Pursuit to Paradise
Smashwords edition
Text by Mark Damaroyd
eISBN 978-616-245-010-5
E-book published by www.bangkokbooks.com
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Text Copyright© Mark Damaroyd
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CHAPTER 1
Nataya stood naked in front of the wardrobe mirror, brushing her shiny black, waist-length hair, seemingly flattered that the man behind her watched every move. She glanced at Ben’s reflection as he sat on the end of the bed. “You look as though you have never seen a girl with no clothes on before,” she said in perfect English.
“I’ve never looked at one as stunning as you.”
“There are many beautiful ladies in Thailand. I think you are just saying that.”
Ben got up, finished buttoning his shirt, and stood beside her. “You’re so tiny.” The top of her head just about reached his chin. “You Thais are some of the most beautiful girls in the world.” He admired her curves and smooth slender legs.
Nataya continued grooming her hair.
Ben picked up his camera from the chair, found a position where the flash wouldn’t reflect in the glass, and snapped a sideways angle.
“How many more do you want? We must have taken at least a hundred by now.” She turned to face the camera. “Do you like this one?” She smiled into the lens, brilliant white teeth contrasting with the darkness of her skin.
“Great. Fantastic.” Ben checked the result on the LCD screen before scrolling back to some shots taken earlier. “Wow! I see Thai girls are double-jointed. Girls where I come from couldn’t possibly achieve some of these positions.”
“And most Thai men could not possibly achieve the same as you. It is all about body differences.” She giggled and moved to sit at the dressing table to apply her makeup.
Ben put the camera down and walked round the bed to stand behind her, stroking her narrow shoulders, gliding his hands down her delicate arms, easily encircling her tiny wrists with a thumb and finger. “Just like kiddies’ arms,” he told her, letting go as she shook him away good-naturedly.
“We will be here all day if you carry on like this.” She inspected the scarlet varnish on her fingernails, lifting her legs a little to make sure the toes weren’t in need of redoing.
Ben sat on the bed again, choosing a spot where he could still watch her in the smaller mirror.
The creams and powder lightened her skin – Ben noted how popular this trend had become. Her dark, almond-shaped eyes exuded sensuality as she applied eye shadow and pencilled her brows that arched away, tapering perfectly. Her cute nose with slightly flared nostrils added yet another touch of elegance. When she finished putting on glossy red lipstick, she resembled an exquisite porcelain doll.
Ben nodded his approval, wondering how she could afford the luxury of gold earrings, a magnificent gold necklace, and matching bracelet. He hadn’t had a Thai partner before. A few days ago, his English girlfriend had packed her bags and left in a rage after endless arguments.
“How many times have you been to Thailand, Ben?”
“Oh, goodness knows, many times. Why?”
“I was just wondering. That girlfriend of yours – she seemed very cool toward me. In fact, she seemed not to like Thai girls an awful lot at all.”
“She was fine on our first visits, but more recently she became envious – probably due to her paranoia about age.”
“How old is she?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“She still looks very attractive. In Thailand, when a woman has raised a family and reaches her thirties, she is considered past it.”
“I think that’s crazy. Just look at Duggie’s Jaidee. She’s, what? Forty-something? But still very beautiful.”
“Sure, but Jaidee doesn’t have babies.” She stood to slip on her tiny silk g-string and fastened the bra, pulling up each breast to create more cleavage. She tucked her floral print blouse into the black skirt and adjusted the name badge before stepping into black stiletto-heeled shoes. She dabbed on a little Gucci Envy, and packed all the items into her Dolce & Gabbana bag. “Ready?”
They went down the stairs.
“See you later, darling.” Nataya pecked him on the cheek before resuming her duties behind the reception desk.
* * *
Ben Lofthouse found his friend, Duggie Johnson, on his usual perch at the end of the bar in Dougle’s Hotel, a place where he could keep an eye on his restaurant and reception area. He was flicking through the list of advance reservations when Ben arrived at his side.
“You know, Ben, I’ve never seen so few bookings – right through to the middle of high season. It was bad enough before people started panicking over the recession. People just haven’t been coming to Thailand like before. Now, well, it’s not looking very good. I remember a time when fifteen bedrooms weren’t enough.”
“Tell me about it. It’s the same for me back home; worse now that Gail’s done a bunk.” He gave Duggie’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “But you’ve seen it all before. Things will get better. I’m just going outside for a breather. I’ll see you shortly.”
“Hang on, I’ll come with you.” He took the paperwork back to Nataya at the reception desk. “Take care of these, honey. They’re worth a fortune,” he joked bravely.
Nataya flashed a smile. “I hope you two are not going to drown your sorrows?”
“Probably drown ourselves,” he growled. “Won’t be long.”
The men walked through the small lounge area that doubled as the lobby and exited to the street. They were met by the gruelling, sauna-like humidity October nearly always brought to Koh Pimaan and other islands in the Gulf of Thailand; a stark contrast to the air-conditioned comfort of the hotel. They crossed the road to the paved walkway lined with coconut palms and dotted with potted shrubs and flowering plants. The aroma of street food filled the air as they strolled past carts and motorbike contraptions along the kerbside. Stepping down to the clean, soft, white sand that made Sang Tong beach one of Koh Pimaan’s most popular – and inspired the name, Pimaan, meaning heavenly residence – they ambled down to where small wavelets washed the shore.
Ben kicked off his sandals, enjoying the warm but refreshing water running over his feet. Even the light breeze blowing off the sea did nothing to relieve the heat. He turned and looked at the rows of coloured lights strung along the bay and noticed that Bar Monty seemed all but deserted.
“Looks like Chai’s struggling as well,” he observed. “Low season never used to be like this. Maybe I’ll go for a drink with him tomorrow; it’ll be my last chance before I go home.”
“Blimey–I clean forgot. You’ve only got a couple of days left.” Duggie struggled to light a cigarette with his back to the sea but gave up.
They walked in companionable silence along the surf for half a kilometre or so before heading back to the hotel.
“Anything exciting happening?” Duggie asked Nataya, glancing round at the unoccupied tables and vacant stools, at last getting his smoke going.
“Only Bhumipol. He is complaining he will have to throw all that fish away. He only had two orders for it tonight.”
The Thai chef sat with his feet up on a chair in the lounge, moodily smoking a strong cigarette, watching Manchester United lose a match played last weekend on the TV high on the wall. He shook his head. “Not same, no Beckham–why he no play?” Tossing a disgruntled glance over his shoulder, he realised his boss was in no mood to see his staff lounging about and hurriedly took his feet off the chair, stubbed out the cigarette, and continued his complaint about too much fish.
Ben hitched himself onto a barstool and Duggie fixed some drinks.
“Well, that Gail of yours turned out to be a nasty piece of work,” Duggie flicked ash into the tray. “How many years have you two been coming to Koh Pimaan?”
“This is–was–our fifth year together. I have to say, all this has been building up for quite a while now. I wasn’t expecting to hear about her having a new fella though; that came straight out of the blue. Seems it’s been going on for some time.”
“So, you reckon she flew to Spain?” He placed two bottles of Chang on the bar.
“Apparently the new lover boy is on holiday there.”
“What happens to the businesses in England? Are you going to carry on?” Duggie perched in his exclusive spot next to his friend.
“Problem is, Gail started pushing herself into both of them, and like a fool I let her have her own way. Now I’m left with a right financial mess to sort out. To be honest, I’ve had it all up to here.” He held a hand at his neck. “I’m seriously thinking about pulling the plug on the lot.”
Ben smiled at Nataya as she made for the kitchen with some paperwork requiring Bhumipol’s signature. She smiled back, a knowing look on her face, her expensive perfume lingering on the air.
Duggie looked at her cute backside wiggling inside the sheath skirt. “Anyway, she’ll take your mind off it for your last couple of nights, lucky bastard. She’s quite a girl, the best I’ve ever had around here. I can leave her to do anything. I’ve never known a Thai to have such good English. It’s perfect. And the way she dresses, wow!”
“Don’t know how she does it; certainly not on the sort of money I pay. She’s a bit of a mystery, actually, but she definitely isn’t a bar girl. Make sure you don’t offer her any money. She would be extremely offended–I know, okay?” He opened a new packet of cigarettes. “So, what will you do? I mean, if you get rid of the shops?”
Ben drank some of his beer. “I can always sell that painting. It’d fetch enough to be able to live out here fairly comfortably. In fact, I must get it put into storage as soon as I get home.”
“I’ve never regretted coming to live in Thailand, despite the changes.” Duggie tipped his bottle and drank. “Have to say, though, Jaidee’s the main reason.”
Ben looked at the former car assembly worker from Essex, noticing the thinning hair, podgy face, and developing beer gut. He put an arm round his shoulder. “I don’t need convincing. As soon as I’ve sorted things out back home, I’ll be back.”
“I still enjoy Koh Pimaan, though they’re ruining the place. Luxury resorts springing up everywhere. Can you work out the mentality? The world’s in a mess, yet they’re throwing up tourist accommodations as fast as they can. Where’s the sense? It’s no good for small businesses ‘cos most people staying in these posh joints don’t go out at night. They try and save money by stuffing themselves on buffet food and making one drink last all night while they watch free entertainment,” Duggie complained bitterly. “Now they’ve even granted a license for a go-go bar here in Sang Tong. A bloke I know runs a bar in Pattaya. He’s been picking my brains on the phone about the viability of a girlie club down here. He said he couldn’t make any money now in Pattaya. Seems scores of bars are up for sale there. I told him it wasn’t any different here, but he’s going ahead. If it gets off the ground, it’ll be like a mini Pattaya around here before long.”
Time sped by as they drank and reminisced.
Nataya came over. “Would you like me to stay a little longer?” she asked Duggie. “All the room accounts are up to date and I have filed the papers you left on the desk.”
“All the accounts? Okay.” He looked up at the clock. Nine-fifteen. “No, you two get yourselves off. I’ll keep an eye on things here.”
“Thank you so much.” Turning to Ben, she said, “I must go to the room for clean clothes. I will go and shower, then perhaps you would like to walk with me. You can meet my best friend, Kanita. We share a room not far from here. She has a massage business on the beach.”
“Sounds good to me. Don’t be long.” He patted her bottom as she went off.
* * *
“This is Ben, from England,” Nataya explained to Kanita when they arrived at the small room.
The girl was every bit as pretty as Nataya, of similar build, with almost the same length hair. She flashed a huge smile and got up from the floor, where she’d been sitting cross-legged on a makeshift bed of blankets and quilted covers.
“Me Kanita. How you?” She gave a most graceful wai, pressing her palms together with fingertips touching her nose as she nodded, bending one knee while making the traditional greeting.
“Hello, Kanita. I’m very well, thank you.” Ben noticed her lack of makeup. A tin of baby powder, a cheap hand mirror, and some plastic cosmetic boxes were on a tray beside her makeshift bed.
Her clothes, hanging on a rail, looked well worn, consisting mainly of shorts, printed T-shirts, and faded denim jeans.
Nataya went to her own sleeping corner and opened her bag, replacing some of its contents with a fresh choice of toiletries and cosmetics extending along two wooden shelves. She chose clean underwear from stacked plastic storage boxes with drawers and selected something to wear tomorrow from the rows of dresses, skirts, and pretty tops that augmented what appeared to be the all-time Thai favourites—shorts, T-shirts and jeans. She packed the required clothing inside a stylish Mango House Bangkok carrier bag.
The three sat together on a mat in the middle of the floor.
“You like Nataya?” Kanita asked, scooping water into a tin mug from the ice bucket. “She best friend me.” She looked at Ben’s face. “She very lucky, have falang; good heart.” She lowered her eyes, seeming somewhat dejected and sipped from the mug.
Ben noticed the white strings and coloured bands around her wrists; important, he knew, to Buddhists, because they represented blessings and tokens for good luck. Around her neck was a simple metal chain with a pendant depicting a revered Buddhist monk.
Nataya opened her purse and, talking in Thai, gave Kanita a number of bank notes.
Kanita thanked her with a wai and stuffed it in the hip pocket of her shorts.
“Rent money,” Nataya explained. “I am never here when the lady comes to collect it.”
The girls chatted in Thai for a while and Ben noticed a concerned look on Nataya’s face when Kanita shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. Nataya took more money from her purse, insisting her protesting friend accept it.
Nataya picked up the bag. “Are you ready, darling? Shall we go?”
Ben nodded and stood up, surprised at the lingering kiss Nataya planted on Kanita’s lips.
* * *
The last night of his vacation arrived all too quickly, and Ben tried to blot out his imminent departure in the morning as he towelled himself dry.
“I want your last night to be one you will remember, darling,” Nataya said with a mischievous grin as she emerged naked from the shower in Ben’s room. “Are you telling me your English girlfriend never did things like this for you?” Nataya seemed determined that he go home with some amazing memories. She led him to the bed and pushed him back.
Ages later, satisfied, they stretched out side by side, still breathing heavily.
“I wish this wasn’t the last day,” Ben told her. “I don’t want to go home. You… you have become very… special to me. Don’t say it. I know I’m stupid, having only just met you, but I’m going to miss you very much.”
Nataya smiled sweetly but declined to comment on his sentimental expression. “When will you come back?”
“Just as soon as I can, that’s a promise. I’ll telephone and at least we’ll be able to stay in touch. I can’t wait, darling.”
* * *
Sitting disconsolate in the departure lounge, Ben reflected on recent events. The grocery shop he’d run for the last two years, since his father died at the age of sixty-nine after suffering a heart attack, had turned out to be a nightmare. The business had been in the family since his grandfather’s days and he had felt obliged to honour his father’s wishes by taking it on, trying to retain a little bit of history in the locality.
So, he and Gail Patterson had split their time between Ben’s home and the Buckinghamshire shop he’d opened six years ago. When he and Gail took off on holidays, a long-standing family friend, Mrs. Trammell, took charge, living at the back of the shop. She’d been very close to Mother before her premature death in a road accident eleven years ago.
Ben smiled ruefully to himself, recalling how the rent had more than
doubled when he took over. If he had been in a position to purchase
the entire property at that time, things would have been different.
The discovery of the Van Gogh could have changed things, but now it
would provide more than enough money to enjoy his new life in
Thailand.
It seemed the entire village resented his decision to
close the shop.
* * *
Ben listened with interest to the art specialist as he sat in the company’s London office.
“I have to tell you, Mr. Lofthouse, this Van Gogh is a remarkable treasure. I find it amazing that it spent all those years in Devon, collecting dust in your family loft.” The expert stepped back and admired the painting, shaking his head in amazement. “And you have no idea how long it has been in the family?”
“I would hazard a guess since my grandfather’s time. He travelled extensively and collected quite a few knickknacks,” Ben informed him.
“Hardly a knickknack, sir. Our valuation of three million pounds may well prove to be a trifle conservative, even if it went to auction. I advise you to be patient. A collector seeking such rare art may well offer considerably more by way of private agreement.”
“When I first had it valued it was worth two million.”
“You must ensure you have adequate insurance, Mr. Lofthouse.”
“I’m placing it in safe storage. Would you recommend this firm?” Ben showed him the business card.
“Oh perfect. We always recommend them.”
* * *
Nataya was becoming concerned about the persistence of the guest who’d recognised her from the cover of the erotic DVD. The pictures were somewhat graphic; no wonder the guy wanted to know more.
“What’s it like doing it in front of the camera? Do you really enjoy it, or is it just acting?” The man looked round to make sure no one was listening. In his sixties and balding, he was not overly attractive, with a broken nose and a deep scar running down his cheek.
“Look, Mr. Dutworth, if you carry on like this I will have to do something about it. You are making my life a misery,” Nataya told him firmly from behind the reception desk.
Regardless, he carried on. “Look.” He took a copy of the front and back cover pictures used in the DVD packaging out of a plastic bag and waved it in her face. “I take it with me everywhere,” he whispered ominously. “I tell everybody I know the girl doing this.”
“Enough! Just go away!” Nataya hissed angrily.
“Oh, but you forget I’m here for a month, my dear. Tell you what, you give me a good time and I’ll leave you alone. How about that?” He winked and stuck his tongue out, pulling a disgusting face. “I’d like to do what you do in them films; lovely it is. I bet your dad doesn’t know. He’d kill you.”
“That is it! You can stay; I am leaving. Now!” She grabbed her handbag, swept out from behind the desk, and ran outside to the pavement, heading toward her room, hoping Kanita was home. She didn’t want to let Duggie and Jaidee down, but she couldn’t continue working at Dougle’s. She wouldn’t be welcome to work there anyway if they found out about the movie.
* * *
Ben drove his faithful old Volvo Estate toward leafy Ainsham, hardly noticing the vivid autumn colours of gold, red, russet, and brown on the plentiful trees in this corner of England’s Buckinghamshire. Even with such good news about his painting, his head was still in Thailand, thinking constantly about Nataya. He was besotted and didn’t care, neither did he care that she seemed not to have been too bothered when he left. After all, they hardly knew each other and she was probably sceptical about his intentions. She seemed such a level headed, intelligent girl–with sexual prowess he’d only dreamed of before.
It would take more time to convince her, that’s all. He had made up his mind, despite knowing he was on what his mother used to call the rebound.
His mobile rang and, convinced it’d be Nataya, he pulled over before answering. It was a call from Spain.
“So you’re back, then?”
“What do you want, Gail?”
“Oh, just to tell you I won’t be walking away from that money you owe me.” She hung up.
Breathing deeply, Ben vowed Gail wouldn’t get a penny from him. After all, she had wasted so much with her ideas to upgrade his family grocery business in Devon, and her extravagant spending on stock for his shop in Ainsham had all but ruined him.
Arriving in the pretty village, he parked outside Smart Reflections, unlocked the door of his boutique and gallery, and disarmed the security alarm. He carried the reproduction Van Gogh from the car and installed it. It looked convincing behind the security glass in the electronically protected cabinet. The original had attracted extra customers to the lock-up shop at the end of the high street, improved turnover, offsetting the huge increase in the insurance premiums.
He stepped back to scrutinise it and was satisfied with the result. Earlier he’d placed the original in safe storage, adequately insured. He was taking no chances since Gail still had keys to the shop and could open the cabinet. She wouldn’t be aware it only contained a fake. Even if she cleared out the entire stock, it mattered little because he’d already transferred the money Gail had pumped into his struggling business in Devon. Convinced the cash must have come from her new lover, he used it to pay the huge bill for the grossly overstocked rows of expensive designer clothing she had ordered. He regretted giving in to her extravagant idea, having been perfectly happy with the gallery side of the business. He went through and looked at the inexpensive touristy gifts that day-trippers snapped up.
Before leaving, he stooped to pick up the broken extractor fan unit, glancing up at the plastic grill in the wall, hoping rain wouldn’t get in. He reset the alarms and went outside, dumping the useless fan in the garbage bin. Locking the door, he wondered if he would ever reopen for business. He drove the short distance to the rented flat, reflecting on how stupid he’d been to allow Gail to move in and start interfering with his businesses.
For days he busied himself catching up with accounts and tax affairs, deciding to leave everything up-to-date. Every day he tried to telephone Nataya but received no answer. His texts brought no response either. He grew frustrated and depressed, eventually deciding to ring Duggie on Koh Pimaan.
“Sorry, pal, but she quit just after you left; didn’t even tell us she was going. We’ve no idea where she is, but her friend brought a load of her clothes here for us to look after. Very strange.”
“That’s worrying, Duggie. I mean, such an intelligent girl. I’m really concerned.”
* * *
The week before Christmas, the English winter set in with a vengeance. Ben drove down to his home village in North Devon, already having decided to close down the ailing old-established family grocery store that Gail thought could be made profitable.
As he walked along Bramblegate’s quaint cobbled street, the locals all but ignored him, some choosing to cross to the other side, expressing disapproval of their convenience store closing down. He pulled up the collar of his topcoat as a biting wind blew off the sea. Even the seagulls seemed to mock, squawking and circling overhead. Reaching the post office, he decided to buy a lottery ticket and joined the queue.
“How are you, Ronnie?” Ben asked Ronnie Brimlow, ahead of him in the queue.
The simple-minded village scrounger turned. “Oh, it’s you. Fine thing you’ve gone and done to this village, I must say.” He turned his back.
“Just the one,” Ben confirmed to the clerk as he bought his ticket and placed it in his wallet.
Bramblegate Stores, locked and deserted with the ancient blind pulled down in the window, saddened Ben as he let himself in. The near-empty shelves of provisions and the open, defrosted freezer spoke volumes about the problems Ben had struggled to overcome. He went through to the comfortable back parlour, put the kettle on, then went out the back to collect fuel for the old open fire.
For the next few days he seldom went out, sleeping at night in the back bedroom that had been his all his life. He put photos of Nataya on the table beside his bed, but his dreams of her became clouded as he wrestled with his conscience on waking from fitful sleep. He drove to a restaurant in a neighbouring village for Christmas day lunch and spent the evening in front of his television.
A few days later, he idly watched the National Lottery draw on television, thinking how lucky he’d have to be to win anything with the solitary ticket he’d bought in the post office. Smoothing the crumpled paper to read the numbers, he confirmed the jackpot wasn’t his, then froze with excitement when some of his numbers came up. It didn’t sink in at first. He whooped, “Yes! Yes! Oh boy – forty-five-thousand pounds!”Next morning, he collected his winnings in the main post office in town and booked a flight to Bangkok at the travel agency.
* * *
Nataya stroked the back of Hugh Swainton’s hair as he made her gasp with delight and satisfaction. Despite being in his fifties, his amazing drive and technique always left her breathless.
“I can’t get enough of you, you beautiful creature. Mmm!” He sighed, his American drawl muffled as he buried his face.
After they showered and dressed, they moved to the comfortable lounge in Hugh’s Bangkok apartment.
“It gets better every time. Do you know that?” he declared, crossing to the drinks cabinet and fixing himself a Jim Beam and a Malibu for Nataya.
“That is what is so good about not making it a regular thing–keeps it fresh and enjoyable,” Nataya agreed, sinking into an armchair.
“Hardly the viewpoint held by my former wife, honey. She still expected me home every night, even though her interest in sex went out the window years ago when the kids started to grow up.”
“Did they carry on your advertising agency in New York?”
“The eldest boy’s the chief executive officer now. He’s got a keen business brain.”
“Like his father,” Nataya offered, admiring his tall, elegant frame as he poured the drinks.
“If any of them had so much as an inkling what their father was up to out here, they’d disown me.” He brought the glasses over, handing one to Nataya before sitting in a nearby chair.
“I hardly dare think what my papa would do.”
Hugh smiled and his bluish-grey eyes sparkled, bright and alert in a deeply tanned face that showed signs of wear after many years in Southeast Asia.
“So, what are your plans?” He smoothed the wide sideburns of his coiffured silver hair.
“I am going back to the village for a while. Papa is all right now, but I need some space to chill out, what with the commotion over the movie here in the city, to say nothing of having it thrown in my face again on Koh Pimaan.” She struggled to fasten new twenty-four carat gold earrings.
“I have to go to Hong Kong again. One of our film distributors wants to discuss marketing strategy. It seems there’s a lot of interest in 3D erotica these days, but that’s out of our league. Then when I get back, I have a lot of stuff going on all over this region regarding the language school. I’m looking for more English teachers to work in the provinces; it’s amazing how many Thais from the countryside want to learn English.”
“And yet you still find time for… private lessons,” Nataya said provocatively, raising her eyebrows and smiling innocently.
“Only exceptionally talented students qualify for private lessons,” he purred. “Incidentally, those earrings look great. Do you like them?”
“They are perfect, darling, thank you so much.” She went over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “You spend far too much on me.”
* * *
A chilling fog shrouded Bramblegate village, obscuring the tranquil surroundings of the picturesque seaside haven. At eight-thirty Gail Patterson knocked impatiently on the locked curtained door of Bramblegate Stores. She was in no mood for waiting. She had arrived in the village late the previous evening after a hazardous car journey from London. Her former boyfriend, Ben Lofthouse, was due to arrive in Thailand about now and was probably in the bed of some Thai woman he scarcely knew.
The door curtain parted and a wrinkled female face warily peeked out, recognised the caller, and nodded. Moments later the door creaked open. “Good morning, Miss Patterson. Come in. You must be freezing.”
“Hello, Mrs. Trammell. I have to make this brief.” Gail wiped her new Louboutin boots on the mat and followed Mrs. Trammell to the parlour at the back of the shop.
“Do sit down, my dear. I’ll put the kettle on.” Mrs. Trammell fluffed up the cushion on the old armchair by the roaring log fire.
“Thanks, but no tea. I just need to show you this.” She sat heavily in the chair, undid her long black Burberry, hastily pulled a newspaper cutting from her shoulder bag, and unfolded it. It was from the current edition of the local Breeze. She handed it to Mrs. Trammell, who had pulled up a hard-backed chair and sat opposite.
Gail fiddled with her long blonde hair, hoping the colour her hairdresser put in concealed the few greying strands. To be thirty-eight and admit to a grey hair was not in her scheme of things. She glanced around, noticing the Christmas decorations collecting dust, and unopened envelopes on the mantelshelf addressed to Ben, probably cards for his fortieth birthday. She waited in silence while the old woman read slowly.
BRAMBLEGATE STORE OWNER FLEES COUNTRY
AFTER LOTTERY WINDFALL
Ben Lofthouse, the owner of the struggling Bramblegate Stores, has left the country at short notice after collecting 45,000 pounds won on the lottery. After Mr Lofthouse confirmed his win, local resident, Mr Ronnie Brimlow telephoned the local office of the Breeze, claiming that he had bought the lucky ticket. When we asked Mr Brimlow to explain, he said, “I was in the queue ahead of Lofthouse. I put my ticket down on the counter for a moment while I put my change away. He picked it up and left his own ticket behind. I told him he’d made a mistake, but he said I was being stupid.”
When asked why he had not made a complaint at the time, he replied, “How many people think about something like that? Who was to know I had a winning ticket?”
The proprietor of Bramblegate Post Office, who sold the tickets, advises that immediately after purchasing lottery tickets, holders should sign their name on the back.
Late yesterday evening, Miss Gail Patterson, the former girlfriend of Ben Lofthouse, checked-in at a Bramblegate hotel, accompanied by a middle-aged man. Allegedly, before the relationship ended, she had injected an undisclosed amount of capital to revamp the store and add a craft gallery. However, before the alterations got underway, Mr Lofthouse decided to close down the shop.
Mrs. Trammell sighed deeply and folded the paper, moaning, “I never thought I’d see all this trouble in my village.”
“You never thought you’d see trouble! Can you imagine the trouble that man has caused me? He’s not content just to let one business go to ruin–oh no! But I don’t suppose you are too bothered about the other one, the one which was profitable. He simply locks the door on that, too. He had the chance to turn everything round.
“Well, now he’s turned his back on the whole thing. I just hope the people of this village realise that if they continue to object to this business being sold outside the family, they will end up without their precious store.” She angrily stood and paced to the doorway. Flinging the door open, she turned. “I urge you to stop this mindless petitioning and allow the owners to sell to someone who can put the business back on its feet.”
* * *
At ten o’clock, Mrs. Trammell unlocked Bramblegate Stores again and hung the card that apologised for the unforeseen closure. The widow looked like the perfect village storekeeper from yesteryear; grey hair up in a bun, half-moon spectacles perched on her nose, lace pinafore over a long pleated skirt, and a crocheted black shawl draped around her shoulders. She plugged in the electric radiator, blowing on her hands to ease the freezing numbness. The roaring fire in the parlour did little to warm the shop as snowflakes flurried outside in the narrow cobbled street.
Soaking fog continued to roll in from the sea and the foghorn wailed from distant Markham Point Lighthouse, echoing around the neighbouring valleys. Seagulls squawked around fishing boats as they bravely left the harbour.
The brass bell over the door jangled and an elderly man, wrapped in an overcoat and thick woollen scarf shuffled in, removing his chequered flat cap. “Good morning, Mrs. Trammell.”
“You look frozen, Mr. Buzzacott, do come on through.” Mrs. Trammell took his walking stick and placed it in the umbrella stand.
“Thank you. Devil of a job getting here, you know.” He wheezed breathlessly.
Mrs. Trammell put the kettle on. “These are trying days, Mr. Buzzacott. Tea won’t be long.”
They sat in front of the glowing wood fire in the parlour. She was pleased the Lofthouse family’s dearest and most trusted friend had braved the elements to visit her. Mr. Buzzacott had watched Ben grow up and eventually take over the business. He had, on two occasions, grieved at the Lofthouse family grave to say goodbye to Ben’s parents. Weeks after Ted Lofthouse’s funeral, Mr. Buzzacott endured more grief with the passing of his wife.
“Thanks, one sugar. All I hear is bad news. Seems the owners have already started proceedings about the rent arrears. And the lease has expired. Word is they still intend to sell the property and hope to find a buyer with an interest in keeping the shop open. They have promised to do their best to find someone local or with local interests. They understand how much this place means to us all.”
“I should jolly well hope so. This recession isn’t going to help much, though. Most folk will think twice before spending a lot of money. Still, nearly everybody in the village has signed the petition.”
“We must try and get hold of young Mr. Ben somehow. I’ve heard that Miss Patterson and her new gentleman friend have shown some interest in buying.” Mr. Buzzacott, now warming considerably by the fire, stood painfully, took off his scarf, and struggled with the heavy overcoat.
Mrs. Trammell helped him, easing his arthritic hands from the sleeves of the shabby garment that had seen many winters. She draped his scarf on an old wooden clotheshorse beside the fireplace and hung his coat in the corner as he lowered himself into the chair again, clutching his cap on his lap.
“As you know, Gail Patterson and her gentleman arrived in the village last night. I do believe they even have a chauffeur,” he remarked bitterly.
“I had her knocking on the door earlier. They’re not interested in keeping the shop going,” she scoffed. “They just want to get their hands on the title deeds to the whole property. After all, it’s in a most desirable location and the living accommodation has a lot of potential.” She paused, deep in thought. “If only Ted had bought the place years ago, this would never have happened. Whoever buys it now will have the chance to make it one of the most beautiful homes for miles around.”
The kettle boiled, still hot from her earlier cuppa. She made two mugs and placed them on the small table in front of the hearth. “We all know Ted Lofthouse expressed a wish in his will that this business should remain in the family.” She sighed deeply. “I don’t know what Ben thinks he’s doing, rushing off to Thailand like that, but I’m sure he wouldn’t want the business going into their hands. His dear old father would turn in his grave, God rest his soul.” She sipped her tea. “On top of all that, the whole village is gossiping about Ben winning the lottery. But the worrying thing is the attention given in the press about Ronnie Brimlow making those awful allegations. Have you seen the paper?”
Mr. Buzzacott drank some tea. “Of course. Worrying, very worrying.”
“And folk are saying Gail Patterson has been to see Mr. Brimlow. Do you think they’re up to something, Mr. Buzzacott?”
He stared into the glowing embers, deep in thought, sipping his tea as best he could with both his hands shakily gripping the mug. “I really can’t be sure, you understand? Speculation, rumours maybe?”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” she said under her breath.
CHAPTER 2
In Tia’s house, just along the soi from Nataya’s family home in Northeast Thailand, Nataya and her Indonesian girlfriend watched the adult movie in which they had both performed.
“Do you remember this bit?” Nataya asked as they watched themselves.
“Yes, I remember, but no remember name he,” Tia said in broken English, not able to speak Thai. She adjusted the dangling silvery earrings Nataya had given her as a surprise present.
“I do. He must have been pretty good for me to remember. It is Halvar, from Sweden.”
“He know how do it, yes?” Tia put her hand in Nataya’s lap.
“Oh, for sure, but I would never rate him better than you, my angel.” Nataya took her friend’s hand and squeezed it. “I missed you so much, so much.” She gently cupped Tia’s face and planted a smouldering kiss on her lips. “It was so boring on that island without you.”
“Mmm! I think we have good time now, yes?” Tia wriggled down on the sofa and they indulged happily while continuing to watch the movie.
“Shall we fast forward a bit?” Nataya suggested later, picking up the remote control just as her mobile rang. The display showed it was Hugh Swainton.
“Hi, honey. What are you up to?”
“Oh, hello, Hugh. I am just reminiscing with a friend.” She had to cover the mouthpiece when Tia burst out laughing.
“Just to let you know, we are thinking about making a new movie down on Koh Pimaan. Wondered if you might be interested?”
“Pimaan? Mmm, have to think about that one. I will let you know.”
“Okay, no probs, just thought I’d let you know. Must fly. Bye.”
“What he say about Pimaan?”
“He wants to make a new movie there. Actually, I rather fancy the idea. What about you?”
“Cannot. Husband want me go home Jakarta. But I go Bangkok for new pictures. Hugh pay good money for little work.”
“It is amazing the ideas he comes up with. Add a few more still photos to an old movie, spice up the soundtrack, and it sells all over again. I don’t think I will go, though. I’m enjoying the break.”
* * *
The Thai Airways 747 from London landed at Suvarnabhumi Airport just before three-thirty. Ben yawned and stretched, leaning sideways to look out the window as the aircraft came to a stop at the terminal. With the January sun still high in the cloudless sky, he was looking forward to the buzz that had made previous holidays in Thailand so special. He collected bits and pieces from the empty seats next to him. Some passengers still slumbered, taking advantage of space in unoccupied rows.
Now that Ben was back in the Land of Smiles he cared little about the situation back home, instead brimming with confidence that his run of luck would continue, right down to finding Nataya. Again she filled his thoughts completely. He could almost smell the Gucci Envy perfume in her glorious, shiny, long black hair.
However, after more than eleven hours travelling from Heathrow, and arriving seven hours ahead of British time after no more than occasional dozing, his brain wasn’t exactly behaving at its best. Duggie had told him on the phone recently that Nataya may have lost her mobile. Ben desperately wanted to believe that was the only reason for the silence.
He knew very well that countless holiday romances between Thai women and farangs were short-lived. His few remaining friends back home had taunted him endlessly since hearing all about it. Nevertheless, he had refused to abandon his plans, fully aware he knew virtually nothing about this girl.
Clearing immigration took a while, but he knew in Thailand impatience achieved nothing, so he returned the smile of the officer and thanked him with one of his few Thai phrases. “Khaawp khoon khrap.”
The Thai acknowledged in good English. “Welcome to Thailand, Sir.”
A few nights in Bangkok had been the original plan, but now Ben couldn’t wait to get to Pimaan. After trundling his suitcase around the modern maze of Suvarnabhumi until his arm ached, he eventually found the ticket office for Bangkok Airways.
“I can get you on the seventeen-forty-five,” announced the ticket lady.
Ben glanced at his watch. Five minutes past five. “Thanks, I’ll take it.” Just time to find the toilets, freshen-up, and maybe grab a snack and drink.
* * *
Simon Smyth-Hamilton took off his wire-framed spectacles and gave the girl sitting next to him one of his special disarming smiles. “Hello. Do you speak English?”
She turned from looking out the window and glanced at him. “Little bit. You come holiday?” She smiled and settled back on the uncomfortable seat in the crowded bus as it crawled out of Bangkok, caught up in the rush-hour traffic.
“Sorta. Hoping to find some work eventually, though. What about yourself?” He turned a little to get a better view of the dark-skinned beauty. Her black hair, cut in a pageboy fringe on her forehead, fell in wavy tresses over her V-neck top, cascading over the swell of her shapely bosom.
“I go work Pattaya – you go Pattaya?” She stood, trying to increase the flow of air from the vent overhead.
Simon raised his eyebrows and nodded approvingly at her rounded bottom and firm smooth thighs. She hitched down the frayed hem of her tiny denim shorts before sitting again, crossing her legs. “Yes, first time actually, my first visit to Thailand. Have you worked in Pattaya before?”
She nodded and swept an offending lock of hair from her face with the tips of blue painted fingernails, the charms on her gold bracelet glittering. “Work bar soi six–me and friends. Where you stay?”
“Oh gosh, I haven’t the foggiest. Hang on.” He rummaged in the hip pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, flattening it on his lap. “Place called Honey Heaven Inn. Do you know it?”
She shook her head, taking the paper. “Oh, soi eight. I know where. Not far bar me.”
“Jolly good show, what? You can tell me all the best places to go.”
She looked at him strangely. “No have show in Honey Heaven.”
Simon tried to work out the reason for the information. “Sorry?”
“You ask if have good show.”
“Oh, I see. Sorry, it must be the way I talk. A trifle stuffy perhaps, but can’t really help it; upbringing and all that. By the way, the name’s Simon, from England.” He held out his hand.
She grinned and shook his fingers gingerly. “Not many falang shake lady hand. My name Malee.”
“Malee. A very beautiful name for a beautiful lady.”
The traffic thinned after passing Suvarnabhumi airport on the left and the bus sped along the motorway in the dwindling daylight.
A line of songtaews, ( Thai passenger vehicles adapted from pick-up trucks), waited at Pattaya’s bus station. “We take same? I show you where go.” Malee struggled with her suitcase.
“I say, how very kind. Here, let me.” Simon tried to help with the bag.
Declining she led the way to the baht bus and pushed her case inside. They hopped up to the bench and Simon dumped his backpack on the floor. He wiped sweat from his brow before polishing his spectacles and slipping them on, expecting his first look at the sea when they reached the one-way system, stop-starting in heavy traffic with the beach to the right.
Malee pushed the bell. “Soi six. You go little more, okay?” She stood to slide her case to the back.
“Take care, baby. What’s the name of your bar? Maybe I’ll pop along for a drink.”
Malee smiled. “Celestial Angels, halfway up soi.” She jumped down, retrieved her baggage and waved goodbye.
* * *
Later in the evening, Simon strolled along the seafront, enthralled by the dazzling neon signs, grinning at the traffic chaos and sniffing the delicious spicy food on vending carts. He eyed the groups of freelancers hanging around the walkway, some of the girls calling, “Where you go, sexy man?”
He crossed the road near soi seven and fancied the girl standing on the bar wiggling unsteadily in high-heeled, knee-length white boots to old disco music, hoping to drum-up customers. He waved to her and sat on the stool in front of her, bending to look up her micro skirt, pursing his lips expectantly.
She flashed a smile and briefly hitched the hem up, showing that she did have knickers on. A bored-looking older girl stopped playing Connect 4 with the only other customer and idled over. “Sawatdee kha,” she said, yawning.
“Hello there!” He swept a lock of dark hair away from his eye. “One of your finest beers if you please, my dear.”
She pulled a face at the funny voice. “You want Heineken? San Miguel?”
“Gracious, no. I think perhaps a Singha.”
A blond man joined him at the bar. “Hi there! Bit on the quiet side. Where’re you from?”
“England, but you certainly aren’t. Um, I’d guess Norway?”
“Sweden. Halvar. Good to meet you.” He shook Simon’s hand firmly.
“Simon. How do you do? Does this place get any livelier?”
Halvar laughed. “Not like it used to. I’ve never seen as many bars up for sale. Heineken, please, darling,” he ordered when the Singha arrived.
Simon took out a Benson & Hedges from a silver case and lit it with his gold Dunhill lighter. “Smoke?”
“No, thanks all the same. First time here?”
“Sure is. I heard Pattaya was not to be missed. I’m only planning on staying a few days, then back to Bangkok. I’m hoping to get a teaching job there.”
“Well, you might be talking to the right guy. You do mean teaching English?”
Simon nodded.
“You could do far worse than speak to this guy. Hang on.” He searched in his wallet and produced a business card, giving it to Simon. “Hugh Swainton Enterprises, one of the biggest language schools in Southeast Asia. Nearly always looking for good teachers. Hugh is a great guy, from America. I’ve worked for him on and off for years.”
Simon looked at the telephone numbers. “Jolly good. Thanks so much. I’ll ring him in the morning.”
Halvar shook his head. “Not for a few days; he’s on a business trip to Hong Kong. He has another little sideline, but that’s another story.”
They supped through a couple more beers and a few more customers arrived. White Boots climbed down, realising there was some commission up for grabs by serving a few drinks.
“I was thinking of popping along to soi six. I met a stunning little cutie on the bus who works a bar along there. Fancy joining me?” Simon suggested.
“Why not? Which bar?”
“Celestial Angels, or something like that.”
Halvar let out a low whistle. “Wow! That’s a really sleazy joint. Did you know that?”
“No idea, but it sounds interesting.”
A bunch of not-so-celestial angels, with lavish makeup, see-through tops, miniskirts, and stiletto heel shoes, welcomed the prospects warmly when they pushed through the heavy red curtain at the doorway. It took some minutes to adjust to the gloom; dim red lighting picked out shabby red settees in partitioned cubicles and a few high stools at the red-painted bar, illuminated with small bulbs in red globes hanging low from the canopy.
“I think it’s safer at the bar,” growled Halvar as an angel groped him.
“Whatever, old chap. Where’s my little cutie?” He pushed the specs up his nose and peered into the gloom. “Ah! There she is.”
Malee was with a client in one of the cubicles, administering her craft expertly, judging by the look on the punter’s face.
“She’s rather busy at the moment,” Simon commented dryly. “Are we still on beer or what?”
They ordered from the girl behind the bar and realised that, apart from Malee’s customer, they had the joint to themselves. A white man, obviously in charge, sat glumly staring at the empty seats from a stool behind the bar, drawing thoughtfully on a cigarette.
“So what did you do in England?” enquired Halvar, firmly holding to an angel who dared to sit on his lap.
“Precious little, really. Although, I suppose dropping out from Oxford can be classified as doing something.” He jumped and spun round when somebody pinched his backside and tried to get a hand under it.
“You want good time?” She wore a red bra and skimpy red panties.
“Later, darling, I’m building up my strength.” He took out a Benson. “And tell Malee over there it’s rude to talk with your mouth full. Where was I?” He lit up. “Oh, yes. What’s the point of all that studying when there’s no job at the end of it? Mind you, Daddy wasn’t too impressed. He felt it wasn’t quite the correct image for a Tory MP to have a wayward son.”
“Your old man’s in politics? How boring.” Halvar picked up his bottle of Heineken and sipped.
“Mummy thinks the same; she hardly ever sees him.” He drew on his cigarette. “She’s happier driving round the family estate in the Land Rover, shooting pigeons.” He blew out the remains of the smoke and flicked a lock of straight hair from his face.
The man in charge got up and leaned on the bar in front of them. “Hi gents. Sorry we’re a bit pushed for space, but you know how it is,” he muttered morosely. “Where’re you from?”
“He’s Swedish, I’m from jolly old England,” Simon chirped.
“I’d never have guessed. Cambridge? Oxford?”
“Went to Oxford, briefly, but come from Shropshire, actually.”
Halvar chimed in. “So where are all the people?”
“Ha! Good question. This city isn’t what it used to be.” He pointed to the framed notice on the corner of the bar. “Might as well say bar for free, never mind bar for sale–not a sniff. But I’m out of here in the next few days. Me and the missus have had enough.”
“Might I enquire where you are going?” Simon guzzled his beer.
“Koh Pimaan, at least it still has some life.”
“Another business?” enquired Halvar.
“Another bar, a go-go bar. It’ll be the first on Pimaan. We’ve researched it pretty thoroughly. I reckon it’s got potential. By the way, the name’s Pete, Pete Haines.”
“Halvar, and I’m Simon. How do you do? Might I have a small whisky chaser, old bean?”
Simon lit a fresh cigarette, turning to continue the conversation with Halvar. “What about you? What work did you have in Sweden?”
“Used to own a taxi business in Stockholm, but ended up paying more back to the government than I earned. I packed it in and came out here.”
“Forgive me if I’m prying, but you mentioned a sideline that this Hugh Swainton has, something, you know, interesting?”
Halvar seemed reluctant. “Well, it’s not what you go around shouting about, but you seem okay. Erotic movies, some pretty amazing stuff. It runs hand in glove with the language school because some of the students are keen to make some decent money.”
“Very clever, very clever indeed. Do you get a chance to be in on the act?”
Halvar nodded. “Yep, I’ve had a few roles.”
“Classic case of teachers and students, eh?”
“We are talking about grownups, you know. Not school kids.”
“Do they ever need more guys? I wouldn’t mind a bit of that.”
“Strangely enough, Hugh’s discussing a new film right now with the agents in Hong Kong. If it gets up and running we’ll need someone to help on the crew side, with the possibility of performing. It’s best you wait until he’s back in Bangkok, then I can put a word in for you.”
Malee came over. “So you do come? This friend you?” She smiled at Halvar. “You want lady? I find good lady take care you.”
Simon liked what he saw—big breasts bulging over the red bra top, perfect body with a flat belly. “Tell you what, my dear. You can have your wicked way with me.”
Malee led him to a cubicle and he sat on the settee, full of anticipation.
He wasn’t disappointed.
On the settee next to them, Halvar submitted to another angel offering heavenly treatment. “How’s yours?” he asked Simon.
“I’ll let you know when the earth moves, old chap.”
“Pardon?” Halvar wasn’t familiar with all the British phrases.
“Forget it.”
After a good deal of activity, Halvar asked, “Do you fancy swapping?”
“Not unless she has a toothbrush handy, sorry. One can’t be too careful where hygiene is concerned.”
Following some easy negotiation with Pete Haines, the two handed over some money, went to the toilet and were about to leave when Malee came over smiling happily at her cut that Pete had already given to her.
“I give you telephone number me. I no stay here. Go Koh Pimaan, work new go-go bar. You want see me tomorrow last day?”
“Who? Me or him?” Simon checked.
She threw a naughty look. “Both. You have good time me together. You telephone because me not work tomorrow.”
* * *
Clattering beer kegs rolling on concrete outside the bedroom at Dougle’s Hotel woke him. Ben sat up, rubbed his eyes, and groped sluggishly for his wristwatch on the bedside table; nine-thirty. Rays of morning sun filtered through the flimsy pale blue curtains. The room was hot, so he went across to the air conditioner thermostat and set it to blow colder. After gulping half a bottle of water from the fridge, he installed a new SIM card in his mobile before falling naked on the bed.
At forty, his body was well-maintained—broad
chest, tight stomach, and long strong legs. His fair hair, streaked
with silver and cut short, suited his deeply tanned face with its
firm jaws
and bright blue eyes.
He was sick and tired of the bad feeling that seemed to have infected everyone in his home village. It also seemed many residents suspected he might be guilty of stealing a lottery ticket. He found it hard to believe anyone would want to swap a ticket, let alone steal one. The idea was farcical, and he remained convinced Ronnie Brimlow had been put up to make such a stupid accusation.
He got up, showered, shaved, then fumbled in his luggage for some shorts and a T-shirt. Pulling on the well-worn bargains he’d purchased at a Thai street market at least three years previously, Ben went down for breakfast.
Duggie, perched on his favourite stool at the end of bar, greeted him brightly. “Hey! Ben, it’s good to see you again.” He scraped his stool back and stood, shaking his friend’s hand firmly. “Can’t believe you’re back so quick. Not still losing sleep over women, I hope? Not worth it, pal, not worth it.”
“Hi, Duggie, how’re you doing? Where’s Jaidee?”
“You’d not believe the problems I’ve had since you were here last. Jaidee has to spend a lot of time looking after her old mother. Could go on for ages. I just can’t find staff that can do the job anywhere near as well.”
“She knows how to run this place, that’s for sure. Look, it’s a bit late for brekkie, don’t bother...”
“No problem, Ben. They’re just clearing away, but we can rustle up some eggs and bacon if you don’t mind having what’s left over in the kitchen. I’ll join you. I could do with filling in on all this messy stuff back home. No doubt you heard all about the problems here–the airport being closed and all that? I tell you, I’m amazed how many tourists have drifted back. I don’t know how long it’ll last, though. What’s all this about winning the lottery?”