The Scottish Banker of Surabaya - By Ian Hamilton Page 0,61
the same in Thailand. There he took on some Thai partners and then papered himself into total control and effective ownership through the back door.”
“He won’t find it as easy to do that here.”
“Surely it’s nothing a good lawyer can’t handle?”
Cameron looked dubious, and then his face lit up as their drinks arrived. “Cheers,” he said, extending his glass.
“Cheers,” Ava said, tapping it with hers.
“Lawyer or not, it can be tricky,” said Cameron.
Ava was glad to hear him sticking to the business discussion. “I see from the briefing notes my client gave us that your bank is owned by a local law firm.”
“Our ownership is a private matter,” he said sharply.
“Sorry, I wasn’t prying,” Ava said. “I just thought that if my client needed a law firm yours might fit the bill.”
“Not a good idea. Don’t like to mix things about like that. If he needs a lawyer, talk to John Masterson.”
There was that harsh edge to his voice again. Back off or prod? Ava wondered. “That’s a good suggestion, thank you. Now tell me, Andy, earlier at dinner you didn’t want to talk about your non–East Java banking activity. Was there any particular reason for that?”
He swilled back his Scotch and held the empty glass in the air. “Another,” he shouted. She waited for him to answer. He said, “You want another wine?”
“Sure, I can handle one more, but first I need to use the ladies’ room.”
“Right over there,” he said, pointing to the door behind the bar.
She peed, washed her hands twice, and then looked in the mirror. Another ten minutes with the Scotsman and that’s it, she thought and then turned and went back to the lounge.
The glass she had left on the table had been just under half full. Now it was brimming. “I had him top it up,” Cameron said. “No point wasting.”
“That’s sensible,” she said.
“Scottish stereotype, but true all the same.”
“Speaking of which, what makes you Scots such good bankers?”
“We don’t trust anyone,” he said without hesitation.
“Trust?”
“Everyone lies — about why they need money, about their net worth, about their collateral. It never fucking ends. My old boss at Stirling used what he called the five-check system, and all he meant was check every fucking thing five times.”
Ava noticed that his second Scotch was already finished, and that his language was deteriorating in proportion to his intake. “I’ll give you all the information you need. You can check ten times and it will still stand up.”
Cameron went silent, and Ava wondered if he was going to argue. Then he said, “My turn. I need to use the loo now.”
Ava sipped her wine and replayed the evening in her mind. So far it had been almost a complete dud. Cameron had no interest in discussing the workings of his bank. That by itself was a bit unusual. What was there to hide? Maybe nothing; maybe it was nothing more than a private bank retaining its privacy. What bothered her more was his attitude every time she ventured into that area. All he had to say was, Sorry, we’re private. Instead he seemed nettled. One more go, she said to herself, and then I’m heading upstairs.
She kept checking her watch and began to worry when more than fifteen minutes had passed. Five more minutes and I’m sending the waiter into the men’s bathroom, she thought.
As if on cue, Cameron walked back into the lounge, a bounce in his step. He was snapping the fingers of his right hand, and even from a distance she could see the gleam in his eyes.
She finished her wine. “Andy, you okay?” she asked.
“Dandy, just dandy.”
She sat back in the chair, her face flushed. No more wine for you, girl, she thought.
Cameron stood in front of her. The only problem was that she could see two of him. Jet lag and wine were a bad combination, she knew, and now she was paying the price. She steadied herself and tried to get to her feet. And didn’t make it.
( 21 )
When she woke, she was flooded by contradictions.
Light was streaming in through open windows. When hadn’t she closed the curtains or shutters?
She was naked.
Her head felt heavy, jumbled.
And then there was the discomfort between her legs.
Before she could sort things out, her eyelids became too heavy and she blacked out.
The next time Ava woke, she shivered. What was that light? Why was she naked? She turned to look at the bedside clock. It read 8:04.