Indeed, the initial suggestion to fly with him to Thailand had particularly appealed to him due to the country’s predominantly Buddhist culture, one he had become familiar with during his meditation and yoga classes at La Fontaine. He was not particularly fond of snakes though, but knew that Jacques did not necessarily get the opportunity to select the topic of the documentaries he was commissioned to research; his only freedom of expression was the way in which he chose to film his subject and in the clever editing afterwards. By coming along, Louis had hoped that the whole project, indeed the whole experience, would help him gain a better understanding of who he was and where he was heading, when drugs ceased to be part of the equation. Moreover, film was one of the media he most enjoyed, partly due to its immediacy and partly due to its propensity for manipulating reality. Under Jacques’ tutelage, he was sure to gain invaluable insights into the process. Undoubtedly, a career in cinematography was not what his parents had had in mind, but it may prove to be the right choice for him; only time would tell. In any case, this was an opportunity he could not afford to miss.
Jacques’ travel agent had only booked accommodations for the first few days in order to let the boys get their bearings and concoct a viable plan of attack. Indeed, they needed a base from which to leap and a place secure enough to leave valuable film and equipment, while they scoured the jungle, urban and otherwise, in search of the deadly pythons. After one hour of hair-raising traffic, where they appeared to have double-backed a few times more than necessary, they came to an abrupt halt in front of one of Bangkok’s most reputable hotels, The Sukhotai. After handing the driver a tip and calling over porters to ferry in their luggage, Jacques pushed open the establishment’s impressive doors and walked over to the reception desk, closely followed by Louis, who was nervously keeping a close watch on the luggage handlers. Upbeat music drifted up from somewhere down the majestic colonnade. Drawn to it in spite of their long flight and their ordeal across town, they decided to quickly check out their room, take a salutary shower and then join the smartly attired crowd at the trendy Zuk Bar, famous for its views of the courtyard gardens with its koi-filled lotus ponds on the one side and its water garden with its mystical stupas on the other.
In the hotel brochure, room number 420 is described as an executive junior suite with balcony, suspended over the gardens below. Spacious and airy, with a small living room off the two double queen-sized bedrooms, it boasted a most spectacular marbled bathroom veined in pale celadon, with an enormous massage jets bathtub in the middle and a separate frosted glass shower. A massive plasma TV, in front of an L-shaped leather couch with a desk besides it, containing all contemporary amenities of fax machine and direct internet access, complemented the furnishings. Simple and elegant, it was designed to offer the weary traveller a welcome respite from the chaos of the city. After storing passports and travel documents in the in-room safe, rushing through a hot shower under the blasting jets, the two young men dressed in the eternal uniform of young men abroad, sporting a pair of Levis 501 and a clean white T-shirt under a well-cut linen jacket, midnight blue for Jacques to contrast with Louis’s pale green.
The atmosphere of The Zuk Bar belied off-the-record business deals and expensive toasts over secret pacts, at the end of hard-earned negotiations. Designed to be rather intimate, it offered comfortable seating, plush light carpeting and ebony wood panelling with a long slick bar exalting a myriad of exotic cocktail concoctions. A few minutes past midnight, it was lively and crowded, as an excellent DJ juggled a mix of popular songs with the latest dance sounds. A few people danced but most were seen chatting animatedly to those closest to them. As they arrived, looking around to assess the layout, they failed to notice the imperceptible nod between an older gentleman and the solicitous waiter who magically appeared at their side to discreetly lead them to a small table directly opposite.
The two thirsty Frenchmen perused the cocktail listings at length, settling in the end on the most unusual cocktails on the menu, expertly blending sweet exotic fruits with various alcohols. Relaxing, Louis lit a cigarette and began looking around. He noticed their table was located close to the dance floor, in direct view with the front door, where all comings and goings could be observed through the reflection of an imposing gilded mirror. When their drinks finally arrived, they appreciatively sipped the appealing sunset served in a tall tulip-shaped glass with matching paper umbrellas. Theirs was a delicious concoction of mangoes, pineapple and other fruits Louis could not identify but obviously gave the drink its vivid hues. They ordered their second drink shortly afterwards and half hour later, Jacques signalled for the check. The waiter though informed him politely that the bill had already been settled, pointing to a gentleman with salt and pepper hair and an impeccably cut taupe linen suit, sitting on the table directly across from them. They looked in his direction and, on cue, the gentleman in question raised his glass with a friendly smile. Intrigued, the two young men took their drinks, rose from their table and walked over to thank him for his unexpected generosity. The older man motioned for them to sit down and extended his hand, introducing himself as Paul Patek. The two young men introduced themselves in turn.
With a hint of upper class intonation, the stranger’s English accent was melodic and vaguely foreign; it suited his darker complexion, piercing blue eyes, aquiline nose, strong jaw, high forehead and thin wide mouth. He wore only one ring, a large jade stone incrusted with a symbol of some sort, set in a thick gold band. The same crest was visible on the silver pommel of the cane resting nonchalantly against the back of his seat. A black and gold Dupont lighter sat on top a matching cigarette case near his champagne flute. He opened the latter and offered them one. Jacques declined but Louis accepted. The same supercilious waiter, who had attended to their drinks earlier, brought another couple of champagne flutes and filled their glasses without being asked.
“I’m surprised to see you here already; you’re showing great resilience! I thought you might have collapsed after your long trip,” said Paul, his tone jovial.
“How did you know we just got here?” replied Jacques, clearly intrigued.
Paul ignored the question and continued on, looking at Louis inquisitively.
“Are you an actor? You certainly have the looks for it. So, what movie did you come here to film? Is it a TV series or perhaps a documentary? Or are you scouting for a big Hollywood production?”
Louis smiled, responding easily to the man’s projected self-confidence.
“No, I’m not an actor and I won’t bother to ask how you guessed we were film makers, but your curiosity deserves ours in return: do you have any vested interest in this hotel? Are you an investor, the General Manager or part owner? The personnel seem to know you well and you seem to be very observant of who checks in and out.”
Paul smiled in appreciation.
“I have many interests in many sectors but I neither own nor manage this hotel. On the other hand, I would still regard it as a home away from home. I like the energy in here and at the end of the day, every mover and shaker who travels through this city, comes through these doors: it makes for enjoyable perving. By the way, your steel cases were a dead give-away; unless you are in the business of arm trafficking, but then I would hardly expect you to check in this high-profile business hotel, now would I? So which ones of our amazing sights or social ills are you planning to put under the microscope? Are you representing an international or an independent company?”
Jacques liked the stranger’s sense of humour and quick observation skills. Besides, he enjoyed nothing more than talking about himself and his projects and thus was quick to reply.
“Frog Leap Productions is an independent company. I’ve a couple silent partners on the financial side of things. We make documentaries for different networks all over Europe and sometimes even work with co-American productions. The film we are here to make is a nature documentary focusing on South East Asia pythons, sponsored by Canal+ and the National Geographic net
work as part of a series on nature’s natural killers. Each documentary in the series has been farmed out to a different filmmaker of international reputation, so as to gather as many points of view as possible, and thus give the series as much texture as possible. We have set aside two months for the scouting, another four for the shoot, but the final editing will be done back in Paris,” explained Jacques, pleased by the stranger’s marked interest.
With an eyebrow slightly cocked and looking around the surroundings appraisingly, Paul observed keenly that they must be very well-funded, indeed. Again, Louis noticed the stranger’s mocking insinuations.
“Don’t worry, Mr? Patek, was it? We have no intention of staying here for more than a few days. We’ll just use this hotel as our commando post, a basis for operations, so to speak. We need to establish our itinerary and first visit the known sights in and around Bangkok and then go on into the jungle on the trail of this country’s lethal reptile killers. Which might prove slippery” he added with a wink.
“Please call me Paul. Mr Patek is too formal, really. May I be of service in any way?” he offered.
“And why would you?” retorted Louis suspiciously, at Jacques’ barely concealed annoyance.
“At my age, with a finger in every pie, I know a great deal many people that might prove useful to you. Knowing the right person does help in Bangkok, especially when permits and other bribes might be required. Government officials might not be as corrupt as in Indonesia, but the right change in the right hands does smooth a good deal of the way. I’m semi-retired and I’ve a good feeling about you two. It would give me great pleasure to be of service. Your project sounds like fun. It has the right mixture of hidden danger and potential for entertainment,” he added cheerfully, after drawing on his newly lit cigarette.
Looking now into Louis’s playful eyes, he added quickly, “And don’t worry, young man, I’m neither a homosexual nor a paedophile, I can assure you. My interest here is born out of nothing else but sheer boredom. To show you exactly what I mean, what about if we meet again here, about 10 pm tomorrow night. You will be my guests at supper. My chauffeur will ask for you at the concierge. The attire will be casual. Just as you are will be just fine. It’s quite late though and I shall retire. Good night, Jacques, good night, Louis. It was very nice meeting you both and I hope I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget: ten o’ clock.”
With those words, Paul rose, leaning heavily on his cane, and shook the young men’s hands, wishing them, in turn, a good night and a restful sleep. They stood up likewise, their gaze following him out as Paul weaved through the still crowded bar and the foyer, turning around once to wave at them as they pressed the button for the elevator doors, but not before watching him disappear into a sleek brand-new silver limousine which had just rolled up right outside the front doors at that very moment.
“Nice fellow,” observed Jacques as they rode up together. “I certainly didn’t expect to meet someone of his calibre on the very first night! Maybe we can use him. He may have very useful contacts for us. It’s always good to rely on someone on the ground, and avail ourselves of local knowledge, don’t you think?”
Louis nodded uncertainly, his instincts telling him that things were not always as they seemed but he kept his thoughts to himself.
“It was certainly interesting,” he said instead. “And, you’re right, there is nothing wrong in accepting a simple dinner invitation. By the way, did you notice the gorgeous girl on the dance floor? The Eurasian girl with the long black hair, who was wearing an off the shoulder emerald green little number? Generally not my type, but I couldn’t take my eyes of her. She moved as if she was part of the music…”
Jacques laughed good-naturedly.
“Certainly a far cry from the tall blonde ice princesses you usually go for! She was hard to miss, however. From where I sat, I’d say she seemed to be looking in our direction quite a few times more than necessary. Perhaps we’ll see her again. She might be a guest in the hotel. At least, I don’t think she was a call girl, but in Thailand you never know. What do you say we hit the pool tomorrow morning before the day gets too hot and then come back to the room to work on our itinerary? If we are lucky, she might be sunbathing too. Not that she needs to improve on that beautiful mocha skin, mind you…” he added lecherously.
They had reached their door and were undressed and in their respective beds in no time at all. Until the very moment their heads hit their pillow, they had not realised how exhausted they really were. They were sound asleep before they knew it.
Chapter II
And Then They Were Three
Unexpectedly, Lily’s husband had been invited to launch the American version of the very successful French Femme Magazine barely two months after the end of their honeymoon. Andre, ten years her elder, had made a career in publishing ever since graduation. In the rarefied circles of editors and editors-in-chief in whose midst he travelled, he had earned a reputation for hard work and excellent team management, combined with a keen sense of what his readers wanted to know. The promotion came with all the incentives his status as an expatriate entitled him, which in the end had made New York a lure too strong to resist. The idea that his new bride might find the move daunting barely entered his thoughts. In his opinion, Lily was both self-sufficient and independent and he was sure she would find something to while away the time. His new responsibilities were the break he had been waiting for and Andre rarely offered any apologies in the pursuit of his ambition.
The American publisher had rented a two-bedroom apartment on the Upper West Side with just the right address and breathtaking views over Central Park, complete with the traditional concierge who kept abreast of everything that happened inside its walls. As part of his new position, Andre was required to host parties to entertain both the shareholders and his advertising clients. His mandate was to turn the American Femme into the new W of fashion, thanks to in-depth articles on real women’s lives, dealing with everyday issues as long as they did it with style. Andre was to court New York’s social elite to ascertain that his magazine, its contents, its models, were on everyone’s lips. Andre knew this was a golden opportunity, the type of career move in the publishing world which only came knocking once. The promotion earmarked him for one thing only: he was being groomed for a post at the top, once he returned to Paris, after his four-year stint abroad. At his age, he reasoned, four to six years of his life of non-stop work was a small price to pay.
With only her high school diploma under her belt and family and friends on the other side of the Atlantic, Lily at first struggled to occupy her time. Andre pushed her into cooking classes, so she may host the dinners he was expected to give. He also urged her to polish her English language skills, so that she may carry a conversation like a native. Very quickly, Lily’s uncanny ability to mimic any accent turned her into a fluent New Yorker – minus the characteristic working class accent, which she only imitated when rebuking the advances of construction workers, who whistled on her passage when she walked down the street. Within two years, she had graduated from the School of the Cordon Bleu with honourable mention and had thereafter applied to NYU to pursue a bachelor degree in art. Three years later, Andre proudly toasted her graduation, forever thankful for his wife’s ability to flourish in the foreign environment he had thrown her in. However, by spending most of his time working or schmoozing clients, he had failed to observe that the witty, pretty, young and innocent teenager he had married four years earlier had turned into a savvy and well-educated young woman, who had now tasted independence, freedom and accomplishments all on her own. All too soon, Lily decided that she no longer wanted the shackles imposed by her husband’s professional status nor did she need the socially superficial environment which was his stock in trade.
One late afternoon, she had set the table for eight, had uncorked the vintage wines to let them decant and prepared dinner, leaving instructions as to how to reheat the main course; once again Andre had called her just th
at morning telling her to expect a few last minute interstate guests. For the last time, Lily had done what she was told. After packing her bags, she had folded a simple note on the hall table. “Good bye,” it read. “Thank you for everything. Thank you for gifting me the time to grow up. I don’t want anything from you except what I came into this union with. Good luck: I’m sure you’ll soon meet a woman who deserves you. Love, Lily.”
With her two bags waiting in the entrance hall, she had cast a last glance at the dinner preparations, straightening the lilies in the vases behind her. When she was satisfied Andre would find everything as he expected, she picked up her bags and hailed a cab. The driver dropped her off at an address in SoHo. She had rented the loft just the week before. It had taken her a while to find the right rent-controlled apartment but she fell in love with it the very first time she laid eyes on it. Canal Street station was within a half block walking distance. For the first time in her adult life she finally felt free.
The following day, she started a new job at Saatchi and Saatchi having been hired as part of the creative team. Indeed, her senior year project had been graded by executives of the firm who, impressed by her flair, had immediately offered her a job following graduation. She spent the next five years slowly climbing the corporate ladder. She now occupied a much envied corner office, overlooking both the twin towers and Central Park. She had been allowed to decorate it according to her taste and she had opted for pale grey carpeting, a soft two-seater suede couch with a black mirrored coffee table and two matching suede stools. Her black glass-top desk allowed for a couple of high backed chairs to face her when she held private meetings. The business classes she had taken as electives in college had come in handy when it came to getting the upper hand in the business world; indeed, she had retained the psychological advantages, which were said to be earned whenever her interlocutors faced the sun-hit window behind her, unable to read her expression cast in shadows, sitting in chairs just a touch uncomfortable, surrounded by elegant furnishings but without apparent personal touches.
The Samui Conspiracy Page 3