Outside the hotel, the air was oven-hot and laden with exhaust fumes. For a moment I stood irresolute on the kerbside, debating whether to give the rest of the day a miss and take myself surfing for the afternoon. Then I heard two businessmen behind me discussing the bank rate, which had risen half a per cent that morning. I looked at my watch. It was twenty minutes to three. I went back into the hotel and asked the concierge to find me the address of the Sydney office of U.B.S. – the Union Bank of Switzerland. The doorman whistled a taxi to get me there.
I was lucky. The manager, punctiliously Swiss, was back from lunch. My card gained me entrance, my driver’s licence confirmed my identity, the name of Paul Henri Langlois lent me added grace. Thus prepared, the manager was only a little frigid when I asked whether he would access me to his headquarters in Zurich. He could, of course – in principle! In fact, he would need more information than I had so far given him. On the back of another visiting card I wrote in German ‘coded access’ and handed him the card.
He warmed noticeably as he read it. He composed his own access code on the desk computer, then turned the instrument towards me. I punched in the code from Cassidy’s files – DRACO 35124 RUBER. I waited in silence until the great brain had done its work.
The manager asked politely: ‘Have you found what you wanted, Mr. Gregory?’
I took time to answer him. It is never a good idea to be too complaisant with the custodians of money. You pay their salaries. You must make them aware they are as liable as you to misfeasance, malfeasance and simple human error.
Finally, I nodded and told him: ‘Thank you. This is what I wanted.’
The luminous symbols told a fantastic story. The Rotdrache trust had, in short-term deposits, in bonds, in gilt-edged equities, in metals, in prime real estate, a net asset value of 584 million US dollars. The Rotdrache series of companies showed an additional net worth, reported daily, of another 150 million. The details were displayed on five ensuing frames. On no frame was there any mention of liabilities, either actual or contingent. What I was viewing was a vast repository of wealth, daily augmented, hourly augmenting itself.
The manager prompted me gently: ‘There is no problem, I trust, Mr. Gregory?’
‘No problem.’
‘If there is any transaction you wish us to execute…’
‘For the moment there is none.’
‘We are at your service at all times.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Before you cancel the access, would you like to make a print-out?’
‘No.’
The manager permitted himself a small nod of approval.
‘Then you simply press “Cancel”.’
I waited until the screen was blank again, thanked the manager for his courtesy and walked out again into the oven-heat of Sydney. For one dizzy moment I wondered if I were going mad or whether I were anchored in some interminable nightmare, enveloped by a thousand cobwebs.
A passerby jostled me back to sanity. I began walking swiftly back to the Banque de Paris. Now it was absolutely imperative that I finish my first scan of the microfiches in Cassidy’s briefcase. Then, please God, I might begin to have some clue to what were, on the face of it, the crazed caprices of a dying man. Then, as I walked, I recalled phrases from Cassidy’s last handwritten note to me:
…given that infamy is always predicated of politicians, I decided long ago to come to terms with ill-repute and, wherever possible, turn it into profit…
…let me give you fair warning. All of it is dangerous, some of it lethal, material…
God knows, the figures I had just seen were lethal enough, a high temptation to terrorists, extortionists, blackmailers! Then he had offered me options:
…get rid of the stuff, at a nice profit… deliver all the material to the Attorney-General of New South Wales… make your own decision as to its use or its destruction. You’ll be the potent one then… You’ll be the rich one – if you want to be…
By the time I reached the Banque de Paris I had convinced myself that Charlie Cassidy had been acting with total, if tortuous, rationality. He had made a fortune out of the ungodly. There was no joy in the possession if he had no heir. There was no point in having an heir who was not prepared to defend his possession. Which brought me bang up against Cassidy’s valediction: ‘That’s why I’ve made you a backhanded gift of the worst side of myself.’
Then I remembered another Sibylline saying, this time from Pornsri Rhana, mistress, confidante, mother of Cassidy’s child:
‘Don’t be too hasty, Mr. Gregory. Take a good look at the kingdom before you abdicate the throne.’
Where better to study the kingdom than in Charles Parnell Cassidy’s Doomsday Book, a briefcase full of microfiches? The trick was to discover how to read the book to best effect. The root document, which I had not yet found, was the deed establishing the Rotdrache trust. This would name the trustees, the beneficiaries and the conditions under which assets would be administered and benefits would flow. After that, I had to find the chain of command which held the hugely profitable network together. I could not imagine that the mere possession of an access cipher would put me in possession of an Aladdin’s cave of treasures.
However, the manager of U.B.S. had clearly presumed that it did. He had offered to honour any transaction I cared to make; but I could not believe in any arrangement so simple and vulnerable. On the other hand, Cassidy, the most convoluted of men, had a saying: ‘Dazzle ‘em with flashing lights, all around the horizon. While they’re waiting for Moses to appear with the tablets of stone, they’ll miss the key inscription right under their noses.’ All in all, I could never say I hadn’t been warned.
My most important find during the rest of the afternoon was a memorandum headed simply ‘Schedule of Requirements, C.P.C. to M.M.’ It was, on the face of it, as arid as a shopping list:
Transmission of information: Telephones can be tapped, documents lost or stolen, speech distorted or misunderstood. Codes can be deciphered, meetings monitored. Cut-outs for casual employees are needed in the style of intelligence operations. Training in information security is necessary for permanent personnel.
Transport of commodities: We buy into the container business. We buy into road transport and shipping agencies. We set up deals with maritime, road haulier and airport unions.
Banking services: Should be handled only through large international institutions. In high finance, fringe dwellers are dangerous.
Travel agents: We will look to purchase established agencies.
Customs and Excise clearance: Again, we buy our own Customs agency, which cultivates its own contacts in the service.
Accommodation for personnel: You’re the hotel man. This is your business!
Legal and fiscal counsel in all jurisdictions: These are my pigeon, at home, in South-East Asia and in the United Kingdom.
Relations with law enforcement agencies: We should exchange experience on this matter.
Buffer zones: We have to establish need-to-know rules, a code of discretion and a mechanism of enforcement.
To this he had added a postscript:
…I can set up the Australian organisations with affiliates in New Zealand. In Manila we have in place an organisation of expatriates with established connections. In Indonesia we have some skills and contacts. Thailand, Hong Kong and Malaysia are good for us. Singapore is tight as a drum and dangerous for the outsider. The same applies to Japan. Deals can be done, but only through a local entrepreneur. In any case, my notion is to build a secure commercial base to confirm the confidence of our suppliers and our clients…
It was all as bland as butter. You could cite the documents in any court and argue them as the proper guidelines for a sound international commercial enterprise, working in a variety of jurisdictions. The most interesting piece of information was contained in a later memo from Marius Melville, easily identified as a reply to Cassidy’s comments:
M.M. to C.P.C.: Agree general lines your thinking. Agree also your efficacy for Australia and New Zealand. Our criteria for other territories are simple: who can best establish a local corporation; who has best access to appropriate staff; who has best mechanism of control? Since we are dividing our net down the middle, I don’t have a problem with any management that delivers an acceptable profit.
The last missive seemed to indicate that the companies in the Red Dragon chain were controlled jointly by Cassidy and Marius Melville, but that the trust was Cassidy’s personal base. It would also explain Melville’s need to remove the microfiche collection from public circulation. If, on the other hand, I were to take Cassidy’s place in the enterprise, then clearly I would have to prove myself an acceptable partner – or be eliminated. By now, it was nearly five o’clock; time to call Loomis at the Attorney– General’s office. He sounded frayed and short–tempered.
‘The Premier has to leave here dead on six–fifteen. He can take us both at five-thirty, O.K.?’
‘By me, splendid.’
‘Can you bring any material with you?’
‘No. This is procedure, remember? What happens if and when…’
‘I remember. Don’t be late. The Premier has a busy night.’
It seemed I was going to be busy myself. I dialled the number of Pornsri Rhana. She seemed pleased, but hardly surprised, to hear from me.
‘Thank you for calling, Mr. Gregory. What can I do for you?’
‘I think we should meet again, as quickly as possible. Are you free for dinner this evening?’
‘I can make myself free – if you’ll let me provide the dinner at my house. We need to talk. It is private here.’
‘I didn’t mean to put you to trouble.’
‘On the contrary. It will be a pleasure. Oh, and dress very casually please. It’s much too hot for collar and tie.’
‘What time would you like me there?’
‘Eight o’clock.’
I had to deal with one other matter. On the bank notepaper I wrote out a certificate, to be signed by Paul Henri Langlois, that, just after midnight on the date specified, he had received from Martin Gregory four large canvas sacks for deposit in his strongroom. He had not inspected the contents. He had closed the bags with the bank seal and had them transported the following morning by security truck to the bank. They would be held there pending instructions from Martin Gregory or his lawful delegate.
Paul gave me a quizzical Galliclook and remarked, ‘You seem to be under great pressure, Martin.’
‘I am. I’m trying to cover myself across a very big board.’
‘It is not always possible. Sometimes it is not even advisable.’
‘I’m listening, Paul.’
‘You’ve been away a long time. You have learned to think and work like a European – everything by legal definition, options under different jurisdictions, case-histories, precedents… If ever you are challenged in court, you have chain-mail defence, beginning with a clear intent to act within the law. In this country, in this State, it doesn’t work like that. Oh, the foundations of law, the precedents and the principles are the same as in England – but the respect for them, the insistence on them? No! There is too much careless drafting, too much flippancy about consequences. What is the Australian phrase? – “she’ll be right, mate!” Unfortunately, things are not always right or rightly done. There is still the outlaw complex, the worship of the successful rogue… So you may find that, instead of covering yourself, you are leaving yourself wide open to attack… the enemy walks around the Maginot Line and mounts a blitzkrieg from the air… Forgive me, I am intruding into your family affairs.’
‘Not at all. I’m grateful. I’m feeling very isolated just now.’
‘Any time you need to talk, I am here. If you want a safe place to hide, the bank keeps a couple of apartments for visiting officials… Also I have a holiday house at Whale Beach…’
‘You’re a good friend, Paul. Thank you.’
‘For nothing. I hate bullies and intimidators. There are too many in this great country – too many by half.’ He signed the certificate and handed it back to me. ‘Walk warily, Martin.’
Fifteen minutes later I was face to face with the Premier and Rafe Loomis, the two likely lads who had inherited the mantle of Charles Parnell Cassidy. Loomis seemed sour and a little drunk. The Premier was at pains to be cordial.
‘I’m delighted you’ve decided to trust us, Martin.’
‘Has Mr. Loomis outlined the conditions?’
‘A certification of all documents in your presence. A clear agreement on which are Government property and which a part of Cassidy’s estate. An official receipt for all articles of which we take delivery.’
‘And you both agree, Mr. Premier?’
‘Yes.’
‘Very well. Last night I went to Cassidy’s house and opened his safe. I put the contents in four sail-bags and delivered them immediately, by sea and motor transport, to Paul Henri Langlois, of the Banque de Paris in Sydney. He sealed them in my presence and had them taken next morning to his bank, where they now rest, still sealed, in the strongroom.’
‘Any witness to the act? Any inventory?’
‘No. I left a receipt with Marco Cubeddu, the houseman. I also have a receipt from the Banque de Paris.’
‘Did you examine the contents of the safe?’
‘Only in the most cursory fashion, as I packed them.’
‘But now you volunteer to display them, on request, to authorised officials of the Government.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then, for the present, we are happy to leave them in your custody. Thank you for your co-operation, Mr. Gregory.’
I felt like a gape-mouthed idiot. I must have looked it, too; because Loomis gave me a jowly grin and said, ‘You see? It didn’t hurt a bit!’
I put the question to the Premier. ‘Only three days ago Loomis here was screaming for possession, talking misprision of felony if I concealed as much as a laundry list. What’s changed his mind?’
‘I have.’ The Premier seemed somehow a little taller. ‘I’ve convinced him that while we’re wading through the surf that Gerry Downs is kicking up, unknowing may be better than knowing. If we don’t know we don’t have to hedge or lie. We just promise a full enquiry. If we’re asked about documents, we say that Cassidy’s private papers are in the hands of his executor, who has promised full co-operation in uncovering all matters relevant to our investigations.’
‘It seems I could have saved myself the bother of this visit.’
‘On the contrary,’ said Loomis blandly. ‘You’ve just won yourself a whole column of commendations.’
‘So now, perhaps you’ll take your policemen off my tail.’
‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.’
‘Do it, Rafe!’ The Premier was testy. ‘Do it now!’
Loomis picked up the telephone, punched out a number and ordered someone called Batterbee to ‘call off the bloodhounds and assign ‘em to normal duty’. Then he put down the phone and said, with a shrug, ‘You’re on your own now, lover-boy. If I were you, I’d stay away from dark alleys and dark women!’
The Premier stood up and offered his hand. I had the odd feeling that if I kissed it he wouldn’t take it amiss. He said, with seemly gravity, ‘Thank you for your confidence in us, Martin. I hope we’ll meet again before you leave for England. Rafe, why don’t you offer Martin a drink?’
Loomis waited until the Premier’s footsteps had receded down the long corridor. Then he burst out: ‘God! He’s a pompous bastard! Give him three months in office and he’ll be acting like bloody Napoleon! You don’t really believe he worked out this afternoon’s ploy, all by his little self?’
‘What should I believe?’
‘That I’m a little brighter than I look… What will you drink?’
‘Scotch, please. A light one. I can’t stay long.’
As he poured the liquor, he asked, ‘When you opened Cassidy’s safe, did anything jump out and bite you?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like items of special interest?’
‘I told you. There’s a whole mess of stuff to be examined. I couldn’t spare the time. I wanted to get it packed and out of the house.’
‘Now you can have all the time you need,’ said Loomis agreeably. ‘Take a long cruise and work on board ship… By the way, I hear you sacked Micky Gorman.’
‘You heard wrong. I offered him the probate job. He declined, on the grounds of conflict of interest. Gerry Downs retains him now.’
‘Is he still holding any of Cassidy’s papers?’
‘None. I’ve collected them all and paid his bill. It was routine stuff: title deeds, stock certificates and the like.’
‘That’s a relief.’
‘Gorman and Downs – they make a very odd couple.’
‘Did Micky tell you what brought ‘em together?’
‘No.’
‘Ask him – or, better still, ask Gerry Downs.’
‘I’ve never met the man.’
‘Don’t you think you should, seeing he’s about to smear your family across the front page of his weekend magazine?’
‘I’ve never thought of Cassidy as my family.’
‘That’s the joke, isn’t it? Living, you were sworn enemies. He wouldn’t even acknowledge his own grandchildren. Dead, he’s hung round your neck like a bloody albatross.’
He tossed down his drink at a gulp and poured himself another four fingers of raw spirit. He took another large swallow and then rounded on me again.
‘You’re a wasted man, Martin Gregory!’ He was spoiling for an argument. I was determined not to give him one. I shrugged and grinned and sipped my drink and let him rant on. ‘You’ve got brains and guts and you can design a tiger-trap with the best of us. But you’re cold. You’ve got no fire; you’ve spent it all hating Charlie Cassidy… I admired him. He was a big man. He ran the Party like a racing machine. His only mistake was that he never groomed a successor. You could have been the one. You know that, don’t you? Even now, you could nominate for his seat and win it at the by-election – not on your name, but on Charlie’s, no matter what muck Gerry Downs prints about him! But… oh, shit! What’s the use? You’ve got a bellyful of bile and you’ve still got “Made in England” stamped on your backside, like Grandma’s chamberpot… Here, have another drink.’
‘No thanks. I’ve got a dinner date.’
‘I hope she’s pretty. I’ll have my driver take you to your hotel.’
‘Thank you.’
He fixed me with a red and rheumy stare.
‘A couple of questions before you go. That list of companies I gave you. Have you turned up any references to them in Cassidy’s papers?’
The question concealed a snare and I spotted it just in time.
‘Not yet. I’m still working through the formal documents: the will, the trust deeds, and so on. The rest of the stuff will have to wait. Besides, now that you’ve decided that ignorance is bliss, there’s no hurry, is there? What was your other question?’
‘How are you going to handle Cassidy’s creditors?’
It seemed a stupid question for a lawyer to ask. I shrugged it off.
‘The normal routine. We advertise the settlement of the estate. Creditors render claims. If they prove valid, we pay.’
‘I used the wrong word,’ said Loomis, with a grin. ‘I told you from the start, Cassidy was the paymaster for the machine. He kept the books. He held the funds.’
‘Where?’
‘I should have thought under his own hand, in safe-deposit perhaps.’
‘Whom did he pay?’
‘I’ve never asked. Sometimes we made suggestions for special patronage. But Charlie kept the full list to himself.’
‘How did he pay?’
‘Cash, gold, stones, sometimes drugs. That’s why I asked whether anything jumped out and bit you.’
‘I’ll check and let you know what I find.’
‘Don’t bother.’ Loomis took another mouthful of liquor ‘You’re the one who’ll have to answer when the monthly payroll falls due… And before you start telling me about legal debts and illegal graft, let me tell you something. These boys break legs and stick bombs under cars and kick you about in dark lanes… You didn’t want to trust me. You didn’t want police protection. Fine! You’re on your own, Mr. Gregory. And the best of British luck!… I’ll call the car pool and tell them you’re on your way down.’
He looked like a basset hound and dressed like a tailor’s nightmare, but, my God, he was bright! The Premier might pretend to be Napoleon; but Loomis was Fouché in the flesh; supple, complaisant, all-seeing, all-knowing – and absolutely implacable.
I got back to the hotel at a quarter to seven. In London it was a quarter to eight in the morning. I called Pat. The call was switched through to our answering service, where the duty operator told me that the family was already en route to Heathrow to catch an early morning flight to Switzerland. They would be in Klosters by mid-afternoon. The address there was Haus Melmont. There were two telephone numbers and a telex code. There would be no problem communicating with them. The difficulty would be to explain all that was happening to me.
It was the word ‘happening’ that stuck in my gullet. I was not in control of my life any longer. I was simply responding to events arranged by others. I was being manipulated by people who a week ago were as alien to me as little green men from Mars. Cassidy himself was determining my destiny from whatever lodging he had found himself on the other side of the grave.
Each day I was becoming more isolated, more impotent for lack of information and allies. It could take me weeks to master the details of Cassidy’s Byzantine activities. It could take double the time to make contact with half the shadowy personages involved. I needed help. I needed legal support, constitutional advice. Most of all, I needed a safe guide through the nether world of State politics.
Suddenly I was enveloped in a wave of weariness, a near-nausea that made me feel drained and dizzy. I stretched out on the bed, closed my eyes and lay quiet until the nausea subsided. It was a trifling incident, the natural by-product of fatigue, frustration and the tension of a fear that I was unwilling to call by its real name. But it did make me see the loom of another problem. What if I fell ill or met with an accident or fell victim to thuggery on a dark night? Who then would deal with the mess of pottage Cassidy had left me and my family?
First thing tomorrow morning I had to find myself a replacement for Micky Gorman, someone to handle the probate of the will and the disposition of the trusts. Tomorrow? Why not now? I leafed through my address book and found the address of a man whom I admired more than any other in the law: Julian Steiner, Professor Emeritus of Constitutional Law, scholar, humanist and mentor of some of the best men in the profession. Thank God, he was at home, spry and rasping as ever. He said: ‘Martin! I heard you were in town. I thought of sending condolences. Then I wasn’t sure they’d be appropriate. I’m delighted to hear from you.’
‘I need help, Professor. Help and advice.’
‘What sort of help?’
‘I need a bright and honest lawyer to handle the probate of Charlie Cassidy’s will.’
‘That’s a tall order. You could start, like Diogenes, by buying a barrel and a storm lantern. On the other hand, you could call Arthur Rebus, of Fitch, Rebus and Landsberg. Mention my name.’
‘Thank you. I’ll do it first thing in the morning.’
‘I’ll see if I can contact him tonight to put him on notice. A question, though – how complicated is the job likely to be?’
‘So far as the will and the trusts are concerned – and so far as I’ve been able to determine – everything’s straightforward, clean and unencumbered.’
‘Good.’
‘As for the rest – what you used to call the ambient areas – that’s where I need advice. Could you possibly give me an hour of your time?’
‘My house. Ten-thirty tomorrow morning.’
‘Thank you, Professor.’
‘You sound a little fatigued.’
‘I’m suffering from a bad case of culture shock.’
‘It’s like clap. You get it by keeping the wrong company. Be consoled. It’s an uncomfortable illness, but not fatal.’
‘How right you are, Professor! I’ll see you in the morning – and thank you.’
Half an hour later, shaved, showered and dressed in cotton slacks, sports shirt and espadrilles, I was on my way to dinner with Pornsri Rhana. Her apartment was in a new tower block, with a northward aspect and a panoramic view of the harbour from the Heads to the Harbour Bridge. I had made fantasies about how it would be decorated – traditional Thai, with gilt carving and silks and brocades, and she herself in the formal costume of a woman of quality. Instead, I found the same cool colour scheme which prevailed at Cassidy’s place, the same open, uncluttered look to the furnishings and a matching collection of local paintings. The only reminders of her origins were a beautiful bronze Buddha, with a bowl of rose petals in front of it, and the brocaded robe and slippers which my hostess was wearing. We exchanged the traditional salute, hands joined, palm to palm, the head bowed in respect. She called me Mr. Gregory as she had done at our first meeting. I called her Madam, because I was afraid of stumbling on her name. Then I asked, ‘Please, will you call me Martin?’
‘And will you call me Pornsri.’
She stretched out a hand to draw me across the threshold, then led me through the lounge and out onto the terrace to see the lights of the harbour and the glow of the city.
She said simply, ‘I love this place. It’s like living on a mountain. You can’t imagine what that’s like for a woman like me, born and brought up in the flatlands of the delta. When I go home, I have to rearrange my mind completely.’
‘Does your daughter like it here too?’
‘She prefers Europe. She feels less conspicuous than she does here. Thailand makes her uneasy. There is much of her father in her. She will never be the subject woman.’
‘Was Cassidy fond of her?’
‘When she was little, he doted on her. When she began to be a woman, he wanted to take control of her life, determine her education and her friends. I had to explain to him that she was an exotic and that I was the only one who could teach her both Asia and Europe. What she needed from him was love and protection.’
‘And he gave both.’
‘Oh yes! He was a good father – perhaps because he had learned from his first failures. By the way, have you told your wife that she has a sister?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You should think about it. It would not be good if she heard the news from someone else.’
‘Knowing Pat, she may ask to meet your daughter.’
‘If she wants, we can arrange an encounter. For my daughter it would not present a big problem. In Thailand there are many polygamous families, children of different mothers by one father…’
There was a flurry of cold wind out of the south. She shivered and drew me inside, closing the doors against the chill. She made me sit down in what she called ‘the comfort hole’ – a sunken area surrounded by low cushioned steps, with a large square table in the centre. She served drinks and a dish of spiced lobster pieces, then sat crosslegged in front of me while we chatted in desultory fashion about everything except the man who had brought us together. It was easy talk, so easy that I missed the subtlety of it, the unspoken presumption that Cassidy had created, willy-nilly, a web of relationships in which we were all bound together by gossamer threads.
It is a notion which to us in the West has become alien but which, in Asia, has long and subtle consequences. The man you help after a car accident has claims on you. You are in debt to him, not he to you. You have intervened in his life. You are responsible for the consequences of that intervention.
All this, of course, is hindsight. All I knew then was that for the first time in days I felt rested and at ease. There was none of the sexual tension that had marked every exchange between Laura Larsen and myself. It was like drifting on placid waters, over shallow pools where there were no deeps, no hazards, no sinister caverns in the banks.
The meal fitted the mood: a succession of small dishes, spiced or bland, sweet or sour, fish and fowl and beef. There were hot towels for the hands and a sorbet to cool the palate after the hot sauces. Pornsri served the meal Thai style, kneeling at the low table. She explained the dishes and talked of her childhood in her father’s big house, with the gilded spirit-dwelling at the entrance and the lilyponds inhabited by great golden carp. She talked of her mother, the dancing beauty whose fingers were so supple that she could bend them backwards to touch her wrist. It was like listening to a fairytale or a chapter from Marco Polo’s voyages – until the table was cleared and fresh tea was served and she faced me with the blunt question: ‘I have to know, Martin – are you willing to help me?’
‘Willing, yes. Whether I’m able is another matter. I need much more information than I’ve got at this moment. I’m not half way through Cassidy’s records. I know nothing at all about your affairs. I can’t jump in blindfold.’
‘You don’t trust me?’
‘I don’t know. You have to be open with me before I counsel you.’
She gave me a long, searching look and then began a brusque, concise narration.
‘I am a one-third shareholder in the Chao Phraya Trading Company, which has its headquarters in Bangkok and either agents or affiliates in Malaya, Laos, Kampuchea and Vietnam. The other shareholders are The Melmar Hotel Company, Bangkok, and Rotdrache Bangkok who are, among other things, merchant bankers with European affiliations. They are also nominees for Charles Cassidy’s holdings. The company therefore conforms to Government regulations about ownership by Thai nationals or Thai corporations.’
‘And what does the company do?’
‘It imports foreign goods, exports local products. It represents foreign firms; Japanese, Chinese, Korean, American. It manufactures under licence from a Swiss pharmaceutical company. In short, it’s a cover-all enterprise.’
“Who runs it?’
‘My father is President. I am Vice-President, because it looks better that way. Our General Manager is Chinese but a Thai citizen. Our staff are recruited locally.’
‘And the other board members?’
‘A director of the Melmar Hotel, a Swiss gentleman from Rotdrache and a member of the Royal Household.’
‘They all seem very respectable people.’
‘Respectable!’ The word seemed to irritate her. ‘I don’t know what that means. They are traders. They make money where and how they can. So far, they have done well for themselves and for Chao Phraya. They knew that I had Cassidy behind me and that I voted his shares. But… now that Cassidy is gone, I am a minority and I am a woman in this traders’ world. So things are beginning to change. Our General Manager is making demands – a seat on the board, a substantial block of shares. If we don’t satisfy him, he will leave and take a lot of business with him. The Melmar people – that is the man you asked about, Marius Melville – would like to buy me out altogether; but behind this offer is another person, high at the Royal Court. My father is afraid of him. He advises me to sell.’
‘But surely all this must have been brewing while Cassidy was alive?’
‘No!’ The denial was emphatic. ‘You don’t know the power that man had – the respect in which he was held. They had a name for him in Thai, it means a warrior who laughs at armies. He never raised his voice. He never argued over trifles. But when he had made up his mind, he was like a pillar of iron. Nothing would shake him. Now that he is gone, there is no one…’
‘There is still Marius Melville.’
‘He is a different man altogether – powerful, yes, but one who makes a trade of mystery and who serves not only his personal interests, but those of much larger foreign groups. He will not hurt me. He will give me a fair price for my shares, but if I refuse the offer he will never forgive me. He needs to control the votes, you see. Cassidy and he were friends, they worked well together, so Melville was content. But he would not be happy with a stranger in the group. However, if you were to come in and pick up Cassidy’s shares, I do not think he would disagree.’
‘I don’t see how I can do that. I don’t know enough. I don’t even know yet who has legal control of Cassidy’s interests outside this country.’
‘Surely that’s in the files he left you.’
‘I haven’t found it yet.’
‘I need help now!’ Suddenly she was angry and imperious, forgetting all caution as she counted off her bill of complaints. ‘Every day my father and I are being squeezed a little more: protection money so no one burns our go-downs; extra guards on the trucks so they don’t get hijacked; bigger bribes for the police and the Customs men and the shipping clerks who book space for our merchandise. It’s an old game in Asia; but this time the stakes are very high… Cassidy knew how to play it from the beginning and everybody knew that he knew: the Palace folk, the police, the generals, the old Chinese families – even the caravan masters who brought opium down from the high valleys. Now we are isolated. There is only Marius Melville, whom I have never met, and you, the man who hated Cassidy.’
‘I hold no malice against you or his child. I’ll help where I can. But I’m not the man you need. Besides, I have another life to live.’
‘Are you happy in it – now that you have no one to hate?’
‘I think it’s time I left.’
I heaved myself out of the lounging place and made for the door. She made no apology, no move to stay me. She walked ahead of me to the entrance door and opened it. She shook her head in a kind of ironic puzzlement.
‘If I’d said anything like that to Charles he would have slapped me across the room.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘You disappointed me, Martin.’
‘My apologies, Madam. Cassidy was always a hard act to follow. Thank you for dinner. Good night.’
As I headed for the elevator, I heard the door slam violently and the chainbolt rattle into place. I found myself palming my eyelids, brushing my face with my hands, as if I had walked through a tangle of cobwebs.