“I do?” I said.
“That is why you are here, is it not? Please, don’t be shy. You don’t have to be embarrassed. Your baby is safe with me.”
“My baby?” I said. There it was, that stepmother business again. But how could he know?
“Your book,” he said, taking out a large handkerchief and mopping his brow. A window air conditioner was chugging away valiantly but was clearly not up to the task. The air in the room was warm and stale. “I am very busy. So many authors, so little time. But I do promise to give it my undivided attention. There is a fee. I’m sure Will told you.”
“I’ve forgotten how much,” I said.
“Thirty thousand baht, or, if you prefer to pay in U.S. dollars, $500 will do it, a discount for fellow countrymen. A bit steep, I know, but for that you get an expert opinion on the viability of your manuscript. I have to tell you I have a knack for this, just born with it. Nothing I can claim credit for, really, but I have made it my business to have my fingers on the pulse of the publishing industry both here in Thailand and abroad. Will’s book, for example, I will be taking to Singapore, given the subject matter. Publishers here won’t want to touch it. Their fingers might get burned. Positively incendiary! Of course I can’t tell you what it’s about.”
“Helen Ford,” I said. “Will told me all about it.”
“I told him not to talk about this to anyone,” he said, frowning. “It’s the kind of book that will arouse a fair amount of resentment in certain circles. However, what’s done is done. To get back to your book and my fees: If I accept the manuscript, I will move aggressively to find a publisher. I get thirty percent of all earnings.”
“Isn’t that a bit higher than average?” I said.
“It is,” he agreed. “But my services are worth more than average.”
“So how would this work?” I said. “I mean what did Will give you? Did he send you chapters as he went along, or—?
“Before we get to that, tell me about your book. Fiction? Nonfiction?”
Inwardly I sighed. I just wanted to get out of there, it was all so depressing. There was the odor of failure in the room, or worse, deceit, and I could not figure out why Will had signed up with this man, nor why he would ever invite him to a party. “It’s fiction, but based on a true story,” I said. “It’s about an antique dealer who comes to Bangkok and loses his moral compass, enticed by the exotic lifestyle here. He abandons his wife and disabled child, lives the good life for awhile, and then disappears,” I said, trying to watch closely for any reaction from Rowland.
“Hmmm,” he said, swiveling in his seat to look out the window. It had a rather dreary view of an alley, but he seemed transfixed by it. His face was hidden from my view. “I like it. I really do. But let’s work with your concept for a minute. I have one word for you: Fantasy. It’s hot right now. You’ll have to trust me on this. Could you set it in a more, I don’t know, mythical spot—that’s the word I’m looking for—an island, perhaps, that doesn’t appear on any map. It has to be fantasy but relevant in the broader context, if you see what I mean. Just a minute,” he said, tapping his head. “An idea is coming to me. Your man is shipwrecked on this island nobody knows about—you’d have to create this whole world, you know. He falls under the spell of the gorgeous women who inhabit the place, blah blah blah, forgets his wife and child. I don’t like the idea of the disabled child, by the way. Too sad. It distracts from the plot, unless…” He tapped his head again. “I’ve got it! The child has some special ability, a sixth sense of some kind, about where his father is, and then… I’m sure you’ll think of something.”
“Love it,” I said. I could see his face now only in profile, and could not tell if the man was merely an idiot or if he was lying through his teeth, as I was. I felt as if my usual instincts for such things had been dulled by the heat, that I was a stranger in a strange land without the usual moral reference points to guide me. At last he turned and smiled. “I’ll get working on it right away,” I said. “But what will you need to decide? I can’t quite recall what Will said he had to give you.”
“A few chapters and an outline will be all I require to make my decision,” he said. “That’s what I got from Will. He’d been to a few other agents, of course, but only I could see the potential. Given you haven’t been published before— you haven’t been published before, have you?”
“No.”
“Then give me whatever you have, along with a check for my fee, and I’ll have a look at it. In the meantime, think about that fantasy idea of mine.”
“I don’t suppose you could give me an idea of what an outline might look like,” I said. “Will’s maybe. I intended to ask him for a copy of it, but unfortunately, I can’t seem to reach him.”
“That would not be appropriate,” Rowland said. For a second I caught a glimpse of something in his eyes, suspicion surely, but also perhaps guile.
“Would you happen to know any of Will’s friends?” I asked. “I really would like to get in touch with him.”
“I can’t say as I do,” he said. “Now, your manuscript?
Perhaps you would let me have a quick peek at it?“
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t bring it. Too embarrassed, I’m afraid.”
“That is something you will have to overcome, with my help,” he said, clasping his hands in front of him and attempting to look sincere. He had the expression of someone trying to sell salvation on television. “I know how it is for authors, working away in solitude on their manuscripts with no one to confide in, but—”
“Speaking of solitude,” I said. “I’m finding it really hard to find the space I need to write. There are always interruptions. Will told me he had a place he went to for peace and quiet so he could write. I don’t suppose you know where that is. I could really use a little solitude.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t believe he mentioned it.” Well, it had been worth a try. “Now to get back to your work—”
“You’ve given me a great idea about that island and everything,” I said, interrupting him. “I’ll get right back to work and send it in to you. Could I have your mailing address?”
He handed me a greasy card and smiled at me in the most unpleasant way.
“Thank you,” I said. “You’ll be hearing from me as soon as I get a few chapters done.”
I hurled myself down the stairs and out into the street as fast as I could. Even gas fumes and heat like a furnace were an improvement over the office and person of Bent Rowland. The worst of it was that I’d suffered needlessly. I now knew nothing more than I did when I went in, other than, of course, that fantasy was really hot.
I went back to the cool and the calm of the Regent and called Jennifer.
After describing the family home in Chiang Mai in glowing terms, she lowered her voice. “I’m not sure exactly what is going on here,” she whispered. “But I really wish I’d stayed in Bangkok with you. Chat won’t tell me anything, but I know it has something to do with the business, Ayutthaya Trading, I mean. Khun Thaksin, Wongvipa, and Yu-tai have been locked in Chat’s dad’s study for hours with Khun Wichai. You remember him from dinner, right? I can’t hear what they’re saying, but they do raise their voices from time to time. They’re in a snit about something. I’m thinking maybe I could just buy an airline ticket for Bangkok and come and stay with you. Is there room?”
“There’s room for a small army in my junior suite at the Regent,” I said. “It’s gorgeous, and I’d be delighted to have your company. Do you want me to arrange for the ticket?”