by Ray Scott
Wallace raised his eyes heavenwards when he thought of the damage that can be committed by desk bound wonders after hard work carried out by hardworking sales staff.
‘Who wants to know, who is this?’ the question came again as Wallace’s thought processes delayed the reply.
‘Harry Wallace.’
‘He will ring you,’ and the other rang off. If he was a member of the banking staff he was clearly a very undiplomatic one.
McKay rang again to arrange a meeting for the next day, Wallace wrote down his number on the small pad supplied by the hotel and slipped it into the small ticket pocket on the waistband of his trousers so that he wouldn’t lose it. He had lost telephone messages before when pulling out handkerchiefs, wallets or banknotes. Then Kalim came through.
‘Hallo Harry, you are well?’
‘Good thanks.’ Wallace gave the stock Australian response, which was hardly accurate as he still felt nauseous.
‘About tonight, I have found that the restaurant we used the other night is fully booked, but I have found another near Knightsbridge,’ he gave the name of it and the address. ‘I’ll see you there at 7 o’clock.’
‘Done,’ Wallace said as he put down the telephone. The thought crossed his mind that somebody must have a big function on to have fully booked the restaurant they had been patronising previously as it was quite a large establishment. It also occurred to Wallace, too late, that in his present delicate state it may have been advisable to have postponed the dinner date, although his stomach appeared to be faring better than previously, the back of his throat still had that awful taste of bile. As he prepared to leave the hotel for another brief walk and exploration around London he caught sight of a motif on the wall.
‘Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life.’
He later had cause to reflect upon the irony of that statement.
Chapter 10
Kalim was already there when Wallace arrived; he raised his hand in greeting with a welcoming smile. Wallace sat down exhibiting a bonhomie that was quite false. He didn’t feel well. The after taste of that damned meat pie, purchased from that street vendor and hurriedly eaten, was still present and it was even causing the back of his neck to sweat.
‘I have already ordered a whisky for you,’ Kalim said. ‘How do you like the place?’
‘Pretty good,’ Wallace confessed as he looked around the establishment, which caused him some discomfort as he experienced a momentary slight dizziness and nausea. Damn that meat pie! The tables were all set with white cloths, with red napkins and vases of flowers. There was a definite Asian look about the place, in fact the facia outside had indicated that it was an Indonesian restaurant, which filled him with some unease as he was not too adventurous with regard to food when he felt the best, which at present he did not.
Wallace remembered his friend Clive Passay telling him of the night he had been in a restaurant in Thailand with business connections, his companion had apparently ordered something for him, which turned out to be drunken prawns, which had been placed alive in alcohol, where they had become inebriated and then cooked alive. Clive had had to force some of it down, managing to hide the rest in his napkin which he had later ditched in a waste bin when he went to the toilet.
The waiters and waitresses were all of Asian origin, with red blouses or shirts and black trousers or skirts. There was an exception, one of the waiters looked European. He looked to be of Latin origin, and had a moustache.
There was an orchestra stand, not presently occupied, and a bar with several people gathered around it. The air conditioning was working and the air smelt clean. A television set over the bar was currently running a BBC news bulletin.
‘We really must make a habit of this, when will you next be in Jakarta?’
‘Not…!’ Wallace hastily cut off what he had been about to say which had been ‘not bloody ever!’ However he realised this may be construed as insulting, plus it may prompt questions as to why he was so emphatic.
‘Not in the near future,’ he finally said.
‘Then maybe we shall meet in Melbourne – or possibly the USA,’ said Kalim. ‘Come, another drink, let us drink to that.’
They raised their glasses and drank to that, then as the Scotch went down Wallace recalled Ravindran’s warning…stay sober with this man. There was also the question of his continuing queasiness. He gave a cynical grunt to himself as the whisky went down and brought on a coughing fit, plus a burning in the stomach which reinforced the determination to take it easy with his present queasiness.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes thanks.’
‘Another!’ Kalim snapped his fingers at the waiter who was hovering.
‘Well, no I…!’ but it was too late. A feeling of unease began to replace the sensation of bonhomie. This was the third drink that had been supplied within a matter of minutes, that European waiter appeared to be serving their table only, he didn’t wander far away. Then Wallace had another thought, which was the other jarring he had experienced recently aside from the engineer – financial adviser glitch. Hadn’t he heard that Muslims didn’t drink alcohol? True, it was a requirement of the religion that in some circles was honoured as much in the breach as the observance, but Kalim appeared to be sloshing it and inviting Wallace to do the same. Further, the mention of Jakarta had hit his subconscious mind and, like it or not, Kalim had been a part of that interlude that had been one of the most frightening of his life.
The waiter appeared with two full wine glasses which he placed upon the table. He had a smaller table a few feet away upon which reposed the bottle within an ice bucket.
Wallace shifted his chair slightly, there was a potted plant very close to his right hand side, if the liquor was going to continue to flow as freely as it had so far, then regardless of who he was with he had no intention of swilling it; especially after the ailment incurred earlier in the day courtesy of that meat pie which still persisted. He liked feeling merry, yes…but hated being drunk. The potted plant could act as an alternative alimentary canal, if he could tip liquor into it without being seen by Kalim or that blasted waiter. He edged his chair yet closer to that plant, it was now within reach.
‘Is anything wrong?’
‘No, nothing,’ Wallace replied. ‘I just wanted an uninterrupted view of the stage, and one of those spot lights was shining straight at me – it’s OK now.’
Kalim knocked back his drink at one go, Wallace gave the appearance of doing the same, tilting his head back and allow-ing only a very small part of the contents of the glass to trickle between his lips and into his mouth. Then he closed his lips and left the bulk in the glass. As Kalim turned once more to snap his fingers at the waiter, who for once was some distance away near the bar area, Wallace dexterously flicked the rest of the contents of the glass into the earth surrounding the plant as he brought the glass down from his mouth. By the time Kalim turned back again Wallace was replacing his glass on the table.
Wallace was fairly adept at this technique, he had used it many times before when determined to remain sober, the last time had been in Jakarta when drinking with Warren Hamilton, Jack Durham & Co. In that case it had been a nearby table of empty glasses. He hated it when his speech slurred, and even more the sensation of being hung over the next morning. However, his action was nullified by the waiter who promptly refilled his glass.
Kalim despatched his third Scotch while Wallace had sipped at his, without imbibing any of it. He couldn’t do anything about ditching it yet as Kalim was talking and looking at him, but there may be an opportunity later on.
They talked on many things, the world situation and the balance of payments problem currently affecting Australia and also Indonesia, and some other troubles of Indonesia. Kalim appeared to be quite realistic about his country’s ills.
‘Like so many former colonies we attained our independence and then we insisted upon doing everything ourselves and despised our former masters. A natural enough reaction bu
t it would have been wiser to have utilised their expertise.’
‘Yes, that happened in many African countries,’ Wallace commented. ‘They abolished much of what the British had created, like the public service, and then ran into trouble. As for Australia, we had no colonies, but we gained by taking in many of the Dutch who came from the old East Indies, many of them were good farmers and administrators.’
‘The logical place for them to go, they had more in common with Australians than they would have had with their own mother country – Holland. The same with the British in India, they were very different from those living in Britain, especially just after Indian independence when undoubtedly they would have been very much at odds with a Westminster Labour Government.’
The waiter reappeared with a wine bottle, Wallace realised this was the second one; the first was still half full. He resolved to go easy.
‘Then our first government was taken over by Suekarno, a man of charisma but unfortunately it went to his head and he began to take over everything and became a dictator. Maybe there is a good argument for such a regime in the early days, your mother country had its William the Conqueror, and later Oliver Cromwell when the country needed a new direction. Africa became littered with dictatorships such as Ghana, Uganda and Zambia, and latterly Zimbabwe.’
He paused while a waitress appeared with the soup.
‘Some African nations had a good run, others did not. Our Suekarno had many years, but not too many. He had about 15 years and another five when his power had declined. Unfortunately he came under communist influence and this brought about the revolt in the late 1960’s and the subsequent purging and massacre of communists.’
‘Then Suharto came to power.’
‘Yes – unfortunate that their names sound so similar, very confusing at times for foreigners. Suharto developed more friendly relations with Western nations, including your own.’
‘It’s nice to find somebody who wants to be friendly with us.’
Kalim grinned.
‘The English sarcasm…or should I say…cynicism.’
‘Not so much of the English,’ Wallace retorted.
‘I’m sorry, perhaps I should have said…of the Anglo-Saxon… eh?’ Kalim smiled. ‘Ah…I see the orchestra have decided to bestir themselves.’
Orchestra was perhaps an exaggeration, the players were a sextet, but the music was passable. They talked on about politics, sex and life in general. Looking back, Wallace could say that the conversation had been uplifting and memorable that night and despite subsequent events it still remained in his memory. It was a temporary meeting of minds, whatever their status, origins, beliefs or intentions.
Kalim excused himself briefly and went, Wallace assumed, to the gents toilet. Wallace waited until the waiter was distracted elsewhere, he seemed to disappear for long periods despite the place filling up, he didn’t appear to diversify his activities to other tables, but devoted almost all of his time to Wallace and Kalim. Wallace took advantage of Kalim’s temporary absence to pour the remains of his whisky glass into the plant together with the contents of his wine glass and also managed to dispose of some of the contents of the bottle by refilling his glass and then ditching that as well. He wasn’t altogether regretful to be ditching what purported to be good wine, whatever it was there was a slight tang to it. He assumed that maybe it was an Asian vineyard or distillery, but on examining the label found it was French.
Wallace felt a little top heavy, but certainly not drunk. If he had consumed all that had been made available up to now he would have been much the worse for wear and probably flat on his back. As far as Kalim was concerned, it was miraculous how he had managed to soak up all the liquor he had consumed and for it to show so little effect. The waiter made frequent returns to the table, removed the glasses, topped them up from the bottle that was on his waiting table and then came back with them. The waiter topped Wallace’s glass up again before disappearing again, and when his back was turned Wallace got rid of it in the usual place, after checking to see that there was no sign of a returning Kalim. The waiter’s routine did begin to strike Wallace as somewhat strange, in his experience waiters normally appeared with the bottle and topped up the patrons’ glasses, this one took the glasses away and topped them up elsewhere, and brought them back filled to the brim.
Kalim returned and they both talked on as they commenced the main course. Wallace had partaken of a few mouthfuls when the queasiness that had been threatening for some time suddenly became more acute. That wretched meat roll was still repeating on him, plus there was a tang to what little of the wine he had imbibed that left an unpleasant aftertaste.
‘You are all right?’ asked Kalim, eyeing him with some concern.
‘Yes,’ Wallace replied. ‘But I have to depart for a few minutes – call of nature, you understand?’
He nodded and Wallace excused himself and went to the wash room where he swilled the backs of his hands and wrists under the cold tap. He had heard years ago it was a useful method of counteracting the effects of inebriation, maybe it was bullshit but it did make him feel better. Then the queasiness hit again, and he made a dash for one of the cubicles, thankfully there was nobody else in the toilets. The urge to vomit was irresistible, he had time to remove his jacket and hang it on the door before dropping to his knees with his head down the pan.
Wallace’s heart sank when he returned to the table and found another full glass of wine awaiting him. The only consolation was that after the unfortunate episode in the toilets he did feel a little better. Kalim was standing near to the bar in animated conversation with the waiter, who looked up at Wallace and then drifted away as Wallace returned to the table. He had the feeling that they were both looking a little puzzled about something, maybe the potted plant had died. His unfinished main course was still on the table, Kalim was still at the bar conversing with the waiter when Wallace became aware that the waitress was at his elbow.
‘Sir?’ she said, looking at his plate. ‘You are finished?’
‘Yes,’ Wallace replied, and moved it in her direction. ‘You can take it. Sorry, bit too much for me I’m afraid.’
She smiled sympathetically and removed the plate, stacking it with about three others she was already carrying, which effectively masked Wallace’s as Kalim returned. The waitress reappeared a few moments later with the sweets menu. A long necked glass of ice cream was ordered for Wallace; he didn’t really want it but Kalim ordered two, one for himself and one for Wallace. He felt it would have been churlish to refuse, though he did fear the consequences if he tried to push any more food down after his recent indisposition. He also had some coffee, which was subsequently brought by the waiter. He didn’t like the coffee either, it had an acrid taste, probably some Indonesian brand so he left it near his elbow where it cooled off. The taste was vaguely familiar; it had a similar tang to the wine.
‘Drink up, Harry,’ said Kalim cordially, and looked at the clock over the bar. ‘I was going to suggest a night cap at my apartment – it isn’t far away and we shall be thrown out of here very soon.’
He laughed. Wallace dutifully followed suit and it sounded like a death rattle.
‘Hmmm!’ Wallace said for want of something else to say. The thought of more liquor being pushed in his direction did not appeal; he had had enough trouble already diverting the quantities that had come in his direction so far. He was also feeling more and more uneasy. Not only was he recalling what Ravindran had said, but was also thinking back to that nightmare last day in Jakarta when he had been heading for the airport in the embassy vehicle with Alex Miller. He had definitely seen Kalim in the street entering a police station after an animated conversation with uniformed police when, according to what he had told Wallace when he departed, he should have been on an outgoing flight.
Wallace looked at Kalim as Wallace raised his wine to his lips and tilted it, keeping his lips tightly shut. He lowered the glass and didn’t replace it on the table but sat nursing
it. Kalim looked at Wallace and smiled but he seemed to be smiling only with his mouth, somehow his eyes belied the expression, his eyes were darting to the left and the right. For once he didn’t look at ease. He followed the waiter with his glance as the latter circled the table on his way to the trolley from which he dispensed the drinks.
‘It is time we went, I’ll settle the account.’
He turned round and signalled to the waiter, who acknowledged. That enabled Wallace to get rid of another Scotch that had appeared from somewhere. This left only the coffee and the wine. He sipped the latter with caution, and when Kalim turned to look for the waiter again Wallace saw that the waitress, who was clearing up the tables, was heading in his direction. So he tipped his wine into the glass containing the ice cream, which he had hardly touched.
The waitress came by and he indicated what she could take, she removed both items from the table before Kalim, who was still searching for the waiter, would have been able to see what had been done. As Kalim turned again to signal to the waiter, Wallace handed his still full coffee cup to the waitress who took it without demur, balanced everything skilfully and made her way towards the kitchen.
Wallace was feeling decidedly muzzy, and his legs felt queer. Despite his skill at disposal and his performance in the toilets he had still imbibed a small amount, but he felt vastly better than had he drunk the lot. Had he done so he would hardly have been able to walk, yet strangely Kalim, who appeared to have liberally hit the bottle, seemed to be unaffected.
The bill eventually arrived and Kalim perused it carefully, his manner indicated that he thought something was wrong and he signalled to the waiter once more.
‘There is one bottle too many,’ he said coldly, and pointed to the bill. ‘Also, Mr Wallace did not have an entrée.’
The waiter looked embarrassed, and took the account away. Kalim looked at Wallace. ‘I always check,’ he said. ‘There is always something there that should not be there. Am I unduly suspicious?’