“I think everything is so beautiful,” I said, making appreciative noises as Wongvipa pointed out a few of her possessions to me. “Who are the people in the portraits?” I asked, peering more closely at them. “Family? That’s Khun Thaksin, is it not?” I asked pointing to a portrait of two relatively young men, dressed in very formal Thai clothes. Both men were dressed in high-collared white jackets, what we might call Nehru style, dark, short pants I suppose we would call pantaloons, and what the Thai call chong kaben, white kneesocks and black shoes. Both wore brightly colored sashes, chunky silver rings and bracelets, and one of them, who reminded me of Chat, held a sword.
The portrait was very detailed and quite extraordinary.
Thaksin looked rather determined and serious, the other young man rather more relaxed, distracted might be a better word. The artist had captured with his careful brushstrokes something very fundamental, I thought, about his two subjects.
“Yes,” she said. “My husband, many years ago, of course, and his brother, Virat. Virat unfortunately died shortly after this was painted. It was a great tragedy for the family.”
“And this?” I asked, pointing to the second portrait. It showed a woman in a rather luxe dress of gold-printed silk. It was a combination of Thai fabrics and Western dress and looked unbelievably opulent. The woman was standing with one hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy, who was dressed like a little Siamese prince in heavily embroidered fabric and a gold, pointed headdress.
“That, if you can believe it, is Sompom,” Wongvipa said. “With his mother. My husband’s first wife,” she added, in case I’d forgotten. “Rather grand, isn’t it?” She abruptly turned away and went back to the group.
“Rather unusual portraits, aren’t they?” Khun Wichai said, coming up behind me and studying them closely. “A moment in time, and a certain social status captured forever.”
“They are very interesting,” I agreed. My companion was taller than the average Thai, and he had lovely almond-colored eyes, which seemed to take some amusement from everything he saw.
“I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in Thailand,” he said graciously.
“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sure I will.” I found myself wanting to talk to him more, but it was clear Wongvipa had other plans. She was signaling me to rejoin the group.
As I turned to do so, I had a sense the woman in the portrait was watching me. I wonder, I thought, and went back to check for a signature. It was there, Robert Fitzgerald, signed with something of a flourish.
“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.