The Scottish Banker of Surabaya

by Ian Hamilton

  Fay turned down a side street, drove the car halfway onto the sidewalk, and turned off the engine. They were directly in front of a restaurant that opened onto the street. “We’d better move fast if we want to get a table,” she said, leaping from the car.

  They sat no more than a yard from the sidewalk, just inside the shade. “John said we’re going to X.O Suki tonight, so I thought it might be different for you to eat something local.”

  “I’m easy,” said Ava.

  “You want a beer?”

  “White wine?”

  “They won’t have it.”

  “Then just a sparkling water.”

  “Bintang, the local beer, is good.”

  “No, thanks. Beer gives me headaches.”

  “How about food — any allergies or anything?”

  “Order what you want.”

  Fay spoke in Indonesian to the waiter, then turned to Ava when he left. “John told me you’re an accountant.”

  “I am,” Ava said, and repeated the story about the Hong Kong client.

  “He’s a bit confused as to why you want to meet with Bank Linno. They’re not exactly first-class, you know.”

  “My client gave me the name and asked me to check up on them. It isn’t my choice.”

  Their drinks arrived in bottles with two frosted empty glasses and a plate of lime wedges. “John says you’re a friend of a friend.”

  “That’s true — Johnny Yan.”

  “He lives in Toronto, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re in Hong Kong?”

  Ava saw that Fay was trying to connect the dots. She was bright, this one, and more alert than her husband. “I live in Toronto, but I have a client base that’s mainly Asian and I’m affiliated with a company in Hong Kong, so I travel there quite often.”

  “I see.”

  The waiter brought a plate of plain white long-grain rice piled high in the shape of a cone. “We can spice that up with the sauces that come with our meal,” Fay said. “I ordered fried fish, sardines with a tomato sambal, and shrimp in a hot coconut sauce.”

  “Sambal means ‘sauce,’ doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah, basically it does. And nearly all our sauces have some amount of coconut milk in them.”

  “I’m not up to speed on Indonesian cooking.”

  “Why would you be?”

  “Exactly.”

  The dishes came together, and talk ended as Fay spooned rice onto both of their plates, then placed the tiny whole, cleaned sardines right in the middle and coated them with tomato sambal.

  Fay ate the way Ava did, quickly and efficiently, as if afraid to let the food get cold or the flavours dissipate. Halfway through the meal they finished their drinks and ordered another round.

  When they were done, Ava sighed. “Those were brilliant choices.”

  “Did you like your food?”

  “Loved it.”

  “How do you keep so thin?”

  “Exercise and genes.”

  “I’m just genes.” The sun had crept sideways and was now starting to encroach on their table. “Time to leave,” Fay said.

  They hadn’t driven far before the streets began to narrow. Fay parked the car on the sidewalk again. “We’ll have to walk from here.”

  “You’re not afraid of getting a ticket or being towed?”

  Fay looked at her as if she had made a joke. “No, that won’t be a problem,” she said, opening her glove compartment. She pulled out a plastic sign and placed it on the dash. “That says, Don’t dare give this car a ticket.” And then she took out two scarves. “Let’s walk.”

  Whatever breeze there was in the narrow street was blowing in their direction, and Ava began to pick up faint aromas. She looked around and couldn’t see their origin. Then Fay took a hard right and they were on a street lined on either side with shops and stalls. “The Arab quarter,” she said.

  Fay led Ava through the warren, past shops selling fruit, pistachios, dates, sultanas, rugs, prayer beads, an array of spices, roast lamb, skewered chicken sizzling on hotplates, jewellery. Ava wanted to loiter, maybe shop a little. Fay kept walking. After two more turns they entered a narrow alley and the sky disappeared. The passageway was covered, like a souk in Marrakech, hung about with bright cloths, batiks, and beads in a hundred brilliant colours. Fay handed Ava a scarf. “Here we need to cover our heads so as not to draw attention.”

  Ava followed her example and tucked in behind her as the crowd began to thicken, forcing them to walk in single file. They shuffled along until Fay moved to one side. Ava found herself in an open courtyard, a mosque in front of them.

  “This is the Ampel Mosque. It’s the oldest and most sacred mosque in Java.”

  To Ava’s eye it didn’t look any different from most of the other mosques she had seen, but she bit her tongue. What was different were the gardens to the side, filled with low frangipani trees and several knots of worshippers prostrate on the ground outside the mosque.

  “Those are pilgrims who come to worship Sunan Ampel,” Fay said, noting Ava’s interest. “He was one of the nine founders of Islam in Java, and he built this mosque. When he died in 1481, he was buried here. They’re praying at his grave.”

  “Most religion is lost on me,” said Ava.

  Fay glanced quickly in her direction. “Don’t say that too loudly here.”

  “I don’t mean to be disrespectful.”

  “Do you want to go into the mosque?”

  “I’d rather not.”

  Fay turned. “Then let’s walk back to the car. I have some shopping to do on the way. I hope you don’t mind.”

  As they walked away, Ava said, “I hope I didn’t offend you. You’re Muslim, correct?”

  “Notionally.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that my family is in business and that one of my many dead relatives decided decades ago that it was easier to do business as a Muslim. None of us actually practise the religion.”

  “I’m the same kind of Catholic.”

  “In name only?”

  “Exactly.”

  It was a long, slow journey back to the car. Fay was at the market for fruit and pepper, and every third vendor seemed to be selling one or the other. While Fay haggled, Ava slipped into some clothing and jewellery shops. By the time they got back to the car, Fay had two bags filled with oranges, papayas, and mangos. Ava had twenty-two-karat gold hoop earrings for her mother and Maria, and sarongs in various colours and sizes for Mimi, Marian, and her nieces.

  Fay looked at her watch. “We need to get you back to the hotel soon if we’re to have time to shower and get dressed for dinner.”

  “I’m ready to go if you are.”

  “Just one more stop, I think.”

  They drove through more of old Surabaya, Ava sensing the river’s presence the entire way, to what was obviously the city’s Chinatown. “My grandfather used to bring me here when I was a little girl,” Fay said as she parked the car, this time almost completely on the sidewalk.

  They walked past noodle shops, herbal stores with their baskets of dried twigs, restaurants with barbecued pigs hanging in the window. Ava could have been in Hong Kong, or in downtown Toronto. Fay turned into a narrow alleyway. Ava followed, right into a cloud of incense.

  At the end of the alley stood a traditional Chinese temple, fronted by bronze statues and altars meant for worship. There were as many people there as had been at the mosque. They kneeled and bowed in front of the statues and placed fruit on the altars, the joss sticks held between their palms leaching thin coils of sweet smoke. There was a line of candles on either side of the alleyway, each candle about three metres high. “They light those at night,” Fay said. “It lends even more of an aura to the place.”

  “What is this temple called?”

  “Kong Co Kong Tik Cun Ong.”

  Ava looked at the separate groups of worshippers. “Why are there so many altars?”

  “
My grandfather used to pray at the one on the left — it’s Confucian. The one in the middle is Buddhist and the one on the right is for Taoists. I guess it’s a multi-denominational temple,” Fay said.

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Well, here it is.”

  “Do you ever pray here?”

  “Yes. I can’t help myself; it’s like I’m reconnecting with my grandfather.”

  There were stands to the left of the temple selling various fruits and joss sticks. Ava left Fay and walked over to them. She bought an orange and four joss sticks, which she had the vendor light. When she returned, Fay had moved to the Confucian altar, her head bowed in prayer.

  Ava went to the Taoist one and placed the orange at the base of the statue. She slipped the sticks between her palms, the smoke from the incense rising towards her face. Head bowed, rocking ever so slightly, she began to pray. She prayed for her mother and her father. She prayed for her sister and her nieces. She prayed for Mimi and Derek and their unborn child. She prayed for Maria. She prayed for all of her half-siblings. And then she prayed for Uncle. As she did, tears began to roll down her cheeks. If there is a god, any god — Taoist, Christian, Muslim, Hindu — please look after Uncle, she prayed.

  She wasn’t sure how long she had stood in front of the altar, but if it weren’t for the gentle tap on her shoulder from Fay, the joss sticks might have burned their way into her flesh. They walked in silence back to the car, each lost in her own thoughts.

  Fay was the first to speak on the way back to the hotel. “We don’t overdress for dinner here, but you’ll need to change.”

  Ava smiled, relieved that Fay had not asked about her tears. “I have some linen slacks and a dress shirt.”

  “Perfect.”

  “What time?”

  “We’ll pick you up at the hotel around six.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Ava felt Fay looking sideways at her. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No,” Fay said. “There’s just something I need to say.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Andy Cameron . . . he’s a bit of a pig.”

  “So John told me last night,” Ava said, wondering why it was so important to tell her.

  “He’s going to hit on you for sure. He can’t help himself.”

  “I can handle it.”

  Fay gave her a double take. “I had to tell you anyway. I’ve heard things that I don’t like. He can get out of hand, it seems.”

  “He won’t get close enough to try.”

  “I’m not trying to put a damper on the evening. I’m sure we’ll have a good time, and he can be fun. It’s just that I don’t want to see you put in an awkward position.”

  “Enough said, Fay. I do understand.”

  “Just be careful.”

  ( 19 )

  It was just past five when Fay pulled up to the entrance of the Majapahit. “Bu Ava,” the doorman said as she reached the entrance.

  She checked her cellphone as she walked up the stairs to her room. It hadn’t rung all afternoon and she couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Out of habit she hit the Missed Calls button and saw two from Sonny. Was her ring mode on? It was. When had he called? She realized it was when she’d been praying at the temple.

  Ava waited until she was in her room before returning his calls. His wei was brusque. “It’s Ava. Sorry I couldn’t answer the phone before. I was in a temple.”

  “I talked to Lourdes.”

  “Good.”

  “The doctor’s name is Parker.”

  “Gweilo?”

  “All I know is his name is Graham Parker.”

  “Kowloon?”

  “Yeah, near the Ocean Mall.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’ll call him?”

  “Sonny, this is not something I can do over the phone. I’ll be back in Hong Kong in a few days, I think, and I’ll try to set up a meeting.”

  “Lourdes is scared.”

  “I know.”

  “So am I.”

  “Me too. But I can tell you now, if I phone the doctor he won’t tell me anything. I need to get in front of him, so you’re going to have to be patient until I get there. And for goodness sake, tell Lourdes to stay calm. We don’t know anything for sure, do we.”

  “No,” Sonny said.

  “No. So let’s get our facts straight before we jump to conclusions.”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ava hung up and sat on the side of bed. Now she had to get calm. This job, which hadn’t meant that much to her when she started it, now seemed almost meaningless. She’d have dinner with Cameron and find out what she could about the bank. That was as far as she was willing to commit. And if the dinner yielded nothing of interest, she was getting on a plane for Hong Kong.

  There was a smell in the room. Incense. Her hair and T-shirt were imbued with it. She stripped and went into the bathroom, the marble floor cold to her feet. She turned the shower on full blast and jacked up the water temperature to as close to scalding as she could bear. She washed her body quickly and then poured the entire bottle of hotel shampoo into her hair. She scrubbed, her fingers kneading her scalp, washing out the incense and trying to rid her mind of negative thoughts.

  When she was done, she stood in the middle of the bathroom, water dripping from her body, and towelled her hair as briskly as she had washed it. Dinner tonight and then I’m out of here, she thought. And if this is my going-away party, then I’m going to look good.

  Ava put on black lace underwear and a black push-up bra. She brushed her hair until she could see it gleam in the mirror, and then fixed it back with her ivory chignon pin. She had packed a pink shirt that was a particular favourite, and she secured its cuffs with the green jade links. She left the two top buttons of the shirt undone to show her gold crucifix. Then she slipped on her fitted black linen slacks and her Cole Haan black leather pumps.

  She seldom used much makeup, but tonight she added an extra touch of red lipstick and a little more mascara than usual. The effect was still understated, but the lipstick created a nice contrast to her skin and the mascara magnified her eyes.

  She put on her Cartier watch, the shirt cuff sliding over it. It was almost six o’clock. She debated taking her Chanel bag and decided against it. The notebook and her phone could stay in the room as well. She’d go to dinner au naturel.

  ( 20 )

  “I’m with the two most beautiful women in Surabaya,” John Masterson said from the driver’s seat of his Mercedes.

  “Well trained, isn’t he?” Fay said, turning back to look at Ava from the passenger seat.

  They had been close to half an hour late getting to the hotel and Ava had been in the lobby, phoneless, at six. Fay had her paged, so rather than hanging around at the door, Ava sat in the lounge and had a glass of Meursault.

  Fay came into the hotel to get her. Ava watched as she crossed the lobby, stilettos clicking. She was wearing a sundress, white with a delicate floral pattern. The dress came just above the knee and had a neckline that exposed the top of abundant breasts. Heads turned as she passed and Ava saw her smile, obviously aware of and enjoying the attention.

  “You look absolutely gorgeous,” Ava said.

  Fay nodded in agreement. “And so do you. I wish I had your elegance.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Ava said, pleased all the same with the compliment.

  They left the hotel side by side, Fay’s stilettos making her almost exactly the same height as Ava. The doorman bowed to the waist. “Bu Fay, Bu Ava,” he said, running to open the car doors for them.

  “Sorry to be late,” Masterson said as Ava got in. “I was on a conference call with New York. And then Cameron got tied up at the bank and phoned to say he wasn’t going to be at the restaurant until seven anyway.”

  They pulled out of the hotel, turned left, and then turned left again into the parking lot of Tunjungan Plaza. �
��Goodness me, we could have walked,” Ava said.

  “We are going to walk,” Masterson said.

  The mall was even larger inside than it looked from the outside, and Ava would never have found the restaurant by herself. Even with Masterson’s knowledge of the place it was still close to a ten-minute walk from the car to the restaurant. There was a long line outside that Masterson ignored, moving to the entrance and shouting something in Indonesian to a host. The host waved them inside and took them to a table at the back of the restaurant.

  “No Cameron yet,” Masterson said as they sat.

  “I owe you a couple of thanks,” Ava said to him. “Fay was a wonderful guide and hostess today, and you got Cameron for me tonight.”

  “I’ll take the one for Fay. As for Cameron, let’s wait until the evening is over.”

  “Speaking of whom . . .” Fay said, looking towards the door.

  He was in a grey business suit, the large knot of his tie pulled halfway down his chest, the tail swinging right and left as he bounced across the floor. He was shorter than Ava had imagined, maybe not even five foot six, and with the belly that Masterson had accurately described he looked a bit like a garden gnome in a suit. His hair was streaked blond, cut short, and gelled into little spikes. His lips were compressed as if in thought, his eyes darting around the restaurant. Masterson raised an arm and waved lazily. Cameron saw them and a quick grin cut across his face.

  Masterson stood and extended his hand. Cameron shook it, turned to Fay, kissed her on both cheeks, and then stood back to stare at Ava. His eyes were blue, almost sparkling. This is either a very happy man or he’s on some kind of medication, Ava thought.

  “John didn’t exaggerate. He said you were a real beauty,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  Cameron settled in at the table. “Have you ordered yet?”

  “Waiting for you,” Masterson said.

  “Beer please, lots of beer. It’s Friday fucking night and I need to wash the taste of the bank out of my mouth.”

  “How about you girls?” Masterson asked.

  “White wine for me,” Fay said.