The Thai Amulet (25 page)

“I need to know about Helen Ford. Specifically, I need to know about her children.”

“Mercy!” she exclaimed. “I’m not sure… what children?”

“Mrs. Thomas, please,” I said. “People are dying over this. Your son could have been one of them if I hadn’t found him. This is what I know.” I told her everything I’d read in Will’s manuscript, and then I told her about the painting.

“He should have destroyed it,” she said. “I told him to. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, though. That painting was all he had left of his sister, whom he adored. In order to be able to keep it, he painted over the child with that Buddha.”

“The children,” I repeated. “I must know about them.”

“There were two,” she said. “One by her husband, one by Virat Chaiwong. She was single, of course, when she got pregnant the first time. Both times, come to think about it. That first time, she was sent off to Singapore. That’s what girls did then. They just said they were going back to the States or whatever for a few months. Then they came back looking much like before. Most of them came back empty-handed. Not Helen, although I didn’t know it at first. Robert knew, but he didn’t tell me right away. I confess I was shocked when I saw him. I know I shouldn’t say this, but you have to think of the times. I was horrified. His father was obviously Thai. They are beautiful, though, the children of mixed race. The boy was one of the most beautiful children I have ever seen. It didn’t matter what I thought, of course. This was her love child, and she wasn’t giving him up. She was a stubborn one. She didn’t give two hoots what people thought. The child was cared for by a Thai family. They knew the child was Helen’s but not who the father was. She visited the child every day. There weren’t many places she could meet with the boy, other than the home she’d placed him in. She used to take him to Robert’s studio. They’d sometimes meet Virat there.

“When she killed her husband—and she did, believe me: it was shortly after the birth of Bobby, and I’ve often wondered if it was a really severe postpartum depression. These days she might have got off, with a good lawyer…” She seemed to be fading a little.

“Did she kill the children?” I said, rather brusquely, I’m afraid. I felt I had to keep her focused, or I wasn’t going to find out what I needed. “I must know whether or not she murdered her children.”

“Of course not! How could anybody think that a mother would do such a thing. She told Robert and me to get the children away, that nobody was to know where they were, and no one was to know that Virat’s boy even existed. That’s why Robert painted him out of the portrait. I took the other boy to England. You won’t tell Bobby, will you? I have brought him up as my own son, loved him as my own son.”

“I won’t. If you think he should know, I’ll leave that to you, I promise.” It was tempting to tell her that a large part of Robert Junior’s problem was due to the feeling that he would never be as good an artist as his father, and that he might well feel better knowing he wasn’t the great painter’s son. But this was not the time for that.

“I’ll never tell him,” she said. “He’s rather gruff, but he’s a sensitive soul underneath. This would be too difficult for him. He had a nervous breakdown a year ago. I sometimes wonder if he takes after his mother way too much. She was always what we used to call high strung.”

“And the other child?”

“Thaksin Chaiwong found out about the relationship between Helen and Virat—I don’t know how—and that was the end of it. He was furious. Thaksin was the younger brother, but he took the part of family leader pretty quickly when he found out. He was already settled at that time, with a wife and small child of his own. He demanded that Virat cut all ties with Helen, and for a while, at least, he did. Helen was heartbroken, but she didn’t abandon the child, and as far as I know, Thaksin never knew about the child, couldn’t have known. Virat’s engagement to a Thai girl was announced, and Helen married that dreadful fellow Tom Ford—I could never bring myself to call him Tex— just as you said. It was doomed right from the start. She was pregnant again, and I guess she saw no option this time. Then I think that Helen and Virat started seeing each other again.

“I’m not exactly sure what happened the night Virat was killed, although I do know that it was Tom who killed him. It’s what happened to Ford after that I’m not certain about. But we knew what we had to do to protect the children. Robert, my husband then, sent the Thai family who were looking after the Chaiwong boy, who was about five, to Chiang Mai. We gave them as much money as we could so they could look after him. We didn’t have a lot. We were sure that the Chaiwongs would kill the boy if they found him. They were awful people. At least Helen thought so. They weren’t for having complications where inheritance and such were concerned.”

“Will Beauchamp thought she’d used an antique sword that belonged to the Chaiwongs to do the, you know, chopping,” I said.

“That’s a silly notion. The sword was my husband’s, not Virat’s. Robert acquired a lot of interesting things to use as props: that sword, the stone head of Buddha in Helen’s portrait. You could find things like that in those days, buy them for next to nothing. He used to let his subjects choose a prop for their portrait if they wished. He said it relaxed them, but that it also told him something about them. That’s a laugh, isn’t it? Virat Chaiwong, the swordsman. A rather poor joke, I suppose. I have no idea what she used that night or what weapon killed Virat. But the sword was in my possession that night.

“It ended our marriage, you know. Robert and I went to England, but he had to come back here. I wouldn’t go. It had all been too much, and I was afraid they’d take Bobby away from me. We divorced a few years later. My second husband, Ed, was such a fine man. He adored Bobby. He, too, thought he was my son. Bobby took after his mother’s side of the family, and therefore he looked like Robert. He has his uncle’s hands and talent. No one thought anything of it. You could get away with those kinds of things if you knew the right people in Bangkok in those days. I left with papers that said he was my son.

“I’ve worried about the other boy, you know, over the years. Robert sent money when he could. He stopped painting for a while, though, so it was tight. He didn’t start again for ten years, and then he painted those awful things—grotesque, I thought they were. But at least he started to make money again. There are people who like to have horrifying art in their living rooms, I suppose. Perhaps it’s the shock value. Who knows? My interpretation of them was that Robert had something to do with what happened to Ford, the body being carved up and everything, although if he did, he never told me about it.

“I don’t know if Robert continued to send money to the family in Chiang Mai. By this time, we were divorced, I’d remarried, and in addition to Bobby had a little girl. I live with my daughter and her family now. I see I needn’t have worried about the boy, though. He seems to be doing just fine. The Chaiwong talent for making money, I expect, runs in his veins.”

“How do you know this?” I said.

“I saw him in the paper, didn’t I? The
Bangkok Herald.
Christening some big ship or other. Wichai Promthip,” she said. “That’s his name now.”

My God,
I thought. “And Helen?” I said. “Do you know what became of her?”

“She changed her name, her identity, and went back to the States,” she said. “She vowed never to see the children again. She thought to do so might put them at risk, and anyway, how could she ever explain what happened? She created some kind of life for herself. She was that kind of determined, but I’m not sure she was ever really happy.”

“How did she avoid being—”

“Executed? I’m not sure. She appealed, of course. I’m sure Thaksin and the rest of the Chaiwongs would have been thrilled if she’d died, but she hired a very aggressive lawyer for her appeal, and I expect she made sure the Chaiwongs knew that she’d drag the family down with her if she didn’t get off. Thaksin thought it was better just to get her out of the country. I have often wondered if in the end he helped her get a reduced sentence and then disappear. She was the kind of person who would have demanded it. In many ways she was fearless. Perhaps this was the price of her silence, I don’t know. I hear Thaksin has died. I suppose we’ll never know. She did spend time in jail, and it was horrible, I’m sure, but I’d left by this time. All I know is that there was a lot going on behind the scenes.”

“Are you going to tell me where she is and what her new name is?”

“No,” she said.

“Please,” I said. “Chat Chaiwong has been murdered. He was a very good person, and engaged to my niece. I keep wondering if it has something to do with this.”

“If you’re thinking she did it, taking revenge on the Chaiwongs, then you’ll have to think again. I’m not saying she wouldn’t be capable of it. Maybe she was, and maybe she wasn’t. But she’s dead. I think it should all die with her.”

“Would you tell me she was dead even if she wasn’t?”

“Yes, I would,” she said. “There have been a lot of people looking for her over the years, reporters and the like. Even that man William Beauchamp. He had the details, everything except the children, but I wasn’t helping with that. He just wanted to know where Helen went. I didn’t tell him, and I won’t tell you. In over fifty years, I’ve never told anyone where she went. I’m not about to start now.”

Chapter 12

What agony I have endured. I cannot find words to express the rage and self-loathing I felt at the young king’s death, emotions so strong that I thought I would die. I had betrayed my mother, my king, and indeed Ayutthaya.

My horror at what had happened was made worse by a fear about my personal situation. Terrified, I presented myself at Ratchapraditsathan Monastery where, prostrating myself before the chief abbott, I begged to be accepted for training as a monk. H, refused my request, but perhaps seeing my distress, granted me few days’ sanctuary at the temple. My fear and guilt soon manifested themselves as an illness. Racked with fever, I tossed a turned, at times delirious, I am certain.

My illness did not respond to the care and treatment of the mon and eventually the abbot came and sat with me. “Your though, are like a poison in your body,” he said. “I have seen you rack with despair. I have heard you cry out in the night. What is this poison that destroys you?”

It was several days before I was able to tell him what I had seen that night by torchlight, as the dancers performed, and what I thought it had meant. He was right, however. The next day, though still weak, I was able to take some food for the first time in many days.

The next evening the abbot led me to a room guarded by monks. In the room were four men and another priest. To my surprise, it was the priest who spoke.

“Do you know who I am?” he said.

“I do not,” I replied.

“Look more closely,” he said. “Beyond the robe and the shaved head.”

I gasped. “You are Prince Thianracha, the dead prince’s uncle, brother to his father, King Chairacha.” I prostrated myself before him.

“That is so. Please, rise. Do you know these men?” he said, gesturing to four who were with him.

“I have seen them in the palace,” I said. I was trembling in the presence of such power. My life, it seemed to me, hung in the balance.

“Do not be afraid,” the prince said. “This is Khun Phirenthbrep.” The man looked straight at me, and I had to look away. “And this is Khun Inthbrep,” the prince went on. “Mun Rachasena, and Luang Si Yot. These good men have come to tell me about the state of affairs in the royal court of Ayutthaya, and the abbot has suggested you have information that would be of use to me.”

At the prompting of the abbot, I told my story again, brought to tears with the retelling of the death of my god-king and friend.

“You see, it is as we told you,” Khun Phirenthbrep said. “Something must be done about this usurper and his deadly queen.”

“We are agreed,” the prince said. “Let us retire to Pa Kaeo Monastery to practice candle divination before an image of Lord Buddha to ascertain our chances of success in these endeavors.”

We, all of us, went to Pa Kaeo to make obeisance to the image of Lord Buddha and to light two candles, one for the prince, the other for Khun Worawongsa. For a time it looked to be that the prince’s candle would be the first to die, thus indicating that Khun Worawongsa’s cause was more just, but then, most extraordinarily, the usurper’s candle was suddenly extinguished.

“The day is yours,” the abbot said to the prince. “The candle divination is proof that you have sufficient merit that you will be successful in what you plan.”

“I accept the result, though I do not ask for it,” the prince said. “Now all will return to our posts to make plans and await an opportunity to act. Your bravery in telling us this story will not go unrewarded,” he said, turning to me. “Now go to the palace and await word.”

The first time I’d journeyed to Chiang Mai, I’d found a peace of sorts in the rhythm of the river and the tranquillity of the wats. This time I was not there to try to re-create the calm I’d felt in the temple. That had been revealed as an illusion, or at best a temporary respite from the poison that seemed to seep around everything I saw and did. I had not come back to find comfort. I had come for revenge.

The headquarters of Busakorn Shipping was just outside of town, located in what looked to be an abandoned hotel. To one side of what had once been the lobby was an empty swimming pool. To the other, a two-story white stucco structure surrounded a courtyard in which an empty fountain sat in a sea of brown grass. Dragonflies flitted about the courtyard, and the air shimmered from the heat. There was a guard right inside the door who, after looking me up and down suspiciously, agreed to call Khun Wichai’s office.

“Tell him it’s Lara McClintoch. We are acquainted through the Chaiwongs. I have something I’m sure he will be interested in,” I said.

To the guard’s surprise, and in a way to mine, I was permitted to enter. Intimidating though it was, anger and guilt carried me across the courtyard past a number of young men, all of whom watched me closely. They nodded pleasantly enough, however, and directed me through a breeze-way at the back and then on to a warehouse beyond.