Monsoon (29 page)

‘Actually, I am, especially the contact with people. No wonder Barney always parks himself out the front and socialises.'

‘That's because Lai is out back running things,' said Kim. ‘How's Anna doing?'

‘She's watching Ho like a hawk. I don't think he's very happy about it.'

Kim laughed. ‘I hated being the underling when I worked in a food joint in Honolulu when I was at college. Say, there's Rick Dale. I haven't seen him for weeks. I might go and join him.'

Refreshed and smiling after his nap Carlo wandered into the bar. Rubbing his hands together he set up some glasses and a bucket of ice, which Barney always insisted was made from filtered or boiled water – ‘To keep the tourists happy. Clean water and no MSG. House rules.' Carlo then helped himself to a bottle of American lager, without bothering to pay, pushed a slice of lime into the top and joined Rick and Kim.

‘Anyone care for a drink? Name your poison. I'm tending bar.'

‘I'll have a beer, thanks,' said Rick.

Kim nodded. ‘A light one for me, thanks. I don't think you've met Rick, have you? He's been living here buying Vietnamese art for a gallery in New York.'

‘Enjoying Hanoi?' Rick asked Carlo.

‘Crowded. Crazy traffic. Colourful. Could be that this place has real potential for an experienced importer,' he added.

‘So what are you after? I heard you were looking for merchandise to export to Australia,' said Rick.

‘I could be. Who told you that?'

‘Charlie. I do some work with him and Miss Huong.'

Carlo leaned forward. ‘So what sorts of things sell well, fetch high prices?'

Rick smiled. ‘Depends on the collector. One man's treasure . . . might not be of any interest to someone else. Some people buy as an investment, others because it's rare or unusual, something no one else has. Others buy because they're passionately interested in certain things.'

‘And they'll pay top dollar?'

‘Sometimes. Some collectors can be eccentric. I heard of a fellow in Tokyo who collects Buddhist sculptures, really old Tibetan paintings and porcelain from a particular period. Stashes it all away in a basement where no one else can see it except him.' Rick lifted his beer. ‘If a collector is missing one piece from a set of something, they might pay handsomely to get the missing item.'

‘How do you find these people?'

‘Ah, that's where the expertise comes in, eh, Rick?' interrupted Kim.

‘But what if someone has something to sell – how do they find a buyer?' persisted Carlo.

‘I guess they take it to a reputable dealer, like Charlie. He'll check if it's authentic, that it's not stolen, looted, whatever. Some pieces have turned up that are seriously valuable. He has quite often donated pieces to museums because they're culturally significant to Vietnam,' added Rick.

‘You on the lookout for antiques, then, Carlo?' asked Kim.

Carlo got up to get some nuts and snacks. ‘I'm in the market for anything that sells, mate.'

Anna stopped by the table and greeted Kim. As he was about to introduce Anna to Rick she smiled and said, ‘Hi, nice to see you. We met at the art show. I've now met your friend Charlie. I still haven't had a chance to visit his gallery. Have you met Carlo?'

Rick nodded. ‘You both must go to Charlie's gallery. It's a great insight into Vietnamese culture. Are you planning to go to see the hill tribes?'

‘She's a bit busy right here,' said Carlo, setting more bottles of beer on the table.

‘Maybe when Barney gets back,' said Anna. ‘Sandy said it's well worth a visit.'

‘I hear you went to Hue and Hoi An,' said Rick.

‘We did. Got caught in a typhoon.'

Rick grinned. ‘Monsoon season. You're getting the full experience, eh?'

‘And now this. I've had more adventures here in a couple of weeks than I've had in a year at home,' laughed Anna.

‘Lucky I'm here to keep an eye on her now,' said Carlo.

‘Ah, you're in safe hands with Sandy,' said Kim smoothly. ‘Besides, it's good to go home with a few different experiences under your belt. Running this place might be an adventure too, eh?'

‘Could be,' agreed Anna. ‘Ho the chef is a bit of a challenge. See you later.'

The cafe was filling with the pre-dinner crowd. Sandy was seating people, suggesting what food to order and chatting in Vietnamese or English to locals and visitors. In the kitchen Anna was dishing food onto plates under Ho's close instructions. Carlo circulated, taking drink orders, making suggestions, spruiking the wine list.

Sandy passed him and whispered, ‘Be sure to write down what drinks are going to what tables. And that includes what you're drinking too, Carlo.'

It was past midnight. A few people lingered on, sipping coffee and drinks. Carlo had joined one table where an American couple and two German girls had teamed up to compare places to sightsee and shop. Anna brought Sandy a plate of food as she sat in the rear writing up the receipts.

‘Here, you've hardly eaten. Try this.'

‘Thanks. Yum, smells good. What is it?'

‘Ho's favourite noodle dish . . . I added a couple of things myself. Behind his back – he's a tyrant over letting me help.'

‘Don't upset him, Anna. I heard him shout at Carlo at one stage. What was that about?'

‘Carlo helped himself to some food. Don't worry, Sands. I'm keeping track of what we're eating and drinking. There's not much left over. Ho is very frugal. And he cooks everything from scratch, which is good: there are no pots of food being wasted.'

‘See if you can get Carlo to bring me the bar bills. I'd like to wrap this up. I'm exhausted. I feel like I need six pairs of eyes and hands.' Sandy yawned. ‘Tell Ho to clean up; we'll close the place soon. It's mid week; I doubt there'll be any new customers.'

Sandy ate her meal and took the plate into the little kitchen and thanked Ho. The chef wiped his hands on the long white apron he'd wrapped over his black trousers and began to complain about Anna. She was watching too closely, ‘stealing' his recipes.

‘Nonsense, Ho. She's helping – she admires your skill. She is not a chef; she's not opening a restaurant.' She let him complain as he cleaned and put away his knives, threw his apron into the cleaning pile and pulled on his black mandarin-style cotton jacket. He picked up a box filled with fresh vegetables, bottles of sauce and plastic containers of cooked noodles and rice.

‘Where is that going, Ho?' Sandy pointed at the box.

‘I take. Mr Barney say yes, I take food from kitchen. No good for tomorrow.'

‘The vegetables will still be okay. Is it for your family?' asked Sandy, not wanting to upset him but equally not wanting to be taken advantage of by the cranky little chef.

Ho glared at her and broke into a torrent of rapid-fire Vietnamese that left Sandy struggling to make sense of his outrage.

Anna appeared in the kitchen. ‘Is everything all right?'

‘I merely asked what he was going to do with that box of food he's taking. He's accusing me of attacking him, not trusting him. He's threatening to walk out. Mr Barney always gave him permission and so on. I still don't know what it's all about.'

‘Just calm him down, Sands. Who cares about a few leftovers?' sighed Anna.

Sandy pacified the chef as best she could and went and washed her plate. Without saying goodbye, Ho left the kitchen with his box of food. It would probably make meals the next day for his family, Sandy surmised. Ho was paid a decent wage and the tips and surcharges were shared by all the staff. But Sandy was too tired to argue.

When she went back into the cafe, her heart sank. A new group of people had just arrived and Carlo was busy opening a bottle of wine for them. They looked to be Vietnamese businessmen, dressed in suits, but now with ties loosened and all very upbeat. Sandy went over and welcomed them in English but politely informed them that the chef had left and the kitchen was closed except for snacks.

The men shrugged. They'd been out to a dinner, celebrating a new business deal and so were only interested in drinks.

‘They're in transport,' Carlo told her. ‘Trucking. Very good business apparently.'

Sandy studied the men, trying to get their measure. There was something about them she couldn't put her finger on. Especially one of them. He smiled too much. His English was sprinkled with American colloquialisms. He boasted about the new Vietnam and how those who knew the ‘right' people were making their fortunes. He talked of plans for new highways, mountain tunnels and the movement of freight across borders.

When Sandy asked what kind of freight they moved around the country, he shrugged and answered, ‘Supply and demand. We not only move goods: in many cases we supply what is in demand. Which is why we got into transport.' He continued to be vague about what sorts of goods they trucked, adding, ‘We move crops, food, merchandise across our borders. The roads are poor, not so safe. We also use rail and are looking at moving in bulk in our own ships and, soon, planes.'

In Vietnamese one of them said to him, ‘Ask her if she wishes to import or export from America.'

‘She is not important,' he answered quickly. ‘Our friend here is more interested.' He inclined his head towards Carlo.

Sandy pretended not to have understood the brief exchange in Vietnamese. But she had met these sorts of businessmen before and quickly realised they probably had dubious business integrity and were ready to exploit regulations and opportunities in the rapidly expanding Vietnamese economy by whatever means they could.

‘So you work for the government?' she asked.

The leader of the group nodded. ‘We have government contracts. But there are now individuals in Vietnam who prefer to capitalise on their hard work and sell directly. Like in the west.' He smiled, giving Sandy the impression that they were not above side-stepping government laws.

She asked, ‘Would you like anything? Coffee?'

To her annoyance, they ordered tea and coffee, and asked for ‘light food'.

‘What's light food?' asked Anna, who had just tidied up the kitchen and let the waiter go home.

‘Sweets, snacks, what've you got?' said Sandy. ‘Pea nuts, anything. I'm telling Carlo when they've finished the wine, that's it. We're closing.'

Anna quickly produced fruit with cold sticky rice topped with a sweet liqueur; peanuts, crackers and a spicy dip; and pickles sprinkled with chillies. She grilled chicken satay sticks that had been left in a coconut marinade in the fridge.

Carlo and the men were in deep conversation and the food quickly disappeared. Sandy knew Carlo was about to open more wine, but she turned off the lights outside the cafe, locked the bar area and she and Anna moved the tables and chairs inside. The men took the hint and put money on the table and shook Carlo's hand. He escorted them outside as they got into cars, handing their business cards to Carlo.

‘Why'd you shove them out?' grumbled Carlo. ‘They would've spent money on booze. Influential people like that can bring in business. The night is young. What we need is music in here. Bring in the late crowd.'

‘This is a cafe, not a nightclub, Carlo,' said Sandy. ‘We're closing up. Besides, we don't want to encourage that kind of clientele. Next thing they'll be asking for bar girls.'

Carlo went to say something, but changed his mind. ‘Want a nightcap, eh, baby?'

Anna shook her head. ‘I'm going to bed. Do you want Carlo to take you home, Sandy?'

‘No, thanks. I'll grab one of the cyclos out the front. Perhaps you can open up in the morning?'

‘Sure thing. You go for your run. See you when you get here,' said Anna.

‘Thanks for today. And for whipping up the late-night supper for the suits,' said Sandy.

Anna grinned. ‘They fancied themselves, didn't they?'

‘They're serious business people. Could be useful,' said Carlo, as he headed upstairs. ‘See ya, Sandy.'

Sandy picked up her handbag. ‘I wouldn't trust that mob as far as I could throw them, Anna. From the bits of conversation I heard I'd say they're moving illegal freight or exploiting government contracts to skim the cream for themselves.'

‘Ah, they didn't know you spoke Vietnamese?'

‘No. Tell Carlo not to have anything to do with them. Not that he'd have any reason to talk business with them,' said Sandy.

‘Of course not. He was just being sociable,' said Anna. ‘Night, Sands. We got through the first day okay, huh?'

‘Yeah. See you tomorrow.' Sandy headed outside and hailed a cyclo. She was tired and anxious to get back into her own space. Much as she enjoyed Anna's company it had been a while since she'd had the flat to herself. They'd got through their first day at the cafe, but Sandy hoped Carlo would find his own interests and not consider himself a third partner in running Barney's.

When Tom phoned Anna's dad, Kevin, he found him chatty and friendly.

‘Well, it's good to hear that the girls are having fun and doing such interesting things. I really appreciate your phoning me,' said Kevin.

‘No trouble. I promised Anna I'd let you know that I met them both. She's a lovely girl.' He went on to describe the trip to Halong Bay and the fun the three had had there. Then he paused. ‘If you don't mind my asking, does she know much about her mother's side of the family? The subject came up and I didn't know if it was a sensitive area or if she really doesn't have the whole story. I thought her being over there, you know, might have sparked some curiosity.'

Kevin sighed. ‘It crossed my mind too. What she knows about her mum is from Thu's time here, after we got married. I always assumed Thu would fill in the gaps and talk to Anna about her family in Vietnam. But Anna was so young when Thu died, it never happened.'