesn’t find out,’ said Tina.
Grace rose to get a drink from the kitchen. Sri and Putu had just gone to collect some produce from Nyoman. Tina had gone upstairs to her bedroom, and Daisy was in the garden putting out chunks of fruit for the colourful birds that usually darted around the flowers, although Grace couldn’t see any birds there now when she looked out.
Then the windows started to rattle and Grace cocked her head as she heard a faint noise.
Suddenly Grace wobbled as the floor heaved a little beneath her, and she heard Tina give a sharp screech from her bedroom as everything else around them started moving, too.
‘Mum, Daisy!’ screamed Grace. ‘Get under the big table!’
Daisy came running inside.
‘Yay, is this an earthquake?’ she shouted with glee. ‘Come and see the pool. There are waves like at the beach!’
Grace grabbed her. ‘No. Get under the dining table with me, quickly!’
‘I want to see the volcano.’
‘No.’
Tina, white-faced, had hurried in and was crouching under the table. Grace pulled Daisy under there too, ready to cover her with her body. There was a distant crash as something fell from a shelf.
Then there was silence.
‘It’s stopped,’ said Tina.
They waited a moment or two, then they heard Putu and Sri coming through the side gate and calling to them.
Daisy scrambled out and ran to meet them, jumping up and down. ‘We had an earthquake!’
‘Yes. Just a baby one.’ Sri smiled. ‘Are you okay, Ibu Grace?’
‘A bit shaky but fine.’ She laughed. ‘A baby one, eh? Will there be more?’
‘No, all finished for now,’ said Putu confidently as he put down the basket of fruit and vegetables for Sri. ‘Maybe some small aftershocks a bit later. No need to worry.’
Daisy raced to Grace’s laptop. ‘I want to see some pictures of Mount Agung. How big was this one, Sri?’
‘Maybe a five or six. Just a little shiver.’
Grace and her mother exchanged a look and the two women started to laugh.
‘I’m still feeling wobbly,’ said Tina. ‘Like my equilibrium hasn’t come back to normal.’
‘I can’t get over how I feel,’ said Grace. ‘It’s like we are fleas on top of a massive animal that just shook itself gently. Reminding us how insignificant we are.’
Daisy was chewing her lip as she studied the computer.
‘It’s a six two,’ she read.
‘Six point two,’ said Grace.
‘Not so big,’ Sri said and shrugged. ‘Over seven is a big one.’
‘This was big enough,’ said Grace. ‘Right, where were we?’ She tried to keep her voice steady but she couldn’t help thinking that the shock of the Facebook message was even bigger than the terror of the ground moving under her.
*
The gallery in Ubud was in a nondescript building, a simple space that, rather than drawing attention to itself, allowed its contents to shine. And indeed, as Grace walked into the room, the walls glowed.
Steve was there already and came over to her. ‘Lives lived, places loved,’ he said softly, staring around at the artwork. ‘There are some amazing paintings here.’
‘Sure are,’ Grace said. ‘This is even better than I’d expected.’
Rows of chairs faced a podium, and arrangements of flowers stood against one wall. Doors at the back of the room led to a patio, where tables were covered with trays of drinks and food. Two men, formally dressed, and a woman Grace figured was the gallery director, who was wearing severe glasses, were anxiously comparing notes.
Steve picked up one of the catalogues from a pile on a side table and raised his eyebrows. ‘This is a serious collection. Wish I had the bucks.’
‘I’m keen to see what Johnny chooses. Look, there’s the Kamasan art over there.’ Grace pointed to the opposite wall.
The gallery director came over to them. ‘Welcome, thank you for coming to cover the auction.’ She reached out and shook Grace’s hand and then Steve’s. ‘I’m Simona Dryden. So, you’re with Mr Pangisar?’
‘Yes, we’re here to film for him. This is Steve Boyd,’ Grace said, ‘and I’m Grace Hagen. We spoke on the phone. What are the regulations? I appreciate some people might not want to be filmed.’
‘That’s right. You’ll need to let everyone know that you will be filming and get their permission before you begin.’
‘No problem,’ Steve said. ‘And if we take shots of the bidders, it will be from the back of the room so they can’t be identified,’ he added.
When they’d covered a few more logistical issues, Simona gave them a quick tour around the gallery. ‘We’re very proud of this collection, it’s quite significant,’ she said. ‘These works are for the specialist collectors – we have pieces by artists such as Ida Bagus Nyoman Rai, Miguel Covarrubias, Donald Friend. There’s a lot of interest in the Walter Spies works as well. They fetch significant money. These days you’d pay around $10,000 for a pencil sketch alone.’
‘Stunning, but out of my price range,’ Grace said as she looked at an intricate work by Ida Bagus. ‘While I’m in Bali, I want to find something that will always remind me of this trip, but I don’t want to get just anything from the art shops and galleries in the tourist area,’ she added.
Simona nodded. ‘You have to know who’s who, the artist, the dealer, the shop or gallery. It’s occasionally possible to pick up a bargain. You have to know what’s a fake or “in the style of”,’ she explained. She turned to Steve. ‘Are you a connoisseur?’
‘Not really, but I was very interested in Walter Spies’s work when I did a documentary on him. There were so many famous artists working up here in the old days.’ At that moment, Steve saw Henry and Mateo walk in and signal to him. ‘Excuse me, I have to talk with my colleagues about the lighting.’
‘Of course,’ Simona said, and turned to Grace. ‘Let me introduce you to the auctioneer, Kevin Chang. He’s flown in from Singapore.’
After the introductions, Kevin said to Grace, ‘It’s unusual to have Mr Pangisar bidding here himself. Though I realise the family are collectors.’
‘I know he was looking forward to coming along,’ Grace said, not wanting to give Chang any ideas about Johnny’s intentions to buy.
‘Many of the Kamasan village artists receive commissions from all over Bali to produce large and dramatic panels on cloth,’ said Simona, ‘but these old ones are the most valuable.’
‘Yes, it’s wonderful to expose visitors to classical traditional art,’ Grace said. ‘It’s the ideal way for them to appreciate its history and meaning, as opposed to the stuff that floods the tourist market.’ It occurred to her that many visitors to the Kamasan Hotel might not realise they were looking at valuable originals. She had to hand it to Johnny. He never did anything by halves.
Kevin began to point out the order in which the paintings would go under the hammer and explain how the auction would be conducted with the bidders on phones as well as those in the room.
‘Hey, Gracie.’ Johnny’s voice rang out. ‘Pretty special work, eh? Got your eye on something?’ He smiled as he came towards her, followed by an entourage that included Madame Pearl, Rosie Chow and Mr Wija Angiman, the CFO from the Kamasan. No doubt he’d be watching to make sure Johnny didn’t go nuts in the bidding, thought Grace. Kevin smiled and excused himself, moving away to prepare for the auction before Johnny reached her.
After they’d all greeted each other, Johnny turned to Rosie. ‘I’ll sit in the third row. I don’t want to appear too keen,’ he said, grinning.
‘You’re first here,’ said Grace. ‘That’s keen.’
‘I came early to decide which ones I’m buying and have a cocktail,’ said Johnny. ‘Excuse me while I take a look at the bidders’ list.’
Grace glanced over a few minutes later and was surprised to see Johnny frowning. She was about to go and check if everything was all right when Steve tapped her on the shoulder to ask for her help with the filming run sheet.
Soon enough, people began to trickle in. Interesting crowd, thought Grace as she mingled, asking if they were agreeable to being filmed, and most were happy to oblige. Only one Chinese man vehemently objected, while another agreed to be filmed so long as the amount of any bid he made was not disclosed. Grace alerted Mateo to these special cases.
Then she headed out to the patio, which was now crowded, and spotted Johnny on his phone looking annoyed, his back to the crowd. She stood to one side watching him, and when he got off the phone, he turned and saw her, shrugged and came over.
‘What’s up?’ asked Grace.
‘Competition. Another bidder is here, and apparently he’s after what I’m after.’
‘How do you know that?’
Johnny winced and pointed to a man in the crowd. ‘I know him from school. He’ll just want to get what I want to stop me getting it. His family are stinking rich, to use an Aussie expression.’ He smiled slightly. ‘But neither of us will give in. It’s going to be interesting for the auctioneer.’
Grace raised her eyebrows.
Simona was going around asking people to take their seats, so they walked inside. Grace spotted a late arrival, a Chinese-Balinese man, taking a seat a few rows behind Johnny, who did not seem to notice him.
She was fascinated by the crowd and the atmosphere that settled over the room. There were those who were really just spectators, enjoying the occasion; nervous newbies, who probably hoped they might score a bargain; the serious bidders; and the elite who obviously knew exactly what they wanted and what they’d pay, heavyweights like Johnny and possibly his school friend. Grace stood at the back watching the crew unobtrusively filming.
It didn’t take long for her to understand how people could get carried away. The effusive auctioneer drummed up excitement about each piece, focusing on the sheer beauty and fascination of the art, and worked the competitive atmosphere between bidders to his advantage. Rosie Chow stood beside Steve, quietly filling him in on the big-name bidders and their strategies.
There was an intake of breath as the first big sale of the night, a work by internationally in-demand contemporary Indonesian artist Christine Ay Tjoe was knocked down to Madame Pearl.
Grace then saw Johnny straighten in his seat as the first of the Kamasan pieces was put on the easel next to Chang, who began his spiel about its impressive provenance.
The bidding was slow at first; nobody seemed to want to go first. But then Johnny jumped a bid above the first offer and was swiftly followed by the man Johnny had said was his old school friend.
Then the bidding sped up to become a battle between the two of them, the price rising fast. But then a third bidder raised his arm, and as Kevin Chang thanked him by name, Johnny spun around.
A man standing next to Grace muttered to no one in particular, ‘This is going to be interesting.’
She asked in a low voice, ‘Why’s that?’
‘He’s a rep for a large mining company who’ve just built new offices in Jakarta. Apparently the boardroom walls are empty. He has form, as they say in the art world. Mining people are not short of cash.’
Suddenly Johnny’s old school friend raised the mining rep’s bid. The auctioneer looked at Johnny.
Johnny glanced at his phone and shook his head, now looking disinterested. The school friend hesitated and seemed annoyed, and the mining rep leaped in to make the winning bid.
There was an expulsion of breath in the room. The excitement of seeing Johnny Pangisar bidding madly and throwing money around had dissipated.
The mining rep quickly snapped up several more Kamasans.
Johnny went quiet and soon, in the few moments between auction items, he disappeared with his entourage.
When the auction had ended, Grace walked over to the film crew. ‘Johnny must be disappointed,’ she said.
Steve shook his head. ‘Something’s not right. This is out of character for Johnny – the flamboyant showman.’
‘I think he was texting someone during the auction, and then went cold on bidding.’
‘Do you reckon he found out the artworks were fakes or something?’ said Steve.
‘Not sure. We’ll find out tomorrow when we go to the hotel, I guess. Don’t forget we’re shooting some of the interiors they’ve just about finished.’ Grace smiled at a couple of very pleased-looking bidders as they walked past her. ‘Johnny was so excited about the Kamasan paintings. And they are stunning,’ she added. ‘They would have looked good in the hotel.’
Steve nodded. ‘Yes, the perfect finishing touch to the foyer,’ he said, looking around at the dispersing crowd. ‘Look, I think we’ve finished here. Will we have a wrap-up drink then go to dinner?’
‘Yes, please. And I really want to talk to you about K’tut’s book, but we’ve been so busy I haven’t had the chance.’
‘Sure, I’ve been meaning to ask you about it too.’
They helped the crew pack up the gear and a small group of them went for a drink. There was a lot of discussion about the auction. Mateo was shaking his head at the numbers being thrown around.
‘Remember, those were millions of rupiah, not dollars,’ said Steve. ‘Except for the big money on the Spies paintings and a couple of others.’
‘Still, I can’t see a picture being worth that much,’ said Mateo.
Henry suggested they could order some tapas with their drinks, but Steve said, ‘Grace and I are going to try out one of the restaurants here. Want to join us?’
The two men hesitated. ‘We kind of wanted to get back,’ Mateo said. ‘By the time we unload and sort the gear and stuff . . .’
‘We want to go for an early morning surf before we shoot at the hotel tomorrow, so we should get an early night,’ said Henry.
‘That’s okay,’ Grace said. ‘Putu is seeing some friends, but he’ll be ready when we’ve finished dinner. Drive carefully, it’s such a bad road.’
‘Yeah, we noticed.’ Mateo grinned.
‘Thanks, guys,’ said Steve, and Henry and Mateo finished their drinks and said their goodnights.
*
‘No way! What an astounding place,’ said Grace as they walked into the 1920s-style restaurant, with its dramatic black and white tiled floor, chandeliers and Art Deco décor. ‘And Andy said that the food lives up to its setting.’
‘Be criminal not to order a cocktail in a place like this,’ said Steve, striding towards the bar.
They talked easily, and after their entrée plates had been taken away, Steve stretched then rested his arms on the table. ‘So, K’tut’s book, which part are you up to?’
Grace leaned forward, smiling. ‘I’ve been reading it madly all week. I’m hooked! I’m at the bit where after being in prison she agrees to help the revolutionaries and becomes a guerilla fighter for Indonesian independence. I had no idea that she ended up becoming famous around the world as the pirate broadcaster “Surabaya Sue”! What was it they called her? “The Voice of Free Indonesia”? I just can’t get my head around all the incredible and terrifying adventures she had – smuggling opium, running guns, and attempting to find her lost and beloved Prince. Well, that’s as far as I’ve got, anyway.’
‘I know, astonishing, isn’t it? You just couldn’t make this stuff up,’ said Steve. ‘Like you said the other day, it’s got the guts of a movie script.’
‘That’s what I want to talk to you about, actually.’ Grace reached across the table and took his arm. ‘I’ve been thinking about it ever since that day at Uluwatu. Let’s do it!’
Steve looked blank for a moment, and then understanding dawned in his eyes. ‘What, a movie? Based around K’tut?’ He paused for a minute, thinking, and then said, ‘You mean, you and me? Together? Form a production company and make a film?’
She nodded. ‘Yep. I always knew I was working towards something more than commercial TV and advertising media. I know I can handle this, raise the money, organise, coordinate. You have film experience and an amazing reputation. We know we work well together . . .’ She let the idea hang between them.
‘Bloody brilliant,’ Steve said slowly, grinning.
‘Maybe we could film in North Queensland. Get some funding from the Queensland Film Commission. Just do some necessary exteriors here.’
‘Actually, from what I’ve learned, filming here is far cheaper than in Australia. And it’d be a shame not to do it all here. I sense K’tut would want us to promote the old Bali.’ Steve smiled.
Grace nodded, her eyes sparkling. ‘I can’t stop thinking about it. Every time I read the book, I see it all unspooling on the page like a film. I can’t wait to see how it ends.’
Steve grinned. ‘Then I won’t spoil it for you, except to say that K’tut Tantri lived into the 1990s. We can ask Professor Lindsey about her too. He said he’d be here for a few days. We’d better pin him down.’
‘Yes, we should. I’d better read his book, too,’ said Grace. ‘I know you said he questions whether parts of K’tut’s story are true, but I don’t think we should let that put us off. If we have to take some artistic licence here and there, then so be it.’
Steve went to speak, but stopped as the waiter brought their main course, placing the artfully presented dishes in front of them.
‘How gorgeous,’ said Grace.
‘Art on a plate. Beautiful ingredients. Bon appetit.’
They ate slowly, savouring each mouthful, as the waiter poured the wine.
Smiling, Steve lifted his glass. ‘To your friend K’tut!’
‘Our friend.’ Grace leaned forward. ‘So, what do you think, Steve? I’ll produce, you direct. First step will be getting investment. We need a really hot screenwriter to do a treatment to whet investors’ appetites. I’ll take your advice on key crew, and we can argue over who to cast. K’tut herself is such a fabulous role. At that time, when she was fighting for Indonesia, she was in her early thirties.’
Steve started to chuckle. ‘You’ve really got the bug. I can see that being up here brings the story to life for you.’
‘I was thinking we could get Indonesian investment, maybe even government funding. She’s the forgotten heroine of Indonesia.’
‘Hang on, you’re forgetting a very important point.’ Steve took a sip of his wine.
Grace finished her mouthful of Crab Papua and looked at him. ‘I realise there’s a lot to work on, but what were you thinking?’
‘The rights to her book. She’s dead. You’ll have to chase her publisher, her agent, or her family. How’re you going to do that? Didn’t you or Andy say that the publishing company doesn’t exist anymore? And from what I read about her, she didn’t have children. We don’t know where she saw out her days. Back on the Isle of Man? California? Here?’
‘We’ll have to ask the professor,’ said Grace, unfazed. ‘I’m sure we can jump all these hurdles. So when can we see him?’
‘He said he’d call me. I’ll send him a text tomorrow to jog his memory.’
‘Now you’re sounding keen.’ Grace smiled. ‘I just knew there was a reason I felt so attached to the Sound of the Sea.’
‘Oh, that reminds me.’ Steve put his cutlery together and pushed back his plate. He reached into his satchel hanging by its strap on the back of his chair.
‘I found this and thought you might like it.’ He handed her a small rolled-up canvas tied with twine.
Grace put down her glass and stared in surprise. ‘What is it?’
He smiled. ‘Have a look.’
Puzzled, she unrolled a painting and stared at the scene.
Quickly Steve said, ‘This is not in Johnny’s league. It’s the idea of it . . . not the execution . . . that I thought you’d like.’
Grace stared at the oil-colour scene of a deserted beach at sunset. The curve of the beach and the leaning palms were familiar. She looked up at Steve, eyes shining. ‘It’s the Kamasan beach!’
‘Oh good, you recognised it.’
‘This is amazing, and you are wonderful to think of me! Thank you.’
Steve leaned over the table and tapped his finger on the painting. ‘See the signature in the corner? It’s not a famous Balinese artist . . . but –’
‘Oh, that’s incredible!’ Grace gasped. ‘Vannen Manx! I don’t believe it.’ She stared at him. ‘“Manx”, that was K’tut’s nickname here. And “Vannen” . . . that rings a bell from her book. How on earth . . .?’ She stood up and hugged him, then sat down quickly, feeling a little embarrassed. ‘This is by K’tut. This is an omen . . .’ Grace said softly.
‘No. It’s just a simple little painting, done by a woman who’d found her piece of paradise. Like I said, it’s not a famous artist and she was a modest painter, but I thought there was significance enough in it for you to like it.’
Tears sprang to Grace’s eyes. ‘I’m so touched, Steve. It’s very thoughtful.’ She brushed her eyes, thinking of the showy presents Lawrence had given her that were measured by their dollar value. This little oil painting held much more meaning for her. It was such a special, considerate gift. She reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you.’
He took her hand in his and held it tightly for a moment, then sat back.
Grace smiled. ‘How on earth did you find it? And how did you know who Vannen Manx was?’
‘Long story. The short version is, I asked Andy’s mate who owns the bookshop if he knew of any of K’tut’s paintings, and what had happened to them. He said he knew someone who had met her once and gave me that man’s contact details. The guy’s in his late eighties and told me he was happy to get rid of some things, including this painting, but he wanted it to go to someone who’d appreciate what it meant. I figured that’d be you.’
Seeing that Grace was too choked up to speak, Steve went on. ‘She used aliases, apparently, to confuse people for various reasons. “Manx” was a nickname for her homeland, and she told him “Vannen” was a Nordic name for the Isle of Man, but she could just as easily have invented it.’
‘Steve, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had a gift that’s so . . . special. Although, maybe it’s up there with some of Daisy’s efforts,’ she said, smiling at him with tears in her eyes.
‘I’m glad.’ He seemed to be moved by how much it had obviously touched her. ‘We’ll get it framed and hang it in our production office for the movie, eh?’
*
Putu pulled up out the front of Steve’s villa and it seemed easy and natural when Steve leaned over and kissed Grace lightly.
She returned his kiss and smiled. ‘Thank you for a wonderful dinner . . . and K’tut’s painting . . . and agreeing to go on the mad journey of making a film with me,’ said Grace.
‘Slowly, slowly,’ Steve said, giving her one last kiss and then getting out of the car.
At home, Grace thanked Putu and went inside. Daisy was sound asleep, a small smile curving her mouth. ‘Sweet dreams,’ whispered Grace.
Her mother’s door was ajar and the light on. Grace wanted to show her the painting, so she quietly pushed the door open.
Tina was asleep, her glasses and a book abandoned on the bedcover. Grace leaned over and gazed at her mother’s serene face, weathered with faint wrinkles, her long, strong fingers free of jewellery, her nails and the shape of her hands suddenly so familiar.
These were the hands that had smoothed her hair, tickled her toes, hugged her and occasionally smacked her. Hands that had cooked and cleaned and tenderly helped her hold a pencil, braided her hair. This was the woman who had held her close at the death of a pet, had always been there through the laughter, tears and triumphs of teenage years, and later showed her how to guide a nipple to her newborn baby’s mouth. She was guiding Grace still, through the choppy waters of recent times.
How does one ever repay the selflessness of a mother’s love? Grace thought. Would Daisy feel the same love and gratitude for her? she wondered. She knew she would give her life for her daughter. Her mother was strong and independent, but entering into a new stage of her life. And Grace saw their roles shifting. She wanted Tina to have freedom and opportunity to do whatever mad and crazy things came to her mind. Grace suddenly saw how it was to let go . . . when a child starts school, leaves home, gets married.
Suddenly Grace felt a positive strength, knowing there was a different path ahead of her. Where it led, she didn’t know, but the choices about when to stop or go, turn left or right, were hers and hers alone. She knew it was more important than ever that she disentangle herself from the only thing that had been holding her back the last few years: Lawrence. There was much to do – she needed to sort out custody of Daisy, and the legal hassles with the trust document and the insurance money – but she resolved to sort it out as soon as she could. She would find her way.
Gently she clicked off the bedside lamp and softly closed the door on her sleeping mother.
*
With light streaming into her room, Grace pushed the plantation shutter doors wide and walked out to see her mother and Daisy sitting at the table by the pool eating breakfast.
‘You slept in, Mum!’ Daisy ran to give her a hug. ‘I made an omelette, by myself. Well, Kamsi helped a little bit.’
‘Hi, sweetie, what time is it? We have to get ready so I can take you to school.’
‘It’s okay. I still have ages,’ Daisy said. ‘I was there on time yesterday, remember.’
‘Yes, well, but today we need to arrive before the bell goes at eight.’ Grace rubbed her eyes, knotted her sarong more firmly and smiled as Kamsi came outside with juice and fruit.
‘Thank you, Kamsi.’ She sat down and peeled a tiny banana. ‘How was your dinner with Daddy, honey?’
‘I had a mocktail! It was yummy.’
‘How was your night?’ asked Tina.
‘Amazing. The food was fabulous.’
‘Nice, but I meant the art auction.’
‘Oh. Yes.’ Grace chuckled and shook her head. ‘I’m not awake yet. Actually, it was disappointing. Odd, in a way.’
‘Really, why was that? The art didn’t live up to the hype? Or was it out of Johnny’s price range? Though I can’t imagine that, especially if he wanted it so badly.’
‘Yes, that was it. He seemed to know one of the other bidders and after he missed out on a few items he dropped out altogether. However, I came home with a fabulous painting.’ Grace smiled.
Tina put down her cup. ‘Good grief! You bought a painting at that auction?’
‘What’s an ock-shun, Mum?’ Daisy interrupted.
‘Well, it’s when a group of people get together in a special place to buy things, and whoever says they’ll pay the most for something – that’s called bidding – is the one who gets to buy the item.’
‘Did you . . . bid . . . a lot of money?’
‘Gosh no, honey, those pictures were really expensive. The one I got was a gift from Steve. Let me get it and show you.’
Grace unrolled the painting and took it outside, pausing to look at it in daylight. She handed it to her mother as Daisy squeezed in to look too.
‘It’s our beach! I can do a painting like that.’
‘It’s by a lady called K’tut Tantri, Daisy,’ Grace said, then turned to her mother. ‘She fancied herself as an artist and sold some of her work to tourists here.’
‘Really?’ Tina leaned over and studied it. ‘The woman who wrote the book you’re reading? The amazing one? This could be valuable.’
‘Not in the art world. But as a memento of an extraordinary woman, I think it’s fantastic.’
‘That was very thoughtful of Steve.’
Grace took back the painting and stared at it. ‘Yes. Very thoughtful. He knew it would mean something to me,’ she said. ‘Anyway, what did you do last night, Mum?’
Daisy jumped in and shouted gleefully, ‘We played cards, when Dad brought me home. And I beat Andy!’
‘Andy was here?’
‘Yep,’ Daisy said, then ran inside, calling out to Sri on the way.
‘He just stopped by,’ Tina explained. ‘Kamsi served dinner early, so Andy stayed and when Lawrence dropped Daisy back the three of us played cards. Just for fun. After Daisy went to bed, Andy and I had a drink and talked.’
‘Really? What did you talk about?’ asked Grace, glancing at her mother with a smile.
‘Oh, the old days. The changes here. His late wife. He still misses her, as you would, I guess.’
‘It’s been a long time since she died, I think. He has plenty of friends here, though.’
‘I know. But he can’t chat to them about the old days on the northern beaches, talk about how his mother is getting on and he feels he should be there with her, and he’s worried about his son. Young girlfriends don’t want to know about that stuff.’
‘Why is he worried about his son?’
‘Works too hard, Andy says, and seems to be in a social set Andy has no time for.’
‘It must have been nice for Andy to unload all that on you,’ said Grace, grinning. ‘I hope you didn’t go on about me and my problems with Lawrence.’
‘Oh, he seems to know all about that. He had dinner with Lawrence that night, remember . . . so he has Lawrence’s number. So does Johnny, he said.’
‘Really?’ Grace frowned. ‘What’s that mean?’
‘I think that’s why Andy dropped in to see you,’ said Tina. ‘Anyway, he said he’d find you round and about.’
Kamsi put a pot of tea and some toast in front of Grace, along with her favourite marmalade and the jar of Vegemite she’d bought at an exorbitant price in the local supermarket.
‘Thank you so much, Kamsi.’ Grace poured her tea. ‘I’m thinking Lawrence is up to something.’
‘I would put nothing past that man,’ Tina said quietly.
They ate in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the sunshine, until Daisy came skipping back out to them, now wearing her neat school uniform.
‘Nana, can you do me up, please?’
‘Of course, darling. Are you all ready for school?’
‘Yep. I just have to pack my schoolbag,’ Daisy replied.
‘Okay, I’ll get dressed and we can go,’ Grace said, finishing her toast and standing up.
*
The crew was already at the hotel, filming its grand entrance. Steve was directing some ‘guests’ as Grace arrived.
‘Hi. Sorry, am I late?’
‘No, the boys got here a little while ago. They’ve been for a surf. It’s going to be hard to drag Henry back home to Sydney.’
‘Thank you for dinner last night. I was happy to go Dutch with you. So it’s my treat next time.’ She gave him a quick hug. ‘I love the painting.’
‘Like you said, it seems a bit of an omen. By the way, we’re meeting Professor Lindsey the day after tomorrow, if that suits you?’
‘Sure. I can’t wait to hear some of his stories. So, where are you up to here?’
‘We’ll just get some footage of this couple stepping out of the limo and then we’ll do the interior reception area. They’ve gone mad with the flowers, apparently.’
‘Let me see what they’ve done and check out the couple. They have to look like they can afford to stay here, but not snooty,’ Grace said, then walked out to meet the models.
After two takes, Steve called, ‘Cut,’ and Grace came over to him. ‘It all looks good to me,’ he said. ‘Let’s go check out the lobby.’
‘I was thinking that beautiful, curving staircase to the mezzanine would be a good spot to shoot the interior . . .’ Grace’s words tailed off as they entered the building.
On the delicate pale green walls of the foyer hung six magnificent Kamasan paintings.
‘What the . . .? Aren’t they the ones from last night?’ she said.
Slowly they walked over to the elegant paintings of old Bali village life, where the stories from Hindu classics and Balinese ceremonies were described in fine brushstrokes.
‘Unbelievable! They look fantastic. As if they were made to be there,’ Steve said. ‘Johnny’s got an eye, that’s for sure.’
‘But they were sold to that other guy,’ said Grace, shaking her head.
‘Did Johnny go back and make a counter-offer?’ said Steve.
‘Aha. No, not necessary,’ said Johnny cheerfully as he strolled out of the boardroom and came over to join them. ‘You should see what’s in there.’ He indicated the plush boardroom. ‘My father is rather chuffed, as those Pommies say,’ he said, chuckling.
‘Okay, tell us how you pulled this off,’ said Grace.
Johnny tapped his head. ‘Up here for thinking, down there for dancing.’ He pointed at his toes.
‘C’mon, spill the beans. You never left your seat. And you started a massive bidding match,’ said Steve.
Johnny shrugged. ‘Ah, as I think I mentioned, I knew one of the guys from my student days in Australia. An old school chum. Super rich. I had my father on the phone listening. As soon as I heard that mining rep’s name I knew who he was. I hung up and Dad texted the mining guy, because we know the family. I stopped bidding and my old school friend panicked, assuming there was something wrong with the paintings, so he dropped out. Dad had sent a quick text to his mining friend, who then bought the lot uncontested for relatively low prices.’ He smiled and continued, ‘Later we came to an arrangement. And here is the result. For quite a modest sum.’ Johnny waved at the magnificent collection of rare Balinese art.
‘Jeez, Johnny, you’re like a rat with a gold tooth,’ said Steve, laughing.
‘Make it all look good in the promotion,’ he said as he walked away.
Grace hurried after him. ‘Excuse me, Johnny, do you have time for a quick chat?’
‘Sure, Grace, what’s up?’
‘This may be out of line professionally, but may I ask you if my soon-to-be ex-husband has been in touch with you?’
‘Ah, yes. He tried to spin a deal to me over dinner the other night at the Sundara, after you’d been to the monkey dance. I agreed to meet him. He had an offer for an investment for us. Nothing I was interested in, and I don’t deal with guys like that. No offence to you, Grace.’
She gave a dismissive wave. ‘Been there, done that. I just want to make sure you and your family don’t get sucked in to something because of me. Lawrence has tried to use my friends and family before, I’m sorry to say.’
‘I get that. But you know, his idea is not so silly. Cybersecurity, which he was talking about, is a hot and competitive field and you have to move fast. Technology dates easily these days. Start-ups in any field either work or go bust pretty damn fast. Make your money, sell it, and move on as soon as you can. That’d be Lawrence’s motto, I assume.’
‘Do you mind telling me more about what he’s pitching this time?’
‘It’s not original, but it’s an advanced version of a drone used for cybersecurity. It’s a powerful motorised camera that runs on fixed wires. They started using them for sports, to run alongside the athletes at the Olympics, the Super Bowl, and in big movie special effects. But for security it can span large areas, with a powerful zoom and face recognition. The feed goes live to a base and is HD quality and records everything to digital files. And it doesn’t require an expert to operate it.’
‘Where would you use this?’
‘At open-cut mines, inside and outside airports, down city streets, inside hotel foyers, around a property like hotels, businesses, in gardens and around the perimeters of a property. Unlike with normal drones, weather doesn’t affect it, it’s super secure and safe, and won’t drop out of the sky to hurt people or damage property. Most of the time no one knows it’s there. It’s also silent and doesn’t need special clearances. Lawrence thought we might need it at the Kamasan, but he was really after us buying in and selling it worldwide.’
‘Sounds a bit “Big Brother”,’ said Grace. ‘But exactly the sort of toy Lawrence would like. How’d he find this, I wonder?’
‘Some bright young hotshot at a new start-up company in Singapore, I believe.’
‘What did you say to him, if I may ask?’
‘It’s up to my father, ultimately. I made the introduction. As I said, I didn’t want to be involved. But I doubt my father will support anyone who causes you trouble, Grace,’ Johnny said gently.
‘Thank you, Johnny.’
*
At their lunch break, Steve and the crew went off to meet Andy, who wanted them to try Chef Gede’s Indonesian degustation. Grace stayed behind and found a quiet corner of the hotel where she opened her laptop and began researching motorised cybersecurity products. She had to hand it to Lawrence, he was always onto a trend the second it started.
Then, in preparation for her meeting with Professor Lindsey, she searched the title of his book and read the synopsis. She was looking forward to meeting the professor. She felt confident that tackling a film about K’tut was exactly what she’d been working towards. She had just needed the right project to come along, she felt. And no matter what anyone might say about her lack of film-producing experience, the story of this woman had slowly etched itself into her soul and had become a passion.
When the boys returned, Steve found Grace and sat down next to her. ‘Bit of news from Andy.’
‘Oh?’
‘Seems there was some action and arrests during a drug bust last night. A few big names have been taken into custody, part of a drug ring in the high end of town. It looks like the demise of Chef Emile was used as an example of what happens when a customer doesn’t pay their cocaine bills. But it was a mistake to bump off a foreigner connected to important people like the Pangisars.’
‘Wow, that is news. Will it have an impact on the hotel?’
‘They’re playing it down in the media. Bad for tourism. I’m sure it’s nothing Rosie can’t handle.’ Steve rolled his shoulders. ‘It’s insidious. High rollers or homeless kids, a drug habit only takes you in one direction.’
Grace nodded. ‘Do you think Johnny had anything to do with the raid?’
‘The gist of the opinions in the kitchen is: don’t mess with the Pangisars. They don’t like their staff being knocked off.’
‘Johnny and his family have influence, that’s for sure,’ said Grace. ‘Is it because they’re rich, or because they have connections, or they have a long history here?’
‘Possibly all of that,’ said Steve. ‘Seems a bit far removed from Lavender Bay and Bilgola, doesn’t it?’ He smiled.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure. Mum and Andy were reminiscing about some notorious bouncer down at the Newport Arms pub in the old days. He was pretty tough too, by the sound of it.’
Grace’s phone pinged.
‘Back to work,’ she said with a grin.
But it was a message from Lawrence. Grace went still as she read it.
I have important business in Singapore. I will call in to say goodbye to Daisy (for the moment) at 4 pm. I have instructed my solicitor that I want full custody of Daisy and that means bringing her to London when I go.