“I don’t believe the name is familiar. Ayutthaya Trading has so many properties, I’m afraid. But perhaps tomorrow I could look in the files and see what I could find. The name is not familiar to me.”
“Who are you looking for?” Khun Thaksin, at the head of the table to my right, asked. He seemed a little hard of hearing and cupped his ear in my direction.
“William Beauchamp,” I said, a little more loudly than I might otherwise. Heads turned in my direction. I wasn’t sure, but the name seemed to be a source of interest.
“Certainly,” Khun Thaksin said. “We know Mr. William. He has been in our home. You remember him, Yutai.”
“That was a long time ago,” Khun Wongvipa said, down the length of the table, before Yutai was required to reply.
“I suppose it was,” Thaksin said. “But he was here. Pleasant fellow. I can’t recall why he was here. Do you?” he said, looking at his wife.
“I think he was interested in some of our antiques,” she said.
“That’s right,” he said. “Antique dealer, wasn’t he?”
“I suppose he was,” Wongvipa said. “Now, I hope everyone will enjoy the meal.”
“I hope you like Thai food,” Thaksin said. I was sorely disappointed to have the conversation turn away from Beau-champ, but politesse was required. Indeed, I do like Thai food, and the meal was a rare culinary experience. “In this part of Thailand we really have two types of cuisine,” Yutai, who apparently had taken on the responsibility for my education in all things Thai, said. “One is what I suppose you would call the cooking for the everyday. The other is what we call palace cooking, I suppose, or perhaps royal cuisine would be a better name for it. It is much more elaborate and at one time would have been made only for the royal court. Now we have it on special occasions. This evening Khun Wongvipa has planned a royal meal in your honor.”
Dish after dish flowed from somewhere mysterious. There was soup, chicken and coconut scented delicately with lemongrass. There was a spicy green papaya salad, a really elaborate dish called mee grop made with very thin and crispy rice noodles served with shrimp, some lovely little pancakes stuffed with pork that are called kai yaht sai, grilled whole fish flavored with lemongrass and basil, a couple of curries, vegetables of all sorts, mounds of steaming, fragrant rice, and much more. Each platter was decorated with exquisitely carved fruits and vegetables. I wondered if Wongvipa had carved the melons into roses herself, and if she’d consider showing me how to do it. It would certainly add a certain elan to the meals I served at home.
“Jennifer was telling me you have been in Chiang Mai the last few days,” I said to Khun Thaksin in an attempt to make small talk. “I’ve heard it is a most interesting city, with a great deal of history.”
“It is, but I suppose when one is there on business, one doesn’t appreciate the surroundings,” he said. “Even at my age there is a requirement to deal with business problems, putting out fires, I believe would be your expression. Unfortunately, there have been a number of fires in our Chiang Mai office of late. A problem with a supplier. Khun Wichai has been helping me resolve the problem. I notice, though, you have been looking at the prang of Wat Chai Watthan-aram,” he said, changing the subject and gesturing to the window. “It looks rather splendid against the night sky doesn’t it?”
“Is that what it is?” I said. “I wondered.”
“It is a world heritage site now,” Thaksin said. “But once Ayutthaya was a powerful kingdom that ruled over much of what is now Thailand, and also part of Cambodia. It was founded in the thirteenth century and ruled until it was defeated and destroyed, burned to the ground, by the Burmese in 1767. We have still not forgotten, nor forgiven, them for that. I suppose coming from such a young country you find that extraordinary, holding a grudge for centuries. I think we Thais see the reign of Ayutthaya as a golden age, really. You must go and see it. It is in ruins but still evocative, I think, of that time. You can sense the great power that it once held.”
“Perhaps,” Chat said, turning from his conversation with Busakorn, “we ignore the fact that it was a time of almost constant warfare, terrible disease, slavery, autocratic rulers who believed they were god, who marched the common people back and forth across the country as the spoils of war, to say nothing of the fact that during that golden age, as you call it, women’s status, once considered equal in the Sukhothai period, deteriorated to the point they were barely considered human.”
“Please,” Wongvipa said. “No politics during dinner.”
“My idealistic son,” Thaksin said. “And so serious. Sometimes I worry about him, that he will be hurt by life’s disappointments.”
“Chat is quite right,” Sompom said. “In many respects it was not the best of times. However, to offset that, we should remember it was also a golden age for the arts. Music, dance, the decorative arts, all flourished, supported by the royal court. Some of the most beautiful temples and palaces in all the world were constructed during that time.”
“My team won our cricket match,” Dusit said.
“Dusit is an excellent sportsman,” Wongvipa said, smiling indulgently at her younger son. Fatty started throwing little balls of sticky rice at her brother.
“My other idealistic son,” Thaksin said.
“Dusit?” I said. That young man didn’t strike me as idealistic at all. Spoiled was the word that immediately sprang to mind.
“Sompom,” Thaksin said. “My eldest. He is a professor at Chulalongkorn University. I wanted him to take over the business, but he has chosen the academic life and the arts over more material goals. He is something of an expert, apparently, in a form of dance we call Khon. It probably developed in the royal court of Ayutthaya, but was lost when the Burmese burned the city. The National Theater puts on Khon performances from time to time. You should take one in if you get the chance. Rather esoteric, I’m afraid, but interesting nonetheless.”
I looked at Sompom, who had touches of gray at his temples and a daughter, Nu, who was maybe thirty-five.
“So Wongvipa is…” I said, then stopped. When in a foreign country, don’t ask too many personal questions would be a good general rule.
“My first wife died many years ago,” Thaksin said answering my unfinished question. “I am fortunate to have a second family. I met Wongvipa shortly after I lost my first wife.”
“Khun Wongvipa worked in the office of Ayutthaya Trading,” Sompom’s wife, Wannee, said. “Packing boxes, I believe. That is where my father-in-law met her.” I heard a rather sharp intake of breath from Yutai, beside me, and a brief hint of displeasure crossed Wongvipa’s face. I thought I saw the faintest hint of a smile flit across Khun Wichai’s face, but I couldn’t swear to it, and when I looked a second later it was gone. Thaksin, however, seemed to have missed the remark entirely.
“We will have tea and coffee in the living room,” Wongvipa said. Her tone had an edge to it. We all climbed out of our seats.
“I know Mr. William,” Nu said very quietly as the beverages were served. “I do not know where he has gone, but I would be very happy to talk to you about him.” She looked as if she was going to give me her business card, but stopped. I looked up to see Khun Wongvipa coming toward us. “I was just offering to show Ms. Lara around the ruins of Ayut-thaya,” Nu said before she moved quickly away to sit by her mother.
“That will not be necessary, Nu,” Wongvipa said. “We will see to it that Ms. Lara is shown the sights. Yutai is well steeped in our history and would be delighted to show her around. Now, I see you looking at some of the objects in the room. Is there anything I can tell you about them?” she said, leading me away from Nu.