The Thai Amulet (8 page)

“Do you know anything about the artist?” I asked our hostess. “This Robert Fitzgerald. Is he well known in Bangkok? The paintings are really exceptional.”

“I know nothing, I’m afraid,” Wongvipa said. “The paintings have been in the family for years. My husband likes them.” Something in her tone told me she did not.

“I was interested to read the paper you sent me, your thesis, Chat,” Thaksin was saying as we returned to sit with the others. “On the possibilities for true democracy in southeast Asia. I am interested in your theories about…”

Dusit sat down at the piano and started playing, not particularly well, but loudly.

“I have a gift for you,” Wongvipa said, handing me a beautifully wrapped parcel.

“And I have one for you,” I said, “And some little things for the family.” I had arrived with some packages, which I’d placed on a side table. When I’d seen my surroundings, I’d felt that it would not be possible to give anything to this family that they didn’t already have, but I soldiered gamely on. I had brought a pair of lovely old sterling silver candlesticks for Wongvipa, which rather paled in comparison to all the lovely silver she had, but they were unusual and, as I’m always telling my customers, you can always use more candlesticks. She seemed pleased, but perhaps she was just being gracious. Fatty declared the maple sugar candy to be excellent, and Thaksin asked a number of questions about the piece of Inuit soapstone I’d chosen for him. They were all rather perplexed by the cranberry preserves and the Ontario ice wine, but you can’t win them all.

My gift was quite lovely. A padded silk box contained four unusual, cone-shaped silver pieces, with a beautiful repousse design, and each of them different. “They are betel nut containers,” Wongvipa said. “Not very old, I’m afraid, only two hundred years or so. I find them very useful as napkin holders.”

“What a creative idea,” I said. “I love them.” I did, too. I like original uses for old things a lot, but I was getting hard pressed to come up with new superlatives for everything I’d seen that evening.

“And here is another small gift,” Wongvipa said. “I have one for you and another for Jennifer.”

I opened the package to find a terra-cotta amulet. I just didn’t know what to think about that, nor could I think of anything appropriate to say. I just sat staring at it for a moment, thinking about Will Beauchamp’s apartment and the missing amulets.

“They are for good health, speaking of which, you must be exhausted,” Wongvipa said. “After all that traveling. Please do not feel you have to stay if you are tired.”

“You know, if you don’t mind, I think I will retire for the evening,” I said, and after an exchange of pleasantries with everyone there and profuse thanks all around, I went to my room. Still, sleep wouldn’t come. I blamed it on jet lag, but I knew it was more than that, even if I couldn’t articulate it right at that moment. Perhaps there was something unsettling about the family. Jennifer certainly thought so. It was hard to think what it might be. Dusit was a rather tiresome young man, obviously jealous of his older sibling, but there was hardly anything earth-

shattering about that, nor the fact that the matriarch was a paragon whose only fault that I could see was that she was something of a control freak. Wannee, Sompom’s wife, was jealous of her, but it would be hard not to be. Maybe, I thought, as a vision of splatters of red crossed my mind, my sleeplessness had nothing to do with the family but instead with the possibility that Will Beauchamp was dead.

Regardless of the reason for my disquiet, I couldn’t get to sleep for hours. Sometime very late I decided to see if there was some nice herbal tea in the kitchen, something preferably with the word
sleep
in its name. I tried to be exceptionally quiet, so as not to disturb Jennifer. The light was on in the kitchen, and I could hear low voices. It was Yutai and Khun Wongvipa. Yutai’s tie and jacket were gone, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He looked much more casual and relaxed than I’d seen him heretofore. Wongvipa was in a silk blouse and slim black pants. As I watched from the dark of the hallway, Wongvipa reached up and took Yutai’s glasses off. It was a gesture so intimate, somehow, I was stunned. I turned back as quietly as I could, but in my haste to get away, stumbled on the edge of a carpet. The voices stopped abruptly, and I heard footsteps moving to the doorway. I was reasonably sure they saw me retreating quickly down the hall.

Chapter 4

The king certainly had much more than a serious little boy to worry about. The Burmese, long a weakened state with no power to threaten us, had suddenly grown strong under the leadership of King Tabinshwehti of Toungoo, who captured the Mon state of Pegu, acquiring all its people and wealth.

When Prince Yot Fa was only two years old, King Chairacha was forced to raise a large army and march against the Burmese, when the evil Tabinshwehti attacked a müang, Chiang Krai, which sent tribute to Ayutthaya, and was thus entitled to our protection. A brilliant tactician and soldier, the king dealt firmly with his enemies, driving them from our region, and for a time, Ayutthaya enjoyed peace.

But it was not to last for long.

“I wonder if I might have a few minutes of your time?” Khun Wongvipa said to me the next day. “A private word, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly,” I replied. A twinge of apprehension tugged at the back of my mind.

“I would appreciate your advice on a subject of some delicacy,” she said. I sincerely hoped I didn’t know what it was.

“My husband, you see, is not really supportive.”

No kidding,
I thought.

“Would you mind accompanying me to the fourth floor?”

“Not at all,” I said. I did, after all, have to be nice to my host and Jennifer’s beau’s mother, although what the fourth floor had to do with the subject was a mystery, and there was absolutely no way I wanted to discuss her love life. We emerged from the elevator into a bright, airy space with a wonderful view of the river. A desk and workstation had been set up, along with two drafting boards, and two young men were working away at drawings. There were bolts of fabric everywhere and some very fine reproductions of old Thai carvings and furniture.

“This is the home of what I call Ayutthaya Design,” she said. “It has nothing to do with Ayutthaya Trading. I have started my own little business. My husband thinks it is a silly notion of mine. He doesn’t understand why, given we obviously don’t need another business, I would do such a thing. Before I met my husband, I was poor, and I worked very hard. Even in the early days of our marriage, I worked in the company. But then I had children, and the business did exceptionally well without me. Still, I would like to have something of my own. I cannot help but feel you will understand. Jennifer has told me about your shop, which sounds quite wonderful, and even though I am sure it is easier for North American women than it is for Thai, you must still have had many challenges. I really could use your advice as to whether you think there might be a market for my lines in North America, and if so, how I might go about getting started there. I’m hoping you could help me, if it is not too much of an imposition.”

“Of course I understand,” I said. “And I’m flattered you would ask me.” And relieved, too, that it was such an innocuous subject. “I know very little about business in Thailand, but I will help in any way I can. I loved the china last night, by the way. Yutai told me you designed it. I am terribly impressed.”

“You flatter me, I think,” she said, but she looked pleased. “It isn’t a new design, really, just an updating of a very ancient one.”

“I think that’s a real talent,” I said.

She made a self-deprecating shrug. “I only make what I like myself. Now let me show you what I’m thinking about. And please, be absolutely honest with me. I need to know if this will work, so don’t feel you have to be polite.”

“I will tell you exactly what I think,” I said. This is something Clive and others have told me I do rather too often, but it made me smile to hear her say it. If anything, I have found Thai people to be way too polite.

We spent a very pleasant hour or so talking about business in general and discussing her plans. She had designed a china pattern similar but not identical to the Chaiwong pattern I’d seen the night before, a flatware pattern to go with it, and an interesting line of bamboo and rattan furniture. She also had, she told me, a warehouse full of both antiques and reproductions, a few of which she had brought in to show me. There were some lovely sterling silver pieces, including some reproductions of the betel nut containers she’d given me, some puppet heads on stands that were quite striking, lovely silk cushions, some made from old textiles, and a line of terra-cotta products, including the kinaree lamp bases that were in my room, and some attractive Buddha statues. Everything was high quality and chosen or designed with impeccable taste.

In the end we agreed that she would send me details on prices and so on when she was ready to go, and in the meantime that I would make inquiries on her behalf. I told her I’d be interested in carrying the flatware and china, although in relatively small quantities, and would try to find her a suitable importer. I thought I might even consider doing it myself, starting my own little business on the side, but didn’t say as much.

“You have been most kind and helpful,” she said, smiling at me. “I knew I had found a kindred spirit the moment I met you.”

“I’ve enjoyed this immensely,” I said, and much to my own surprise, I had. Not once during that hour or so did so much as the most oblique allusion to the previous night’s activities cross her lips or mine.

“Here, please,” she said. “A gift.” She handed me a lovely terra-cotta Buddha about twelve inches high. “To take to your home.”

“You mustn’t,” I said. “I’m only too happy to help.” She looked hurt. “You don’t need to give me anything. You have already showered me with gifts, and I am glad to be able to help you.”

“Please,” she said again. “I would like you to have this.” It seemed churlish to refuse further. It occurred to me that it looked familiar, similar if not identical to the Buddha images on the postcard Will Beauchamp had sent months ago asking for our business.

“Do you mind if I ask your help with something?” I said.

“Of course not,” she said.

“I’m a friend of Will Beauchamp’s wife,” I said. “He was the antique dealer mentioned briefly at dinner last night.”

“Yes,” she said. “I know him. Not well, but we met several times, and he visited our home.” There was something in her tone, the same note I’d heard last night on the same subject, a hint of disapproval, perhaps. I wasn’t sure what nerve I was touching, but I felt I had to continue asking questions.

“Do you have any idea where he might be?”

“I assume he’s in Bangkok. He had a shop there. I haven’t seen him in several months, however.”

“His shop is closed,” I said, watching her carefully.

“I didn’t know that,” she said.

“Actually Ayutthaya Trading seized the contents for nonpayment of rent and is going to auction off everything.”

“I didn’t know that either,” she said. “I have no real dealings with Ayutthaya Trading. I am sorry about your friend, though.”

“I’m wondering if he left a forwarding address, or any hint at all where he might now be,” I said. “Would it be possible for someone to have a look? His wife is desperate to know where he is, and I told her I would look. There would be a file on him at Ayutthaya Trading somewhere, wouldn’t there?”

“I expect so,” she said. “I’ll ask my husband.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“It would be my pleasure to help you in return for your kindness,” she said. “It is interesting to hear what you say about William. Perhaps this explains something. You have been honest with me, and I should return the favor. He was here, in my studio, on more than one occasion. I showed him what I have shown you, and he, too, offered to help me, just as you have. He said he had all kinds of contacts in Canada and the U.S. he’d get in touch with. But I never heard from him. I was a little disappointed. He seemed very nice, but then nothing. I suppose when you mentioned him last night and then again today, I was still influenced by what I saw as rudeness. I know you won’t be like that.”

“I’ll certainly try not,” I said.

“I know you won’t, and I am telling you this only because I want to explain my rather dim view of him. Perhaps I was wrong.”

“He has disappointed a lot of people. I’m sorry to hear you are one of them,” I said.

“Maipen rai,”
she said, as we parted company. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It’s not blood,” Ferguson whispered, sliding into the seat beside me. “I assume that’s good news.”

“I guess it is. So what is it?” I whispered back. As we spoke, an auctioneer was trying to whip up enthusiasm for a particularly uninspired painting of the Thai countryside.

“Good question. They didn’t say. I expect once they’d determined it wasn’t blood, everybody pretty much lost interest. Any chance we could talk outside? I’m afraid I’ll wave my arms around in here and be the proud purchaser of an extraordinarily expensive treasure. Or is there something coming up soon you want to bid on?”

“There’s something I’m interested in, but it’s not coming up for awhile. How about a coffee?”

*       *       *

“You know,” Ferguson said as we looked around. “I’ve lived in Bangkok for three years, and I’ve never been here. This is really something.”

It is. The River City Shopping Complex is four floors, atrium-style, around a central indoor courtyard, right on the edge of the Chao Phyra. It is filled with very fancy shops, many of them antique dealers. The third and fourth floors house some of the most gorgeous Asian antiques and antiquities I have ever seen. Just being there made my pulse race. I knew I could do serious damage at the auction if I put my mind to it. I was trying not to.

The auction was to take place in what is referred to as the exhibition center, a glassed-in space on the top floor. From where we were standing with our coffees, leaning against the railing overlooking the atrium below, the auction was well in view through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, so I could keep one eye on the proceedings.