The Scottish Banker of Surabaya - By Ian Hamilton Page 0,47
visible. A uniformed doorman came down the steps to greet her. Ava tried to wave off his help, but he either didn’t speak English or didn’t care. He took both of her bags and led her into the lobby.
Everywhere she looked was marble and a mixture of rich woods. Ceiling fans churned overhead, more ornamental than functional, for she could feel the snap of air conditioning. A stairway carpeted in a deep dark blue slashed with bright gold flowers led from the lobby up to the second floor.
Ava loved hotels that had character, and the Majapahit’s elegant colonial style had as much as she had ever seen. She had a standard garden-terrace suite on the third floor. The room was immense, more than forty square metres, she figured, and there was a marvellous sense of balance between the furnishings, the decorative touches, and the gleaming teak floors. The furniture was made of a mixture of hardwoods, mainly mahogany, she thought. Two large windows framed the far side of the room, their wooden shutters opening onto the gardens below. A ceiling fan turned slowly above a giant bed with a large wooden headboard and a sea of crisp white linens and duvet. She threw herself on the bed and sank deep into the covers.
From the bed she could see the bathroom’s marble floors, sink, and tub, set off by gold faucets. And tucked in the corner was a modern shower stall with a head that looked as if it could adjust to multiple settings. She glanced across the room at a chest of drawers. On top there was a hot water Thermos, cups and saucers that had to be fine bone china, and an array of teas and instant coffees. No Italian espresso machine.
Perfect, she was thinking, when she heard her phone ring. She hadn’t even realized it was on. She leapt off the bed, grabbed her bag, and pulled out the phone. The caller ID showed the Indonesian country code. Perkasa?
“Ava Lee.”
“Ava, this is John Masterson.”
“Who?”
“John Masterson. I’m a friend of Johnny Yan and Henry Pang. Johnny emailed me that you were coming here and that you’re a good friend of his. He gave me this phone number.”
“Ah, yes.”
“I didn’t know when you were arriving, so I thought I’d check.”
“I’m here now. I’ve just arrived, actually.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Majapahit.”
“Great choice.”
“Yes, I think it is.”
“Look, have you had dinner?”
She hesitated and then saw no reason to lie. “No.”
“Neither have I. I’ve been waiting for my wife to get back from a business trip to Jakarta, but it doesn’t look like she’ll be here for another hour or two. How would you like to get together?”
“Truthfully, John, I’m not sure I really want to eat.”
“A drink, then? I don’t get a chance to meet many other Canadians here, and certainly none that are friends of friends.”
He’s pushy, Ava thought, but polite pushy, Canadian pushy. And he’s a friend of Johnny’s. “Sure, why not?”
“Good. There’s a very good bar in the lounge at your hotel. Why don’t I meet you there? I only live about ten minutes away.”
“Call my room when you arrive and I’ll come down. I’m in 313.”
“See you soon.”
That was silly of me, Ava thought as she hung up the phone. All she had wanted to do was order room service, have a bath, and then start getting her thoughts into the day ahead. She looked at her clothes. She was still wearing her Adidas training pants and a Giordano T-shirt. I better change, she thought, as much out of respect for the hotel as for Masterson.
She washed quickly, unpacked her travel bag, and was just putting her cufflinks in when the room phone pealed. He hadn’t been kidding about ten minutes. “Be right down,” she said.
When Ava exited the elevator, she almost ran into a man who turned out to be John Masterson. He was standing by the doors talking comfortably to someone who looked like security. He was of moderate height and build, with short brown hair and pale blue eyes. He was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved black linen shirt.
“Are you John?” she asked.
“And you must be Ava.”
“Pleased to meet you,” she said, extending a hand.
“And you,” he said, gently shaking it. “The lounge is right over there.”
They sat on either side of a small round table. Masterson leaned back in his chair and raised a hand over his head for a waiter. “I’m having beer. What would you like?”