The Last Paradise, page 20
*
Watching Daisy and her mother admire La Lucciola’s setting and enjoy its attentive service helped Grace to calm her nerves. She’d decided not to mention anything to Tina yet about the chef; she wanted them to enjoy their evening together first.
They had a drink before dinner as Daisy practised handstands on the lawn and played in the sand in front of the restaurant. Then Grace waved to her to come in and clean her feet and put her sandals on as they were going upstairs to their table.
On the balcony overlooking the beach, they watched the sky change from pink, to orange, to gold.
‘You never forget the Bali sunsets,’ said Tina softly.
‘Feeling nostalgic, Mum?’
‘Oh, yes. We’d eat dinner on the beach, right down there. Sit in the sand, and a local family would bring food and snacks and drinks, for pennies really. We’d light a fire, other friends might roll up, hire a bemo or a bike, or walk along the beach or down the sandy village lanes behind the palms. Some might share a joint, drink Bintang beers, or just talk. Occasionally someone might have a guitar. I used to carry a little torch because once the sun had gone down, there were hardly any lights and it could be pitch black. Then I’d go back to the little bamboo hut I rented for a couple of dollars, where there was a kerosene lamp, the smoky glass cleaned by the pembantu each day, and fall into bed. I remember my sheets were always dried in the sun and neatly folded with a flower left on my pillow.’
‘That’s a lovely custom that I notice is still followed,’ Grace said.
‘In the morning the pembantu would leave offerings in the house, at the shrine in the garden, and would sweep all the frangipani flowers off the sandy grass.’
‘And you’d head out for another day at the beach.’ Grace laughed.
‘Yes, a morning swim, then we’d move around, following the boys surfing. Or hire scooters and go into the hills to Ubud or up the coast. Kuta was the hot spot to hang on the beach and there were a few casual little bars. Occasionally we’d share a scooter over to the Rum Jungle Club in Legian, bumping over the potholes . . .’
‘And Sanur?’
‘It was quieter, a bit snobbier. I s’pose there’s still a bit of a class divide around here. Your hotel sounds like it’s going to be very exclusive.’
Grace nodded. ‘I can’t wait to show you around the Kamasan, especially Nyoman’s secret food garden and the place where the old hotel was.’
Daisy was getting a bit impatient, even with the colouring book and pencils they’d brought to entertain her, so it was a relief when the food started to arrive. Grace enjoyed Daisy’s delight as each dish was brought to the table, festooned with flowers.
By the time they arrived back at the villa, Daisy was nearly asleep on her feet, so Grace bundled her off to bed. She and Tina were sitting in the cool night air in the garden when Steve came by to collect her for their meeting with Johnny. Grace introduced him to Tina.
‘How was dinner? You chose a good spot,’ Steve said.
‘Lovely. Terrific food. Daisy had a ball,’ said Tina. ‘We all did.’
Grace smiled. ‘It brought back a lot of memories for Mum.’
‘The changes since the late seventies are mind-boggling,’ said Tina. ‘I can’t quite get over it.’
‘I’m sure some people would prefer that it were still as it was then,’ said Steve. ‘But if you know the island well, there are still places that are more or less unchanged, where you can step back in time.’
‘I’d love to travel around again like I did then,’ said Tina. ‘But not on a scooter, given the traffic I saw today.’ She rose. ‘Nice to meet you, Steve, and good luck with your production up here. It sounds challenging. Even a bit dangerous; Grace was just telling me about the poor chef.’
‘I know. It was a shock for all of us in our crew,’ Steve replied. ‘That reminds me, Grace, we’ve been told not to mention it to your pembantu – Sri, isn’t it? – as it will spook her. The local people are very superstitious.’
They all went back inside and Grace kissed her mother goodnight. ‘See you in the morning, Mum. Daisy is out like a light. I hope I won’t be too long. There’s a guard who minds the villa, so don’t worry, it’s very safe.’
‘I’m going to sleep like a log. Though I’d love to see the sunrise. Perhaps take an early morning swim.’
‘I’d pass on that if I were you, Tina,’ said Steve. ‘A walk’s okay, but there’re sometimes issues with the water quality around here depending on the tides and weather.’
‘We’ll find a spot for a swim in the next couple of days,’ said Grace.
‘You could take your mum to some of the outer islands. There’re some great beaches there,’ Steve suggested. ‘Otherwise swim in front of the Kamasan. It’s clear there, no drains.’
‘When we have time,’ Grace reminded him. ‘’Night, Mum.’
*
Forty Thieves was packed, but as usual Johnny had an island table to himself. Andy and Rosie were there as well as two people Grace didn’t know.
Seeing Rosie, Steve did a double-take. ‘Woah, Rosie has let her hair down. Literally!’
The beautiful Chinese woman, who usually wore her dark hair in a French knot, had let it spill down her back and over one shoulder, almost to her waist. She was wearing a clinging bright-red silk jumpsuit with strappy gold stilettos. Dramatic gold earrings swung almost to her shoulders, and from a long gold chain hung a large piece of carved jade.
She was sitting right up close to Andy, whose arm was resting behind her along the banquette. Johnny was in a casual white linen suit with loafers and no socks, his turquoise silk shirt was half unbuttoned, displaying a heavy gold chain. Andy was in what Grace considered to be his uniform of Hawaiian shirt and cargo pants.
Johnny waved at them as they approached. The other men were deep in conversation. Grace noticed that Johnny was smoking Dji Sam Soe Black, the expensive brand of kretek cigarettes. This was a sign he was uptight, she’d been told. Smoking was banned indoors, but rules never seemed to apply to Johnny Pangisar.
‘Thought this was a serious meeting, not cocktails,’ muttered Steve. ‘I’d rather be in bed.’
‘Me too. No choice, though,’ murmured Grace.
Steve and Grace greeted Rosie and Andy before Johnny introduced the other two men by first names only.
‘They’re Balinese lawyers, fixers, “cleaners”,’ Andy whispered to Grace as she and Steve sat down. ‘They know what the law is and how to break it “legally”. The justice system in Bali is complicated. These types of guys simplify it.’
Grace ordered an espresso martini. Steve had a Corona beer with a wedge of lime in the neck. Then Johnny leaned forward and the group around him huddled closer as he spoke in a low voice.
‘Our two friends here are part of my legal team, to help with details regarding Chef Emile. This event is tragic, if not entirely unexpected.’
One of the legal men cocked his head. ‘Indeed, we thought something like this might happen. The chef’s habits were well known among the staff, and to us. He was a difficult boss and we were aware of the degree to which he was involved in other activities outside meeting his Kamasan requirements. He was exceptionally good at his job, very creative, a great talent.’ The man stopped and took a sip of his drink. ‘Stephano, the executive chef, had asked us to overlook some bad issues with him so long as it didn’t affect his work,’ he added.
‘His work was brilliant, but he was tough on his staff,’ said Andy. ‘A few people are talking about that now, as the threat of retaliation has . . . disappeared.’
Rosie leaned forward to reach for her glass. ‘That has to be stopped straight away. We can’t risk people spilling the beans on him because they think he can do no harm now that he’s gone. That’s how information gets out there, and it could damage the hotel’s name,’ she said.
Johnny glanced around at everyone seated at the table, then said quietly, ‘de Franco met an unfortunate end. He was mixing with dangerous people – people who do not wish to be known. So any friend of Emile de Franco, or anyone who hints that they know who the perpetrators are, puts themselves in a dangerous position. The mob I’m talking about are seriously brutal if displeased or if you owe them something as, sadly, de Franco discovered.’
One of the legal guys nodded. ‘If you cross them, or don’t pay your debts, they’ll kick you till your guts come out your mouth. Who knows what state he was in when he went into the water.’
‘He would’ve been alive for a while,’ the other lawyer said grimly.
Grace shuddered. ‘Did he drown?’ she asked quietly, not certain she wanted to know the answer.
The first man turned to her. ‘You might say that. He was, well, bashed. But it seems they managed to keep him alive for a while longer. They tied his hands and feet and buried him in the sand to his neck, facing the sea.’
‘Until it came in over him,’ added the second man. ‘The idea is that you see your death coming. Slowly.’
Grace spluttered into her drink. ‘Oh, no! That’s appalling. Nobody deserves that.’
‘Apparently someone thought de Franco did,’ Johnny said.
‘What is his family doing?’ asked Grace.
‘A relative is coming to collect his ashes. Officially, he has gone back home. We just won’t say that it’s in an urn,’ said Rosie dryly. She turned to Johnny. ‘What’s the hotel’s position on why he left?’
‘Health problems,’ said Johnny quickly.
Everyone looked at Johnny as Rosie asked the obvious. ‘So . . . who’s going to replace him?’
‘It’s not that simple,’ said Andy interjected. ‘Stephano is pretty unhappy. I am too. For all his excesses on the dark side, de Franco could bloody cook.’
‘We’ve already done some research,’ said Johnny. ‘Stephano is in London and he has contacted Wayan Gede Antara.’
‘Yes!’ Andy punched the air. ‘Fabulous idea. He’s a star now. Talk about local boy makes good. Would he come back to Bali, though? He’s been working in starred restaurants in France and the UK for the last couple of years.’ He turned to Rosie, who had her iPhone in her hands and was typing quickly. ‘Gede’s a great story. He’s Balinese, trained at the Cordon Bleu Culinary Institute in Paris, and he’s been on the celebrity “must-have” chefs’ lists for some time.’
‘So is he on board?’ asked Rosie, leaning forward.
Johnny took a drag of his cigarette. ‘We made him an offer he’d be crazy to knock back. Depends if he’s ready to come home or not, I suppose.’
‘He’s certainly at the top of his game,’ said Andy enthusiastically.
‘Has he done any media? TV, masterclasses? How old is he?’ asked Steve.
‘Full details when he signs on with us, but as Andy said, his is a great story,’ said Johnny. ‘Perfect for the Kamasan.’
‘Sounds like he could be,’ said Steve. ‘With a Bali background to add to the picture, too.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Grace.
Rosie nodded. ‘He’s a big enough name, that’s for sure. Local star comes home . . .’
‘I think he’s acting coy. I made a flat offer. Take it or leave it,’ said Johnny. ‘He knows who we are. I also understand his grandfather is not well; that’s a big incentive for a Balinese person to come home. He has family obligations.’ Johnny looked at Rosie. ‘I want media ready to go as soon as he signs the contracts.’ He turned to Grace. ‘You might want to visit his family compound – there’s a story to film in the good, successful son returning for ceremonies, family stuff.’
Grace looked at Steve. ‘Could be poignant, a family reunion. Joining the Kamasan family while he comes home to his own family, that sort of thing . . .’
Steve nodded. ‘Sure. Maybe we should wait until he’s accepted before committing to the idea?’
To Johnny it was all settled. Grace was tempted to ask what his plan B was if the chef didn’t accept, but she kept quiet. It was clear not many people ever said ‘no’ to the Pangisars.
Johnny turned to his two lawyers. ‘How thoroughly are you looking into who’s responsible for de Franco’s death?’
‘As far as we need to.’
‘There won’t be any public noise about it,’ said the other man. ‘The word will go out. Your man was a warning to others to pay up and keep quiet. He was obviously getting too deep into their world and rocking the boat. They don’t like outsiders.’
This enigmatic comment seemed to satisfy Johnny, who lifted a hand and a waiter stepped forward.
Grace shook her head and stood up. ‘Nothing else for me, thank you, Johnny. It’s time I hit the hay.’
Steve rose too. ‘We have an early start. Thanks, Johnny.’
Andy dropped his arm around Rosie’s shoulder and Grace noticed how comfortable they looked together. ‘We’ll have one for the road, Johnny. Thanks,’ Andy said.
As Grace and Steve headed towards the door, Steve glanced back. ‘Poor Emile. Those lawyers of Johnny’s will hush this all up.’
‘Bit scary actually, and sad. What a horrible way to die.’
‘Yes. There’s another layer of life here that visitors don’t see. Family. Reputation. Funds. Money talks.’
‘I guess so.’ She sighed and changed the subject. ‘Did you see Andy cosying up to Rosie? She’s younger than me, and much younger than him – maybe thirty?’
‘C’mon, Grace! Andy is a red-blooded Aussie bloke. He’s fit. Still a good surfer. Successful and fun,’ Steve said, chuckling. ‘I’m not surprised Rosie would be keen on him, just as he is clearly keen on her.’
Grace shook her head. ‘Yes, you’re right. Today has been too much to take in, that’s all. There seem to be surprises at every turn. I’m exhausted.’
Steve looked at her then dropped his arm around her shoulders. At first Grace stiffened, wondering what was happening, but then she realised she liked the feeling, and made a conscious effort to relax.
‘Let it all go for now, Grace,’ he said. ‘Think about Daisy and your mum. What have you got planned for them the next few days?’
‘Well, Daisy doesn’t start school until next week. And after Johnny’s directive it seems we’d better visit the chef’s family compound, if he accepts the offer. I may as well invite Mum and bring Daisy along too,’ Grace said, turning to look at him, ‘if that’s okay with you.’
‘Of course.’ Steve smiled, then added, ‘Here’s your driver. Goodnight, Grace. I’ll text you about it first thing tomorrow.’
*
It was close to midnight, but Grace’s mind was in overdrive and there was no way she could get to sleep. After tossing off the sheets and sighing, she pulled out K’tut’s book. She’d reached a chapter where the war in the Pacific had started and Grace was reminded that whatever was going on in her own life was calm in comparison with what K’tut went through.
Surabaya we found in a state of chaos. Roads leading out of the city and the trains we could see from the highway were jammed with Dutch soldiers. They were, we quickly learned, trying to reach military headquarters at Bandung, on the other end of Java. Panic-stricken Javanese were fleeing by the thousands to the safety of kampongs in the interior.
Agung Nura was concerned, not about himself – the Japanese could have no particular enmity for a Balinese – but for me, as a white woman and an American. My nationality, even more than my color, might mark me for brutal treatment. The prince decided he must go to Solo in West Java to find out if there would be a hiding place for me in the Sultan’s palace.
I remained, comfortable for the moment but insecure, in Surabaya’s leading hotel, the Oranje.
It would have been a welcome relief to escape . . . but it was unthinkable that I should leave this troubled island. What of the prince, and all of my other adopted Indonesian friends? What of Agung Nura’s dream of freeing his people from all foreign oppression? What of my promises, during those days at his coffee plantation, to do everything in my power to help bring about a free Indonesia? With the Dutch forfeiting the reins, perhaps for all time, the Japanese might be most willing to hand over the power to the Indonesians.
There was another prospect also. High Dutch officials were confident that the Japanese had overreached themselves and that the war could not last more than three months. If they were right, this was still the time for Indonesia to assert its bid for independence. I could still be of service to my adopted land.
I would remain in Surabaya, awaiting developments. Agung Nura warned me not to push my luck and to stay out of sight of the Japanese as much as possible.
The Japanese commander of Surabaya ordered all Europeans to come to headquarters and register. Agung Nura went with me to the commandant and asked that I be given an order exempting me from internment, and that I be granted also a traveling pass between Java and Bali. He explained that I was his adopted sister, having lived at his father’s palace for many years, and that I was an artist, completely divorced from war activity.
Apparently my native clothes, my sandals, my dyed black hair and my ability to speak both Balinese and Malay impressed the commandant. ‘A white Balinese,’ he murmured. Obviously sceptical of the prince’s account of our relationship, he gave me a knowing look and good-naturedly wrote out an exemption order and a traveling pass for ‘one Balinese by adoption, K’tut Tantri’.
While the Dutch were feeling the weight of the invader’s heel, the Indonesians too began to learn more about their new rulers. The men from Japan began confiscating food and goods to meet their pressing war needs. As produce and supplies became costly and scarce, less and less made their way into the hands of the Indonesians. Wherever it suited their purpose the Japanese roughly thrust Indonesians out of their jobs. Many Indonesians were thrown into prison on slight pretexts, without fair trial.
