The Scottish Banker of Surabaya

( 28 )

Ava had never been uncomfortable with being alone, but as soon as she got to her room she began to feel unsettled.

Perkasa had driven her to the Majapahit and asked her again to join him for dinner. She couldn’t eat, she repeated, and that was the truth. Her body felt disconnected from her mind, which was wandering in unaccustomed patterns.

She lay on the bed, turned on the television, and searched for something that might distract her. She watched Moonstruck with Indonesian subtitles for about fifteen minutes and then gave up. Andy Cameron kept intruding, and the initial image was always the same: him walking so cockily towards their table at the restaurant, a sly grin fixed on his face.

Ava went to the bathroom and turned on the tap, slapped her face with cold water. Focus, she muttered. Treat tomorrow like any other job. Get organized.

The game she was playing, she knew, had its limits in terms of credibility. She wanted to hurt Cameron. She was going to hurt Cameron. But in Perkasa’s eyes, and therefore in Uncle’s, it had to be seen as a necessity. And that could be made believable, or at least believable enough, only by keeping Cameron under control. Ava did not want him talking about that night — not a word. She did not need any weeping, pleading, or heart-rending and completely self-serving bullshit confessions and apologies. All she wanted him to do was talk about the bank, about Fred Purslow, about Costa Rica and the Emerald Lion Fund and Lam Van Dinh. Or rather, not talk about it — not at first, anyway.

Ava left the bathroom and sat at the desk. She opened her notebook and began to list the questions that under normal circumstances she would want answered. Who owned the bank? How had it accumulated such a huge capital base in such a short time while operating from Surabaya? Why those overseas offices? Why was the Toronto office closed? Where were Muljadi and Rocca? Was there ever a Surabaya Fidelity Security fund? Who killed Purslow? Why kill Purslow? Each question begot more questions, the complexity compounding, the purpose of her search hardening. She tried to imagine how Cameron would react.

The room telephone rang. It startled her and she looked at her watch. It was past ten o’clock; she realized she’d been sitting at the desk for more than an hour. She didn’t want to answer, but it could be Perkasa.

“Hello?” she said.

“Ava, this is Vivian Ho. I apologize for calling so late, but I just got back from dinner and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You spoke to your sister about me,” Ava said coolly.

“Only in the most general way,” she said, stuttering softly. “I didn’t tell her what happened. It’s just that I know my sister, and I know what a good friend she can be, and I know how loving she is. I thought you could use that kind of support.”

“How would you know what kind of support I need?”

She hesitated. “Well, you aren’t the first victim of this kind of abuse I’ve attended to. I think I have some understanding —”

“Understanding?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Fay told me you’re gay,” Ava said.

“I’m not sure my sister has the right —” Vivian began, sounding distressed.

“I am too,” said Ava.

There was only quiet from the other end of the line. Ava imagined Vivian gathering her senses, gathering her words. She readied herself for the platitudes that would end their conversation. Then she heard a sob, and another, and then a stream, interrupted only by gulps for air.

“Please,” Ava said, almost unaware of her own voice cracking, of her own tears returning.

They cried wordlessly together, Ava’s tears coursing down her cheeks and falling onto the notebook. She wiped at them blindly, blotching the questions that only a few minutes before had seemed so clever.

“I am so sorry . . .” Vivian was finally able to say.

Ava pushed her chair away from the desk and turned towards the window. She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her T-shirt. “I really appreciate that you called,” she said.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Vivian asked, still sniffling.

“No, you’ve done enough.”

“I’ve done nothing.”

“That’s not true. You were wonderful to me.”

“If only I had known . . .”

“Known what, that I’m gay? What difference would it make to what was done to me?”

“I still think you should go to the police.”

“I have . . . in my own way.”

“What do you mean?”

Should I tell her? Ava thought. To what end? “Look, Vivian, I need to get some sleep now. I want to thank you again for calling and for all your concern. Chances are I’ll be out of Surabaya sometime tomorrow, so we should treat this as goodbye.”

“Goodbye then,” Vivian said slowly.

“Goodbye,” said Ava.

She sat there, still facing the window. The drapes were open, a full moon illuminating the treetops that waved in the nighttime breeze.