“Ah,” Charles said. “Here it is again: the glorious past to which the present never measures up.”
I wished he’d just go away. I like stories about the past. It appeals to the antique dealer in me.
“It was very hot, then. No air-conditioning, can you imagine? And then there was the cholera every year. You had to boil and boil the water. The electricity was a bit on and off, too. You were never without candles. And you cooked on charcoal braziers. We didn’t cook, of course. There were servants for that. Such good servants, too, and so nice. Everyone was nice. There was none of the resentment of foreigners you saw in other countries. I suppose it was because Thailand was never occupied by one of the imperial powers, so they didn’t develop the hatred for Europeans that others did.” As she spoke, Charles, already bored, wandered off.
“We had such lovely parties,” she said. “You never go to parties like that anymore. Bangkok was ever so much smaller and friendlier than it is now. Everybody knew everybody. There weren’t all that many farang in Bangkok. There was always a ‘do’ for some charitable venture or another, or a coming out party for one of the young women. I had a splendid coming out party, didn’t I Nell?”
“I don’t know, dear. I wasn’t here,” Nell said. Nell seemed to be a better shape than her friend, Lily. Her eyes were bright and intelligent.
“I forgot,” she said. “It happens quite a bit these days. Pity, really. The best party of the year was the Fourth of July fete at the American ambassador’s. I looked forward to it for weeks. I always had a new frock for the occasion. My friends did, too. Oh, it was lovely.”
“When did you move back to the States?” Jennifer asked.
“I can’t remember. Can you, Nell?”
“It was 1953, dear,” Nell said. “That’s when we met.”
“That’s right,” she said. “Davie was just a toddler. There was a tram on New Road, but we loved to take samlohs. You know what those are, don’t you dear? Pedicabs, you’d call them, on three wheels, pulled by Thais. They had bicycle bells, and they rang them all the time. For years, whenever I heard a bicycle bell, I was carried back to Bangkok. They were much nicer than those noisy, dirty motorized things we have now.”
“I don’t suppose you remember Helen Ford?” I said.
“Oh yes,” Lily said. “I remember her. Very pretty girl. Something bad happened to her, didn’t it?”
“She was accused of murdering her husband,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, vaguely. “Terrible thing to happen. We got to know the better Thais,” she continued. Inwardly I cringed. “The well-educated ones,” she said. “And rich, of course. Some of them actually came to our parties. You know, sometimes in the rainy season, you gave your beau your shoes, and you hitched up your long skirt and waded up to the house where the party was. It was rather fun, now that I think about it. Some of the parties you got to by boat. Most of us had homes either on the Chao Phyra or one of the klongs. They’ve filled in so many of the klongs. It’s a shame. They’ve turned them into paved roads. It used to be such fun to go everywhere by boat. The tradesmen came by boat. The merchants delivered everything to your door that way.”
“Now Lily,” Nell said. “I’m sure that Lara and Jennifer have heard enough about the past. We should enjoy the party we’re at. I think the ceremony is about to begin.”
“I’m so glad Davie found this place and is having it all done properly,” Lily said.
Two monks in saffron robes officiated. The house was wrapped in a cord of some kind, which I was told could not be taken off or the magic would evaporate. David had already put his little animals and people out at the spirit house, which had been placed in a corner by a little pool filled with lotus flowers. I could smell sandalwood, which I think was part of the ceremony. I couldn’t understand a word, but it was very affecting, and I was happy for David.
Then the party got going in earnest. David, true to his word, introduced Jennifer to some younger people, and she seemed to be rallying. She’d been terribly shocked by Thaksin’s death and our unpleasant task of finding the rest of the family and telling them. Wongvipa had betrayed no emotion whatsoever when I found her in her room. Dusit looked merely puzzled. Chat was clearly devastated by his father’s death, but he did not seek solace with Jennifer. Instead, he stood by his mother and brother, without saying so much as a word to either of us, and watched as we drove away.
Jennifer cried all the way back to Bangkok and spent most of the next day in bed. I finally managed to get her up and to the party, something I think she did only to make me feel better.
At about ten in the evening, I noticed she looked very tired, and suggested we retire for the night. David walked us out to the main road and hailed us a minicab. “Thanks for coming,” he said to me. “I’m sorry about your troubles, Jennifer. I hope everything works out okay.”
“He’s very nice,” Jennifer said as we sank into the cab. “His aunties are cute, aren’t they? I love the house, too. I’m glad we came. Maybe if Chat and I decide to live here part of the year, we could find ourselves a little house like that. Oh, what am I saying?” she said. “What a dope I am. This will never happen.”
“I think you should just give this a little time,” I said. “See how you feel in a day or two. Couples do have spats, you know. They aren’t necessarily terminal.” We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“You want to go shopping tomorrow?” the cabdriver said.
“I don’t think so, thank you,” I said.
“No pressure,” he said. About twenty seconds went by. “I know very good places. Sapphires, rubies. Also good tailor for farang sizes.”
“No thanks,” I said.
“Okay. No pressure. I give you my card. You call tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I said.
“You could go shopping tonight. Some places still open. Very good.”
“I think we’ll go right back to the hotel,” I said, but then I changed my mind. “Are you up for one more stop?” I said, as a familiar building appeared off to one side.
“Sure,” she said. “You want to go shopping?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Information only.”
I managed to convince the cabdriver to pull over, and we entered Will Beauchamp’s apartment building. “I’ve been intending to come back here at night,” I said. “But I’ve never really had the opportunity. I didn’t want to come alone, for one thing. I’m trying to talk to one of Will’s neighbors, and she doesn’t seem to be here during the day.”
There was light under one of the doors beside Will’s. I knocked and heard footsteps, and someone, whom I couldn’t see, opened the door only a little. The door was still held by the safety chain. “Are you Mrs. Praneet?” I said.
“Yes,” she said.
“My name is Lara McClintoch, and this is my niece, Jennifer. I am a friend of Will Beauchamp’s wife, and I’m trying to find him.”
The door shut. I thought that was that, and turned to go away. But I heard the chain slide in the lock, and the door reopened. “Hello Lara, Jennifer,” a woman’s voice said. “Please come in.”
“Nu?” I said. “It is Nu, isn’t it? I’m delighted to find you, but I was looking for Mrs. Praneet.” It was indeed Nu Chaiwong, daughter of Sompom and Wannee, granddaughter of Khun Thaksin.
“I am Praneet,” she said. “Actually it is Dr. Praneet. I am a medical doctor. You perhaps don’t understand our custom of nicknames. I am always called Nu by friends and family. Nu means Mouse. Many of us are named after animals. Would you like some tea, soft drinks?”
“We’re really sorry about your grandfather,” I said.