“She’s getting to be an old prune in her dotage, isn’t she, Deez?” Clive said, stroking the cat. “We’ll ignore her. But anyway, to get back to Will, apparently he hasn’t been seen or heard from in months.”
“Nonsense,” I said. “Didn’t we just get a postcard from him? It was from Thailand, wasn’t it? The one where he was promoting his merchandise, which he seemed positive we would want?
“The postcard you threw in the garbage all the while exclaiming, ”Over my dead body,“ or words to that effect, you mean?”
“It is true,” I said, “that there are few things that irk me as much as deadbeat dads who decamp for foreign parts leaving their families virtually destitute. But yes, that postcard.”
“You never know what happens in other people’s marriages,” he said. “Take ours, for example.”
“Let’s not,” I said.
“Let’s not what?”
“Take our marriage, for example.”
“Oh. Quite right. Water under the bridge and all that. So to get back to Beauchamp—”
“Do we have to? I can’t say I much cared for the guy even before that fax business.”
“Yes, we have to. I have it somewhere,” he said, moving back into the little office behind the counter and rummaging about.
“What?” I said.
“The postcard, of course.”
“You took it out of the trash?” I said incredulously.
“I thought you might reconsider,” he said. “Those buying trips of yours are expensive, and they’re hard work, and frankly, Will really knows, or maybe it’s knew, I suppose— horrible thought, that—his stuff. Here it is!” he exclaimed. He peered at it intently. “The postmark is hard to make out, but I think it’s almost a year ago.”
“Time flies,” I said.
“This may be the last anyone ever heard of him.”
“Oh come on!”
“Three or four months, anyway. He probably got into bad company,” Clive went on. “You know, in that red-light district, the Ping Pong, or whatever it’s called.”
“It’s Pat Pong, Clive, as you very well know,” I said.
“You’re not going to bring up that little episode again, are you, Lara?” he said in an aggrieved tone. “After all, we’ve been divorced for almost five years now; we’re both in nice relationships with other people. At least I am. You and Rob are happy together, aren’t you, even if he’s a policeman? Furthermore, you and I make very good business partners, much better than when we were married. Anyway, it’s hardly the time for recriminations when poor old Will may be lying in a shallow grave, or rotting in an alley far from home, or something equally awful. Maybe he’s a prisoner of some drug lord.”
“Good grief, Clive,” I said. “All I said was ‘Pat Pong, as you very well know.” As for William Beauchamp, he’s probably hiding because Natalie Beauchamp’s lawyers finally tracked him down.“
“I don’t know. You are going to be in Thailand soon,” he said, stroking his mustache and using that wheedling tone I remembered so well from our married years.
“So what?” I said. Neither the tone nor the gesture worked for him anymore, at least not where I was concerned.
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to make inquiries. I mean, think of the poor woman. She’s distraught, even if he did rather leave her in the lurch.”
“You have got to be kidding,” I said. “Absolutely not.”
“You could just talk to her,” he said.
“Who?”
“Natalie.”
“Clive!”
“I suppose I did mention to her that you would be in Thailand.”
“Have you forgotten that the Thai portion of this trip is the holiday part? That I plan to spend it with Jennifer and her boyfriend, whom I haven’t seen in two months?”
“Right. Jennifer. I forgot you were doing the wicked stepmother thing. What’s the boyfriend’s name again?”
“Chat. And I’m not her stepmother, wicked or otherwise.”
“Close enough, I’d say. You and Rob really should get a place together. Relationships have to progress, you know, or they stagnate. What kind of a name is Chat, anyway? No wonder I can’t remember it.”
“It’s Thai. And I can’t believe that you’re lecturing me on relationships.” The fact that Rob had asked me several times to get a place with him, and I had so far resisted, was something Clive didn’t need to know.
“Thai, is it? I didn’t know that. Well, I suppose it’s no worse than Clive, when you get right down to it. Does he have a last name?
“Chaiwong,” I said. “We’re staying with his family, actually.”
“Chaiwong,” he said. “What does her father think about his daughter dating a guy named Chat Chaiwong?”
“Clive, you really are too awful. He said he thought Chat was a nice enough young man.”
“Hardly a ringing endorsement, is it?”
“Actually where Rob and his daughter’s boyfriends are concerned, it is. It’s positively glowing, in fact.”
“And what does the wicked stepmother think about him?”
“He seems very pleasant, and Jen likes him. Apparently he comes from a good family, to use that rather old-fashioned expression. He’s a very responsible young man. He’s a graduate student at UCLA, which is where Jen met him. Public administration. He wants to go back to Thailand and work in public service—get into politics maybe.”
“He sounds like a barrel of laughs. At least he’s smart, from the sound of it, just like Jennifer. Now here’s an idea. Maybe they could both help you with your enquiries. It would be good for them. Give them a chance to meet the natives, as it were. Good for him if he wants to get into politics. Get to know his future constituents, that sort of thing.”
“They’ve been backpacking through southeast Asia for two months. I’m sure they’ve met lots of natives, to use your vile and totally inappropriate expression.”
“Whatever. I know how strongly you feel about the way Will just dumped his wife and kid, though. They must be in terrible straits—economically, emotionally. I would have thought you would want to help her track him down.”
“Don’t try to guilt me into this. It won’t work.”
“I don’t understand you, Lara. You’re always flailing about helping people you barely know. Why not lend a hand to someone you do?”
“That’s the point. I don’t know Natalie from Adam.”
“You know all about her, even if you haven’t met her in person, which, incidentally, is a deficiency that will be rectified almost immediately. She’ll be at the Gala tonight.”
“The Gala? You’re talking about the Canadian Antique Dealers Association opening night Gala here, are you? The tickets are almost two hundred dollars each. She can’t be in as bad economic straits as you’re implying.”
“You’re starting to contradict yourself, Lara. Which side are you on? I mean, did he leave her destitute, or didn’t he? Anyway, she’s going as staff.”
“You’ve contradicted yourself a few times during this conversation, Clive,” I said. “You know, the stuff about you never know what happens in a marriage, etc. Whose staff?”
“Ours.”
“Clive!” I exclaimed again. “I suppose she’s attractive, is she?”
“That has nothing to do with it,” he said.
“For you it always has something to do with it.” I sighed.
“She is rather a looker,” he said. “But that—”
“Hello, darlings,” Moira Meller said, coming through the door and putting her arms around our shoulders. Moira is my best friend and Clive’s life partner.
Clive shot me a warning glance before kissing Moira on the cheek. “The Gala. It won’t kill you to talk to her.”