The Scottish Banker of Surabaya - By Ian Hamilton Page 0,32

palace before the fall of Saigon in 1975. There was a tank sitting on the front lawn, a tribute to the communist forces who had crashed the palace gates, and a Huey helicopter on the roof, symbolizing the flight of the Americans and their Vietnamese allies. Tran nodded in the palace’s direction. “You should visit there,” he said.

Every local she had met on her previous trip had said the same thing. “I have,” she lied.

Traffic opened up a little as they neared the Hyatt, and it was just past four when Tran pulled into Lam Son Square and entered the circular driveway at the front of the hotel. “I’ll leave my car here. I’ll be at the bar when you’re ready to leave.”

She checked in and managed to get a room on the top floor, the ninth, where she would have a good view of the city and, she hoped, the Sai Gon River. The hotel was advertised as five-star and it didn’t disappoint. Her room was spacious; the wooden floors gleamed; the bed was covered in a snow-white duvet that looked as if it could swallow her. She unpacked quickly, leaving her change of clothes on the bed, and then stripped and went into the bathroom. It had a walk-in rain shower that she almost leapt into. She showered for five minutes, maybe longer, luxuriating in the gentle spray and soaping head to foot.

When she came out and reached for a towel, she saw herself in the mirror that took up most of a wall. She was proud of her body. Genes had given her beautiful proportions and breasts that were firm and high despite their size. The rest of it was her doing — more exercise than diet, though. She was lean and muscular. She turned sideways. Her tummy was still completely flat; her bum was hard if not quite round. The only imperfection she could see was the scar on her thigh, and she was even beginning to like it. She pulled her hair back, stretching her body like a cat.

Ava dressed in the bedroom: white bra and panties, black slacks, and a white Brooks Brothers shirt with a modified Italian collar and French cuffs, which she fastened with the green jade links. Her shoulder-length hair was still a bit damp from the shower, so she brushed it with vigour until it felt dry. She pulled it back with the ivory chignon pin, which seemed to sparkle in contrast to her silky jet-black hair. She then took black mascara and red lipstick from her makeup bag and applied them lightly.

She stepped back and looked at herself again in the mirror above the dresser. She hardly recognized herself. More than two months of shorts, T-shirts, tracksuits, no makeup, hair tied back, and no jewellery had created a perception of herself that a five-minute shower, a change of clothes, a little makeup, and her hair properly fixed had crushed. She knew she looked good, and she felt good. Maybe she was ready to go back to work after all.

Tran sat at a small table in the bar, a glass of what looked like sparkling water in front of him. He was positioned so he could see everyone entering the room, and Ava felt his eyes on her the second she stepped into it. However, it wasn’t until his attention moved to her face that he seemed to realized it was her. He stood quickly, a sheepish grin on his face. “You’ve changed,” he said.

“Can we go?” she asked. She drew more stares as they walked through the lobby. Her walk was unhurried, her shoulders square, her breasts ever so slightly thrust forward. Tran kept looking sideways at her.

The police car was parked directly across from the main entrance. Tran opened the front door for her, and this time he waited until she got in before closing it after her. As they pulled away from the Hyatt, Ava said, “Tell me everything you know about Lam.”

“Which one?”

“Both, I guess.”

Traffic was even denser now than the hour before, and Tran had to sit at the curb for several minutes before he could pull out and into Lam Son Square. Ava saw him reach for the siren button. “I’d rather you didn’t,” she said.

“Just for a few minutes. If I don’t use it, we could be in this two-block area for at least twenty minutes.”

“Okay.”

The screech inside the car wasn’t as bad as she had imagined it would be. Outside it must