The Dying Beach (12 page)

‘The villagers change the opinion to be in favour of the project,' she wrote in her imperfect English. ‘Public relation strategy work well. Many people happy for change.'

She'd done such a good job of giving the villagers the confidence to advocate for themselves that far from being flawed, the EIA process in Krabi might well prove exemplary.

Paul should have been pleased but he felt deflated. After six months monitoring the EIA for the power plant, his volunteer placement was almost over and he had nothing to give Weeratham to strengthen the case for EIA reform. The villagers didn't need him to defend them against the company, not when they had Pla. His involvement made no difference at all.

He phoned Pla to tell her he was winding up the research.

‘But that's good news,' she said. ‘The EIA is good quality, yes?'

How could Paul explain his disappointment?

‘I guess,' he said. ‘But it also means there's no point in me coming back to Krabi.'

There was silence on the end of the line before Pla said the three little words Paul dreaded.

‘Up to you.'

The disappointments piled on top of one another like stones in his stomach.

‘You don't care then.' His tone was harder than he intended.

‘I understand you're busy,' she said flatly.

First time he hadn't done what she wanted and he got the passive-aggressive treatment. In retrospect, she'd been doing it all along, manipulating the situation to get what she wanted. Playing him. Taking over. Stealing his thunder. Ignoring his phone calls was simply further proof that it would never have worked out between them.

Paul switched off his phone. He was due to meet Karin, a volunteer from Germany, who was doing a month-long placement at TEDO to assist with their publications. He didn't want any phone calls interrupting their date. Karin was a white-blonde who wore hiking boots, singlet tops and an axe pendant on a choker that kept getting lost in her cleavage. She spoke English fluently, said
prost
instead of ‘cheers' and could match him beer for beer. The speed with which she accepted his invitation to dinner put paid to Paul's concerns that she might be a lesbian. He'd know for sure soon enough.

19

Rajiv woke to find Jayne sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, poring over a scroll of thermal paper. He eased himself up onto one elbow.

‘Is that the fax you've been waiting for?'

She nodded, still reading. ‘It's from my friend Gavan. He lists the major environmental issues in Krabi as, and I quote, “overdevelopment and pollution on Koh Phi Phi and pressures of a growing tourism industry in a sensitive marine environment”.'

‘There's nothing in Pla's notes about tourism.'

Jayne kept scrolling. ‘There's more. “There are several endangered species in the area…blah, blah…mangrove deforestation not the problem it is in other parts of Thailand…” Ah, here it is. “In terms of potentially controversial infrastructure projects, there is a new thermal power plant being built on the site of an old power plant near Pakasai Village in Neua Khlong district, and a golf course being developed by an American-owned private company on the site of a small limestone quarry.” What do you think?'

‘Both projects built on the site of another. Use of explosives might be warranted in either case.' Rajiv took out his map and checked the location. ‘Pakasai Village is quite far south of here and it is near a canal. Where is the golf course located?'

‘North-west of Krabi town, near Laem Kaeng Village.'

‘Village LK—that was in Pla's notes.' Rajiv found it on the map. ‘The golf course is closer, also not far from a
khlong
. Mosques and temples in the nearby villages—'

‘So we start with the golf course?' Jayne said.

Rajiv nodded.

‘The company behind it is Apex Enterprises and the project site office is in town. Gavan's provided the address and phone number. What a champion.'

Rajiv felt a pang of jealousy. He'd met Jayne's journalist friend once, though in a crowded jazz bar with Jayne sitting between them they'd barely exchanged a word.

‘Ah, and he's finally got himself a mobile phone. I'm going to add his number to my contacts and send him a text to mark the occasion.'

While Jayne searched her bag for her phone, Rajiv stole a glance at the fax.

‘Don't be a stranger,' the last line said. ‘Me and Jina would love to have you and Rajiv over for dinner when you get back to Bangkok.'

Me and Jina. You and Rajiv
. He was grateful Jayne was too preoccupied to notice him blushing.

‘Have you tried returning the call to Pla's phone from last night?' he ventured, as Jayne typed in her message.

‘Yes,' she said without looking up. ‘Still no answer.'

He got out of bed to use the bathroom and returned to find Jayne standing by the wardrobe with the door open.

‘I'm thinking about how we might approach the golfing people.' She spoke as if addressing the clothes, his lined up on hangers in an orderly row, hers skulking in a mound on the floor. ‘I wonder if they have an ironing service here.'

Their challenge was to find out what was going on with the golf course without putting the developers on the defensive. To this end, Jayne suggested they pose as potential investors looking for business opportunities in the province.

They planned their strategy over a breakfast of
khanom
jin
at a sidewalk café in Krabi town, then found a quiet coffee shop where Jayne phoned the Apex Enterprises office. Sweet-talking the secretary got her to the Project Manager, an American by the name of Pamela Schwartz.

‘I am calling on behalf of Mister Ravi Shastri, Director of Surya Enterprises,' Jayne said, glancing at the script she and Rajiv had put together. ‘Mister Shastri is in Thailand to inspect a range of investment opportunities and his contact at the Ministry of Commerce recommended your project in Krabi. Mister Shastri would value the chance to meet, especially if you are seeking investors at this time.'

‘And you are?' Her tone was wary.

‘Jennifer Keyes,' Jayne replied, ‘Mister Shastri's personal secretary. Mister Shastri is en route to Malaysia to inspect his assets, but must return soon to India to attend to his royal duties.'

‘Royal duties?' Pamela said.

Jayne checked her notes. ‘Mister Shastri is the son of the Rani of Jhansi and heir to the principate.'

‘We are actually seeking investors at this time,' the American said quickly.

‘I'm afraid Mister Shastri is only in Krabi today.'

‘Ah.'

Jayne heard paper being shuffled, followed by a muffled hiss.

‘I have a slot at three-thirty this afternoon,' Pamela said.

‘Please wait one moment.'

Jayne put her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘She can meet us at half past three. That should give us enough time to get kitted out. Say something so it sounds as if I'm consulting you.'

‘Half past three is suitable,' Rajiv said, deadpan.

‘That time is suitable for Mister Shastri,' Jayne said to Pamela. She made a point of taking down the address before terminating the call.

Their next stop was a department store with the unlikely name of Vogue, which looked like a cinema from the outside but stocked the clothing, footwear, hair accessories, electrical goods and Hello Kitty paraphernalia typical of Thai department stores. They rode vertiginous escalators to menswear on the second floor.

Rajiv dressed in smart casual as a matter of course, usually wearing trousers with a button-down shirt or kurta. Jayne had teased him for packing a suit to wear for their visit to the Thai consulate in Penang, but she had to admit it would come in handy now for their meeting at Apex Enterprises. Rajiv chose a new white business shirt to wear with the suit, while Jayne found some accessories to help get him into character. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses that made him look older, gave him a little gravitas. An imitation gold Rolex. A cheap but flash-looking pen, and a gold holder for his fake business cards.

‘I am thinking you enjoy this aspect of your work.' He grinned as she held a blue-and-silver striped tie against his shirt front.

‘I know I'm getting carried away.' She swapped the striped tie for a red one patterned with small gold diamonds. ‘Sometimes I think I became a detective as an outlet for my thwarted theatrical ambitions.' She waved the red tie like a streamer. ‘This one's better.'

Jayne put together a truly dowdy ensemble for her own role as private secretary to the princely Mister Shastri, secretly relishing the chance to pose as Rajiv's subordinate. She chose a fitted powder-blue skirt, a cream crepe blouse with pearl buttons and a bow at the neck, and beige peep-toe shoes. She searched in vain for unadorned hair accessories—lacy clips encrusted with pearls and diamantes wouldn't work for the serious, matronly image she aimed to project—settling instead on talcum powder to make her hair look greyer, a trick she'd learned in school theatre.

They took the stairs from women's fashions. On the landing they came across a coin-operated fortune-telling machine: a glass case containing a rotund, laughing Buddha with a purple crystal in one hand and what looked like a twig in the other. At his feet was a wheel like a tiny circular-saw blade, with a number on each notch. A little figure in traditional loincloth and matching sash stood poised to crank the wheel. Below the case was a bank of pigeonholes numbered from one to twenty-eight, each containing slips of paper.

‘Let's have a go,' Jayne said.

She slipped a five-baht coin into the slot. The little figure started moving, turning the wheel. The Buddha's purple crystal lit up as he raised the arm holding the twig, then brought it down on the wheel to stop it from turning. The little man froze. The twig rested on the number twelve.

Jayne took a note from the corresponding pigeonhole, her fortune written in Thai and Chinese.

‘I'll translate it later,' she said. ‘Do you want a turn?'

Rajiv shook his head. ‘I will not be tempting fate.'

‘It's just a bit of fun. You know I don't believe in any of this stuff.'

Rajiv nodded his head. ‘Yes, but I do.'

Back at the guesthouse, Rajiv checked his reflection in the mirror. He imagined this was how he would look if he'd taken up the offer to work in Uncle Dinesh's import-export company in Bangalore. But Rajiv chose to leave India in search of adventure, trading the promise of a middle-management position, a steady income and an arranged marriage for a much less predictable future. A decision that in an ironic twist now required him to pose as the kind of businessman he'd hoped never to become.

As a tribute to his uncle he borrowed the company name, Surya Enterprises, for his fake business cards; he chose his fake name as a more heartfelt tribute to Ravi Shastri, the former Indian cricket team captain, and listed his role as Director. The Rani of Jhansi, whom he claimed for his mother, was in fact a legendary figure who revolted against the British annexation of her kingdom and died in battle in 1858.

He straightened the gold-rimmed glasses, slipped his cardholder into his jacket and clipped the pen to the outside pocket. He'd polished his loafers and paired them with socks, the way European men did. His last step was to comb his hair, adding a trace of oil to keep it in place.

‘You look just the part.' Jayne stood next to him in front of the mirror and fastened her fake pearl necklace. ‘Whereas I look like a complete dag.'

‘A dag?'

‘The tail of a sheep. Or the droppings that hang from the sheep's tail. I've never been sure which. Let's just say looking like a dag is not a compliment.'

‘It's true those colours are not the most flattering on you,' Rajiv said.

‘I'm channelling Miss Marple, going for the middle-aged frump look guaranteed to render me invisible.' She leaned into the mirror and applied some lipstick. ‘Ghastly colour. Reminds me of high school dances in the 1980s. Corsages, shoulder pads, beer-soaked taffeta frocks and frosted pink lipstick.' She shuddered.

Rajiv had no idea what she was talking about, but sensed some kind of affirmation was called for.

‘You still look beautiful to me.'

‘You're a terrible liar,' she said. ‘And normally I like that about you. But Rajiv, in half an hour you're going to need to lie with conviction. Do you think you can do it?'

He glanced at his reflection and straightened his tie.

‘I prefer to think of it as acting,' he said. ‘And I will not tolerate such an impertinent question from an inferior.'

20

The office of Apex Enterprises, the company behind the Scenic Mountain Driving Range, was an eyesore of chrome and smoked glass in a row of whitewashed shop-houses with thresholds of coloured tiles. Jayne and Rajiv were met with a chilly blast of air conditioning and a receptionist whose smile was set at the same temperature. They were ushered into a meeting room, and glasses of iced water materialised, followed moments later by a brunette whom Jayne recognised as the companion of the loud American in Pla's tour group. For a second, she thought their cover was blown. But neither the woman nor Rajiv gave any indication of having recognised one another. Jayne, as predicted, seemed invisible.

‘I'm Pamela Schwartz,' she began. ‘Welcome, Mister Shastri, or should I call you Your Highness?'

‘Ravi will be fine.'

‘Thank you for your interest in our project, Prince Ravi,' Pamela said.

‘Please, just Ravi. And it's I who should be thanking you for seeing me at such short notice.' He nodded in Jayne's direction. ‘My secretary, Mrs Keyes.'

Jayne gave the American a limp handshake. ‘Miss Schwartz.'

‘Pamela, please.'

Jayne pursed her lips as if the thought of addressing a senior executive and complete stranger by her first name offended her sensibilities. But Pamela and Rajiv, aka Ravi, were too busy exchanging name cards to notice.