For The Death Of Me (17 page)

Marie was waiting in the foyer, as I'd asked. ‘You're right,' I told her. ‘Office closed on Sundays.'

20

We walked out to Merchant Road, where I stopped a taxi, one with wheels this time. I dropped Marie back at the Esplanade, then told the driver to take me to the Stamford. I still had fifteen minutes before I was due to meet Sammy and Dylan, and I figured that a fresh shirt might be in order.

I was heading for the lift when the foyer concierge called out. ‘Excuse me, Mr Blackstone, I have a message for you, sir.'

As I walked over to him, I guessed it might be from Dylan, telling me that he was crashing out for the rest of the day. Could I have been more wrong? No.

‘A lady called, sir,' he told me. ‘She asked to speak to you. I told her you were out, but that she could leave voice-mail. She said she had to speak with you in person, and she left this number, asking if you would call her back.'

He handed me a notelet bearing the hotel crest and a number; I glanced at it and saw it was local. ‘Did she say anything else?'

‘No, sir, only that it was urgent.'

Many things in my life seem urgent to the other people involved, but not to me. I thanked him and headed liftward. On the way up, I found myself wondering who it might be. Probably the girl from the television station; but she had left a message before, no problem, so why not this time? A journalist? Maybe, but wouldn't she have left a name, or more likely called back every half-hour till she got a result?

I was still pondering when I got to my suite. I chose a Coke from the mini-bar, popped it and took it into the bathroom, where I had a quick shower. By that time I had almost forgotten about the call: my mind was back at Riverside Point, wondering who had given Lee Kan Tong's office such a duffing up. My best guess was a theatre rival, looking to blag a copy of a script that Heritage held; these things happen in the arts world, although we'd never admit it to outsiders.

The note was still on my table as I pulled on a dry T-SHIRT, this one advertising Jimmy Buffet's Margaritaville in Las Vegas. I had half a mind not to bother about the woman, just to head downstairs and out with the lads. Fortunately, or not (you decide later), the other half made me pick it up and dial the number.

‘Yes? Who's speaking?' The voice on the other end was female all right, but not Singaporean . . . at least, not Asian. It was mature, not a youngster, but not old either; my age maybe. It was also clearly agitated.

‘This is Oz Blackstone. I have a message asking me to call you. Assuming I have the right number, who are you?'

The woman sighed, and I could have sworn it was with relief. ‘Oz,' she exclaimed. ‘I'm so glad you called me back. God, you don't know how glad.'

‘I'm glad you're glad, but who the hell are you?'

‘We've never met,' she replied, seemingly determined not to answer my straight question, ‘but we have something in common. My ex-husband is your brother-in-law. My name's Madeleine January, and I need to see you.'

Everywhere's a village, I thought. Four million inhabitants or not it's still a fucking village. I paused, just to give myself some thinking time. ‘Are you, indeed?' I replied at last. ‘How did you know I was here?'

‘I heard a trailer for tonight's Mai Bong Show on local telly. They said you were on it.'

‘No, I meant how did you know I was in this hotel?' My master plan had been hit right on the head. I decided to stall her until I could come up with another.

‘I called around. You weren't in Raffles, and you weren't in the Fullerton; this was third choice.'

‘Remind me to chastise my secretary for booking me in downmarket,' I murmured. I had Plan B: it was, let her make the running. ‘Since you know I'm on air this evening, you must realise that I'm pretty busy.'

‘I appreciate that, but this really is very urgent. Can we meet?'

‘When?'

‘Two o'clock.'

I let her hang on for a few seconds. Finally I sighed. ‘Okay, if you insist; but be clear, I'm only doing this because of the Harvey connection. Where?'

‘There's an island called Sentosa, near the port, with lots of attractions on it. One of them's a place called Fort Siloso. Go there and then follow the yellow route till you get to the children's playground at the top. I'll be there. Make sure you get there just after two. I want to be sure I'm there before you.'

‘Okay, but why the drama? I'm on holiday, remember.'

‘I'll explain later. Just be there, Oz. It'll be worth it to Harvey in the long run, I assure you.' She hung up.

21

I stood in the window for a while, staring out at Singapore and thinking as I sipped my can of warm Coke. Maybe, just maybe, there wasn't going to be a need for all the subterfuge I'd planned; maybe Mike's air fare had been a waste of money.

I called his suite, but there was no answer. I checked my watch; it was ten past midday.

He and Sammy Grant were waiting for me. They were sitting in the foyer bar; each of them looked the worse for wear, and they appeared to be chewing, rather than drinking, two Corona beers.

‘Where have you been?' Dylan moaned. ‘Pumping iron in that fucking gym again?'

‘That was a while ago. I've been on the river since then.'

‘Have a beer, then, and work it off.'

‘Don't be disgusting, Benny.' I thought it politic to remind him that we were travelling under his new name, just in case he had forgotten; I had also decided to keep him in the dark about Prim's good news. That could wait for a while. ‘You know I never drink before lunch.' I clapped my hands together and looked enthusiastic.

Sammy jumped to his feet; Dylan seemed to slither to his. That's the only way I can describe it. ‘Okay,' our new friend began, ‘I thought I'd take us to Orchard Road. Ah know you guys won't usually do the shops on a stag trip, but there's a place up there called the Lucky Plaza. It's just fuckin' magic; you'll get every sort of fake you can imagine. There's even a wee tailor's shop there called Armani.'

‘That's a nice idea, Sam,' I said, ‘but you're right. We're not going to the shops. I've been reading up and I want to go to a place called Sentosa.'

‘Sentosa?' he exclaimed. ‘But it's Sunday. It'll be fuckin' heavin'; it's a family day.'

‘Nonetheless, it's where I want to go, and I am the Mighty Oz. Besides, we might not get another chance.'

Remember I told you about that cable car we saw when the limo driver gave us what passes for the grand tour? That's how most people get to Sentosa. You can board it at Mount Faber, but Sammy reckoned it would be quieter at the ferry terminal, so we taxied there.

There weren't too many people around, but we still had to queue for a while as all of the punters were tourists and all of them had to have the various day-trip packages explained to them. Not us, though: Sammy simply walked up to the window and asked for three returns. The man behind the counter gazed at us gratefully as I paid; he looked knackered, even in his air-conditioned booth.

We took the lift up to the boarding platform, showed our tickets to the attendant and jumped on to the first empty slow-moving car that came along. It swung us out into space and over two cruise liners, moored side by side. ‘I can never work out why people would want to pay money to get into a boat and sail round in circles,' Dylan muttered; the Corona had not improved his mood.

‘I used to say that too,' I shot back. ‘Now that I can afford it, and I've had a chance to cruise the Great Barrier Reef on Miles Grayson's yacht, I'm not quite so sure. You can afford it now, Benny. Maybe your view will change.'

He gave me a sour look. ‘Does having money cure seasickness? ' he asked.

I smiled at him, a little wickedly, I must confess. ‘If you get seasick how do you feel about cable cars swinging in the wind?'

‘Bastard! Do you think you could get on your mobile and ask the driver to hurry up?'

Happily, we made it to the other side before the boy threw up, although Sammy didn't take his eyes off him for the rest of the journey. He was first off, holding on to the guardrail to steady himself as he hit solid ground. The way out led us through a gift shop. Sammy, having started on the road that leads to male-pattern baldness, headed for the part that sold sun-hats. Mike was going to follow him, until I caught his sleeve.

‘I'm meeting someone here,' I murmured in his ear. ‘Whatever I do, play along with it, and when we get to a certain point, steer our boy off to one side. You'll know when we get there.'

The prospect of doing something with a purpose seemed to sharpen him up in an instant. ‘Okay, but who are you meeting?'

‘Maddy January: she called me this morning. I'll tell you more later, when I know myself. For now, follow my lead.'

Sammy was back in only a minute, wearing a pale green hat with a Merlion crest. It matched Dylan's complexion; if I had seen any Irn Bru on sale I'd have bought him a can. (For those of you who do not know, Irn Bru is one of two traditional Scottish hangover remedies. The other is more bevvy, but Mike had tried that and it didn't seem to have done much good.)

‘Right, gentlemen,' said our guide, with the air of a man who was beginning to wish he hadn't talked himself into whatever he had talked himself into. ‘Where will it be? The aquarium?'

Dylan glared at him. ‘They've got a big one in Monaco,' I said. ‘Benny's got fish up his arse.'

‘Did you ken that there's a fish that does that? It swims up your arse, or even up your dick,' Sammy volunteered, bewilderingly. ‘South American it is, called the canduri.'

‘I feel no better for knowing that,' I told him sincerely.

He chuckled. ‘Maybe no', right enough, but don't pish in the Amazon, that's all Ah'm saying. How about lookin' at Volcano World, then?'

‘I live a few hundred miles from a couple of real ones. No, Sam, when I was out on the river I met a girl who told me about a place called Fort Siloso. She said that anybody who comes to Singapore should see it.'

‘Siloso? Aye, okay. We'll need to take the bus, though.'

I bought a couple of Subways for the boys . . . it occurred to me that a large sandwich might do both of them more good than harm . . . and three bottles of water, then, when they had eaten, followed Sammy over to the stop. He led us on to a Blue Line bus, which dropped us close to the entrance to the fort, and the aquarium.

It was crowded with kids as we walked past; from out of nowhere a sudden pang hit me. I wondered what Susie, Janet, Tom and Jonathan were doing at that moment. I realised at once that they'd be sleeping, but it didn't help. I wanted to be home with them, and the thought made me determined that I was not going to let the first Mrs January jerk me around. I was ready to scare those pictures out of her, and I reckoned I could do that too, if it came to it.

As Sammy bought three tickets with the fifty-dollar note I gave him, I glanced at my watch: it showed that it had gone quarter to two. The norm of the place seemed to be that we waited for a tram to take us up what looked like a fairly steep hill . . . not unnatural: you'd expect a fort to be on a hill-top. The attendant told us that one had just left and that we'd have to wait fifteen minutes. I thanked him for the tip and started walking. Sammy and Dylan both looked slightly aghast, but they fell in behind me.

Yellow footsteps showed the way: they led us to the guardhouse, with uniformed wax figures . . . and, for some reason, a wax whippet . . . and the first of what turned out to be a series of voice presentations, then up a twisting path towards a gun emplacement, and a progression of displays, in which a character called Sergeant Major Cooper talked us through the perils of life as a nineteenth-century soldier, cook, tailor and coolie. (I don't know why they gave the poor sods that name, they must have been anything but.)

By the time we'd come through it all, it was five past two. We stepped into the open air, past a mock-up of a cannon being fired. We were near the top of the hill; I looked ahead and saw a child's swing, and a play suspension bridge.

‘I'm going for a seat over there,' I announced. ‘You guys go on, and I'll catch you up later.'

‘We'll wait wi' you,' said Sammy.

‘No, just do like I say. I want to phone my wife: my dad's been ill, and I need to check on him.'

‘Come on,' Benny barked. ‘It's fucking baking out here. There's buildings over there and I want to get under cover.' He headed off in that direction, our friend slouching along behind him.

I mounted the last slope and stepped out on to the flat area of the playground. I saw a bench, but no sign of a woman, or anyone else for that matter. I wondered if I had been set up; if so, there was nothing I could do but sit it out and see what happened.

I had barely lowered myself on to the bench when I heard a sound, a creaking from the play bridge. I turned: it was swaying from side to side under the weight of a woman who was walking across it, clutching the guardrope in one hand and a small bag in the other. Not a great weight, I guessed. She was tall and slim, with shoulder-length auburn hair that shone and shimmered as she moved; her crowning glory and no mistake. She looked to be around forty, but she had kept her figure. I could tell that because it was on show, in close-fitting pedal-pushers and a sleeveless shirt, tailored to hold her breasts high. Twenty years on, it wasn't hard to understand what Harvey, and all those guys since, had seen in her.

She skipped off the bridge walked the few steps across to my bench and sat beside me. ‘Oz,' she murmured.