Chapter 40

Meeting with Joe

'TELL THE GIRL I will be at her hotel in one hour.'

'Yes, Joe, I'll be at the meeting, I hope?' said the hopeful policeman.

Ajaan went to Camilla's room and told her to expect Joe. At precisely 4 pm, Joe tapped on the door.

'Okay Camilla, I take it you are familiar with Oicho-Kabu?'

'Er, no, should I be?' said the reporter, trying to keep her nerves under control.

'It's a Japanese card game. The worst hand they can deal you is called Yakuza. Hence the name of the world's most respected group of villains.'

'Are we about to play cards or get on with business?'

'We will see in a few minutes.'

The hotel phone rang.

'Hello Mickey, I haven't seen you since you were a toddler. How's the old man?'

'He is fine, thanks, he said to say hi. I don't remember you, but Dad speaks highly of your skills. What can I do for you?'

Camilla looked for an escape route - no such luck. There was nowhere to go.

Ajaan picked up on the fear emanating from the now terrified girl. He moved to block the door. But, unfortunately, she had nowhere to run; the door was barricaded, and the window locked.

Joe calmly replaced the receiver. He looked up and addressed Ajaan.

'You are a stupid Pratt. You got me chasing all the way here to meet this girl. You can be of no use to us. The tourist officer policewoman will take over your job.'

The silenced weapon was drawn silently and swiftly. The bullet left a small red dot in the centre of Ajaan's forehead. The already dead man slid down the door and sat on the floor. Joe picked up the phone once again.

'I have a small job for you.'

'Yes, Khun Joe! Anything!'

The lady officer was keen to start her new job.

The intelligent tourist police lady was proving useful already. She is good-looking and well-presented, and unlike her predecessor, she is not greedy. She would get rid of the body, with no questions asked.

'Camilla, Camilla, the easy thing would be to shoot you now. But I think my boss would enjoy having fun with you first.'

The handgun was pointed at her chest as Joe's arm was placed friendly around her shoulder. He had put his jacket over his upper limb, giving no clue to watchers what was under the cloth.

Camilla was, in a way, happy at the outcome. It was not what she had planned, but it could have been much worse. She glanced at Ajaan lying on the floor. She realised there could have been two dead bodies to be removed by Joe's newest team member.

Joe led her firmly to his pickup truck; keeping the pistol aimed at her, he ordered her to drive. He sat behind her. The gun was poked through the headrest, giving her no chance to try something. Little did Joe know that she desperately wanted to see his boss. It might be her last article.

Although Camilla passed her English driving test when she was eighteen, she was more used to driving powerful motorbikes, so it took her a little while to get used to the four-wheeled machine. Joe thought she was deliberately annoying him and gave her a warning jab in the neck with the gun's barrel.

'Get moving darling, next time you will find the weapon gets extremely hot.'

The route directions were short but clear.

'End of this road, turn right.'

There was no need for, nor an attempt at, small talk. Camilla, oddly, enjoyed the ride. When they left the city, the roads were straight, and traffic was light.

Camilla had always been a city girl, but she was getting a kick out of this trip. Even with a gun stuck in the small of her neck. The paddy fields, the occasional buffalo, and the country folk wandering along. All this made her change her view about living in the countryside.

The journey seemed to pass in no time.

'Further, we turn right. It may look like we are about to drive straight into the lake, but there is a road. Drive up to the gates, then toot the horn. Someone will open up, drive through, and then wait for me to escort you to the house.'

She was directed to walk straight ahead to the main doors. Then, she went through a strange-looking entrance room - odd to her. It only had a solitary chair. They walked straight through that room. Then, I turned right to an open doorway into a luxurious sitting room. A log fire was burning. There was thick carpeting and velvet curtains. Air conditioning kept the room comfortable at nineteen degrees.

'Shut the door and leave us, please, Joe. There is no need for a weapon. Meet my niece, Camilla.'

The right-hand man knew better than to let his face show his feelings. He shook her hand and left the two together.

'I hope you like my attempt at recreating my old room at the schoolhouse all those years ago. I sometimes miss England, not very much, and I won't ever go back, so I make sure this house has memories installed. I will show you around, but first, sit and rest after your drive.'

They spent an hour chit-chatting, discussing the weather and how much rain they have had this season, as English people do.

Camilla had so many questions. She didn't know where to start; she didn't. Camilla was in awe of this man; she knew so much about him, but none of the knowledge was first-hand. It was only what she had read. Her mother, Philip's sister, did not have a good word to say about him. She remembered her mother saying, 'He does not have any friends. He buys them.' But to a young Camilla, he was a hero.

Camilla started by telling Philip about the file she had compiled about him. She explained how her editors, both in Hong Kong and here, were strung along, and she would never print a bad word about him. So, instead, she had given both editors bits and pieces of information - enough to keep their interest and her job while she tracked him down.

'Dear Camilla, who do you think sent the occasional telex from a Chinese news agency?'

'No! It wasn't you, was it?'

'There is no such agency. It is mine, all made up to give you bits of a story.'

'You all along? My God, you are better than I ever imagined.'

'Yes, some of it is true. I did rather upset the government of the UK a few years ago.'

He took her by the hand and led her on a guided tour of his home and place of work.

'Tonight, we shall have a private dinner. The two of us. A dinner the like of which you will have never sampled, cooked by my staff, all the delights will have come from my farms.'

'Your farms?'

'Yes, you may be a little surprised by the extent of my enterprise. I want you to learn about the business. All of this will be yours one day. I am nearly ready to semi-retire. I want you to take over.'

'But Joe could have shot me.'

'Joe knows me and what I enjoy, so he would not have killed you. But, of course, that is without my say-so.'

Philip continued praising his man-management skills and how he controlled such a large business for another hour.

'You rest up for an hour and prepare yourself to learn. Then, get ready to open your mind.' He continued, 'You will find a wardrobe full of clothes which will fit you perfectly. Your room is next door to mine, just along the corridor. I'll see you in one hour in the dining room.' He pointed across the corridor.

Camilla had to stifle a gulp as she saw her room. It was huge, with a sunken bath and jacuzzi. A giant TV screen fitted flush to the wall - everything a girl could wish for. She jumped onto the bed, which was a waterbed warmed to blood temperature. She thought she would like it here.

She glanced at her chunky diver's watch; it was 59 minutes since she left Philip. She was allowed a one-minute walk to the dining room. The watch did not match the outfit chosen for tonight's meal, but she liked it. Anyway, it sounded like she could have any ticker she decided. She had picked out a traditional Thai dress from the wardrobe - a long figure-hugging skirt made of intricate silk patterns and a Chinese-style blouse buttoned to the neck, also made of lustrous silk. This time, with no design, a warm creamy colour, with delicate stitching.

She wondered what was on the menu. Philip pulled out her chair as she gracefully slid across the leather to take her place.

She didn't want to laugh at him but had to fight a swiftly appearing grin; she disguised it with the comment.

'Why, you look almost regal.'

Philip was also happy with her choice of outfit. He was wearing dark blue "jong kra beng" trousers, which are baggy on the upper leg, becoming tight further down the leg - stopping short of the ankle. Silk socks and buckle-fronted, highly polished patent leather shoes, Philip had a short-sleeved jacket of brilliant white for his top, with two-button-down breast pockets. The buttons were gold. The collar was also in the Chinese style. It looked like the pair were dressed for a traditional Thai wedding.

Philip was delighted to see they think alike, at least in their dress sense.

'I know you enjoy the odd glass of red wine I have chosen for you. I hope you don't mind.'

He gently poured from a crystal decanter.

'I have a small share in a little-known vineyard in the Burgundy region. I hope you like it?'

She left the glass where Philip had placed it. First, look at the colour. Then she raised the glass, tilting it and spinning the contents to see how it settled. It helped the aroma on its way to her nostrils with further movement in a clockwise motion. Finally, the first taste left her speechless.

Eventually, she whispered, 'It is fantastic. I have tasted nothing so wonderful.'

Indeed, they would not have Thai food to accompany such fine wine.

'They produce the pate in small quantities at the farmyard right next to the vineyard. So I think I will buy their whole supply. And why not?'

The small talk continued. Until modest as ever, Philip was happy to explain about the beef. It was sliced thinly from the Australian and Japanese crossbreed of the animal. They live and eat better than most people on his farm. The meat was succulent.

As they cleared away the dishes, they finished with robust cheddar. Harrods own biscuits, imported annually.

Philip only ate two mouthfuls of each course. Camilla was ravenous; she wanted to act like the little lady, but it was too good. So she finished the whole meal without leaving a crumb.

'Good to see you enjoy your food. I rarely have anyone to join me, especially someone I would share such fine food with.'

'I'm sorry, I made such a pig of myself.'

'Now, on to business. We have a lot of ground to cover. I'm assuming you will agree with everything I've laid out. That being so, I will have one request from you.'

'I can't wait to hear more.'

While Philip continued with his lecture, some hundred-year-old Port was offered. Each took a small glass three-quarters full.

'I am the proud owner of one hundred and thirty-three companies. They all make good profits naturally. Some are Thai companies, and some are offshore. As you heard earlier, I own farms here and further afield. This property and a few other bits and pieces are scattered worldwide. So you will never have to search for a roof over your head. Bank accounts, all in company names. I'll show you them in the next day or two, and I think you will be impressed with the numbers.'

'Please go on.'

'All of this will be yours when I die.'

He handed the last will document to her trembling hand as if he didn't want to let it go.

She was speechless. If this was not the first time she had been at this table, it was maybe the first time she had been near her uncle.

Eventually, she regained control of her vocal cords.

'Now, Uncle, what is it you want from me?'

'First, you are my right hand in all our business.'

'I'd love that, anyway.'

'Then you need to be a student of my methods, watch and learn.'

'Again, I can't wait to start.'

There was then a long pause. Camilla was about to break the silence as Philip carried on with no sign of embarrassment.

'I expect you to be the mother of my child.'

Camilla did not utter a sound for the third time in her life. She did not close her astonished mouth.

Philip stood, grabbed the frozen girl's hand, and pulled her out of her chair. He led her out of the dining room. She tried to stop quaking and control herself, failing badly in both quests. He pushed open a door that slammed back against the wall. He pulled her in. She didn't know what to expect, but it was not what she imagined. In front of her was not a bed or other contraption for lovemaking torture. She was in a lab. High stools, cabinets, and work surfaces. All the equipment you would see in a professional laboratory.

He pulled her to a glass-fronted fridge. He pointed at several sealed jars.

'You, my dear, will inject the contents of one jar a day into yourself until you become pregnant.'

She wanted to slam her ears closed.

'But you are my uncle.'

'Maybe more than you know.'

'What!'

'Never mind that I want a genius to carry on the family business. You and I are the only ones who can provide that genius. I think you know I'm a thorough man; I've studied this, and nothing is wrong.'

'It may take me a while to think this through.'

'You have five minutes, starting now.'

Out of nowhere, Joe appeared hands on hips.

'Okay, uncle, you have a student, a right hand, and you will have a new relation to continuing your work. And I am more than happy to get started.'

She was handed a large plastic syringe, a glass jar, and a "How To" video.