Black Tiger (32 page)

Salikaa kicked her bare toes, whisking the chiffon. She blew a smoke ring.

‘Precisely!’ she said, closing her eyes and smiling smugly, like a contented cat. ‘Little Vajah is the king!’ She stretched her long limbs luxuriously, throwing her head back in a gesture that, reminding him as it did of the tango, merely increased his agitation. He struck his fist on the headrest of the divan.

‘I-I won’t have it, do you h-hear?’ he exclaimed, rage causing his stammer to return. He stamped his foot in frustration. ‘I know people don’t think I’m much of a fellow, Salikaa. They think I’m weak and feeble, a pushover and a swot. But I love you, Salikaa, and I want you for my wife, and I’ll face anything to make that happen, endure anything—but I can’t bear it when you behave like that in public, don’t you see?’

There came a discreet knock at the door.

‘Yes?’ Toom shouted, swinging round, irritated.

A servant entered, head bowed, hiding his curiosity, bearing an envelope and a small package on a silver salver. Salikaa extended an indolent hand, and the servant, kneeling, handed her the salver. She opened the packet first. She snapped open the small leather case and slid out the object it contained. Her features softened into an expression of deep satisfaction. Then she slipped it on and extended her hand for Toom’s inspection.

The gift was a ring of white gold, its principal stone a huge pigeon-blood ruby surrounded by diamonds. Beside it, even Toom’s square-cut sapphire paled into insignificance. While he contemplated the effect, scowling, with her other hand she straightened out the note. She scanned it and, wordlessly, handed it to Toom. He read: ‘Salikaa: You have bewitched me. I must see you. Expect me tonight. Vajah.’

‘Toom,’ she purred, patting the note tenderly, ‘my moment has arrived!’

He stared at her, horrified comprehension dawning. ‘So that’s it! You planned it all! You’ve been angling for a bigger fish! You used me. Exploited my love for you, tricked me, when all you wanted was to get close enough to make an impression on the king—and now that I’ve played my part, I can be tossed aside! For shame, Salikaa! I expected better of you.’

‘Oh, Toom, darling, do get a grip on reality, you’re breaking my heart!’ Salikaa calmly rose from the sofa and strolled over to the mirror. She peered close to check her make-up, smoothing her eyebrows and dabbing at her lipstick. ‘What time do you suppose he means, when he says “tonight”?’

Toom stared at her, aghast. Behind his thick glasses, hot tears filled his eyes; he bit his lower lip sharply to stop it trembling, and the taste of his own blood was oddly comforting. ‘How the hell should I know? How can you ask me? You must be crazy, Salikaa, mad with ambition.’ He was angry now, and the rage gave him courage for a moment. ‘My father is right. You are just a cheap gold digger!’ he said bitterly.

‘And you, dear, are just a sentimental fool,’ she said, turning to face him.

‘Yes,’ he replied, choking on the word, tears streaming unchecked down his face, ‘how right you are! I have been a fool. I’ve had all I can take. Goodbye, Salikaa. I hope you will never feel as wretched as I do at this moment.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, darling,’ she returned, losing interest in him and returning to the contemplation of her face. ‘I don’t suppose I ever shall.’

Blind with weeping, he rushed out the door, almost blundering into the young king who, attended only by one servant, was at that moment mounting the stairs.

Their eyes met for only a second. Then Toom bowed low, and the king nodded curtly.

‘Cousin Toom…’ he began, uncertain what words or ceremonies might be appropriate to this unprecedented situation. But Prince Toom Premsakul stumbled away, sobbing noisily, rushing headlong into the night. Behind him the mosquito screen clacked violently back and forth on its hinges. King Vajah sighed, raised his eyebrows, and continued up the stairs to the door of Salikaa’s apartments. The servant who had observed this brief encounter slipped away quickly to inform his master, Colonel Sya, of the events he had witnessed.

Salikaa had extinguished her cigarette and stood waiting for him, head bowed. King Vajah marched in assertively, and then stopped, unsure how to proceed.

‘I sent you a gift,’ he said. Silently she extended her hand, displaying the ruby ring. He nodded peremptorily. ‘Your dancing pleased me. That is all.’

She bowed to the dust. ‘Your Majesty is too gracious.’

‘That is all it was,’ he insisted. ‘A mere token of my appreciation. Nothing more, you understand.’ He stepped nearer and stood looking down at her.

‘Of course not,’ she murmured silkily.

Some undertone of mockery in her voice stung him, and he reached out and lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. ‘I am the king!’ he said. He dropped his grip on her chin and saw to his surprise that his fingers had left a mark. He stared at it, fascinated. He was unaccustomed to touching the bodies of other people. The sensation was new and intoxicating. His touch had left an imprint on this woman’s flesh. ‘I am the king!’ he repeated, with greater forcefulness, as though to convince himself.

‘That is so,’ she said smoothly, as one soothing a fractious infant.

‘Do not use that tone with me!’ he said sharply. ‘I am not a child.’

She regarded him coolly, tilting her head, raising one sceptical eyebrow. But she said nothing. There were limits, it seemed, with this man.

‘I am a man,’ Vajah said, with emphasis. ‘And I am a king. I can have whatever I please. I can have you. Right now.’ He put his hands about her throat, tightened his fingers, and shook her. Feeling her tremble, he released her. Then he saw to his rage and surprise that she was quivering not with fear, but with helpless laughter.

‘What’s so funny?’ he demanded.

‘What you say may well be true,’ Salikaa smiled. ‘But I know one thing you can’t do.’

‘What is that?’ he demanded truculently, staring her down, head lowered, the sensual lower lip protruding.

‘You couldn’t marry me. You could force yourself on me, or have me banished or imprisoned, or even killed, but you couldn’t ever marry me! No king could ever marry someone like me!’ She laughed triumphantly. He stared at her while the import of her assertion sank in.

‘Sit down,’ he commanded, seating himself on the divan and tugging her down beside him. She sat, suddenly docile. He took her hands and examined them as if he had never seen human hands before. ‘Salikaa,’ he said, sliding his hands up to her slender wrists and shaking them as he looked deep into her eyes, ‘you are the most beautiful woman in Thailand. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen…’

‘Your Majesty is very young. You are fifteen years old and have lived behind the walls of palaces all your life. How many women have you seen?’

He coloured hotly. ‘They’ve been throwing prospective brides in my path ever since I was a child. Every headman and princeling, every politician and general, it seems, has a marriageable daughter. Even my own relations parade nubile maidens before me like prize heifers. God, but I’m weary of it! I will choose for myself.’

‘You are a true king, Majesty,’ Salikaa murmured, and her dark eyes mocked him.

But he was in earnest, and did not notice. ‘Salikaa, if I wished, I could choose you for my bride. Thailand must have the most beautiful queen in the world.’

‘Thailand already has the most beautiful Princess Regent in the world. The Princess Asra,’ Salikaa said.

To her surprise, his face clouded. He dropped her hands and turned his face away from her. ‘Asra, Asra. Always Asra,’ he exclaimed. ‘Asra is not only Miss Universe, she is an angel, a goddess. The people will never love me as they love Asra. That is why my queen must be even more beautiful than Asra.’

Suddenly he hauled her roughly against him, pressing his lips feverishly against her face, her throat, her hair.

‘You are the only woman who can compete with Asra, Salikaa. One day Thailand’s Smile will fade, but your beauty will still dazzle. That is why I must have you for my queen.’

He held her fiercely, burying his face in her hair, pressing his body against her. She lay in his arms, unresisting, yet unresponsive as a doll. When at last, terrified by the strength of his own feelings, he released her, she withdrew from his embrace, reordering her hair and clothing fastidiously as a cat. He watched her, unable to speak. At length, she looked at him appraisingly.

‘You mean that? You would marry me, defying them all?’

He nodded. ‘I have never really cared about anything in my life, Salikaa—never wanted anything this way. But I want you, Salikaa, and my mind is made up. I will marry you!’ Clumsily he fell to his knees, throwing his arms about her slim hips, burying his face in the folds of her flame-coloured dress, greedily inhaling the musky scent of her, all other thoughts blotted out by his desire and his newfound resolution.

Salikaa buried her long scarlet nails in the boy-king’s dark, glossy hair and pressed him closer against her. She looked down at him once, and then raised her head and gazed thoughtfully out at the dark garden. She smiled.

For a moment they remained locked together, motionless, until the sound of heavy footsteps approaching startled them apart. The door of the suite was flung open, and Sya Dam, propelling the snivelling Prince Toom before him like an arrested malefactor, burst in upon them. Behind Sya, panting from his unwonted exertions, followed Prince Premsakul himself, his customary self-satisfied smirk replaced by an expression of indignation. King Vajah leapt to his feet, scowling at the intrusion.

‘What is the meaning of this outrage?’ he demanded.

Sya released Toom, who slumped to the floor. Sya prostrated himself before the king. ‘Your Majesty, Her Highness the Princess Regent is concerned for you. Your Majesty left the company somewhat abruptly. Perhaps Your Majesty would return to the pavilion, and reassure Their Highnesses?’ Despite the deference, his tone was insistent.

Resentment flared in the young king’s face, succeeded by doubt. He looked very young. Although his whims and tantrums had been indulged, he had never in his life been permitted to make a decision of any importance. With pathetic dignity, he sought to reassert his authority. ‘Do you rebuke me, Colonel? You will kindly not presume to inform me of my duty. I was engaged in a private conversation with this lady.’

‘Your Majesty…’

‘This—this is an unpardonable intrusion, Colonel!’

‘My humblest apologies, Your Majesty. Naturally, Your Majesty knows his duty best.’ Even prostrate, nose close to the floorboards, the powerful body in its fatigues and polished combat boots lacked humility.

The king sighed. ‘Indeed, Colonel. But in fact, your reminder is not untimely!’ He threw back his shoulders. His speech had resumed its habitual formality. The momentary lapse in etiquette might never have occurred.

He turned to Salikaa.

‘I shall speak with you upon some other occasion,
Khun
Salikaa. Please remember our conversation. I assure you, I meant what I said.’ His defiant gaze rested upon the recumbent colonel. He looked back at Salikaa and tapped his lips with one forefinger, as a promise of business not concluded. Salikaa curtsied low. The boy-king nodded with brief courtesy and marched from the room. Two guards detached themselves like shadows from the stairwell, holstered their guns and slipped into place, one ahead of the striding king, the other following.

Sya sprang up and dusted off the knees of his fatigues. Prince Premsakul was standing over his son, shaking his head. ‘Do get up off the floor and stop that tiresome grovelling, Toom, there’s a good chap,’ he said, prodding his son. ‘Don’t know what the dickens was going on here. Rum business altogether. Don’t know, don’t wish to know.’

Toom scrambled to his feet and stared at his father. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he cried in a strangled voice, thick with emotion. ‘Oh, I’ve been blind! I—I’m sorry, Father. You are right to despise me. I’ve made a mess of things, let everyone down, as usual!’ He rushed from the room.

‘Dear me,’ Prince Premsakul grunted peevishly. ‘Most disconcerting, all these young hotheads dashing about all over the shop. Better toddle along and see what the young blighter’s up to. Don’t know why you had to drag me along, Sya, old man. One does so deplore displays of emotion. Oh well, there we are, I suppose!’ He turned and walked with unaccustomed vigour toward the stairs.

Alone, Salikaa turned to confront Sya. He moved close to her, glowering down; she could smell the hot, spicy odour of his breath and the tang of his male sweat. She shivered and stepped back.

‘You are strange to the ways of court, lady.’ His triangular eyes were yellow-black, but had the blood-red sheen of a rabid dog’s. The drooping folds at the corners made him look age-old yet somehow innocent, like some Mongol warrior, quaffing fermented mare’s milk outside his yurt as he selected a human head to play polo with.

‘The court itself has strange ways, Colonel,’ Salikaa retorted, meeting his gaze without flinching. They squared up to each other like boxers, gauging the challenge.

‘Perhaps court life is too foreign to you. Unlike some of us, you are free,
Khun
Salikaa. You do not need to stay here. Your Princely Betrothed will release you of all obligation. He has already perceived his error, squandering his affections on a manipulative little gold digger with no family who would cuckold him before the wedding. Toom may have his head in the clouds, but he’s no fool.’

Salikaa threw her head back and laughed. ‘Is that a threat? I have no family, perhaps—but I have a stepfather who can command almost as much firepower as you yourself, Colonel. He fears nobody. He will not be pleased when he hears you have threatened me.’

Sya chuckled, as though in genuine amusement. ‘Old Vichai, you mean? Is the old rascal still going strong? That’s an oversight. We must mop up these communist-funded pockets of insurgency. Prejudicial to the stability of the realm.’

Salikaa stared at him. ‘Rubbish! You know damn well Vichai isn’t a communist!’ She was angry now, eyes blazing, hands on her hips. A woman of the people, showing her true colours. Salikaa was no Lady Asra. She’d never be able to pass herself off as a princess.