Her Master's Voice

Her Master’s Voice Sherry is a lonely wife in Singapore, filling her days studying yoga under an Indian guru who loves women. The guru and her friend Ranji are helping her become the woman she secretly wanted to be, but there is a price to be paid for her new femininity. How will she admit to her husband what she and Ranji have been doing? But he finds out and she is trapped on a tropical island, alone with the man she has wronged. He has other worries; he has been targeted by Islamic terrorists. Soon Sherry and her friends from Singapore and Indonesia are fighting for his life with all determination and feminine charm they can manage. Sensuality Rating: SCORCHING Genre: Action/Adventure/Multiple Partners Length: 91,000 words

HER MASTER’S VOICE

Jacqueline George

MENAGE AND MORE

Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK IMPRINT: Romance ABOUT THE E-BOOK VERSION: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to one LEGAL copy for your own personal use. It is ILLEGAL to send your copy to someone who did not pay for it. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. HER MASTER’S VOICE Copyright © 2008 by J. E. George E-book ISBN: 1-60601-269-X First E-book Publication: November 2008 Cover design by Jinger Heaston All cover art and logo copyright © 2008 by Siren Publishing, Inc. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. Printed in the U.S.A. PUBLISHER Siren Publishing, Inc. www.SirenPublishing.com

DEDICATION To the friends and colleagues who have made my stays in South East Asia so memorable.

HER MASTER’S VOICE JACQUELINE GEORGE Copyright © 2008

Chapter 1 Five in the morning and already Singapore was stirring to a new day. The black, starred velvet above could never shine clearly through the haze and lights of the busy city, and now it faded further as grey light crept up from the east. Moonbeam Walk dozed quietly but the rush of passing cars on nearby Holland Road was getting more frequent. By six o’clock the sound would be continuous and it would stay that way until very late at night. Behind the open bedroom windows of No. 8, Sherry and Tim slept in twin beds. Tim had kicked his sheet off and lay nude on the rumpled bed. Sherry, tightly swathed in her sheet, lay rigidly on her back like a corpse awaiting burial. In her sleep she had pulled the sheet up about her ears and only the top of her short, blonde hair showed on the pillow. On the point of five o’clock, the alarm screeched and Tim reached out to silence it. Not allowing a drift back into sleep, he dragged himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and looked unhappily across the room. Sherry did not stir. Moving automatically he made for the bathroom. Still nude, he crept downstairs. His packed bag waited for him, along with his uniform and boots all ready to go. He slipped into his navy blue shirt and slacks, and sat to pull on his socks and Redwings. Patting his shirt pocket to check his ticket, passport and wallet, he quietly unlocked the door. He took his bag out into the dawn twilight to wait for his taxi. The taxi hurried him north across the island, past lines of cluttered Chinese shop-houses and patches of near jungle, to Seletar and his Indopet plane. He supposed the big bosses in Indopet had managed to put together some sort of bent deal that allowed them to fly their charters

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into the military field at Seletar rather than the main airport at Paya Lebar. Tim regretted it. On mornings like these he would have liked to start the day with a cooked breakfast at the airport. Seletar could only offer coffee and Danish. The check-in was basic, only old fashioned scales with a huge dial and a baggage trolley behind. An efficient but distant Chinese man checking tickets and issuing boarding passes. Two bored Immigration officers collecting visa slips and cursorily stamping passports. In the institutional lounge, passengers had begun to gather; all men in working clothes with little or no hand baggage. They sat silent and morose, preparing themselves for another stint in the oilfields of Kalimantan. Tim did not recognise anyone and made for the coffee table. He sat and dozed until an Indonesian stewardess in severe uniform appeared at the exit doors and, without checking boarding passes, ushered them out to the tarmac and the waiting plane. He stayed awake long enough to eat the cold fried rice that Indopet substituted for breakfast and then slept his way across the Java Sea and the island of Borneo. Balikpapan Airport always came as a shock to arriving passengers. Not so much the heat. That was similar to Singapore, but the total lack of concern from the Indonesian authorities for creature comforts. Tim shuffled across the tarmac to the corrugated iron shed called Arrivals. Inside, the air was stifling and the passengers stood sweating in line while immaculately uniformed Immigration officers carefully studied each passport. The harsh, spicy reek of kretek cigarettes filled the air and this more than anything else reminded Tim he had come back to his second home. He pushed his way out of the Arrivals shed through a clamour of taxi drivers and looked for someone else in a Krumbein Oilfield Services uniform. At the back of the crowd stood Alfred, the office driver. He had a large envelope in his hand and a bottle of Pernod, and he smiled happily. “Hello, Mr. Tim. Mr. Lefevre say you go taxi to Camp Dua, OK?” Oh shit, Tim thought. Pierre strikes again. Now instead of a comfortable half hour in a chopper or the old Grumman Goose, he was stuck with three hot and tedious hours in a local taxi, winding around the potholes in the narrow strip of asphalt that passed for a highway in this part of Indonesia. He tore open the envelope in disgust and found, along with the job programs and invoices for signing, a hand-written note from

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Pierre. Sorry but I could not get a seat on the chopper today. You must go by taxi. The head is for CB4. Please give it to Max. See you, Pierre. Well, bless him. Pierre had known for at least the last two weeks that Tim was scheduled back today, and he could not get a seat? Tim did not believe it. “What head is this, Alfred?” “In taxi already,” said Alfred, leading him off to the car park. The taxi looked no older than Tim but in much worse shape. Two Indonesian rig hands waited next to it, along with the driver. In the boot the cylinder head of a GM Detroit diesel lay half hidden by small boxes of spares, all firmly sealed with blue Krumbein tape. Pierre obviously wanted an escort for the cargo and had volunteered Tim. Probably, the rig hands were just a little private enterprise by the taxi driver. Or by Alfred. The taxi crawled slowly through the crowds on the road out of town, picking its way around pedestrians and animals and being passed continuously by suicidal riders on small Honda motorcycles. As the ramshackle shops turned into houses and then died away altogether, the traffic became lighter but the potholes that exposed the red-yellow clay of the road foundations dictated how fast traffic could move. Tim settled down to watch the passing villages and their rice paddies, clusters of small wooden huts shaded by coconut palms. It was already late afternoon when the taxi lurched up to the gate of Camp Dua. Tim went to persuade the Indopet security guards to allow the taxi to deliver the cylinder head right to the jetty. Raymond waited for him in the shade by the river. Raymond was his crew captain. Big for an Indonesian and fleshy, Raymond kept the crew working and the barge running. His straggly moustache was always ready to smile, but just as ready to stare with disapproval at any crewman who slacked. A stare would fix the problem and, following Indonesian culture, compliance with Raymond’s wishes brought the reward of respect. The crew recognised Raymond not only because of his position as captain, but more importantly because he had the disposal of all the empty plastic containers from Sea Sprite IV. After a substantial acid job he might have five hundred or more plastic jerry cans to sell. Tim turned a blind eye to the enterprise and did not accept a cut of the proceeds. Under the unwritten rules of Indonesian black business, he should automatically receive half, the boss’s share. Raymond would then take half of the remainder and divide the balance equally amongst the

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crew. By foregoing his share, Tim had the undying support of all of them and they presented him with a carton of beer as a gesture after each big sale. While Raymond got the rig hands to manhandle the cylinder head onto the Sea Sprite IV whaler, Tim went to the radio room to sign in with PetroFrance. That done, he took a seat in the bow of the boat, and Raymond guided them out into the muddy waters of the Mahakam Delta. Low in the water, the whaler found the current difficult. It took some time and skill to cross the wide stretch of river in front of Camp Dua and reach the nipa swamp that made up the delta itself. Raymond eased them into a narrow channel with branches hanging well over the water, a short cut the larger crew boats could not take. Lurid dragonflies flitted in the dappled light and the dark water lay still as they wove slowly on into the swamp. The mangroves and nipa palms blanketed the view until they burst back into the sunshine of a main channel. The Siak swamp barge, the rig hands’ destination, had buried itself in the opposite bank, but Raymond swept on down the channel. He wanted extra muscle to help with the cylinder head. CB4 was a converted crane barge and now supported a light land rig instead of its crane. The quiet of the swamp shook with the noise of labouring Cats as the rig struggled to pull out of hole. They nosed up to the muddy tyre fenders lining the barge. Tim left Raymond to get the head on board and went in search of Max. He found him working beside the Krumbein pump unit, surrounded by dismantled pipe work and tools. He looked hot, tired and greasy. Tim handed over the bottle of Pernod, intended as a sweetener for the toolpusher, and stopped to chat. Max was a Cajun from Louisiana and had plenty to say about the ‘real’ Frenchmen who worked for PetroFrance and Krumbein. Tim listened with sympathy but followed Raymond back to the whaler as soon as he could. He wanted to get back to his own barge. They dropped the Siak rig hands and headed off to the far side of the delta where Sea Sprite IV sat tied to a wellhead, waiting for its next operation. The crew lined the railing, smiling as Tim clambered over the fenders and through the pipe work. It felt good to come back and shake their hands. He slung his bag over his shoulder and climbed the steps up to his portable building, perched in splendour across the stern of the barge. He stood for a moment on the verandah and looked around. The barge stretched in front of him. The generator shack with its noisy GM giving them electricity. The old twin pump unit, the heart of the barge.

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The storage and mixing tanks beyond. To one side he could look out over a branch of the Mahakam. On the other, he could see over the tops of the nipa palms lining the river’s edge to the tall swamp jungle a short way beyond. It all looked good. Soon Raymond would run Tim and the others to Camp Dua to eat their evening meal in the mess. Then they would come back and he would turn in for an early night with one of the books he had brought from Singapore. Tomorrow Sea Sprite IV would still be on standby for the next acid job. After breakfast he would do a check of the pump unit and then he would leave Raymond to get on with the continual round of maintenance and painting. He would make an excuse and go ashore, leaving the wellhead platform by walking along the cable tray. Ashore, the swamp islands had a network of pipelines on trestles two or three metres above the swamp surface. Beside the pipes lay the cable tray, carrying power and telemetry cables and closed over by galvanized mesh. The cable trays served as pathways in the sky, above the mud of the swamp, and gave access into most of the islands. He would follow the swamp edge around, solitary, watching the birds and monkeys, raised comfortably above the jungle floor. On the other side of the island, perhaps only a kilometre away as the sea eagle flies but at least three along the cable tray, he would come to a primitive landing stage and a duck-walk of split logs leading into the jungle. This led to Darti’s house. He had not seen her for over a week, and he missed her.

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Chapter 2 Sherry hated the alarm clock as much as Tim did, but she did not let it disturb her. She slept on, only vaguely aware of him moving around downstairs and finally clicking the door closed behind him. It was seven thirty before she woke and lay staring at the ceiling, thinking of her plans for the day. Tim had gone away for two weeks at least and she had a prick of guilt at the feeling of relaxation creeping over her. She had come to positively enjoy being left alone in Singapore. Not that she did not enjoy sharing her life with Tim during the hectic six-day rest periods he had at home. In fact she loved visiting new places, following his short-lived enthusiasms and sharing unfamiliar food in strange food stalls. She supposed it helped for her to be taken out of herself sometimes. The trouble was the feeling of sadness she sensed in him. She had noticed it ever since she had put her foot down and insisted on twin beds. He did not seem to appreciate her need for companionship rather than closeness, but having him wake close beside her in the mornings always seemed to lead to hints of sex. Sex that she could do without. She would have demanded separate bedrooms as well but she knew that would have pushed Tim too far. She showered and went down to breakfast on fruit and cold water. She would clean the house, put Tim’s bed sheets in the washing machine and put away his magazines and the model boat he was building as a hobby. Then she could go to meet Ranji and on for her Whole Life class with Papi Bombar. Afterwards she would take Ranji for lunch, and in return Ranji would probably take her for another flute playing lesson. Sherry locked the door but left the windows open behind their grilles. She never closed the windows. In such a gentle climate the whole idea of having a house to live in seemed an extravagance. Holland Road was its usual nose-to-tail rush but she had become a Singapore girl now. She stepped out into the smallest of gaps and the traffic slowed to let her through to the central reservation. Another deadly step out and

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she reached the bus stop. The Holland Road buses came as frequently as the taxis, but she had to wait for a number 106 to take her down into Bukit Timah valley and onto the Indian part of the town centre. The bus was old and crowded with chattering schoolgirls in white blouses and pleated navy skirts. They offered Sherry a seat but she felt too embarrassed to accept. The bus rattled and lurched its way down Bukit Timah Road towards the city. She left the bus at the beginning of Serangoon Road, forced her way across the crowded pavement and went looking for Ranji. She waited deep in the Zhujiao Centre, at her father’s textile stall. Today being a Whole Life day she wore Western clothes, hiding her Lycra leotard with jeans and a loose shirt. Her luxuriant black hair hung between her shoulders in a heavy plait, garnished at her neck with a jasmine posy. They touched hands and Ranji led her quickly out through the busy aisles of the shopping centre. “So, Tim has gone? That’s good. Now we can enjoy ourselves again.” They wove slowly along the pavement of Serangoon Road, sometimes on the narrow strip next to the road and sometimes in the pillared shade next to the shops. “You know, it always seems so long that we don’t see each other when Tim’s here. I think I miss you, and I think you forget your Whole Life mantras also.” “No, I don’t,” Sherry contradicted her. “I don’t know the mantras anyway. I might be able to remember something if they were in English, but… I just sit there and open and close my lips.” Ranji laughed happily. “Never mind. It is your inner peace that’s the important thing. Papi Bombar knows it is hard for you. Don’t worry.” Ranji’s belief in Papi Bombar and his Whole Life movement was complete and Sherry envied her. Not for her the weekly struggle with unfamiliar concepts in the work sheets that Papi Bombar distributed. She just soaked them up, as if she had learnt them at school. She probably had. Sherry bought her own inner peace at the cost of hard study and confusion but if her ordained path led that way, then she would follow it, no matter what. Ranji suddenly turned and disappeared up a steep wooden stairway. Sherry followed her tightly jeaned hips upwards. Ranji had a comfortable shape, rich and rounded. When she wore a sari she showed off prominent breasts and a soft round tummy. She had a loud and happy nature, and filled rooms with laughter given half a chance. She also had a very sexy aura about her, and attracted both men and women to stand

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in her light. Sherry used to think of herself as elegant, but beside Ranji she faded to just dull and bony. They came to a landing with a bookcase full of shoes. They added their own and stepped through the door into a bare room with three large arched windows looking out over the bustle of the street below. At the far end sat a low dais. The room was gently air-conditioned and the double glazed windows kept out most of the traffic noise. Facing the windows, gaudy posters of gods and mythological figures covered the wall, all explained in heavy Hindi slogans. More women stood waiting under the posters, talking quietly in small groups. Most were Indian or Sri Lankan. A couple looked like Malays. As usual, Sherry saw no Chinese girls and no other Europeans. Ranji called out to the others as she hurried to a corner table and started to strip off her shirt and jeans. Her leotard shone shiny electric blue and bore the Nike swoosh across her barely contained breasts. It was very small and designed to cover an absolute minimum. Ranji seemed to overflow it. Nearly naked, she looked strong and capable. The other women were also undressing, all uncovering the latest in exercise fashion, either revealing leotards or a tight top paired with the smallest of bikini panties. Their near nudity made their make-up and jewellery shine more brilliantly. All wore earrings and bracelets. Everyone had rings on both hands and several had ankle chains. Some had jewelled nose studs, always popular with Indian girls, and one shy girl in a short yellow top and tiny matching monokini had a large rhinestone glinting in her navel. Papi often lectured them on the importance of their feminine principle in the cosmos and the necessity of projecting their God-given beauty in their dress, make-up and ornament. In particular he stressed the role of the female bottom in representing all the richness, fertility and passion brought to the world by the Goddess Rati. Following his guidance all of the leotards and bikinis had a Brazilian cut to them and a variety of barely covered bottoms came into sight as the women stripped off their outer clothes. Sherry had been shocked on her first visit at the sight of so many apparently ordinary women standing around and chattering naturally while wearing next to nothing. Now she realised the importance of the feminine symbols and she was happy to feel the floorboards directly with her own bare bottom. Ranji strode to a spot in front of the dais and folded herself rapidly into the lotus position. As Sherry bent and stretched to loosen her

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muscles, she looked at Ranji. Her lotus position might be correct, but Ranji was no retiring nun. She had closed her eyes, thrust her chin out and stiffened her back. She looked far from relaxed. She was still very present. Sherry settled down beside her, pulling her feet up onto her thighs and sitting up straight. Around her she could hear the other women settling down. She touched her thumbs to her fingertips and closed her eyes. She felt proud of the progress she had made with her meditation. The lotus position had made her suffer initially. Even though she had thought of herself as flexible, her first attempts had turned into agony after very few minutes. Meditation had been out of reach because of the pain, but she persevered. Then one morning Papi Bombar had smiled just for her, and she had coasted through the rest of the session. Since then meditation had stopped being a battle with her body and she could concentrate on what Papi Bombar taught them. Sherry performed her yogic relaxation and allowed her mind to focus on the past week’s exercise, the concept of joy or ananda without objects. She lost all sense of time and of her body. She returned to the rustle of movement and knew that Papi Bombar had arrived. She slowly opened her eyes and gazed on the beautiful face in front of her. He was already seated on the dais, in position, and apparently meditating with his eyes open behind his round, Gandhi glasses with the pink tinted lenses. His plump face radiated serene contentment. She loved his solidness and poise, his receding hair and wispy moustache. His brown colour, his full lips and above all his deep, dark eyes with their unusually long eyelashes. She loved him like a grandfather. His young male assistant, seated beside the dais, rang a small hand bell and Papi’s eyes came to life. His gently fluting voice started the chanting and the room filled with the soft sounds of the women behind her. She could not join in because she could not learn the chants. She had tried, even forcing Ranji to write a basic sutra in phonetic letters. She had worked hard for the following week but when she repeated her homework, Ranji had collapsed in laughter and she felt foolish. Now she let her spirit join in their communion and her mind caressed her feeling of inclusion in the family. Although she could not understand their words, she recognised many of the voices chanting behind her as friends to share gossip and a coffee or ice cream with after the session. She

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wondered which lucky friend Papi Bombar would select to receive his blessing today. Her mind drifted over the time she had been chosen. A bittersweet memory. At the end of his homily Papi had blessed them as always and with the others, Sherry had bowed deeply in return. She had just started to brush the dust from her bottom when Ranji grabbed her elbow and started to pull her towards the door in the corner where Papi had just disappeared. Sherry had understood immediately. At last, Papi had chosen her for his private blessing. She had not known what to expect because whenever she had asked the other women, they just laughed and told her to wait and see. In his private office, Papi had a modern office desk complete with an electronic typewriter and a grand swivel armchair. Behind the desk, glass-fronted bookshelves reached up to the ceiling. Papi had already arranged himself cross-legged on a low wooden tablet against the wall, his helper beside him. He gestured Sherry to sit on the mat in front of him and she quickly folded herself down until she sat with her knees touching the front of his tablet, only inches away from Papi’s own knees. Ranji settled next to her. Papi Bombar was so close that she could see that his loose robes were made of silk. She looked up at his kind, beautiful face, and he smiled gently. In a low, mellow voice he spoke to Ranji. “Papi says he is pleased with your progress and is happy to have you in our community,” Ranji translated. Sherry lowered her head and blushed. “He says you are a very proper student, and so he has decided to bring you here to allow you to take his blessing.” “Thank you,” said Sherry, wondering what would happen next. A long silence followed, until Papi gave what seemed to be an order to Ranji. Awkwardly she leaned across Sherry’s lap and reached into Papi’s clothing. Sherry’s mouth opened in shock as she watched Ranji’s hand delving in the silk folds until it returned with Papi’s erection. Her ringed fingers clasped the growing shaft as she moved her hand gently up and down. She reluctantly let go and resumed her place. Sherry stared at the dark pole with its moist, half hidden, purple head that stood pulsing in front of her. It was long, slim and beautiful. Then Papi spoke to her directly for the first time. “Drink, Little Sister. Kiss the stamen of the lotus and drink its blessing.” She did not know what to do. She was confused. She had not known he could speak

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English. Ranji rescued her with a hand on her shoulder, easing her firmly forward. Conscious now of her duty, and of Papi’s generosity and affection, she bowed her head into his lap and dropped her mouth over the head of his erection. He smelt clean and spicy. She used her lips to push back his foreskin as she took his hot plum into her mouth. The smooth leathery texture felt divine as she explored it with her tongue. She sucked in hard and held him still. A feeling of immense contentment washed over her as if she had permission to suckle on Mother Earth herself. Then she felt Papi shift slightly and she realised that she had to give something back to him. She started to bob her head up and down, sucking all the time and waiting to receive his blessing. After a few moments she felt his gentle hand on the side of her face easing her back up. She let him slip from her mouth and stared at the wet pole swaying in front of her. Papi said something to Ranji and she pushed against Sherry’s knee. “Move over,” she whispered. “I’m going to do it now.” She shuffled sideways to let Ranji sit in front of him and watched as she reached confidently for Papi’s staff. Ranji brought energy as well as skill to her work. With one hand deep in Papi’s clothes, presumably clasping his jewels, she worked the other slowly up and down his shaft. Her mouth and tongue were never still over the head of his sex, licking and sucking in a frenzy, and moaning with delight as she did so. Her hand set up a steady rhythm and she occasionally dipped her head to take more and more of him into her mouth. Papi closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. Sherry watched in fascination as Ranji’s sucking and licking became more and more frantic, and the stroking of her hand faster. Her swoops down his shaft came more often and she seemed to take an impossible length of him into her mouth. Sherry became conscious of Papi’s breathing and a growing stiffness in his body. Picking her moment exactly, Ranji put her hands on his knees and dived into his lap. She hung there, still, tense and rigid, her face buried deep in his clothing. Papi and Ranji formed a stone statue, the master with his beautiful female student worshipping at his root. The room had fallen silent and the only movement Sherry could see was the rhythmic swallowing of Ranji’s throat as she received her blessing. Then they both relaxed. Ranji pulled back until only the plum remained in her mouth. She breathed deeply. Papi put his hand to her face and guided her upright. She let his sex fall from her ripe lips and it lay in his lap, wet and shrinking.

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Ranji put her hands together and bowed. “Thank you, Papi, for your blessing.” Papi touched two fingertips to the centre of her forehead. “You are a good student, Little Sister. You have truly been blessed by the Goddess Rati.” He turned to Sherry. “And you, Little Sister, have much to learn. Ranji will teach you. It will be her duty to you and the rest of your sisters. Listen to Rati, Little Sister, and learn to become a woman again. Let your hair grow long, decorate yourself with paint and gold, wear the clothes that show you love Rati, and when you are worthy, you may come again for a blessing.” He touched her forehead also and dismissed them both. When they left Papi’s office, Sherry had been glad that no-one was in the main room and only Ranji saw her tears. She was lost and the feeling of having let Papi Bombar down overwhelmed her. “Why did he ask me in?” she had asked through her tears. “He must know I’m not good enough. Why didn’t he leave me alone?” Ranji had an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t cry, Sherry. Everything Papi does has a purpose. Perhaps he just wanted to show you that you must study more. Learn to live more like Rati.” “But I can’t do that! I’m not, I’m not pretty enough. I can’t be like he wants me to be.” “Now you’re being silly,” Ranji had said. “You’re the prettiest girl here. We would all like to have a figure like yours and blonde hair, but your spirit is sleeping so you are not beautiful.” Ranji could be very brutal sometimes. “Sometimes, when my spirit is correct, I can be very beautiful. When I feel I am truly Rati’s servant, I am beautiful even if I am fat.” And then she had taken Sherry shopping for jewellery. The flute playing lessons had come later. The chanting stopped and Sherry jerked back to the present. Papi Bombar started his address. Today he spoke in English, something he had done more frequently recently. When he did, she felt he spoke especially for her. His topic today was the importance of morning and evening, dawn and dusk as the juncture times for sandhya meditation. He told how the Vedas sing of the half-light pair being like two boats coming to take the devote practitioner across. These two made the ideal times to recite the gayatri mantra. He made them all recite the mantra with him, even Sherry, and she tried her best to fix the gentle sounds in her mind.

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At last Papi’s assistant came to them in turn, bowing and presenting a photocopied sheet containing this week’s homework. Then Papi stood, pressed his palms together and bowed. The women returned the gesture and chanted “Thank you, Papi Bombar” as he left. Teri, a slim Malay girl, followed him into the office. She was the lucky one today. The chattering started immediately as the women got up and went for their clothes. Ranji took Sherry’s arms and called out “Girls, Girls! What do we think of Sherry this week?” Sherry hated this ritual. Once a week, ever since Papi had criticised her, Ranji called all the women to criticise her as well. “Her hair is too short!” “Yes, yes. I know that, Rossi,” said Ranji. “I cannot make it grow any faster, but what about her face?” “Better!” said one. “She is too thin,” said another voice. “Not enough having love with her husband, of course she is thin!” “It is true…” “Yes, look at Ranji…” “Stop, stop!” called Ranji. “You are like market women. Tell Sherry she is beginning to look beautiful. Look at her new rings!” “Yes, Sherry, soon your beauty will come.” “Soon, your hair will grow, Sherry.” “Yes, soon, but you must eat more and make more love.” None of the voices sounded malicious. They thought no more of criticising her than of telling her it was raining outside. Sherry shrugged her shoulders in frustration. She really did not know what they expected of her. She could no more be like Ranji than she could fly to the moon. She could not help it that Ranji was a woman, a real, fertile, voluptuous, pleasure-loving woman. Even as she started to hide her generous curves under her long shirt, she still looked as if she might tear her clothes off and run out into the tropical rain to grow food and babies under the coconut palms. She had the divine gift of creation, and Sherry did not. “Come on, Sherry. We will go for lunch and then we will buy you a new leotard and new earrings. No flute-playing today. I’m too busy and I couldn’t organise a flute. Tomorrow, I will call you on the telephone. Now we will eat lunch.”

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Chapter 3 Tim scrambled through the railing in the dawn half-light to join the crew in the whaler. Raymond fired up the motor and the over-burdened boat slid out into the river. The air was still and a morning mist obscured the far bank. The nipa palms loomed larger and, alone in their sphere of mist, the journey to Camp Dua for breakfast seemed longer than normal. Tim went first to the radio room for the mail and came back with the program for the next operation. They would be busy today after all. He read it as he sat over breakfast in the crowded mess hall. PetroFrance wanted a big, slow acid job as soon as they could get ready. Mixing the acid would take them most of the day, and then tomorrow after breakfast they would start pumping, probably for seven or eight hours if the well proved as tight as most of them were on that side of the field. Oh well, he thought, it beats having a proper job. He nodded to the other expat workers on his table, and walked back to the jetty. Raymond sat waiting at the boat, together with a large box of packed lunches and another of canned drinks, two cokes each for the crew and a couple of beers for Tim. One of the fine things about working with Raymond was that he always seemed to know the daily plan before Tim did, and he felt confident enough to organise the necessaries. Working all day meant no time to come to the canteen for lunch, so he had asked the kitchen for packed food. Raymond made life easy. Back on board, Tim started his calculations while the men went through the daily oil and water checks on all the equipment. Then he walked around the mixing tanks with Raymond, chalking on each one the amount of clean water they would need. The supply barge would soon bring them the chemicals and acid. Tim went back to his accommodation for a coffee. He was free to read a book until the supplies got in. The hoot of a tug’s siren woke him from a doze. The tall pusher tug was nudging a loaded barge in beside them and Raymond stood on the

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crane platform to guide it in. The barge carried stacked pallets of concentrated hydrochloric acid and drums of additives. Tim went to the end of his verandah to watch the crew secure the barge. Abdullah, the smallest and slowest crewman, stood just below him and waited to moor the cargo barge. He jumped onto it and, pulling a painter over from Sea Sprite IV, he took a turn around a mooring bollard. He slowly took the line in as the barge slid into place. Then he quickly doubled the rope back on itself in an ‘Indopet hitch’, the common local way to secure lines. Tim coughed and Abdullah looked up in surprise. Sheepishly, he undid the hitch and rearranged the rope in figures-ofeight around the double bollard. Turning the locals into anything like bargemen was a slow job. Tim pulled on his boots and went down to help Raymond check the shipment. The crew dragged a Wilden air pump across and soon the pump was chugging and spluttering as it emptied fifty-five gallon drums of acid inhibitor, surfactants and demulsifiers and pumped them across into the mixing tanks aboard Sea Sprite IV. The men stacked the empty drums on the far side of the barge, ready for collection. Tim left them to their work and went off to check the spares inventory. By the time he had finished, the men had brought the air pump back on board and started emptying the small acid jerry cans using a steamage peristaltic pump from France. It was slow, irritating work bringing each heavy plastic container down onto the barge deck and holding it tipped as the pump sucked it empty. When lunchtime came, Tim grabbed his sandwiches and told Raymond he was going for a walk. He climbed through the railing onto the wellhead platform and then out onto the cable tray. He walked into the swamp and turned right along the pipe racks as they followed the shoreline. The noise of the Sea Sprite IV generator died away and he walked on in peace accompanied only by birdsong and cicadas stridulating. Eating his sandwiches as he walked, Tim strode on with a purpose. No stopping to sit on the cable tray today to wait for any passing wildlife. He had a meeting to attend. The air hung heavily around him and directly overhead the mid-day sun was uncomfortably hot. He walked for half an hour before he came to Darti’s rickety jetty and the duck-walk snaking into the swamp. He swung down from the cable tray and started cautiously along the split logs. Down at the swamp level, the path led inland away from the fringe of nipa palms that lined the

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riverbank. Tall trees with grey trunks and small round leaves towered over him. The sun could not reach the floor of the swamp and this was the shaded world of insects. Tim walked briskly to keep some of the mosquitoes off his face. Suddenly he stepped back into the sun again. A clear pool lay at his feet, a contrast to the muddy waters of the Mahakam. The vegetation had been cut back and here the way ran along a beaten earth path worn in the grassy bank of the pool. He passed a vegetable patch rich with corn, tapioca and plantains, and stoutly fenced with split poles against the wild pigs. Just beyond it stood Darti’s house, raised on stilts and roofed with dried leaves. The walls were grey weathered clapboard. Smoke rose from behind it where Darti did her cooking. Tim called out to warn her. She came clattering and rushed out onto the verandah. She wore just a faded sarong and a flower in her hair. “Timmee, Timmee!” she shouted, “I know you come today! Before I come to find you.” Tim picked his way up the notched log that served as front steps and sat at the edge of the verandah to pull off his boots and socks. Darti threw herself at his back and started licking his ear. “Wait, wait,” he said as he struggled with his boots, “Wait, I’ve got something to show you.” He pulled two small gift-wrapped packets from his coverall pocket. She looked at them in awe for a moment and then started to tear them open. Crescent moon earrings in white gold. She rushed to a broken shard of mirror glass wedged in the clapboard wall and held them up to her ears. They shone in the black velvet of her hair. Setting them carefully on a shelf near the mirror, she tore open the other packet. Two tiny lace panties, one black, one white. She held them up and laughed. “Very small! I think too small! But I try. We go for mandi, OK?” At ground level at the back of the house Darti kept her water supply in two large plastic drums, a present from Sea Sprite IV. She had placed them to catch rainwater falling from the ragged eaves above and two strips of galvanized sheet bent into gutters helped extend their reach. Usually this caught enough water, but if she had run short after a rainless week, Darti would bring water up in buckets from the pool in front of the house. By the water tanks lay a small log platform, Darti’s bathroom. As Tim struggled out of his coveralls, she unwrapped her sarong and hung it over the steps. When Tim was ready, she stood in the middle of the platform, piled her long hair on the top of her head and waited. Standing there small, brown and naked, she looked even more like a little girl but Tim guessed she was about thirty-five. She said she had

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three children, already big, so even if she had started early she had to be at least thirty. She looked at him sideways. “Come on, Timmee, make me clean!” He took the plastic scoop and quickly shovelled cool water over her. “Oh—cold,” she complained as he reached for the soap. He soaped her from neck to toe and then used both hands to rub the soap into her skin. She felt firm and alive in his hands. Her small breasts barely filled his cupped hands and their dark chocolate nipples stood proud from the cold. He stood behind her to rub soap onto her back and down into her bottom. She sighed and opened her legs a little as his hands dived between her cheeks and brushed her little knot. He reached underneath her until he could soap the folds of her sex and on up onto her mound. She sighed again and stuck her bottom out as an invitation for more. Then she grabbed his wrist behind her and pulled him away. “Enough! Now water.” Tim scooped more water over her to wash away the suds and, still holding her hair up with one hand, she held her bottom and then her sex open for him to splash cold water into her. Then it was his turn. She soaked him and then soaped him all over. She spent a long time rubbing soap over his cock, sundang as she called it, and it stood rigidly as her small hands rubbed and stroked and dived between his legs. By the time she had finished, Tim was ready to throw her down on the floor and make love to her right there but she led him inside, still wet and dripping. She sat him on the floor against the wall while she modelled her new presents. First the earrings and then the white panties. They fitted perfectly and the contrast between the white lace and her brown skin looked delightful. She turned her back to him to show the small white T diving out of sight between her cheeks. Tim could wait no longer and grabbed her hips to pull her back on top of him. She fell on him giggling and shrieking for him to stop. When he did, she leapt up and pulled him into the centre of the room. She laid him on his back on the split bamboo floor and stood over his head. “That better. Now you quiet and watch me.” She pressed her feet against his ears and wiggled her toes against his neck. “You like my new pant?” “You look fantastic. Very beautiful. Take them off.” She put her hands to her hips and started to slide the panties down her legs. Past her knees and down until they held her ankles together. The lace pressed against Tim’s face. “You like now?”

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He looked up at her through the leg holes of the panties. “Yes, I like. You’re very pretty. Bring it down here” Darti tutted in denial. “Puki not pretty!” “How do you know? You don’t enjoy it the way I do. Bring it here where I can eat it.” She shrieked with laughter. “No, not for eating.” All the same, she stepped out of the panties and crouched over his head. She started to kiss him, his forehead, his cheeks, his ears. Her damp hair hung over him, enclosing them both in a dark, sultry tent. Then she reached his mouth and gave him long upside-down kisses. She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest. “Mmmh, orang hutan,” she said. “Not the same Indonesian man.” She moved further down so that her breasts hung above him. “You like, Timmee?” and she started to drag the dark points across his face. He snapped at one and caught it between his teeth. She always liked this game and pulled away. He held the nipple lightly and let her drag it out of his mouth. She moaned with pleasure. He snapped again, sucking half of her breast into his mouth and holding it gently with his teeth. She enjoyed the sharp edges dragging across her flesh and onto her nipple. She pulled free and dangled her other breast above him. He seized on it and filled his mouth again. When he had tormented her breasts for long enough, she moved her kisses down onto his stomach. She lay heavily on him, and his face pressed into her tummy. He could feel on his forehead the hardness of her mound with its sparse dusting of hair, and he could feel her breath on the end of his cock. He could do nothing but wrap his arms around her and enjoy her lithe weight pressing down on him. Her fingertips brushed against him, running up and down his length and stroking the hairy sack below. He felt himself swell even further. Darti was murmuring to herself in Indonesian and her stroking pulled at him to uncover his plum. Her warm breath enveloped him as she moved closer and closer. He lifted his hips, begging her to take him into her mouth. She touched him with the tip of her tongue, holding his shaft and dabbing at the rim of his plum, teasing his stretched nerves. Tim groaned and in response she pulled the skin of his erection back even harder. She stretched him to the edge of pain and gave him no relief. In his agonised mind Tim wrestled to delay the crisis she provoked so wantonly, holding back and at the same time begging for more. Darti’s teasing changed

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into long, succulent licks and she ran her tongue around and around him. She was pushing him past the limit. Tim’s hunger gathered in his roots until at the last second she relaxed her grip and laid him back onto his belly. “Mmmh! You are hungry man, Timmee. Not enough pom-pom in Singapore, no?” He slid back from the edge of orgasm and again felt the weight of her body lying on him, her breath warm on his balls. She felt smooth, firm and exciting. He gripped her hips and lifted her up. “Let me look at you…” Darti giggled as she allowed him to raise her onto her knees. She knelt on all fours above him and he looked up at her feminine riches, her small breasts hanging with their dark brown wrinkled points, her slight frame and narrow waist, childish hips and, shaded at the base of her belly, her sex with its dusting of black hair. He ran his hands up and down her flanks, stroking her and enjoying the silky feeling of her. He pulled on her hips, seeking to bring her sex within range of his tongue, but she resisted him. Her knees pressed on either side of his head, holding him still and keeping him a few tantalizing inches away from her centre. “No! Cannot!” She was teasing him. She dipped her head down and scooped him up with her mouth. He groaned in relief as her warm wetness engulfed him. “Yes, oh yes!” She savoured him, moving her head gently from side to side and letting him slide around in her mouth. His excitement mounted rapidly, but she pulled away and his sex fell back onto his belly. “Mmmh, very good, Tim. Very hungry. I think you make me very full when you come. Too much come! You lie down.” She moved around to face him and knelt astride his thighs. He looked over the length of his body to take in her slim brown beauty, but she had eyes only for his sex. She shuffled forward, bringing her small dark delta closer. The rich wetness of her lips settled warmly onto the root of his sex, enveloping him. “Oh, that’s good,” he muttered, staring at the soft lips spread around his shaft. Darti looked into his eyes and started to rock gently. Her face grew still and thoughtful. Tim reached down to stroke her thighs as the rhythm of her rocking became more insistent. She had her eyes closed for seconds at a time, and when they opened, they were blank and far away. She leant forward and put her hands on his chest. She rubbed herself harder against him now, pressing almost brutally against his hairy root. Her head nodded and her curtain of black hair fell forward. “Oh Tim,” she panted and her

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rubbing became frantic. It could not last, and with a cry she threw her head back. She sat frozen, all her weight fusing them together, balancing herself between her pulsing sex and her rigid fingertips on his stomach. Tentatively, Tim rocked his hips from side to side but it was too soon for her. “No, no, stop!” and she fell trembling onto him. “Stop! I rest.” She wanted to wait but Tim no longer cared. Roughly, he lifted her up again and steered his urgent erection between her lips. She settled slowly down onto his spike. It felt heavenly. Tim lifted her up and started to move beneath her. Under the arch of her spread thighs, his thick stem slid luxuriously in and out of her, and they both watched it in silence. She moaned and, pushing on his chest, brought her feet up until she squatted over him. She raised herself until she held only his tip, and allowed him to move freely. It felt intensely exciting to watch his cock being nearly swallowed and then re-emerging slick and shiny. It was not enough for Darti, and she started to move. Soon she was lowering herself onto him, sucking the whole length of him into her delicate body. She moved more forcefully, dropping herself heavily onto his root. Tim could not imagine how she swallowed him so completely without pain, that her small frame could accept him, that she desired so much of his cock inside her. She paused to grind her mound into his hair, feeling his rod stir her insides and then she began again, slamming herself down on him and striving for release. With a rush Tim was coming at last, pumping and fountaining into her. He was barely conscious of her drawing out the agonising moment, squatting on him, arms between her raised knees, holding his waist and frantically crushing her sex into his hair. She lay on him, between his legs, with his softening stem still inside her. Her hair flowed over him and he could feel her soft breath on his neck. He felt completely relaxed. “I don’t know how you do that, Darti. It doesn’t look possible to sit on it like that. It should hurt.” “Hurt?” she muttered. “No hurt. I like it inside. It is very good.”

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Chapter 4 She was torn from her diary by Ranji’s phone call. “Come quickly, Sherry, I’ve found a new flute for you.” Ranji sounded flustered, as if she had been running. She must have called from a payphone and Sherry could hear the traffic behind her. “But I’m busy…” she protested half-heartedly. “So come to the Marco Polo now. Can you take a taxi?” Ranji did not listen to her. Sherry resigned herself to another lesson and went to shower and change. She dressed as Ranji had taught her to dress, slowly and with care. She patted herself dry and stood powdering her skin under the ceiling fan. Dry and silky, she started with jewellery. Gold pendants for her ears because Ranji held that men love to see them swinging as her flute-playing became more emotional. Filigree gold cross low in her cleavage because that too would swing as she moved, and it was a cross because Ranji said Asian men invariably loved blonde European Christian women. Just associating with them would give any man a lift, no matter how important he was. Three gold hoop bracelets (Ranji would have liked more but Sherry had refused) and her dress wrist watch. She had accepted a discreet slave chain at her ankle. She sat in front of the mirror and ran a comb through her hair. Still growing, but a long way to go. As it was now, not even touching her shoulders, she still could not hold it back in a ponytail or a roll. The hairdresser had worked on it, but even she could not make it grow faster. Still, what there was looked good, and Ranji especially liked her colour and the way it swung onto her cheek as she bobbed her head. They had arrived at her make-up scheme during a bad-tempered session at the beauty salon. Sherry had sat mute while the black-haired Singapore Chinese beautician had argued with the equally black-haired but far more colourful Ranji. The beautician wanted understatement and Ranji seemed to favour something out of a Bollywood movie. They had settled on a model from an outdated Cosmopolitan, exaggerated a little

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to please Ranji. Ice blue shadow and strong pink lips. Now she had grown used to it, the make-up felt like her other personality. She found she enjoyed the feeling of slipping on a tarty character and going out into Singapore in disguise. She paused to ring for a taxi, and went to her wardrobe. Ranji had stood over her while she bought three versions of what English ladies should wear. At least, what Ranji thought they should wear. Light, string-strapped summer frocks with subdued floral prints, timeless, Liberty’s, completely proper. Ranji had shortened them, of course, saying that even in Singapore nobody wore knee-length skirts. Sherry pulled a dress from the rail and slipped it over her naked body. That was the other thing. Although Ranji might wear a bra to confine her own generous breasts, she permitted Sherry nothing at all. Not even panties. She had complained bitterly but Ranji folded her arms and looked as unyielding as granite. No underwear. “It will make you feel more like a proper woman,” she had said. “You won’t stop thinking of your sexiness, and that is good for you. Every time you move, you will feel sexy.” She had been right, of course. The first few times Sherry had left the house without her bra and panties, she had felt terribly naked, as if every passerby on the street could see her breasts and more. She had been terrified of discovery, and yes, she had felt sexy too. Every time she hurried, or stepped onto a bus, or felt the wind blow, she had been reminded of her secret nakedness. Now she was used to it; now she felt normal dressed like that. Squeezing into a crowded bus or tapping quickly down steps no longer frightened her. When she had mentioned the change in her feelings to Ranji, she had clapped her hands and giggled. “Now I know you are learning correctly. Papi Bombar will be so pleased, I must tell him. You are not feeling so sexy now because you are sexy. You are changing, Sherry, and it is very good!” She slipped into heeled sandals and stood in front of the mirror with approval. She knew she looked good. She smiled and swung her hips to make her skirts twirl. She looked desirable, but the pricking thought that she had been having more frequently came again, what would Tim think if he could see her now? Ranji waited for her in the hotel lobby, dressed grandly in a dark green sari with a delicate pattern picked out in gold thread. She had plaited her black hair and it hung far down her back. She looked severe and matronly, if such a thing was possible for Ranji.

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“Ranji! You look so formal you make me feel terrible.” She smiled and took her by the elbow. “Come on, the Professor is waiting for us.” They hurried to the elevators. “Professor?” asked Sherry, thinking of the tweed-jacket-withleather-elbow-patches professors of her own university days. “Yes, Professor Rhee. He is very important.” “An important professor?” “He is an important politician from Calcutta and also, of course, a business executive. He is a VIP!” Perhaps Indian professors were different, thought Sherry as the elevator rose. She began to feel nervous. Just stage fright, she told herself. “Now, I have told him that you are Swedish and that your father is a diplomat, and that you are still a student, and you are not permitted to speak to him. There, that should make things easier for you.” Ranji marched confidently towards the professor’s room. “Don’t let me down, Sherry. Show me all your lessons.” She tapped at the door. The professor looked unimpressive. Short, bony and wearing tinted glasses with thick black plastic frames. Receding hair and a moustache, both white. He wore a white cotton sarong wound around his skinny waist. Sherry’s heart fell. If the professor’s looks let him down, his self-confidence did not. “Ranji, my dear, come in. Come in.” His accent was unmistakably English public school, and probably Oxbridge. “And this is your student. Welcome, young lady, welcome.” Sherry muttered something low as she shook his small hand. His room sat high in the hotel and looked out over the trees towards Orchard Road. Sherry stared out of the window in an effort to erase the room and the professor from her life. “Sit down, sit down, Ranji. Can I bring you something to drink? What is the young lady’s name? Where do you want me?” The professor sounded excited and nervous, and Ranji tried to cool him down. “I think you should sit on the bed, Professor, and I will come and sit next to you. There, that’s a good thing, I think.” She guided him down and settled her generous bottom beside him. The bed sagged beneath them and, like a hammock, tipped them closer together. Sherry registered the contrast they made—youth and beauty, age and dryness. Ranji looked rich and alive. The professor’s nervous activity made a poor substitute. She wished she were somewhere else.

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Without ceremony, Ranji reached for the professor’s sarong and started to unwrap him. “So, let’s see what you have for Ingrid to play with…” The professor’s flute looked surprisingly large as it lay dark and half-inflated on his thin thighs. A small tuft of white and grey hair covered its roots. “Oh very nice, Professor. I’m sorry I brought Ingrid now. Let’s get you nearer to the edge of the bed.” Her arm around his hips levered him reluctantly forward. “That’s it, now we’ll open your legs, and it’s Ingrid’s turn.” Sherry lowered herself to settle between his knees. The three of them stared at the flaccid beast, willing it to raise its head, but there was no sign of life. Sherry caught Ranji’s eye, and then reached out for it. It lay on her palm like a sleeping bird. She trailed her fingertips backwards and forwards along its length. It felt dry and smooth, gentle and harmless. “Oooooh – look! It’s growing,” cooed Ranji, but Sherry felt nothing to support her optimism. She reached underneath to cup her hand around the pendulous balls below. They too felt larger than such a small man should have. Gently she pulled back his sheath, bringing his wrinkled mauve mushroom into the daylight. Dry. This was not going to be easy. Sherry lowered her head to suck the soft plum into her mouth. “Oh yes!” whispered Ranji, “That must feel so good.” She gave the professor a squeeze. “Ingrid is so fortunate.” What do I do now? Sherry asked herself. It’s like a soft condom half-full of water; I’ll never be able to make this one work. Holding it firmly in her mouth she started to nod her head, pulling on the reluctant stem. It did not have the strength enough to slide in and out of her mouth. “Oh, that looks so sweet, Professor,” Ranji enthused. “It must feel wonderful. Ingrid is such a clever girl.” Feeling far from clever, Sherry remembered to moan quietly to indicate her enjoyment of the process. The professor gave no help at all and all her tugging and sucking at his root made no difference. She decided on another approach. Taking his plum between finger and thumb, she pushed his foreskin back with her other hand and gripped the shaft so that only the soft head of his sex stuck out of her fist. Now she could attack it. She suckled at it and used her hand to slide it from side to side in her mouth.

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“Oh yes, Ingrid,” encouraged Ranji. “Make love to the Professor’s beautiful cock. You’re making us both so excited. Here, Professor, touch me...” From the corner of her eye Sherry could see Ranji unbuttoning her top and sliding her sari from her shoulder. Her full breasts swung free and she offered them to the professor. He reached for her and at last Sherry felt some life in him. Ranji teased one dark brown nipple into erection while her other breast filled the professor’s hand to overflowing. “Do you like them, Professor?” “They are very beautiful, my dear,” he whispered and suddenly it was all over. The professor shuddered and Sherry’s mouth filled with salty cream. She sucked him in and stopped still. The professor had buried his face in Ranji’s breasts. She had her arm around his shoulders, patting him gently, and looked at him with a condescending smile. It did not take long for Ranji and the professor to replace their clothes. “Wait outside for me, Ingrid my dear. I won’t be a moment.” Sherry left as the two others conversed in quiet Hindi. Ranji was silent until the elevator doors closed. Then she started to giggle and set Sherry off too. They went arm-in-arm to the coffee shop. Sherry ordered coffee and Black Forest cake for both of them. She felt they deserved it. “Stupid old man!” Ranji said. “He said you looked too beautiful. That’s why it wouldn’t stand up. I think he was frightened of you.” “Frightened? That’s stupid! I felt terrible. It’s just as well you showed him your breasts or I would still be kneeling there sucking like an idiot.” Ranji’s laughter was infectious. “Indian men!” she said. “All wanting to be mothered. You looked so funny down there, sucking and sucking and getting nowhere. Trying to light a fire with wet wood, but you did very well in the end. The old fool finally got there. In the end, after a lot of work.” “And with a little help from Mother Ranji.” “Never mind. I suppose it is good that you have an experience like today. It can happen to any man, especially if they have had too much to drink. Next time I’ll get you a proper flute to play. One that you have to work at to make soft. I want to see how good you really are now. “Tim must be very happy with the way your lessons are going.”

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Sherry looked down at the table. “I haven’t done it with him, I mean, not properly. Not all the way. Never.” “What?” Ranji looked shocked. “How can you not do it for your husband? But you must do it, it’s your duty.” Something inside Sherry hurt that anyone should think she was not a good wife. “Oh yes, and I suppose you’ll do it every day when you get married.” “Of course, if that’s what my husband wants. I know my mother does it to my father very often. Not just when she has her period or is too busy to have love properly. Sometimes she does it first, and then he takes her bent over the back of his bedroom chair. She says she likes that because he lasts so long and she can take her time and enjoy it properly.” Now it was Sherry’s turn to be shocked. “Your mother told you that?” “Why not? We hear things from their bedroom, and we know that the house is a happy house. My room is next door and sometimes the chair bangs against the wall. It makes me hot and I have to do it to myself!” Ranji chuckled at herself. Is it really as simple as that? thought Sherry as she rode the taxi home. Making love is the important ingredient of a happy home? Wistfully, she wished it to be so.

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Chapter 5 Another day and Tim again hurried along the swamp path to Darti’s house. An unreasonable amount of work had kept him away. One of the rigs had been completing a well in a soft sandstone reservoir. Sea Sprite IV moored beside the swamp barge to prepare and pump the carefully crafted sand slurry that would surround the well screens and keep the reservoir rock from collapsing. Tim preferred not to work with the rigs. True, it made a change to have other foreigners around, and to visit the French tool pusher for a chat and a pastis at sundown. It was good to have the mess serving meals every six hours, and coffee and ice cream whenever you wanted it, but the fact remained that drilling rigs run twenty-four hour operations. Moored alongside the swamp barge, as close to the rig floor as possible, Tim’s raised cabin lay beside the big Cats that provided all the rig power. At least two of the three massive diesels thundered all the time. He had grown used to continuous noise and vibration, even the loud, shuddering bursts as the rig pulled out of the hole stand by stand. He could sleep through it, but he missed the tranquillity of mooring at an isolated well far from the nearest human. When Sea Sprite worked away from the rigs and shut her generator down for the night, Tim and his crew were alone in the swamp. Late at night, when the mosquitoes had gone, Tim often sat on his verandah and just stared over the swamp, listening to the frogs, the insects, and the muddy Mahakam flowing past. The dark velvet of the night sky wrapped around the islands, damaged only by the glow of the gathering station gas flare beyond the trees. In contrast the noisy, brutal, mechanical intrusion of the drilling rig into the swamp drowned the surroundings and the glaring arc lights drove even the night away. Added to the noise and the bustle, sleep yielded to the need for long, delicate and precise pumping operations. The last well had completed three screened zones, in a continuous program that made no provision for undisturbed sleep. Tim and the crew slept in short naps of two or

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three hours whenever they could. It left them all feeling drained, and relieved when the tug finally arrived to push them off to an operating well that would need stimulating in a day or two. They could catch up with sleep, cleaning and maintenance, and Tim could visit Darti again. A shock awaited him as he emerged from the swamp. Sitting on Darti’s verandah was Captain Rais from Security. His immaculate uniform with its rigidly pressed grey shirt, insignia and gleaming shoulder lanyard looked grotesque against the clapboard house behind him. His pencil moustache and oiled black hair, his expressionless face, all made Tim suddenly unsure of himself. “Ah, Mr. Armstrong, it is very good to see you. Darti promised me you would come soon. Come and sit down.” Feeling like a fish out of water, Tim slipped off his boots and climbed up to sit beside Captain Rais. “Hello Timmee,” came Dart’s voice from inside the house. “You like teh air juruk?” “Teh air juruk?” asked Captain Rais in surprise. “I like tea with lemon,” said Tim. “It’s refreshing.” “With lemon? I have never tried tea like that. Then I shall join you.” He called to Darti and soon she appeared with two small glasses on a tin tray, and left them alone. They sipped their tea. “This ... interesting,” said Captain Rais. “Is it a common thing in England?” “No, not common. We normally have tea with milk there, but I’m sure you’ve tried that.” “Yes, but I did not like it. This is better. I shall introduce this to my wife.” He sipped again. “Do you know Darti well, Captain Rais?” “Ah, you are a gentleman, Mr. Armstrong. I’m sorry I do not know her as well as you do. She is my cousin. I come here to visit sometimes, it is very peaceful here. Darti sometimes reads my future for me, and sometimes she will give me medicine if my health is not good. Does this make your mind rest?” Tim felt himself blushing. “Darti is a very nice lady.” “She is very much more than a nice lady, Mr. Armstrong. She is very, very wise. I always listen to her advice, and she likes you. That is why I wait for you here.” Something gripped at Tim’s stomach. Oh dear, he thought, does he want something for Darti? Does he know I’m married?

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Captain Rais continued. “I have a great want for help from a person living in Singapore. Will you help me, Mr. Armstrong?” Now he felt relieved and shocked. Relieved because he was not in trouble, and shocked that someone as important as Captain Rais should ask for help. “Of course,” he mumbled. “Anything I can do.” “Very good. I was afraid you can say no, and that is a problem. Good. Now I tell you about my problem, but this is just for us. You will not talk to anyone about this. You can talk with Darti but no one else. “You know, I am not from here. Not from Balikpapan or Kalimantan. They send me here from Jakarta because Indopet is very strong and rich, and we do not want for them to become also political. So my manager is in Balikpapan and I speak with him every day, but I also speak with my department in Jakarta. I must look to see the money from Indopet goes only to Jakarta. The Kalimantan people want money from the oil here, but they must not have it. Their money comes from Jakarta, only Jakarta. “Before, everything was easy. Sometimes bad people are trying to fill barges with oil and send them to Singapore privately. Or they are trying to sell a little land to Indopet for so much money… These are easy things, but now the world is changing. The terrorist people are becoming very strong and they want money. They want money to do bad things; to make bombs and to buy guns. Very, very bad people. These terrorist people make too much trouble for me.” “Why don’t you tell the Army?” Captain Rais did not meet his eye. Tim had lived long enough in Indonesia to recognise his embarrassment. “It is not so easy, Mr. Armstrong. The Army is different. I cannot speak with the Army. Not even my manager in Balikpapan can speak with the Army. Only in Jakarta will my department sit down with the Army.” He sipped his tea and looked out over the pond. “Foreigners never hear about these things,” said Tim. That was true. An outsider could work in the oilfields for a lifetime and still not see past the surface. The people were polite and reserved. The whole country was polite and reserved. Tim knew how to live in Indonesia, how to shop, visit restaurants, negotiate with girls, but those things a foreign worker could learn easily. What actually happened in the society around him remained hidden. “Bad people, Mr. Armstrong, very bad people. They are taking my religion. Yes, they say that only they are Muslim and the rest of the

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people are not good Muslims. They are stupid people, not educated. Stupid but also dangerous. Do you know them?” “Me? Only what I read in the newspapers. About Syria, Afghanistan and Iran and so on. And Saudi Arabia, of course.” “That’s it! Arab people, but only the stupidest ones. All shouting and lying about the Koran. Always blood and killing. The Prophet never wanted that. He was a man of peace, not blood, and these people, you know when they come to Indonesia, always it is alcohol and women. Always women, and after their night with the women, the next day they are in the masjid and saying that Indonesian men are bad Muslims and shouting again about killing and blood. “These are very bad men. You know, the people from Afghanistan and Iran, where they get their money? Drugs! Yes, holy Muslims selling drugs. Opium, heroin. Very, very bad men.” Captain Rais sounded almost rude in his denunciations, uncharacteristic for Indonesians talking to foreigners. “You don’t have people like that here, do you?” asked Tim. “We have stupid Indonesian people who listen to them! Yes, that’s true. There are madrasah everywhere, good schools with good teachers. But also there are bad madrasah with bad teachers. Always kill, kill, and jihad everywhere. Even in Balikpapan where are the foreigners and the Army. And to make a bomb it is only necessary one stupid bad man. “Now it is coming worse. I think my department in Jakarta has some of these men. I listen, I hear some things, Darti hears some things, and I write reports to Jakarta, but nothing is happening! They tell me to make the Security for the Mahakam delta only and not to think of the terrorists. So now you must help me.” “Me?” said Tim in surprise. “What can I do to help you?” Becoming involved with Islamic terrorists in Kalimantan was the last thing he wanted. “I will write a letter without my name,” said the Captain, “and you must take it to the police in Singapore.” Captain Rais left soon after he had made his demand. He had taken out his walkie-talkie to call for his boat, and set off into the swamp with a smile and a wave. Tim remained on the verandah, shocked and silent. Darti came to sit beside him. “Is a problem for you?” “No, I guess not,” he said. “As long as he just wants me to deliver a letter, I suppose nothing will happen to me. I hope.”

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“He is correct, Timmee. These people are very bad and big problem for Indonesia. The President does not know what he is doing, and some politicians are like snakes. They do not like the crazy men, but they talk with them, and they take their money. The money goes from the people to the masjid, from the masjid to the terrorists and then from the terrorists to the politicians. Always too much money.” “What will he write in the letter? Did he tell you?” “One man is carrying money to Singapore. Not next week but after next week. Captain Rais says this money is for guns and bombs. He is not permitted to stop the man here, but maybe the Singapore police will stop him. The letter will say his name and the day he is coming to Singapore.”

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Chapter 6 Tim arrived back in Singapore with the dusk. Efficient and predictable, Immigration and Customs ushered the passengers through, past the baggage carousels loaded with the passengers’ tattered hold-alls, and straight to the line for taxis. Within fifteen minutes of touchdown, he was riding the crowded evening streets south into town. The tropical night closed in quickly and lights shone on in the old shop-houses. The taxi wound its way through the rush hour to Holland Road and modern Singapore. Sherry seemed happy to see him and, despite feeling as tired as a wet rag, he took her out to dinner. Next day, he needed to go into the Krumbein office in Orchard Road and, without telling Sherry, he took a taxi from there to New Bridge Road and the police CID building at Eu Tong Sen. The old colonial building looked permanently official, cold, tiled, inhuman. He gave his name and asked for a detective. He took a seat expecting a long wait, but they called him after only a few minutes. His detective was Hing, an unsmiling young man with spots and a military haircut. He wore plain clothes, uniformly wearing the same as everyone else Tim saw in the building, black trousers and a white, open-necked shirt. He led Tim to a sparse interview room and gestured him to a chair on one side of the small table. He laid a writing pad on the table, sat down and started to interrogate. “Name?” he demanded, as his first question. Then address, in Singapore and overseas. Nationality. Date of birth. Passport number, visa number, driving licence. He wrote quickly, in English, ignoring Tim’s frustration until finally he laid his pen on the table and asked, “Now, why are you here?” “I have a letter for you. It’s from Indonesia and it’s about terrorists.” He handed the letter over and Hing put it next to the writing pad unopened. He started to write again. “And who is the letter from?”

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“I can’t tell you that.” Hing’s manner sharpened. “Why not?” “Perhaps when you read the letter, it will be clear,” said Tim. “Have you read the letter?” “No.” “Do you know who sent it?” “Look, I’m not going to discuss it. Just read the letter. I’m only the delivery boy.” “Mr. Armstrong, you must cooperate with me and answer my questions. You are a guest in Singapore and if you do not cooperate with me, I shall expel you.” Hing looked agitated. “Oh, for goodness sake. Read the letter. It should tell you all you need to know.” “Where is the letter from, Mr. Armstrong?” demanded Hing again. Suddenly Tim boiled over. “Look, I’ve had enough of this. I came to deliver a letter and you’ve been extremely rude to me. I’ve given all the answers you’re going to get. I’m going!” He stood up, took two steps and opened the door. Behind him he heard Hing jump up and knock his chair onto the concrete floor with a clatter. “Mr. Armstrong—” he called but he was too late. Tim walked down the corridor and out of the building. Damn the little creep! He half expected Hing to chase him out onto the street but no one followed. Good, he could get on with life. He wanted to spend his break on Pulau Kelapa so he stopped at a payphone to call and persuade Sherry, and to make a booking with the car rental company. Early next morning, the car arrived at their door, and they drove out to Woodlands and the causeway. The Singapore checkpoint moved quickly, the Malaysian one only a little slower, and soon they could pick their way through the traffic of Johor Baru. This city ran to a different rhythm. Only a causeway away, Singapore had grown into a modern Chinese city-state. In contrast, Johor Baru was a Malaysian city with a wide country hinterland, and a thriving mix of old fashioned Malay and Chinese businesses crammed into a corner of the jungle peninsula. Out of the city, Tim took the road to Kota Tinggi and the east coast. Soon the scenery changed to plantations, the heart of Malaysia. The road jinked and turned along plantation boundaries laid out before the motorcar had arrived. The rich soil here supported spreading rubber plantations, the kings of the last era. The spindly trees stretched in arrow straight lines away from the road, their small leaves filtering strong

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sunlight to a dappled luminous green. They could see occasional figures, Malay and Indian, moving amongst the trees. They were emptying the collecting cups that they had placed at dawn, and returning the cups inverted to the trees. Here and there the road widened into loading areas where the tappers could bring their buckets of raw latex for collection by daily trucks. Nowadays, rubber had become out-dated. Wherever the soil would support it, rubber plantations were being torn out and replaced with oil palm. Oil palms plantations looked much less welcoming. The palms stood in shaded lines leading into the distance. The gothic curve of the palm branches met in low cathedral aisles, and beneath them dark and silence reigned. Black, oppressive, mosquito-ridden, they swallowed tractors and trailers that penetrated the tunnels to crop the heavy red fruit bunches. The road narrowed to a single strip of asphalt, just wide enough to accommodate two oil palm trucks. Kota Tinggi behind them, the countryside became more hilly and jungle-covered, and the plantations less frequent. Huge logging trucks, piled with massive tree trunks, replaced the oil palm and rubber collectors. Tall creeper-draped trees towered above them, often touching across the road. Tim drove through pools of jungle light and darkness, and wound up and down steep hills. The countryside opened out as they approached Mersing. They began to pass villages and dirt roads that led down to the coast. Colourful plantation workers sat on rickety bush platforms and sheltered from the sun while they waited for transport, either back down to their villages or along the main road into town. Houses and gardens began to line the road, first wooden huts and then more substantial buildings with schools and mosques. They pulled into Mersing and went straight to the jetty. It looked busy in the laid-back East Coast way, people everywhere, nobody hurrying, and boats to spare. Tim dumped Sherry and their bags, and went to park the car. A leisurely negotiation with a fisherman and his mate, and they clambered down from the concrete jetty to a small blue fishing boat. The trip to Pulau Kelapa would take over an hour. Tim pulled his old straw hat firmly over his brow and settled on the deck in front of the wheelhouse. Sherry stood beside him, rubbing sun cream onto her arms and legs. She did not seem to notice her short cotton dress riding high as she smoothed the cream into her thighs. The captain did, and the short, leathery sailor glanced at Tim and exchanged a grin. If only you knew,

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thought Tim, how disappointed you would be. Finally Sherry put on a cap and sunglasses, pulled a book from her bag and settled her elegant self beside him. The boat chugged clear of the jetty, weaved between moored boats and settled down to a steady throb as it headed out to sea. The sea wind picked up and gave them some relief from the sun, and slowly the brown water of the estuary gave way to deep blue sea. Tim dozed. He woke to a dig in the ribs from Sherry’s elbow. “Look!” she whispered. Beside them, riding the bow wave, was a dolphin. So near, two or three metres away and almost at deck level, seeming to watch them with its knowing eye. They crawled to the low rail and rested there, their chins on their hands. The dolphin played, still smiling. Pulau Kelapa was Tim’s kind of place. Not a large island, only three kilometers from end to end and less than one across, it turned its rocky back to the South China Sea. On the western side facing the mainland, lay a strip of flat ground, covered in jungle and the remains of an informal coconut plantation. Here, under the trees and with the beach only metres away, a clever businessman had built the first resort of the Mersing area. Perhaps built was too grand a word. A collection of small shacks spread along the beach and clustered around the restaurant, and that was no more than a large roof covering a raised floor. A kitchen, a small office and a bar crowded together under one edge of the roof, and the rest had tables around a dancing area. Comfortable armchairs sat off to one side, with a bookshelf of dog-eared leftovers. They checked in with a smiling girl at the office and carried their bags and key off to their hut. It was no more than a verandah and single room on low stilts, twin beds, ceiling fan, shower and toilet at ground level at the back. Simplicity and sufficiency, what more could you need? Tim stripped off his clothes and put on his swimming shorts. He waited on the verandah for Sherry. She emerged wearing a shy smile and a tiny black bikini, held together with strings tied in bows at each hip. The sexy creation shocked Tim. “Wow, Sherry! That’s fantastic! Where did you find that?” “You like it?” she asked twirling round for him. She found herself enjoying his simple admiration. She would certainly not tell him that it had come from the boutique in the Shangri La Hotel. Or that it originally came from Brazil at a totally extravagant price. Or who had paid for it when he wanted to show her off at the hotel swimming pool after a

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successful flute-playing lesson. She wrapped a batik sarong around her lower half and followed him to the restaurant. They sat looking over the beach, savouring their chilli prawns and Tiger beer. Sherry knew what Tim was thinking – that this simple place lay close to paradise. He went crazy for tropical beaches and coconut palms. It had taken Sherry a little longer to learn to love them. At first she had been put off by the untidiness of it all, the driftwood and debris that lay thick on remote beaches, the rivers and beaches that looked steamy and muddy brown instead of cool and clear. Even coconut palms themselves had shaggy and disreputable crowns and she had disliked their untidiness. Still, the combination of jungle and beach grew on her. Now she too loved coconut palms, along with the smells, and the intense colours. Europe could offer nothing like this. They had gone to Pulau Kelapa in mid-week, a quiet time for the island resort. The beach lay empty. A few Europeans had come to the island to dive, or perhaps just to drink and lounge. A quiet old Chinese couple sat at the bar, fully dressed and looking a little out of place. Sherry watched a small group of Malay men, sitting at one of the tables. They had beer glasses in front of them. Perhaps they felt they were in a ‘foreign’ environment here and could drink without criticism. Or perhaps they belonged to the rich and educated classes and drank anyway. In their centre, a slim Malay man with mixed features held court, smiling and leading the discussion. He looked important. A chatter of girls’ voices, and two young Indonesian women came into the restaurant. The other guests stared as they tapped up to the men’s table. They were twins, and very beautiful. Wrapped tightly in traditional and matching batik sarongs and short kebayas, they swayed as they walked. The men made space for them and welcomed them into the conversation. After they had eaten, Sherry returned to their balcony to read, but Tim felt restless. He scrounged an old windsurfing board and a canoe paddle, and went off to visit the reef. Laying her book face down on the table, Sherry sat back and watched as he paddled to board out to the reef. He sat up to fit his mask and snorkel, then lay with his face in the sea. He could drift for hours over the reef. Tim never seemed to tire of watching the fish and the coral, just below in all their glory. He returned in time to call Sherry for volleyball. Every evening the resort staff set up a volleyball game on the sand under the coconut palms, yielding places to the guests if they had to, but enjoying the game

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themselves whenever they could. They also enjoyed socializing with foreigners, especially attractive, glamorous blondes like Sherry. They cared for her, gave her easy passes and clapped when she scored. She knew she should feel scornful, but they were only trying to be kind. Beautiful girls in sexy bikinis have an obligation to be gracious. They slept a little and went late to dinner. It felt very pleasant to eat well, drink a little and chat with other lazy people, all with the moonlight bathing the sea just over the beach. Tim was fading fast and wanted to return to their hut; Sherry decided she would walk alone on the beach for a while before turning in. Sherry strolled at the water’s edge. The moon gave light enough to glaze the white coral sand, and the water felt warm over her toes. Every now and then she would start a beach crab that made a dash for the sea and safety. She reached the far end of the beach and looked back. The blackness of the jungle behind the beach was solid below its palm fringe. The restaurant made a beacon of bright orange light flaring onto the sea, but either side of it the huts sat in darkness. Beyond the restaurant, where Tim waited in their hut, the coconut palms came down to the water and the beach turned away from her out of sight. She made her way slowly back. When she reached the coconut palms near the water’s edge, she left the beach to walk behind them and heard a strange noise. An animal crying perhaps? It was coming from the sea beyond the palms. She crept quietly through the darkness. She could just make out the beach and, as she moved nearer, a group of people at the water’s edge. The noise, a rhythmic moaning, came from them. She stopped still and let her eyes adjust. Men, in swimming trunks she supposed, although the water was too deep to be sure. Then one of them moved and the moonlight picked out a girl, one of the Indonesian girls from the restaurant, with her hair wet and slicked back. She moved again and the moon shone on her naked breasts. She was looking down, at the water, into the cluster of men. From where the moaning came. A shock hit Sherry. The moaning came from a woman. The men were doing something to a woman, presumably the other twin. Something good, because these were moans of pleasure. Her stomach dropped. She tried to peer through the darkness and make out exactly what was happening. The moaning accelerated and the water around the group became broken. They spoke in low voices, sharing the occasion.

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Watching secretly was exciting and Sherry felt guilty. She moved closer to the nearest palm but did not take her eyes from the group. She thought they held the girl just afloat and someone stood between her legs. She could imagine the man thrusting into the floating girl while his friends supported her and enjoyed her excitement, and in a moment another would take his turn. And another, and perhaps her sister would be pulled down to assist. A figure moved to obscure her view and the noise sounded stifled. The moaning came now from a woman with her mouth full. How exciting, how lucky the girl was. Sherry felt her own excitement rising. Suddenly she decided to go home. She would hurry back to their hut and make Tim do the same to her. She would show him what she had learnt. She would surprise him and make him a present of her body. Their bedroom light was off. Tim lay naked on his bed, asleep, his body all soft light and shadows from the moon. Under his tousled hair, he looked sweet. She felt her excitement ebb out of her, and she lay down to sleep on her own bed.

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Chapter 7 Tim left the hut early next morning and dragged the old windsurfer down to the water. The sun had just crested the rocky spine of the island and gilded the heads of the coconut palms along the beach. The sea lay glassy and inviting, glinting clear gold and blue. Another day in paradise. He pushed the board out and paddled to the reef. It was busy down there. Perhaps the fish had stayed up late, before the sun drove most of them under cover. They darted or dawdled, dabs of unlikely colours over the pastels of the coral garden. No wind pushed him along this morning so without lifting his head he lazily paddled with his hands and the garden drifted slowly beneath him. In the corner of his vision a small black-tipped reef shark arrowed purposefully past, its military sleekness hinting at danger. An opalescent cuttlefish caught his eye, hanging in the water just out of reach. Amazement held him as he watched the opal lustre ripple over the creature’s fat body. It did not move. It just hung in space and flexed its colours. He quietly slid off the board. He reached down with a foot to prod it but as his toe approached, the animal flashed into action. A cloud of sepia filled the space where it had been, and it disappeared, leaving only the impression of flurried movement. He had not seen how it had performed its vanishing trick or where it had gone. It had been there, and then it was not. He clambered back on to his board feeling privileged to have seen it, and drifted on. A shout and a threshing in the water broke his peace, and he looked up quickly. A few meters away, someone was in trouble. He could see a black head struggling in white water. He rolled off the board and swam into the turmoil. With his face under the water he could the man’s legs kicking frantically. He came up to the man and made a grab for his hair. A flailing arm struck him and knocked his mask down around his neck. He used the man’s weight to push himself down to safety underwater. Hands gripped his neck and shoulder and he pushed himself down further until they released him. Shooting back to the surface, he grabbed

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a big breath and seized a reaching arm. Kicking hard, he pulled the man in the direction of the board. At last some sanity penetrated the panic and the man allowed himself to be pulled. It was only seconds to the board. The rescued man threw himself in one movement onto the board. “Shark!” he spluttered. “There was a shark.” Tim hurried to replace his mask and dipped below the board. Looking around, the reef no longer seemed kind and friendly. The shadows at his vision’s limit looked frightening. He could feel his heart beating. As he looked around, he slowly became aware that nothing had changed. The fish were still going about their business. Directly below him a large green parrot fish browsed unconcernedly. Flat silver fish played in the sun over a sand patch, fluttering in a swirl like dry leaves caught by the wind. He surfaced again. The man on the board looked tense and frightened. “It was there,” he insisted. Tim pushed his snorkel aside. “What did it look like?” “Grey, with black bits on its tail. Be careful!” “How big was it?” “Big. Like me, or more. I thought it would attack. I lost my mask.” He smiled inwardly. A black-tip had probably surprised the man, and his mask had magnified the fish. “Well, it’s gone now. Let’s go and look for your mask.” He pulled the board over to where the man had been struggling. His yellow mask and snorkel lay three metres down and it took only a moment to retrieve them. “Here, put this back on and watch. I’ll push us in. It’s time for breakfast anyway.” Together they watched with the sun on their backs as the board left the coral and crossed white sand to the beach. He smiled at the man. “That must have been quite a fright. You’re still shaking.” “My God yes! It was horrible, but you weren’t worried.” “Well, I expect it was just a black-tip, and a lot smaller than you thought. Do you snorkel much?” “No, I never did it much and then I went to England for school when I was eight. Too cold there.” Tim was surprised. The man was clearly Malay and, wearing only loose black shorts, he looked just like any other beach user or fisherman, but if he had attended school in England, he must come from a wealthy background. “Ah. I thought your English sounded very clear.”

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The man drew himself up and smiled. “I’m sorry, let me introduce myself. Alistair,” and he held out his hand. “Tim. Come on, take the paddle and let’s go for breakfast.” In the restaurant Alistair ordered bacon, eggs and fried rice. Surprised at the bacon, Tim joined him. Alistair sipped at his coffee. “Oh, that’s good. I love breakfast after a swim.” “I love breakfast in a place like this.” The sun come up fully now and gentle ripples sparkled beyond the beach. Their food came and they ate in silence. The Indonesian twins tapped across the restaurant floor towards them. “Selemat pagi!” they called and went to sit at a neighbouring table. Two Malay men joined them, and Tim started to recognise Alistair as the man at the centre of the group in the restaurant the day before. “Do you know those girls?” he asked. “They work for me. Nice, aren’t they?” “Beautiful! I like Indonesian girls. I work out of Balikpapan.” “You have a beautiful blonde wife and you are looking at little brown Indonesian girls?” Alistair teased him. “Well, they’re different. They’re so, I don’t know, enthusiastic, I suppose, and good to look at.” “I’ll have to introduce you. When your wife’s not looking, of course. I call them Faith and Hope. They’re only twins so there’s no Charity.” Again, Tim was surprised. “Are you Christian?” “Oh no. Staunchly Muslim, but my mother was Scottish and I went to a Christian school. That’s why I’m Alistair. My mother called me Alistair but my father would call me Ali, and everyone could be happy.” “But you’re eating bacon.” “Yes, I’m terrible, aren’t I? You know, there’s something about bacon in the fresh air. When you’re camping, or like this. At school it was bacon or nothing, so I got to like it. Remind me to tell you the joke about the imam and the priest sometime. Look, here’s your wife.” When Sherry arrived for breakfast, she had a serious shock. Tim was sitting at a small table overlooking the beach, tucking into a large breakfast. He wore only his swimming shorts, like his companion. Tim looked large and pink. The other man was slim, smooth and brown with black hair and deep black eyes, and a smile that leapt back into her memory. They talked happily, like old friends, as if Tim had met the man before Sherry. Before she had knelt at his feet in an expensive

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Singapore hotel and played his magic flute with Ranji looking over his shoulder. She walked towards them. The man gave no sign of recognition. Perhaps he did not know her in her old tee shirt and faded sarong. “Come and meet Alistair, Sherry. Have breakfast with us.” The man stood up to shake her hand. “My name is Alistair, and you are Sherry? What a pretty name.” Uncomfortably, she sat with them and ordered orange juice and toast. “Tim has just rescued me from the jaws of death, Sherry.” “What?” she said in surprise. “Yes. I was snorkelling and met an enormous shark with rows and rows of teeth. He fought it off with his paddle and rescued me.” Sherry looked at Tim with questions all over her face. He shrugged. “Well, you know, you have to do these things sometimes.” “I don’t believe you.” “It’s true,” protested Alistair. “Well, perhaps the shark wasn’t so very big, but it was very frightening. Quite terrifying enough for me.” “Tim?” “They can be frightening. Sometimes they look bigger than they really are.” “You told me it was safe here!” Alistair laughed at her. “Of course it’s safe. It was just me being stupid. It was a baby shark, and it surprised me, and then Tim rescued me. So tonight, I want you to join me for dinner, so I can say thank you.” In the shade of her verandah, Sherry thought about Alistair. In the restaurant he had been polite, friendly, and showed no sign of recognizing her. I wonder who he really is, she asked herself. Ranji had said he was a prince, a real prince. Son of the Sultan of somewhere. Sherry remembered feeling impressed and excited as they stood in the hotel corridor knocking on his door. She had expected someone grand and formal, or at least fat and pompous. Instead a lightly built man of around thirty had opened the door, dressed in running shorts and tee shirt. He smiled as he shook their hands politely and ushered them in. “Welcome, Ranji, welcome, and your friend, of course. Come in,” He knew Ranji well, that much was clear. “How are you? And your father?”

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“I am quite as well as I was this morning when we met, and my father has not changed either, although he was sad when you left him. You made him suffer with your bargaining.” The man had chuckled. “Oh, he’ll recover, I’m sure, and I’m sure I’m not getting the price I should. I know how you Indians take advantage of poor, ignorant Malays like me.” “You a poor ignorant Malay? Oh, that’ll be the day. He says you’re sharp enough to cut steel. He says no one gives him as much trouble as you do.” “I’m sorry to hear that, but never mind, perhaps he’ll save himself the pain next time by giving me a proper price straight away. That’s enough business. Today is for your friend. What is her name?” They had moved into the soulless hotel room. They were high up and Singapore lay spread out beneath them. The window faced the sea and, beyond the machines busily reclaiming the seafront, a flock of ships sat moored in the roads, waiting for charters. Sherry stood looking out, reluctant to start on her flute lesson. “Her name is Jane, and she’s from England. She’s very shy. Come on, Jane, it’s time for your lesson.” The man had settled himself in the single armchair, slumped well down. He watched her closely, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. Sherry let Ranji draw her towards him, and knelt beside his legs. Ranji moved behind him and sat on the bed. “That’s it,” said Ranji. “Now take his shorts off.” Sherry leaned over him and started to ease the running shorts down over his hips, catching his underpants with her fingertips and taking them as well. The man lifted his hips to help her. She liked this part. It always excited her to pull a stranger’s clothes off and discover what he had hidden inside them. She had played with a variety of cocks since she started her flute-playing lessons and they had all intrigued her. This one lay softly on his lap. Its shaft slim and brown, it curved as it lay over his thigh. Circumcised, and the light mauve head was wide, like the head of a mushroom. Sherry thought it looked sweet. As she watched it stretched itself, sliding up his thigh and swinging round to lie on his belly. The three of them watched as it grew until it lay hot and taut, almost reaching the man’s navel. At its hairy root, the small pouch bunched tight against the long shaft. Sherry reached out to stroke it. The man closed his eyes as her fingertips brushed his sack. He sighed quietly. Sherry felt a rush of happiness inside her. It felt good to

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give such pleasure. Still stroking his balls, she spread his knees and moved between them. His sex was now in front of her, lying open to plunder. She leant forward to kiss his balls. They felt dry and furry, and he smelt clean. He shuddered at the touch of her lips. With her hands on the insides of his thighs, she spread him open further and bent lower to cover his roots with soft kisses. He trembled as she nipped him with her lips. Deliberately tantalizing him, she let her kisses stray further and further up his shaft. The man writhed as he felt first her breath and then her lips get closer and closer to his mushroom. Finally releasing his tension, she pressed a kiss on the cleft beneath the head. “Aah!” he sighed, and Ranji murmured approval. Sherry lifted his stem from his stomach between the fingertips of both hands. Standing up and pointing at the ceiling, it looked bigger and stronger. She brought it to her lips and paused. She breathed on it, blowing gentle air around the swollen plum. He sighed deeply and lifted his hips to her. Sherry decided to make him suffer and lowered her head so his crown was at eye level. Blinking rapidly, she caressed it with her eyelashes. She brushed the tight skin under the rim of his head and he moaned continuously. His sex grew big and swollen in her hand. “Suck him,” whispered Ranji. Sherry felt annoyed at her interference. Not wishing to hurry, she changed to rubbing his head with her face, from side to side, across her brow, her cheeks and finally across her lips. She looked at his face. Expressionless and his black eyes were far away. Not taking her eyes from his, she pressed the tip of his cock to her pursed lips. With slow deliberation she sucked him into her mouth and held him. “Oh yes!” he muttered. It thrilled her to hold him there. His swollen, leathery glans filled her mouth. She tasted—what? He was slightly tangy, spicy, exciting. Her heart expanded inside her. Cupping his balls with one hand, she started to stroke up and down his shaft with the other, sucking on him and releasing with the same rhythm. Quickly he began to tremble and lifted his hips to her in an effort to increase his pleasure. He was eager, hurrying her on, but Sherry did not want to rush. She slowed her stimulation to a stop and soothed him by playing with his balls. She felt him relax a little. When he lay completely still, she commenced sucking and stroking again, this time very slowly. She pulled very firmly down on the skin of his shaft, and tightened it even

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more at the end of each stroke by twisting her fist sideways. He began panting again and groaning each time she tightened his sheath to the limit. Sherry had become excited herself and moving slowly was increasingly difficult. Without really wishing to, she nodded her head slightly and he helped by rocking back and forth in her mouth. He was moaning loudly and trembling. She could delay no longer. Her sucking and stroking became faster and firmer and they both knew his explosion was close and unavoidable. The tension was growing, growing in his roots. Then suddenly, he came. She quickly gripped the head of his cock between covered teeth and bit him with hard rapid bites, sucking deeply and drawing out his essence. His legs clenched around her, his hips arched up out of the chair, and he pulsed great bursts into her mouth. In her hand below him, she felt the ferocious spasms in his depths as he released his burden for her. She sucked him back into her wet mouth and held him still as the tension washed from his body. They waited like that, joined by his stem and the pleasure they had made. His hand came up to stroke her hair and release her. He pulled himself up in his chair. “Wow! That was fantastic. Ranji, you have a very fine student. I’ve never felt anything like that before.” “She has a natural talent,” Ranji answered happily. “She’s a real artist.” Sherry felt herself blushing and looked at the floor. The man was looking at her with something in mind. “Does she, do you do more, Jane?” Avoiding his eye, Sherry shook her head. “No,” said Ranji. “One thing at a time. First flute-playing and then we’ll see.” She moved to put her arm around Sherry. “You did very well today. I’m very, very pleased with you.” Sherry remembered how she had cringed at Ranji’s compliments. She had not imagined being an oral sex star as part of her educational qualifications. She still did not feel comfortable about it, although she did feel much better in her yoga classes. Ranji had told Papi Bombar about all her lessons and he knew she was ready for him now. She looked forward to her chance. She would steam up his glasses for him. What she had not planned for was meeting one of her flutes in her other life. Singapore was a big city, and all the flutes belonged to visitors anyway. She had dismissed out of hand the fear of ever meeting one, and

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now it had happened. Thank God Alistair did not seem to recognise her. She had almost missed him herself, but something about his eyes and his smile. He apparently knew Ranji and her father. Did business with them. I wonder what sort of business, she mused? They enjoyed the dinner. Alistair sat Tim between Faith and Hope and devoted himself to Sherry. The food tasted exciting, the wine was good, the moon river shone silver across the sea. Sherry found herself watching the girls closely. Not teenagers, early twenties she guessed, they were small and lightly built. Narrow Indonesian hips, and small breasts. Their skin was brown. Perhaps, unlike most Indonesian girls, they did not feel the need to hide from the sun. They looked identical, dressed in the same clothes, wore the same make-up, and they were equally cheerful. They could not be persuaded to drink alcohol—they they said it made them sick—but they did not need it to be outgoing and noisy. Of course, Tim loved the fuss they made of him. Poor Tim, thought Sherry. She knew he would like to borrow the girls for the night. Or perhaps he could join the small party at the water’s edge, if the girls performed again tonight. Perhaps she ought to feel disapproving but instead she found herself feeling, well, a little jealous. They did not look like immoral sluts. They looked normal, and they behaved normally, without shame. They walked out to the beach after dinner. “Like to swim, Tim?” asked Alistair. “Yeah, it would be good on a night like this.” “I’m not going to change, no one can see anyway.” He said something to girls in Indonesian. They laughed and pretended to slap him. Then they pulled Sherry to her feet and went for their swimming costumes. Tim and Alistair sat silently together, as only men can. The three girls came chattering back, Sherry tall between the twins. It was hard to see but Faith and Hope wore dark one-piece suits. Sherry’s black bikini stood out against her white skin. “Look at sexy Sherry,” called the girls. “She so good, so sexy!” “Let’s go in,” she said and, throwing her towel down, ran for the water. The three girls called and splashed as Alistair stripped to white undershorts. Tim was less fortunate. He had no underwear. He had a choice of spoiling his best shorts or nothing. He decided to sacrifice the shorts.

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He was surprised at Sherry’s closeness. As they sat in the shallow water enjoying the milk-warm waves lapping past them, she came to sit between his legs. Sherry left the girls to cuddle up to Alistair. She did not want Tim to go near them in the sea at night. They said farewell under the palms and shook hands all round. Tim and Sherry would leave early next morning. The girls offered small limp hands. Alistair’s handshake felt more western. He leant forward to kiss Sherry’s cheek. “Say hello to Ranji for me,” he whispered.

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Chapter 8 Sherry felt sad to be leaving Pulau Kelapa for Singapore. They reached the Johor Baru causeway after lunch and quickly got through the Malaysian side. For once, the Singapore checkpoint was more difficult and their car was pulled over for inspection. Immigration took their passports and they carried their bags into the Customs shed to watch as two impeccable officers in white cotton gloves rummaged through their salty beach clothes. Up to that point things had seemed a little annoying, but basically normal. What happened next made Tim realise that more was going on. A police officer hurried into the shed with Sherry’s passport. “You may leave, Mrs Armstrong,” he said. “Mr. Armstrong will come with me.” “What?” she said in shock. “You may take your bags and leave,” he said a little more insistently. “Mr. Armstrong is needed in town.” It slowly dawned on Tim that Hing must be behind this. The policeman handed their bags to Sherry. “Please to go, Mrs Armstrong,” he said, more an order than a request. Sherry was confused, lost, not wanting to leave Tim. “It’s OK, love,” Tim said. “I think I know what this is about. I shouldn’t be with them long.” “What is it? What have you done? Why do they want you?” He tried to smile and look reassuring. “It’s just some idiot policeman in New Bridge Road. Chasing rainbows. I shouldn’t be long.” “Is that right?” she asked the policeman. “What has he done?” “Yes, yes, short time only. Now you go!” The policeman was far from calming her but one of the Customs men had taken her by the elbow and led her away. The other carried their two bags, something unheard of. “Don’t worry, love. Drop off the car and I’ll call you at home.” The policeman led him away, out to the back of the Customs shed to the car

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park where a paddy wagon waited, a small Japanese pick-up with a tin box mounted on the tray. Still surprised, Tim allowed himself to be pushed into the cage and sat on a wooden bench running down the side. The door clanged shut and through the cut-out for the bolt he could see the policeman fitting an old-fashioned padlock. Then the engine started and the pick-up jerked forward. He could see little as they crossed Singapore. The sheet metal covering the cage had small openings, but these were near the roof and showed only treetops and street lamps. The cage was clean but well used. Offenders’ bottoms had polished the wooden benches, and the coach bolt heads shone brightly. Initially the cage must have been painted navy blue, but now it was chipped and scratched, and large areas of paint had peeled from the galvanized sheet. It was a depressing way to travel, lurching backwards and forwards and bouncing on the hard bench. Most of all, Tim felt angry with Hing. By the time the pick-up pulled into the Eu Tong Sen station, Tim had resolved to keep calm. He would gain nothing by shouting at Hing, and Hing had nothing against him. Singapore might be insufferably strict and state-controlled, but it was law abiding. He would be safe with the police. Two policemen led him into the building, each holding him loosely by the elbow. In spite of his theoretical self-confidence, he felt intimidated. They guided him down a drab corridor and into a bare interview room. He sat at the table. One policeman stood watching him, the other locked the door and left. Tim did not try to talk. Hing waited for half an hour before coming. Tim assumed the delay was deliberate. Probably something he had learnt at the training centre, intended to unsettle suspects. His smile as he came through the door looked unpleasant. The policeman left, locking the door behind him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Armstrong,” he said, sitting down and opening his folder on the table. “Are you ready to tell me who sent the letter?” Tim had already decided what he would do. “Good afternoon, I demand to see your superior officer.” “I don’t think you understand, Mr. Armstrong. If you don’t answer me I can make your life very bad for you, and for your wife. Now tell me.” He seemed surprised at Tim’s resistance. “I demand to see your superior officer.” “You have to talk to me,” Hing was asking for his help now.

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“It won’t work, Hing. I demand to see your superior officer, and if you don’t report my request right now, there’s trouble waiting for you.” Hing sat considering, and surrendered. “It will be very bad for you,” he warned. He closed his folder and knocked on the door. Again Tim waited under the eye of a stony-faced policeman. Hing returned quickly. “Inspector Hangchi will come, but he is very angry. It is not too late to tell me…” Even Hing could see he was wasting his time. They sat and waited. Inspector Hangchi was a slight, upright man with a lined face, graying hair and reading glasses hanging around his neck. He looked important. Hing jumped to attention as the door opened, and Tim climbed to his feet. He spoke to Hing in English, with an accent that betrayed a foreign education. He ignored Tim. “Well, what have we got, Hing?” “The suspect is refusing to answer questions, Sir, and has asked to see you.” “Well, he’d better not be wasting my time. What’s he done?” and he reached for the file and put on his glasses. Hing let him read. “So, why’s he here?” “Smuggling, we believe, Sir.” Tim jumped in. “Excuse me! I was just delivering a letter.” The Inspector gave him a cold look and turned to Hing. “Letter?” “Yes, Sir. I’ve sent it to the lab.” “What did it say?” “I don’t know, Sir. The lab hasn’t made a report yet.” Inspector Hangchi spoke to him sharply in Chinese. He gave no sign of being satisfied with Hing’s answers. “I think we will just step outside for a moment, Mr. Armstrong. Please bear with us.” Again Tim sat through a long wait under the policeman’s eye, but this time with some hope that things had turned in his way. Inspector Hangchi re-appeared alone, holding the folder and the letter—opened . “I think you’d better come up to my office, Mr. Armstrong,” he said amicably. The Inspector’s office was small and old-fashioned. A worn desk and chair, wooden in-tray, functional wooden shelving covered in books. He waved Tim to a chair. “Tea is coming, Mr. Armstrong. Now, I suppose I must apologise for Hing. I’m terribly sorry, he has no common sense at all. We’ll have a disciplinary hearing, of course. No help to you, but I can only apologise.”

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Surprising himself, Tim was ready to be mollified. “Can I call my wife?” “Of course, go ahead, dial nine and then the number. I’ll look for the tea.” He passed a heavy dial phone across the desk and left. Sherry sounded relieved. She’d been waiting by the phone, she said. He fended off her questions and promised to hurry home. The Inspector pushed his way past the door with two teacups. “Mrs Armstrong happy?” he asked. “More relieved than happy, I think. She’s been imagining the worst. That Hing is a real idiot.” “Hmmp, too much television. Some of my young fools even believe the Miranda decision applies here. Anyway, he’s made a complete balls of it. The letter’s too late now. Do you know what it said?” “In detail, no, but more or less.” “Well, the man should have arrived in Singapore yesterday, so we’ve missed him. I’ll check with Immigration, of course, but that’s not going to tell us much. Is the writer of the letter—er—official? Can you tell me that?” “Yes, that is not a problem. He’s official, and I think he’s reliable. He’s certainly worried about the situation.” “Official but not able to contact us directly?” “That’s right. He told me that some of his bosses are sympathisers so he feels he’s alone.” The Inspector turned his chair to put his feet up on a shelf under the window. From the wear on the shelf edge, this was a favourite position for him. “He’s probably right, of course. There are a lot of militant sympathisers in government offices. Some of them are a real nuisance. “I’m very glad you’re here, actually. If there had been any sense to the world, you would have dropped off your letter and disappeared. It would have crossed a few desks before it got here, and I’d probably still be too late. Just bad luck you were blessed with Constable Hing instead, and that’s turned out well. For me, that is. I need to get a message back to the writer. Could you do that for me?” They drove Tim home in a police car. Unnatural caution made him ask to be dropped on Holland Road rather than at his front door and he continued to Moonbeam Walk discreetly, carrying Inspector Hangchi’s business card and a letter to Captain Rais. Waiting for Tim had been nerve-wracking for Sherry. With her mind racing through possibilities, mostly black, she had dropped off the car at

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the rental company and taken a taxi home. She automatically filled the washing machine, and made a cup of tea, and sat by the telephone waiting, her tea cold beside her. She had the telephone at her ear almost as soon as it rang. Relief soaked quickly through her as she heard Tim speaking cheerfully, promising to come back soon and tell her everything. She hurried to the shower and thought about dinner. Tonight, she would make a real effort. And she would let him have her as well. As far as she knew, he had not had sex for over a month. She was confident of that. She knew what he had done all through his break in Singapore, and he certainly did not have access to women while he worked. During their holiday, she had kept a very close eye on Faith and Hope at Pulau Kelapa, so she knew Tim had found no relief there. She dressed in her best, just as if Ranji was watching her. It felt strange to put on make-up and heels for Tim, but tonight he deserved it. She hurried downstairs to prepare the components of a stir-fry, and lay the table with wine and candles. She shocked Tim when she met him at the door. He was surprised enough to mumble something about ‘beautiful’ as she sent him to the shower. Flattery did not come easily to him. She knew she had cooked a good meal. For once, she got the table just right with proper Chinese bowls, spoons and saucers. Chopsticks and rests, candles, crystal, cold rosé. Krupuk, finger steak with sweet peppers and onions, steamed rice, pickled chillies. She had Tim at home again. Afterwards, she even left the dirty dishes in the sink and came to sit next to him on the sofa. The television had nothing they could watch, only Mandarin, so she kicked off her shoes and knelt astride him, blocking his view of the screen. Then she made love to him, right there on the sofa. She let him lift her dress off and discover her nudity underneath. In the soft light of the candles and the silent television, wearing only bracelets, earrings and a pendant cross, the front door and windows wide open for the breeze, she slowly bounced up and down on his lap until he came sweetly inside her. It felt good to watch him, and exciting too. Leaving the room in a mess, she led him upstairs and there on his bed he took her again, more forcefully this time, her on all fours on the bed and Tim behind, gripping her hips and butting against them as he strove for his second orgasm. It had felt good for her, exciting, a

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feeling of being used as a woman for sex, and she had almost joined in his pleasure. Then she had laid him down, set the alarm and slipped off downstairs to wash up and close the house for the night. He was fast asleep when she returned to bed.

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Chapter 9 Tim tucked himself into his plane seat next morning. The remains of his Indopet breakfast lay in front of him and the Java Sea was far below. He felt fuzzy and short of sleep. He turned over in his mind the events of yesterday. Not his arrest and questioning, they seemed normal in comparison, but Sherry’s uncharacteristic behaviour when he had returned home. She had looked beautiful as she came to the door, truly beautiful. In fact, finer than she had ever looked. Tall, elegant, a short dress that made her long legs look even longer. Wearing make-up, and jewellery. She had looked like a film star. And the trouble she had taken over her cooking... They normally shared the cooking when he was at home and although they ate well, she never troubled to present food properly. She usually cooked well but last night she had done more than that. Excellent. Better than the best restaurant. Afterwards, while he relaxed in the warm glow of good food and wine, she had come to him and the fun had started. She had stood in front of him, her long legs astride his knees and slipped her shoes off. Then she had hiked up her dress a little and knelt on him, graceful thighs outside his own. She had taken his head in both hands and kissed him hungrily. It had felt good to have her on his lap. Her body felt live and sexy, and she had smelt feminine. To his complete surprise, she had done this downstairs, on the sofa, without nervousness. The doors and windows open wide, and Sherry had not cared. As they had kissed, he had stroked her, running his hands up and down her back. He always enjoyed her back, its slimness, the unexpected lithe strength of her, the flare of her narrow waist widening to her hips. Most of all he enjoyed playing with her bottom, kneading, squeezing, opening, and she enjoyed it too. She had certainly enjoyed it last night, moving her bottom from side to side as he played with her, arching her back to stick it out more. He had felt her urge him to lift the hem of her dress and when he did, he had finally realised that she wore

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no panties. That alone showed how special the evening had been. Although he had suggested it in the past, he had never known her without panties under her dress. She had positively purred when he rolled her dress up and pulled it carefully off. She was left white and nude on his lap, wearing only golden hoop bracelets on one wrist, earrings, and a cross around her neck. He had held her back from him and luxuriated in the view. She had shivered slightly in the draught of the ceiling fan and the pink tips of her breasts had wrinkled and stood up further. Sherry had nearly perfect breasts. Full, rounded, heavy, richly feminine but just small enough to look elegant. Her nipples shone mauve pink against the whiteness of her skin and the little buttons had wrinkled tight. Last night they stood proudly, whether from the cold of the fan or her excitement, and he had reached to brush them with his thumbs. Her reaction had been extravagant. She dived back to kissing him, but held her body away so his hands could stroke and play with her breasts. Her kisses had become more heated and she let go of his head to reach for his zip. Fumbling and clumsy, she had pulled his expanding cock out of his shorts. She had stopped kissing long enough to watch it grow. They had watched together as it stretched itself and a tear came to its blind eye. Then Sherry had lifted herself, shuffled forwards and settled slowly onto his cock. Another shock. Her blonde hair had gone. No more unkempt, natural forest but a smooth mound leading down to pink and delicate frills, now stretched over him. He had stared in delight. She had never looked so pretty, so desirable. At the joining of them, the covered ridge of her clit nodded as she moved on him. The sight was too much for him and instantly he had gripped her tight, his face buried in her shoulder, pumping his all into her. He did not know if she had come. He assumed not. In their early days Tim had spent a long time in foreplay, giving her rare orgasms. Recently she had seemed less interested and contented herself with only his orgasm. All the same, it had been a surprise when she had taken his hand and pulled him upstairs. She had left the dishes, left the open door and taken him to the bedroom. Without saying anything, she had gone to his bed and set herself on all fours with her bottom in the air. It had been a moment of great beauty as she leaned forward to put her head on her hands. Her rounded, heavenly bottom in the air, her naked sex peeping out between her thighs, its pink lips glistening wet from both of them. Tim had gone from half-hard to rigid in moments and came up behind

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her. Holding her steady, he had let his cock nose its own way around her pussy, butting blindly against her softness until its head probed between delicate wet lips. She had sighed deeply as he sank his length into her and started to move. It had been too soon after his first orgasm to come quickly, and Tim could relax and shuttle in and out of Sherry as hard and fast as he wanted. He had time to enjoy Sherry’s beauty and listen to her gentle panting with each stroke. The sound had excited him further and he was soon hammering at her like an animal. His orgasm exploded in a rush and he found himself gripping her hips, half on and half off the bed, forcing himself as far into her as he could reach as his spasms died away. He levered her over sideways and they lay together like spoons. Eventually, he had felt her moving away, putting a pillow under his head and leaving. At dawn she had slept silent in her own bed and he had left without waking her. Pierre Lefevre was kind to him when he arrived in Balikpapan. Alfred waited with the customary bottle of Pernod and a wad of invoices for signing, but this time he brought instructions to catch the Gruman Goose to Camp Dua, Tim’s favourite way to travel. He waited beside the tarmac for the dumpy old Goose to drop out of the sky. Three Indonesian rig hands and an electrician waited quietly behind him. He had not waited long before the fussy drone of radial engines announced the Goose and it slipped over the trees and onto the runway, drab green, fat and heavy. After it had swung to a halt and the engines had coughed into stillness, Tommo threw open the passenger hatch and stuck out his tousled head. He lowered the steps and clambered out, followed by his passengers carrying their own bags. Tommo was one of the attractions of Camp Dua. Fat and friendly, round schoolboy glasses, he was always relentlessly cheerful. A true fanatic who asked for nothing more than to do his most favourite thing in the world – flying. Everything else came a long way second. He seemed to live permanently at Camp Dua. He socialised as far as his early starts allowed. He drank a can or two of beer. He never spoke of a home or family. His untidy office in the corner of the hangar was wallpapered with nudes of questionable taste, but he never visited the brothel at the back of the pipe yard, or made an arrangement with the room cleaning girls. He just flew, up and down to Balikpapan, and all over the Mahakam delta up as far as Samarinda. He flew, he loved it, and his passengers loved him.

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“Hey, Tommo! When are you going to get a real plane?” “One of these days I’m going to report you as too drunk to fly. What did you do in Singapore? Good break?” “The best! Went up to Pulau Kelapa, fantastic life.” “Well, get on board. I’ve got to get moving, there’s another flight when I get back. Sit next to me.” Tim squeezed through the awkward hatch and left his bag at the rear of the cabin. He climbed the narrow sloping aisle and slipped into the co-pilot’s seat, one of the advantages of Tommo and his Goose. Tommo settled into his seat, fastened his belt and shoulder straps, and started his pre-flight ritual, touching switches and levers and reciting something under his breath. He put on bulbous green earphones and announced, “Right, gentlemen, we’re ready to go. Please extinguish your champagne and keep your cigars firmly corked…” He reached up to fire the first engine. It clattered into life and from now on the noise would stop them talking. Tommo spoke on the radio. He eased off the brake and started to roll. They sat at the end of the runway and gunned the engines. The Goose vibrated under maximum power and shuddered as it rolled along the tarmac, gathering speed. They were quickly airborne and Tim watched as Tommo lifted the gear and waited to retract the flaps. Tim liked the sparseness of the instrument panel. No banks of strange instruments and rows of switches, just the most basic altimeter, compass, attitude, standard in the early 1930’s when the Goose had first flown. He looked down at the road, villages and rice paddies passing not far below them. It all looked very like a dreamy painting. Tommo gestured to the controls and Tim took over. He enjoyed this, although the old Goose almost flew herself. The life of the plane came to him through the controls and he felt he was doing something serious. Tommo appeared to be wrapped up in his paperwork but Tim knew he had a weather eye on the instrument panel. He flew happily for forty minutes before Tommo took back control. The delta and Camp Dua were coming into view. Tommo lined them up for the channel in front of the camp and lost altitude. The afternoon breeze rippled the brown water and the waves slapped the keel until the Goose set itself down with a bump and planed happily. The vibration unlatched Tim’s sliding cockpit window and parcels of brackish water splashed into his face. He slammed the

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window shut again and saw Tommo laughing delightedly and shouting something. Tommo balanced the throttle and the current as he nosed into the jetty. A neatly uniformed radio operator caught them with a boat hook and deftly manoeuvred them alongside. Tim climbed out and went looking for Raymond. He thought about delivering his letter to Captain Rais but something held him back. He would take it to Darti instead. More secure, and much more fun. He dropped off some of the invoices at the PetroFrance office, and went looking for Raymond. He appeared distantly on the river, standing up in the whaler as it slapped its way through the chop to the jetty. Tim handed his bag over and dropped down beside Raymond. The whaler spun around and they set off across the river. “Miss Darti come looking for you, Mr. Tim,” he said without embarrassment. “Really? I wonder what she wanted.” Raymond just smiled at him. “She come back, I think.” “Perhaps. Where are we moored?” “Charlie-32. We do tubing test tomorrow, and then nothing to do.” “OK. I’ll have some invoices to take to the rigs. I guess we need to do maintenance?” “Always maintenance, Mr. Tim. Must repack the pumps again.” “Jesus, not again. Always the same when I get back. Do we have to do it before the tubing test?” “I start on the small pump when I see the plane coming. That’s enough.” That was good. The guys would probably have the pump stripped down already. He could watch them get it back together again and with a bit of luck, they should get a pressure test that afternoon. Raymond did not have the qualifications to repack and test pumps unsupervised. As soon as he had dropped his bag in his cabin, he changed into coveralls and went down to the pump unit. Raymond had removed the floor gratings and dismantled the pump. They could start sliding the veering packing stack into the first cylinder of the triplex pump. A tight fit as always, and the brass support rings had to be prodded delicately into place without jamming. Next the gland nut assembly, and the first cylinder could have its heavy solid plunger slid into place. They manhandled the chromed piston, dull with oil, into the packing gland

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and pushed it into place by cranking the drive end over manually with a pipe wrench. Raymond started to tighten the long, fine thread of the plunger while Tim prepared the packing for the next cylinder. An hour later, they had got all three cylinders packed, the valves dropped into their seats, and caps and pipework re-assembled. While the guys put back the floor gratings and carried off the tools, Tim did his pre-start checks. Raymond opened the air supply and Tim pressed the start buttons. First one engine and then the other coughed into life with a snort of compressed air. Raymond opened the Alemite air oilers and they added their tak-tak-tak to the engine noise. They watched as fresh oil appeared on the newly packed pump plungers. Tim raced the pump to bed the new packing and then slowed right down. As the pump ticked over, Raymond sat with a packing wrench, tightening the packing on each in-stroke. When he had finished, Tim primed the pump by circulating from the displacement tanks and stopped. They were ready to test. Raymond closed all the valves and went to stand out of the way in safety. Tim stood alone on the pump unit. The guys hid under the crane platform, out of reach of any rupturing pipes. Everyone wished for a successful test so they could go for their showers and evening meal. Tim ran the left-hand engine up to 800 rpm and locked the throttle. He snapped the Allison transmission into fifth and watched the pressure climb before the transmission stalled. The old fashioned Martin Decker pressure recorder showed nearly 2000 psi. He dropped gears one by one, allowing the transmission to kick the pump over before stalling again. The pressure stepped up over 5000 psi and he shut the engine down. Raymond climbed up beside him and together they stared at the MartinDecker, willing it to stay put. It dropped. “Air,” said Tim, and started the engine again. He brought the pressure up a second time, hoping that the drop had been caused by trapped air leaking from one of the many seals and valves. This time, the pressure held. After two or three minutes they knew the test would succeed. He left Raymond to wait out the remainder of the 15 minutes and went to shower and change. He looked forward to meeting his friends over dinner and having a game of darts and a few beers.

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Chapter 10 Wednesday morning and Sherry again followed Ranji as she pushed through the crowded pavements of Serangoon Road. She was alone in Singapore again and Tim was flying somewhere over Kalimantan, on his way to another two-week hitch in the oil patch. Kalimantan sounded mysterious and adventurous, and she wished she could travel with him. Singapore with its frantic crowds and overwhelming buildings sometimes oppressed her. She found herself missing Tim’s company and his relentless optimism. Ranji stopped at the foot of the ashram staircase and looked at Sherry. “You’re wearing your new top?” she asked. She reached for the hem of Sherry’s loose cotton shirt and lifted it. She smiled and started up the stairs. Oh dear, Sherry thought, here we go again. I feel like an animal in a zoo. In the large familiar room her friends chatted and slowly prepared for the class. Half undressed, they called out greetings. Ranji was already tearing off her clothes as she dived into the group. “Ooooo—sexy Ranji!” “New clothes again, Ranji? You must have a rich boyfriend.” “Turn around, girl, let us look at you. Ranji! Your bottom! I’m surprised your father lets you go out like that.” They admired her latest purchase, a lurid pink one-piece body. The colour looked good against her darkness. Stretched like a shiny second skin over her curves, it had little to it, and even less at the back. Cut high over her hips, there was nothing below the waist apart from a narrow pink strap running down to disappear between the heavy cheeks of her bottom. She wiggled it at her audience. “If her father sees her like that, he will forget he is her father!” “Mary! My father never sees me like this. I bought this for yoga only.” “And for your lover?”

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“Maybe for lovers too. Now look at Sherry. Isn’t she beautiful today?” All eyes turned to Sherry as she pulled her jeans off her feet. She freed herself and laid her jeans on the table. She was reluctant to undo her shirt and show them what Ranji had talked her into buying. The shirt fell from her shoulders. Underneath she had a lacy black slip, nearly transparent, held up by thin shoulder straps. It just reached down to her hips and the smallest black thong monokini that Ranji could find. “There!” said Ranji proudly. “Doesn’t she look beautiful?” The women crowded round to admire her. They stared at her breasts from only centimetres away. The slip hid nothing and Sherry felt her nipples tighten from embarrassment. She forced herself to keep her hands by her sides. “Beautiful, yes, very beautiful.” “So pretty.” “Good breasts, no babies yet.” “She’s pink…” They crowded round to touch her and run fingers through her hair. They were just curious, but it made her feel like a freak, especially when fingertips brushed and pushed her breasts. “Enough, enough!” ordered Ranji, “or you will make her too excited to concentrate.” Sherry settled gladly down into the lotus position, disconnected from today and opened herself to the cosmos. Papi Bombar spoke in English again today. He spoke of the Vedic scholar Sayana and his remarkably prescient statements from the fourteenth century on the sun and the speed of light. Sherry felt no sense of surprise that the ancients had known such things. She expected no less and found Papi’s enthusiasm vaguely unsatisfying. She let his words pass her by and concentrated on breathing and cultivating the sense of pure I-am-ness. The end of the session caught her by surprise and by the time she had returned fully to reality most of the other women were already changing back into their street clothes. Papi Bombar’s novice stood at her elbow, asking her and Ranji to come into Papi’s retreat. For a moment her heart leapt. At last Papi was offering her the opportunity to redeem her failure and show him her new skills, but when she entered his room, she found a pretty Thai girl already seated in front of him. She stood with Ranji and the novice, watching the girl open his clothes and lay them back around Papi’s brown and purple stem. She muttered to herself as she trailed her fingers up and down the teacher’s shaft.

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It felt exciting to watch the girl’s head bowing into his lap and her mouth swallowing up the rigid sex. For once Sherry could watch, learn, criticise. The girl worked enthusiastically, her hands deep in Papi’s clothes, holding his dependents and burrowing under him. She nodded her head vigorously. Papi leaned back against the wall and his eyes closed behind his glasses. Sherry watched his face with fascination. He had an expression of effortless calm that did not change when the girl’s movements accelerated until she drank deeply of his essence. His eyes opened again as the girl placed her palms together and bowed, and he returned the gesture. He reached out to touch the girl’s forehead and she got up to leave. Now he turned his attention to Sherry and Ranji. “Welcome, Little Sisters, welcome.” and he gestured for them to sit in front of him. “New clothes again, Ranji?” He smiled. “Rati must be fond of you, and you too, Sherry. Every week you come here, you are more woman. The Goddess is smiling on you too.” Sherry felt embarrassed at her top’s transparency and the fact that her nipples had again betrayed her, but Papi Bombar took no notice of her breasts. Something else was troubling him. “Sisters, Singapore is a difficult place for people who are not Chinese. You know this yourselves. The Government is fair to us, and protective. Still, there are some people who are not. These are the people who do not care for the Gods, ours or their own. Nor do they worry about their return in future lives. They think only of today and of money.” Papi paused to look at them. They did not know where this was leading. “One of these people is Yhee Lu Pat.” Ranji took a sharp intake of breath. She at least had heard the name before. “Who is that?” Sherry asked. “A bad man, Sherry,” said Papi Bombar. “He makes money from bad things. From drugs, by smuggling people from China into Malaysia, by selling children. Unfortunately, now we need his goodwill and the ashram does not have money to pay this man. So I am asking you, my Little Sisters, to help our ashram. Help us by going to this man and begging for his assistance.” Papi avoided their eyes. Sherry looked at Ranji who pursed her lips and gave a little nod. They would help. Ranji came by taxi to pick her up next day. She wore jeans and a tee shirt, and carried a small suitcase. Sherry was ready to go and wearing

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what she thought of as her working clothes, but Ranji still had to dress. Sherry took her up stairs and stayed to watch the fun. Ranji threw her jeans and shirt onto the bed and was left nude to fight with the lock on her suitcase. “Ranji! You’re beautiful,” said Sherry in surprise. Ranji immediately stopped trying to open the suitcase and stood up. “Really?” she asked, “You don’t think I’m too fat?” Sherry had always known that Ranji was no skinny waif. Her yoga clothes never concealed her generously unfashionable hourglass curves, but Sherry had not seen her completely nude before. Now, naked apart from her jewellery, she showed Sherry what she showed her lovers. Sherry envied her smooth chocolate colour, unbroken by tanning marks. Ranji smiled as she stood there, one hand lifted uncertainly to touch her full, round breasts. Her gesture drew Sherry’s eyes to them. They looked almost too big for her shoulders. Her areolae were large wrinkled discs, very dark, almost black, with long proud nipples. Below her breasts, her figure tapered to a narrow waist before flaring widely over her hips. She had a soft and round tummy, and there, nestling between the tops of sturdy thighs, she hid her sex. Her mound looked fat and generous like the rest of her, and completely hairless. Its smoothness made it look intriguing, tempting, shy and vulnerable all at once. The groove between her lips was deep and dark, and Sherry could see the black wrinkled petals of her hidden flower bursting out. Ranji watched her stare. “You really like me?” she asked. “Of course. I’m jealous. You’re so sexy. I love your colour, and your figure.” “I’d better get dressed quickly, or we’ll be late for the Irishman.” “Irishman? I thought he was Chinese.” “Oh, it’s just his name. Yhee Lu Pat, Paddy Yhee, The Irishman. Same person, and the same evil bastard. But we’ll be all right. The taxi driver’s been told to stay and wait, and telephone Papi if we’re not out in an hour. Now, let me get dressed and we can go.” Ranji brought a sleeveless choli from her case. “Look at this. I had it made just for times like this.” She held it up for Sherry to admire. The choli was white and silky. There was very little to it, and it seemed too small to restrain breasts like Ranji’s. “It’s stretchy. You wait until I get it on.” She pulled it up onto her shoulders and around her breasts. There were four silver hooks and tabs at the front that left her cleavage open.

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She fastened them and settled her breasts comfortably in their confinement. “There! What do you think?” The white stretchy material cuddled her exactly, and the blackness of her nipples showed clear where they tented the fabric. Her breasts looked even more nakedly on offer than they had been before. “Ranji! You can’t go out like that! All the men will want to touch you.” “Of course they will. That’s why I had it made from stretchy material and not some boring old cotton drill, but my sari will cover them, more or less.” She had a white and gauzy sari, a single light length of printed muslin with stylised flowers in purple, grey and black at its hem. Ranji deftly tied a ribbon around her waist and started to tuck the sari into it. A quick weaving of her outstretched fingers formed the pleats and she tucked them in too. She wound the tail around her and threw it over her shoulder, pinning it to the choli. Sherry smiled at her transformation. “Houri!” she said. “From a distance you look like a proper Indian lady but when you get close enough, well, this Irish man is going to love you.” “Probably,” said Ranji, “and if he’s got the energy, he will probably want to love you too. Come on, let’s go.” An elderly Sikh driver waited by the black and yellow cab. Sherry felt embarrassed by his white beard and moustache. She just knew his grandfatherly eye could see through their sexy clothes, but he held the cab door open for them without comment and drove them out onto Holland Road. The Irishman had his lair in the Telok Blangah industrial estate. The taxi wound into the labyrinth of Government rental workshop units, crowded with vans and people. Amid the chaos, welders cut steel on the workshop concrete aprons and fabricated complex steel structures. The cab worked its way to an anonymous four-storey concrete terrace. They drove past the busy workshops on the ground floor and stopped at a small door at the end marked ‘Fire Exit, Keep Clear’. Inside bare concrete steps led up and the girls started to climb. Ranji was breathing heavily as they finally reached the top and put her hand on Sherry’s arm to hold her back. “Wait a minute. I don’t want to go in panting.” “What are we going to do? Is this another lesson?”

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“No, I shouldn’t think so. I don’t know what Papi’s promised him, so we’ll just have to do what he tells us. I’ve heard he’s quite conservative about sex, but you can never tell.” Sherry felt increasingly uneasy. She had finally adapted to the idea of flute playing lessons. She no longer felt uncomfortable playing with strange flutes under Ranji’s critical eye, but this afternoon seemed to go beyond that. “Why are we doing this?” she whimpered. “I’ll tell you later. Now, smile and let’s go.” Ranji pushed the heavy fire door open and went in. They stood in a long room. In front of them a strip of worn carpet ran under frosted windows, into the distance, diving into a corridor and away. On their right the large room was filled with rows of desks, all facing the windows. At each desk sat a Chinese girl, working on papers, like a university examination room. Rows of black heads and white blouses, all looking at them. Ranji spoke to the nearest girl and she jumped up to lead them on. Sherry followed Ranji, aware of the whole room watching them. As they reached the corridor, she looked back. Expressionless Chinese faces stared at her. She hurried after Ranji. At the end of the corridor, the girl gestured for them to wait and went through the door marked ‘No Entry’, closing it behind her. “Those girls,” whispered Sherry, “they looked at us like dirt.” “Don’t worry about it. Most of them wish they could be like us. Which would you prefer, flute-playing or working in there?” The door opened again and the girl waved them in. “Mr. Yhee will see you now.” Inside a secretary sat in a small office, an older lady with curled hair. Beyond her an open door. Ranji led the way. The Irishman’s office looked huge. It filled the whole width of the building. On one side, a long conference table of solid rosewood sat on heavy carved pillars. On the other, Mr. Yhee had made himself an alcove from packed bookshelves. His desk was black and modern, decorated with telephones and a computer. A carved name block announced him as ‘Yhee Lu Pat’ in Roman characters, and presumably the additional Chinese characters said the same. This touch added to the impression that an office, no matter how grand, was not Mr. Yhee’s natural environment.

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Yhee was a small man seated in a big black chair behind his desk. At first sight he looked Chinese, but as Sherry looked closer his long nose and wavy hair made her uncertain. Mixed blood, perhaps. He watched them closely as they crossed the carpet and came to stand in front of his desk. He gestured them down into the armchairs facing each other in front of him. Sherry found herself sitting uncomfortably low, with Yhee’s desk above elbow level. She had to look up to talk to him. “So,” he said in a sing-song voice, “Miss Ranji and Miss Sherry. Very good. Very pretty. Now, speak to Bombar first.” He picked up a phone and dialed. “Mr. Bombar. Yes. The girls have arrived. Yes. Maybe, not bad in a cheap sort of way. Yes. I shall insist on it. Now I give you Ranji.” He thrust the phone at Ranji and Sherry listened to another half conversation. “Yes, Papi. No, she’s dressed very well. I shall, Papi. Don’t worry, Papi, we shall be good. Yes, Papi. See you soon,” and she handed the phone back to Yhee who hung up. He looked at them and chuckled. “Very beautiful. Now we shall have a very interesting time, no?” Sherry liked his smile and relaxed immediately. “First, what will you drink? Beer, whisky? No, no tea. I shall give you my very best cognac.” He opened a compartment in the bookshelves behind the desk and Ranji grimaced behind his back. They listened to the sound of ice and glasses. There was a click and soft Chinese music filled the room. He brought them two tumblers of ice and cognac, and went back to sit behind his desk. He raised his glass to them, and they sipped together. The cognac tasted strong and rich, almost making Sherry cough. “Now, ladies, what are you going to do for me?” Ranji smiled at him and said, “We are here to do anything you want, Mr. Yhee.” “Very good. Very, very good. In that case, I would like you to dance for me. Together. Just stand up and dance.” Sherry found herself holding Ranji and trying to find a rhythm in the Chinese music. “Mmmmmh, sexy Sherry,” whispered Ranji and reached around her with both arms to pull her closer. Over her shoulder, Sherry could see Yhee watching them closely. Ranji felt live and exciting in her arms, and her exotic perfume filled Sherry’s senses. They continued swaying and Yhee came out from behind his desk, to lean against it and

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sip his cognac. Sherry felt Ranji’s hand slip upwards, drawing her dress up, exposing her bottom. Then Ranji turned her as they swayed, turning her back towards Yhee. A shiver ran through her and she fought to remain calm as they slowly rotated. She heard Yhee clapping as Ranji exposed her. He came nearer, still clapping. “Bravo, bravo. Let’s take her dress off, Ranji.” Sherry held her arms up as the two of them bunched her dress up and lifted it over her head. Yhee took it and threw it onto his desk. “Dance some more!” he ordered. Resigned but excited, Sherry danced slowly. Ranji held her away now and turned to allow Yhee to look between them. She felt his eyes on her nudity. Ranji lifted one hand above her head and spun her round, showing off everything she had to Yhee. She blushed and her ears burnt. Perhaps Yhee sensed her embarrassment, or perhaps he had seen enough dancing. “Come over to the conference table,” he commanded. He took Sherry’s hand and led her over to the other side of the room. He pulled back one chair as a step and said, “Sit on the table.” Sherry climbed up and sat down with her legs hanging down. “Move into the middle of the table,” he said, “and open your legs. So we can see you.” Sherry shunted backwards and brought her feet up. She felt uncomfortable sitting on the flat surface wearing high heels. She let her legs fall open as he wanted. Yhee and Ranji stared at her centre. Yhee pushed Ranji to a chair and sat down beside her. They looked at Sherry like an exceptionally succulent pig served at a banquet. “Now, play with it,” said Yhee. “I want to see you make yourself come.” Sherry was horrified and looked at Ranji in alarm, but got no help from her. “Yes, Sherry, show us how you do it.” “I—,” she started, but no more came. She tried to reach between her legs but her hand refused to move. “Do it!” said Yhee sharply. Ranji frowned at her and nodded. She forced herself to reach lower. She pressed her fingertips flat over her clit and started a circular motion. She rubbed automatically, hardly feeling what she was doing. Ranji and Yhee had leaned forward to watch her closely. Ranji had reached into Yhee’s lap, but Sherry could not see her hand below the table. Incredibly, Sherry found she was wet. Her rubbing had done nothing for her, but she was wet. The discovery cheered her a little. At least

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Yhee would see she was trying to do her best. She rubbed unhappily, and searched in vain for the golden thread that would lead to her orgasm. Yhee had become agitated. He moved restlessly in his seat, looking at her pussy and at Ranji beside him. He jumped to his feet and started to pull Ranji’s sari from her shoulder. “Wait!” she called and fumbled with the safety pin at her shoulder. “Now, you can unwrap me.” Yhee pulled on the sari and Ranji turned to allow him to destroy the pleats and toss it onto the table. She unhooked her choli before he could reach it and let it fall loose. Yhee dived for her breasts and gripped them roughly. Ranji put her hands behind her and let the choli drop to the floor. Yhee forced her roughly back against the table and bent his head to take her nipple into his mouth. Sherry watched in growing horror as Ranji’s head fell back and her black hair brushed the table. Her face looked distorted and she was biting her lip. Yhee lifted his head to look at Sherry. “Keep rubbing!” he ordered, and took Ranji’s other breast into his mouth. She restarted her pretence of self-pleasure and watched as Yhee thrust his hand under Ranji’s crotch and manhandled her sex. Ranji moaned at his onslaught. Yhee had turned into a violent, forceful animal. Yhee suddenly stood up and spun Ranji around to face the table. He pushed her towards Sherry. “Suck her!” Yhee was out of control. Moving blindly, Ranji searched between Sherry’s legs and she leaned back on her hands to help. She did not want to disobey Yhee. It would be too dangerous. Ranji’s hands went under Sherry’s thighs to grip her and she pulled herself into Sherry, nuzzling her pussy. Sherry looked over her friend’s back at Yhee. He was fumbling with his fly and Sherry caught a flash of white as he released himself. Sherry had the detached feeling that she was watching herself star as an actress in a movie, a horror movie. Yhee hurried to pull on Ranji’s hips and sink his prong into her. He drove it home with a bump that pushed Ranji against her, and then settled to a slow thrusting that left him time to watch. Sherry followed his eyes down to Ranji’s head working between her legs. She had never seen Ranji like this. She was wholly focused on licking Sherry’s pussy, apparently ignoring Yhee and his slow thrusting. Ranji’s tongue probed and searched around her clit, changing to long licks up and down her whole sex and then back again to frantically

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burrowing round and under her clit. The attack was too intense for Sherry and she knew that she would not come. Yhee had a withdrawn expression on his face and his eyes looked heavy. With each thrust, he pushed Ranji against her pussy. The only sound was Ranji’s panting and licking. Yhee opened his eyes and looked at her. “You come now,” he commanded. Sherry was desperate. In another circumstance, another atmosphere, she might have enjoyed Ranji’s licking, but now it felt too strong, too mechanical, too impersonal. She could not come, and Yhee’s order made things worse. She would have to pretend. She closed her eyes, started to pant and to rock her hips against Ranji. Thinking her efforts were bringing pleasure, Ranji immediately accelerated her licking and burrowed her face deeper into Sherry’s crotch. Eyes closed, Sherry concentrated on her rocking and panting and then, out of nowhere, it started to happen. Ranji’s tongue stopped being an irritant, and instead delicious sensations welled up inside her. She could feel a wave of pleasure taking over. She was going to come. She stopped thinking and gave herself over to the hungry mouth that ravaged her. As her orgasm struck, she was vaguely aware of Yhee calling out “That’s it, she’s coming. Harder! Finger her as well!” Ranji’s fingers were there, pushing into her and pumping in and out. Her climax came in waves, overwhelming her, taking her mind. In her delirium she called out for Ranji to stop, to give her peace, and she tried to close her legs. Finally she started to return. Ranji had sucked her clit into her mouth and was gripping it between covered teeth. Her fingers were thrust deep into Sherry, still and rigid. Ranji was being thrown against her by Yhee’s thrusting. When Sherry opened her eyes, Yhee was nearing the end of his run. His thrusting grew hard and rapid, his face looked strained and desperate to come. With a loud groan he reached the end, his head thrown back, his muscles taut as a bowstring, and he clung to Ranji’s hips. The three of them were statues in a monument. After a long moment, Yhee abruptly broke up the tableau. He pulled out and Sherry could see his shiny sex starting to droop. He covered it with one hand and walked rapidly to a door facing his desk. With agonizing slowness, Ranji let Sherry’s clit and petals slip from her mouth and withdrew her fingers. Sherry shuffled back to give her room and her head slumped to lie on the table. Her eyes were closed.

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Then a smile crept onto her lips. “Mmmmh, that was fantastic. Oh, I can hardly move.” She opened her eyes and looked up at Sherry from between her knees. “You like?” “I—I don’t know,” said Sherry. She did not understand what had happened. “I never…” “You were wonderful,” said Ranji and raised herself onto her elbows to examine Sherry’s pussy, “and so sweet, and so pretty down here.” “No!” yelped Sherry, embarrassed at being stared at so closely. She threw a leg over Ranji’s head and turned away. “Where’s he gone?” she asked to divert Ranji’s attention. “I don’t know, but I suppose we’d better get dressed.” She picked up her choli and started to get into it. “Oh, oh, oh. I’m going to drip on the carpet, damn! Bring my bag over, will you? It’s got tissues.” Sherry opened the handbag and passed her a tissue. She wiped herself and then crouched on the floor to insert a tampon. “That’s better,” she said with a smile, “I like going out with no panties, but sometimes…” Sherry threw her dress on and went to help Ranji comb and rearrange her hair. In turn she stood still as Ranji straightened hers out. They had just finished as Yhee returned. Now he was all business. “Thank you, you go now. I call Bombar and tell him OK,” and he ushered them out and closed the door. They were left to walk the length of the outer office by themselves. If Sherry had felt uncomfortable under the gaze of the working girls on the way in, it was nothing to the disapproval she felt now.

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Chapter 11 He felt tired as he clambered back up through the barge railing that evening. It was not late, but he had had a long day. He said good night to the men and climbed the steps up to his cabin. He kicked his boots off and unlocked the door. Inside, he heard the shower running. He pushed the bathroom door open. “Darti?” Darti rushed out wet and soapy to throw herself at him. “Timmee! Mmm—you so late.” She let herself be cuddled and kissed. “Come on, mandi and then we make pom-pom.” She pushed into the shower cubicle with him and started to wash him. Later that night, squeezed into his single bed, she listened to his encounter with Inspector Hangchi and the missed opportunity. “Captain Rais is not happy, I think,” was her only comment, but she took Hangchi’s letter with her when she left to walk home along the cable tray next morning. Tim had a tedious day; tubing tests were usually boring. Hooked up to the wellhead, Tim had to maintain pump pressure on the tubing while a slick line unit ran a leak detector slowly up and down the tubing looking for a pressure drop. Raymond and the crew were busy around the barge, chipping rust and painting. Tim was tied to the pump unit, monitoring the pressure in the tubing and occasionally bleeding a little off as the water in the well warmed up. He had turned the pump unit engines off and he sat on an upturned drum reading a paperback, with one eye on the pressure gauges. The slick line operator did not locate the leak until mid-afternoon. He pulled out of the well, and they could rig down the pumping equipment from the wellhead. That evening Tim stocked up on beer and food. Their next operation would be a pressure test on a new pipeline in the northern delta, and they would be out of reach of the canteen. The tug came for them in the morning and they started the long journey north. Tim sat above it all on his verandah and watched the riverbanks sweep by. Behind him the powerful engines of the pusher tug

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throbbed as it pushed Sea Sprite IV rapidly upstream. The square bow of the barge rode the brown water and curled a coffee brown bow-wave away on each side. Tim watched as the waves slapped the banks, disturbing the quiet of the nipa palms. In the few places where the muddy banks broke through the nipa palms, monitor lizards sunned themselves and scuttled away from the encroaching water. Green macaque monkeys chattered at them from the taller trees and once a large family of proboscis monkeys hurried away from the noise, their old boss man posturing in the nearest tree while his charges disappeared further into the swamp. Satisfied that all were safe, he turned disdainfully and followed them. The sun had fallen into the palms before they reached their goal. A new pipeline trace had been cut through the jungle and trestles driven into the swamp to support the pipe. CCB-1, a Canadian crane barge, had moored at one end of it, with its bows pulled into the trees. It sat in an island of arc lights glaring into the dusk, and the sound of its generators came across the water to them. On the deck the electric flash of welding added drama to the picture. Sea Sprite IV nosed into position alongside and the tug cast off. Tim was delighted. He had expected to be alone, but now they would have company and cooked food. He climbed through the railing and went in search of the Man. They spent that evening on the crane barge, sitting on the deck along with the crew, watching a video. A civilised evening, Indonesians and foreigners sitting together to watch the television set mounted outside the accommodation block. Breakfast started at five next morning, and dozy workers fumbled numbly to the local and foreign canteens. Tim took advantage of the viande fumeé that the French Canadians in the barge crew brought with them. He promised himself that, one day, he would take Sherry to Montreal and show her how good a breakfast it made. They had a slow day. The riverbank manifold was a day or so behind schedule and would not be ready for testing until tomorrow. They rigged up as far as they could and mixed up a 60 barrel gel plug, and then waited. The old oil-field story. Hurry up and wait. Tim crossed over to the canteen looking for cornbread and coffee. It was midafternoon and the canteen was empty. He sat with Renaldo the Mexican cook/camp boss and gossiped. Renaldo hated Indonesia. He hated it so much that nothing could stop him coming back hitch after hitch, year after year, until his cooking

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had become a by-word in the delta. He even moved from company to company as contracts ended so he could keep coming back. Now he happily sat and told Tim how bad a life he led, how everyone and everything conspired to make his life hell. The locals, the Canadians, the insects, snakes, even crocodiles, everything. And, of course, The Man Who Ate Pork hung in the background. “I tell you, my friend, next time I think I don’t come back. Why should I? My boys are finished college, good. My girl, she married and ready to make her mother to grandmother. I pay for my house, my car, don’t owe no money to no-one. Why should I come back?” Renaldo shook his fat head in disgust. “Because you love us, Renaldo. No one cooks like you do. Where else would I get hot cornbread? And proper coffee?” “Huh! You only thinking of your stomach again. But me, I have to do everything. Everything! The people they give me, all ignorant. Know nothing. Now they give me another billy boy. This one look exactly like girl.” He snorted in disgust. “Well he looks as if he works hard. Perhaps they thought they were doing you a favour. Not everyone has their own billy boy, you know.” “Oh, he works, I suppose,” Renaldo conceded, “but he makes more money to give blowjobs and the rest. So in the evening he doesn’t like to do the laundry until the crew is sleeping. He takes their money instead and in the morning he is tired and lazy. Now he is sleeping again so he is ready for this evening. He must have blown every cock on board. Even most of the foreign ones.” “And yours?” “Ah-ha, no! You think I am maricon? You think I let man play with me?” “Well, some of them make pretty convincing women.” “Not for Renaldo. I think when they came for The Man Who Ate Pork, I think they take him too. Maybe they don’t know. Maybe they don’t care. I think it is no problem for their religion. Hah! They think OK to eat cock, but not to eat pork. Stupid!” “You saw it then?” “Sure I see. Everyone see. First they run all over the barge, waving guns and shouting. They get everyone on the pipe deck, everyone. Then they are calling for him and they went through the accommodation with two locals, looking for him. They bring him back with his hands tied behind. He was smiling, you know them, they always have shit-eating

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grin when they’re embarrassed. Then their captain throw him down on the deck and he stand on his head. With his boot! Then the man trying to move and the others kicked him so he stopped. Then the captain gives big speech, shouting this and that, like he gone crazy. Waving his arms and all shouting, and then by surprise, he pulls out his machete and swings it and cuts his neck. I tell you, Tim, looks very ugly. So much blood coming out and the man like jerking ‘til he died. Then they all come and cut him. Like they kill him again one thousand times. Absolutely crazy. Cut, cut, cut, still I see the machetes going up and down, up and down. “Then they leave. They get back in their boat and leave. The man, he is one bloody mess on the deck. So we put tarp on top of him, and radio for police. We are shut down for three days. No work except for me and the billy boy. Cooking and laundry, and feeding the police too. “Afterwards, the police say he is a bad Muslim and he eating pork, that is why he is killed. Crazy. This whole country is crazy.” “You think that’s why they killed him?” “Sure, why not? They crazy enough, believe me, but he didn’t get no pork from me. No bacon here.” “My guys say there was more to it than that. They say the man was working for the Army and the men who killed him were Islamic terrorists. Someone must have passed his name to them.” “Maybe, maybe, but I tell you, those men crazy like dogs. Blood, life, that is nothing for them. I could see in their eyes. Crazy.” Tim was thoughtful as he climbed back onto Sea Sprite IV. The Man Who Ate Pork had become posthumously famous across the delta but until now the murder and its purpose had not touched him. Today it all seemed very much more serious. Next day they laid treating pipe across the crane barge to the point where the pipeline snaked on its trestles out into the swamp. It was a great luxury to have the numerous barge crew to carry the heavy pipe joints and chiksans, leaving Raymond and the guys to hammer them together while Tim did the pre-start checks. Then they had the safety meeting to keep the barge crew away from the pressurised lines, and Tim pumped the gel plug, pushing it down the line with 5000 barrels of delta water. The sun had already fallen by the time the pipeline was full and they could start the pressure test. Next day two pusher tugs came for the crane barge and they left Sea Sprite IV alone until another tug could come for them. Renaldo left a big

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pot of daging rendang for them all, and a cardboard box of ground Brazilian coffee and cornbread for Tim. They waved as the crane barge disappeared down the river and left them isolated in the swamp. Tim felt they had left the ghost of the Man Who Ate Pork with him. When they finally made it back to Camp Dua, Tim found a backlog of acidising waiting. They worked hard, day after day, moving from location to location, preparing batches of treated hydrochloric acid and pumping them into under-performing oil wells. The flurry of work meant that he could not visit Darti until she sent a summons via Raymond. He had Raymond drop him off at Darti’s jetty at dusk. He would spend the night with her and be picked up again for breakfast next day. He had a delightful evening. Darti welcomed him and closed her door behind him. She did not allow him to do anything. By the light of her old-fashioned hurricane lamp, she served him a meal that she must have been preparing all day. Fish, eggs, vegetables, all in exciting sauces and served with a large bowl of rice. Then, with dishes cleared away, she laid out her bedding on the floor and made love to him. Again, she would let him do nothing. He watched the lamplight shining in her black hair as she devoted herself to his cock, kissing and teasing him until he could resist no longer. She turned to kiss him with the taste of his climax still in her mouth and lay for a while in his arms while she massaged him back to stiffness. He watched in the soft lamplight as she knelt over him and raised his soft sex to her pussy. Lifting his head, he looked over his body to the delicate woman kneeling over him. Dream-like, she rubbed him through her wetness, pressing him into her furrow and using him to paint her clitoris with bold strokes. She made an artist’s picture of golden skin and black shadows. He hardened and made her manipulation more difficult. When she judged he was ready, she sank down onto him, tight and slippery. Her eyes closed and for the moment she rode in a world of her own. Her hands pressed down on his chest as she sat firmly on him, rolling her hips to stir her depths with his staff. She was panting with the effort. Seeking more, she lifted herself until she balanced with the fingertips of one hand on his chest while her other hand reached for her sex. Tim raised himself on his elbows to watch more closely as she pressed her clit and rubbed fiercely. He had never seen a woman do this before, and it fascinated him. Her shuttling fingertips butted against his

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shaft as she rubbed and he could feel her pussy vibrating around him. She had her eyes pressed closed and she was frowning and biting her lip. Her climax surprised him. Her hand flew from between her legs and she threw herself onto his chest. He caught and held her as she jerked and spasmed in his arms. “Oh Timmee,” she whispered into his shoulder. “You like? You like to see me?” “It was fantastic! Do it again.” She giggled and pretended to hit him. “No, too much!” but she pushed herself up until she knelt astride him again. This time she sat back and watched him as she held her lips open with one hand and gently stroked herself with the other. “You like?” “It’s beautiful,” he assured her, “and you are very sexy too.” She started to ride slowly up and down on him, still stroking herself. “You like, Timmee?” She insisted on hearing him. “Oh, I like it,” he said, “Come for me again.” She frowned. “Not yet.” She stretched up until she held only the head of his cock inside her and pressing two fingers between her lips, started to pull her pussy up and down, side to side. She watched his eyes as her silky sweet mouth pulled, sucked, kissed at his swollen head. “Good, Timmee?” “Oooooh.” He stared at her hands, trying to focus through the shadows on where he disappeared into her. He began to move. “No,” she panted, “you quiet. I do it.” She was using both hands now, squeezing her lips around his head with her fingers, massaging his plum with her pussy. He threw his head back and closed his eyes. He gave himself up to the assault on his senses, the soft wet slipperiness and her hard fingers ringing his shaft just below the mushroom head. She too was excited and her breath came in gasps. She felt very wet and her fingers moved easily. Then her fingers became more insistent, rubbing herself and probing into her tunnel beside his cock. The wriggling fingers rubbed his most sensitive places. He moaned in his pleasure. Darti lifted herself higher and he fell out of her. His eyes snapped open and he watched as she held him just below her sweet spot. She turned her hand and gripped his shaft so that her thumb lay along it. The ball of her thumb rested on his plum, rubbing gently from side to side. He could just make out the movement in the shadows below her.

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Watching his reaction, she lowered herself onto him, still rubbing him with her thumb. She squeezed very tightly around him. “Yes, Timmee?” “Aaaah -” he moaned. She set her weight down on him and her fist still gripped him, her thumb buried inside her, rubbing him regularly. She was rocking her hips. “You come, Timmee. You come now.” He gave himself up to her.

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Chapter 12 Sherry rode the taxi home from the Irishman in confusion. Beside her Ranji chattered, talking of the traffic, the weather, anything. Perhaps she sensed something of Sherry’s unhappiness at what had just happened to her because when they got home, she reached out and took her hand. “Let’s go to the zoo! We’ve got the taxi all afternoon and it would be a big shame not to use it. Come on, we’ll change and go.” Ranji threw on her normal clothes while Sherry was still deciding what to wear. She watched without comment while Sherry got into a loose shirt and baggy shorts that hid her shape. She expected Ranji to object and insist on her dressing in clothes that made her look ‘more like a woman’. She was ready to argue and fight, but Ranji let her dress like an anonymous English woman and said nothing. She just wanted to get Sherry out of the house and on the road to Woodlands and the zoo. Strolling through the zoo was what she needed to settle her. Sharing an umbrella against the sun, they had chattered and giggled like schoolgirls along the paths between the animal enclosures. Ranji surprised her by knowing her way around the park. She said she came here often with younger relatives and knew all the animals. The tigers were her favourites. That came as no surprise. Sherry could imagine her as a tiger. While they talked and strolled, Sherry’s mind slowly accommodated itself to what had just happened. Before long, she was watching Ranji’s agile tongue licking her ice-cream and smiling to herself. “Did you like the Irishman?” Sherry asked as they drove home. “Him? Oh no, he’s a bad man. Did you?” “No. He didn’t talk to us like ladies. Was it difficult to—to let him?” Ranji chuckled. “I wasn’t watching him! I was watching you being a naughty girl.” “That was difficult. I’ve never let anyone see me do that before. Not even Tim.”

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it.” “But I wasn’t!” she protested. “I hated it. At first, anyway. With him watching—I couldn’t do it. Then I had to, but it was difficult. I wasn’t ready.” Ranji looked at her in disbelief. “Well, you’re a good actor. I thought you enjoyed what I was doing.” Sherry felt herself blushing. “It was different with you. I sort of liked that, but I still didn’t like him watching.” “Ah-ha. I thought so. You tasted ready, and that made it good for me too. I even liked the Irishman trying to fill me up after that.” “You didn’t mind—you didn’t mind doing it to me?” “Of course not! It was sexy. Haven’t you done it with a girl before?” Sherry’s female past was limited to school experiments with her friends. “No, only men.” “Really? I’ll have to do it to you again sometime. When we’re alone, with no-one watching. Then you’ll see how clever I am.” Sherry still felt uncomfortable with the idea and she changed the subject. “Why were we there, Ranji? What has the Irishman got to do with Papi Bombar?” “Truly, I don’t know. I know that Papi and his friends had promised to do something for the Irishman and then they couldn’t do it. Or perhaps it got delayed, I don’t know. Any normal man would just let it go, complain perhaps and then wait until whatever it was could be done, but the Irishman is a bully. He wanted to make Papi do something for him, just to show him he is the boss. He wanted to humiliate us all but it hasn’t worked. I don’t feel humiliated, do you?” “I guess not,” said Sherry slowly, “but I hope it doesn’t happen again.” “After this afternoon and the show we gave him? He’ll call for us, you’ll see. And he’ll offer money for us to go and do it again. I shall tell Papi to say no, no matter how much he offers. With anyone else, I’d think about it, but not the Irishman.” “You’d do that sort of thing for money?” Her attitude shocked Sherry. “Oh, it depends. On the man and the money. If he was rich and sexy, I’d do it just for fun anyway, so why shouldn’t I get paid for it as well? Most of these people have too much money. It means nothing to them,

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but it means new clothes and gold to me. I love money and if I’m going to have sex anyway…” That week at yoga, Papi singled them out for praise and thanks. His smile shone like sun on her shoulders. The two weeks of Tim’s absence passed slowly. She had so little to do that held her interest. Ranji came late one afternoon and they went to the cinema, bundled up like snow-maidens against the cold of the air conditioning. Another morning they spent window-shopping on Orchard Road and ended up having bindi bhaji and chapattis at their favourite stall in the Cuppage Centre. But it would have been much more fun with Tim. She was shopping for his return in the supermarket when a thin Chinese man with greying hair came up to her. “Miss Sherry, I believe?” He looked unremarkable, white shirt open at the neck and dark trousers, pens and glasses squeezed into his shirt pocket, but his English was unusual. Not Singapore, but English public school. “I’m sorry—,” she stuttered in confusion. “Excuse me, a friend of Tim’s,” He held his hand out to shake. “Hangchi. Would you be kind enough to ask him to see me as soon as he gets back?” “Thursday. I’m expecting him on Thursday evening, unless there’s a problem on the rig.” “Good. Perhaps we should meet here on Friday? Is ten o’clock too early, do you think? I’ll come to the Pizza Hut outside. We can have a coffee. Or a beer. Will you tell him for me?” He had surprised Sherry but she must have nodded because Hangchi was leaving. “Good. Good. I’ll be here.” Then he turned back. “Oh, and it would be better if you didn’t tell anyone else, Miss Sherry. If you don’t mind.”

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Chapter 13 Tim took Sherry with him to meet Inspector Hangchi. They sat in the Pizza Hut, already busy so early in the morning, and drank coffee. Hangchi looked relaxed and more interested in Sherry’s opinion of Singapore than the sealed envelope at his elbow. Just before they left, he tore it open and read. “Do you know what’s here?” he asked. “No. I didn’t meet the person at all this time.” “Good. It’s probably better that way. When do you go back? Next Thursday? That’s too early for anything interesting. Just pass the word that we will be ready. This time, we’ll be ready.” To her credit, she thought, Sherry did not question Tim. Instead they took a taxi off to the wild east of Singapore. Pulau Ubin, where there were still working rubber plantations and the cars were not taxed or registered. They sat together on a park railing near the Changi jetty, looking out over the grey strait to Pulau Ubin and the dark green of Malaysia beyond. To their left, close to shore, the boats of the yacht club bobbed at their moorings. Two small fishing boats crept up the strait. The only other vessel moving was the ferry that had just put off from Pulau Ubin. Tim used the wait to explain to Sherry about Hangchi and the letter. About Captain Rais and the Islamic connection, about everything except Darti. “You mean—these people—you mean terrorists?” He looked straight at her. “Yes.” A cold hand gripped Sherry’s stomach. “But it’s dangerous…” “I don’t think so. Well, not for us anyway. I’m not involved. I just carried a couple of letters for Captain Rais, that’s all, and it’s finished now. What Hangchi does now is strictly up to him. He doesn’t need my help.” “But when you’re working—what if they find out?”

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“There’s nothing to find. People carry letters backwards and forwards all the time. I don’t know anything about terrorists and I don’t care.” He erased The Man Who Ate Pork from his memory. “Nothing ever happens at Camp Dua anyway. Too many foreigners and there’s oil money to think of. The Government would never tolerate any trouble there.” She half believed his assurances but found herself holding his hand as they walked the dirt tracks of Pulau Ubin, through a rural Singapore that was rapidly disappearing and had already vanished from the mainland. She worried for him and came to his bed that night to make quiet love. Next morning, a phone call came for Tim. “Hello, Tim. Alistair, remember me?” “Of course. Where are you?” “Singapore. I’m just calling to see if we could meet.” “Oh yes. We’d love that. Dinner?” “Well, it’s more in the nature of business. Do you think you could come by yourself? Without telling Sherry?” Alistair sounded cautious. “I suppose so. If you can make it this morning. I have to do some shopping for work anyway, and Sherry doesn’t enjoy that.” “Good, I’ll call you back in a moment.” He hung up and Tim was listening to an empty line. He called back immediately and said he would wait at the Mandarin, in the coffee shop. Tim had trouble getting a taxi and when he did the traffic was strangling the city. He arrived late at the Mandarin Hotel and rushed through to the coffee shop. Alistair was standing and smiling, hand outstretched. “You’re late, my friend, perhaps we should go upstairs straight away.” The five star luxury of the hotel left Tim cold. It was sterile, devoted to insulating its guests from the reality of Singapore. He could not imagine ever spending his own money to stay in a place like this. On the other hand, it could be fun to visit with clients, at Krumbein’s expense. They rode the lift to Alistair’s room, high in the tower. Alistair settled him next to the window, looking out over hazy Singapore with a soft drink in his hand. He wanted to say something but had difficulty getting started. He stood, troubled, not looking Tim in the eye.

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“My friend, I have a problem. We have only met once, but I like you and your wife. So when I heard something that suggests Sherry may be getting into trouble, I wasn’t sure what to do. Never interfere in another family’s business, that’s a good maxim, but on the other hand, if people are innocently being drawn into problems, perhaps I should do something. So if you’ll forgive me, I’d better tell you something of what I know.” His words shocked Tim. What had Sherry done? “What are you—?” A knock at the door interrupted him. “Damn!” said Alistair. “I wanted to talk to you first. Perhaps this is better. You can hear it directly from her. Look, can I ask you to just sit quiet and listen? I’ll explain anything you don’t understand afterwards.” Tim nodded uncertainly and he went to open the door. He ushered an Indian woman into the room, an attractive brown girl in a green and cream sari. She shared a flashing smile and glanced curiously at Tim. Alistair locked the door behind her and took her hand to kiss. “Ranji, my dear. How beautiful you are, as always. I swear I’m going to ask your father for your hand. This week. Today, in fact. No one else can have you. Now, do you know my friend? No? Well, this is Tim. Let’s get comfortable. What would you like to drink?” He fussed over her until she was sitting on the bed facing the two men in their armchairs. “How is your father, Ranji? Business still good?” “So-so, I’d say.” She laughed. “Much better than when we last met. Not everyone is as difficult to deal with as you are.” “Well, well, that’s how it is, I suppose. Now, Ranji. I have some serious business today and I’m afraid you’re not going to like it. Tell me about Sherry.” Ranji jumped as if he had hit her. “Sherry,” she squeaked. She finally recognised the name Tim and guessed why he was here. “Yes. All about her. Don’t worry, we’re not going to make trouble for you or her. We just want to know all about her, and you of course.” She sat watching them, tense and uncertain. Then she drew herself up ready to bluster when Alistair held his hand up. “Wait. You’re wearing far too many clothes for such a beautiful lady in a gentleman’s hotel room. Undress for me please.” She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

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Alistair was smooth but firm. “Come on, Ranji. We’re old friends. I wouldn’t do anything bad to you. I’ve known your father for years. He even borrows lots of money from me. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.” Ranji might have just had a severe shock but she was not stupid. Her visit had changed from a sexy and profitable interlude into a nightmare, but her father still owed money to Alistair. He probably knew about her visits to Alistair’s hotel anyway, and did not object. She tried to resist. “Please, Alistair.” “No, my dear. We’ll all be much happier if you take your clothes off.” Tim’s mind reeled. What he was seeing and hearing made no sense at all, and how could Sherry be involved with this woman anyway? And why was Alistair forcing her to strip? He watched numbly as the girl stood and started to unwind her sari. She did not look happy when she finally slipped off her underskirt and stood naked in front of Alistair. “You get more and more beautiful each time I see you, Ranji. Now get onto the bed and we shall talk.” Reluctantly, Ranji climbed onto the bed and lay on her side with her head on her hand. In spite of the tension, Tim found himself admiring the deeply feminine curve made by her waist and broad hips. Her secrets were on show, round soft breasts with dark nipples and her fat hairless mound at the top of her thighs. She looked frightened. “Wonderful,” said Alistair, “Singapore’s Venus. Now talk. Tell us about Sherry. And about Papi Bombar. What do you do at yoga?” Yoga, thought Tim, that must be the connection, but so what? Yoga is harmless. “Well, we met at Papi Bombar’s,” she started. “Sherry came to study with us.” “Yes? Study what? Sex?” “No! Of course not. She came to study yoga under Papi Bombar. He likes her. He thinks she’s a good student, but not very much of a woman, so he asked me to help her learn to be more woman, more female.” “More female? She looks definitely female to me.” “But she’s not very good at it.” She glanced at Tim to catch his reaction. “When she first came she was wearing terrible clothes and her hair was cut so short. She looked like nothing.” Alistair looked a question at Tim and he nodded his agreement. “You see, now she’s getting better, more sexy. She’s dressing better and growing her hair. Papi Bombar is pleased with her progress.”

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“Has he tried her?” blurted out Tim. Alistair held up his hand to stop further questions. “Well, Ranji? Has he?” Ranji chuckled. “You know he hasn’t! Papi doesn’t like girls. He teaches us and blesses us, but he sleeps with his novices.” “Blesses you? Tell me about that.” Ranji could not look at them. “He—he gives one of us his essence every week.” “His essence?” Alistair’s questioning had unsettled her. “He selects one of us every week to take his essence.” “Come on, girl, tell us if what I’ve heard is true. One lucky girl sucks him off every week. Is that true?” She lowered her eyes and nodded. “Mmmh, how does he do it?” Alistair shook his head. “You should see this man, Tim. He’s fat, soft, with round glasses. Dresses like a monk and looks terribly holy. He collects money every week for teaching girls yoga, and gets a free blowjob thrown in. Must think he’s arrived early in heaven.” “No,” cried Ranji, “It’s not like that. We do yoga and one of us is blessed afterwards. That’s all. He is very kind.” “Kind? I’d be that kind to you any time you like, Ranji. So has Sherry been chosen?” “Yes. Once. She was not very good at it.” She avoided Tim’s eye. “Papi said she must study more and asked me to help her.” “Why you, Ranji? You some sort of professor on that subject?” She let herself smile. “Alistair…” “OK, maybe. So keep talking. What did you do to help her?” “Well, we talked about it a lot, and we went out together to buy clothes. She looks really nice now when she tries.” That much is true, thought Tim bitterly. “And? What else did you do?” “I helped her practice,” she whispered. “Now we’re getting to it. You helped her practice. More!” “I found some of my friends to help, to let her practice. Now she’s good. Really good. Men think she’s fantastic, and she looks sexy too.” “How many friends, Ranji? Ten? Twenty?” Ranji nodded. Tim was stunned. Sherry had been studying oral sex? And she was good at it? He could not believe it. Ever since they had been together,

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her attempts on him had not amounted to much, and she had always stopped too soon. He couldn’t remember when she had last done it for him. Ranji was holding back, not telling them something, but Alistair knew her too well. “Well, tell us the rest.” She bit her lip and then blurted out, “I got paid for it.” Tim shifted in his chair but Alistair reached across to restrain him. “So, your friends paid you to let Sherry practice on them?” “Yes,” she said miserably. “And how much of the money did you give to Sherry?” “She didn’t know. I was going to tell her after the first one, but then I thought it would make her feel bad. After the others, it was too late to tell her. But we’ve stopped now. She doesn’t need any more practice.” “Your student has graduated. Well, congratulations, Professor. Now tell us about the Irishman.” Tim could see he had surprised Ranji. “How did you know?” “Never mind. Tell me. Why did you go to him? More money?” “No. Not that time. Papi Bombar asked us to go.” “Come on, tell us. What made Papi Bombar offer his two most attractive girls to someone like the Irishman, and without charge?” “I don’t know. Honestly. Something was late, I think. Papi and the others were delivering something for the Irishman but it was late. So he made a lot of trouble and said he would burn Papi’s school down. You know what he’s like, always making trouble. So Papi asked us to help.” “Now we’re getting to it. What was the delivery? Something illegal, obviously or the Irishman wouldn’t be involved. Children? Drugs?” “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I just don’t know. Not children. Papi and my father and the others would never do that.” She had started to cry. “Did Sherry know?” “She doesn’t understand. Papi just asked us to help, so she did it.” Her sobs made her difficult to hear. “He didn’t have her. I promise. He had me but not Sherry, and it was only to help. No money.” Alistair thought for a moment and then looked across at Tim with a shrug. He went to Ranji and helped her up off the bed. “Here, come and say sorry to Tim. You shouldn’t have borrowed his wife without permission.” He led her to Tim and pushed her to her knees.

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She pressed her hands together and lifted them to him. Tears ran down both cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Tim,” she sobbed. He took her hands between his own but said nothing. Alistair brought tissues for her. “Do you want to say anything to her, Tim?” He shook his head. Alistair helped her to her feet. “It’s over, Ranji. You are in Tim’s debt. You must make it up to him in the future. Now take your clothes to the bathroom and get dressed. Wait there until I call for you.” Alistair sat down and looked across the table at Tim. “Well, a bad shock, my friend, but not too bad, I hope.” “I can’t think of a worse one.” “No, I think you’re wrong there. Sherry might be silly and easily led, but at least she’s not running around looking for men while you’re not here.” “No, she seems to have Ranji to do that for her,” said Tim bitterly. “Oh, Ranji. Don’t worry about her. She comes from a good family, in spite of her hobbies. You can’t expect a good Indian girl to turn down the chance of making some free money, after all. I think she really wanted to help Sherry. Has it helped, do you think?” “I don’t know. She has some better clothes, I suppose, but what am I going to say to her when I get back home?” “I’ve been thinking about that. Listen to me. I don’t know Sherry so I’m guessing, she wasn’t the best wife, am I right?” “Well—but I like her. Love her. She’s a good person, it’s just that she has these ideas, crazy ideas… Like the yoga. That’s typical.” “That’s what I thought. You know, Ranji might have been doing some good for her.” “But I don’t like all these secrets. And what about this Irishman? What was all that about? Do you know about this delivery that was late?” “That’s why I called you. If it had just been Ranji and her lessons on oral sex, I would have shrugged my shoulders and let you sort your own problems out. However, the Irishman is different. He’s very nasty. Dangerous. When I heard a blonde European girl had met him with Ranji, I started to ask questions. I think the delivery was guns, and you definitely don’t want to be mixed up with the Irishman and guns. That would be an invitation to a short life.” “Sherry’s mixed up in all that?”

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“No. I’m pretty sure she’s not. She was just a little easy amusement that the Irishman forced out of Bombar and his associates when the shipment got delayed. It sounds as if she came out of it intact, lucky for her, but I wouldn’t let her do it again, if I were you.” “Oh God! What am I going to do now?” Alistair reached across the chair to touch his arm. “My friend, when I was drowning, you pulled me out of the water. I owe you. Take my advice. Let me lend you an island to holiday on. Don’t say anything to her now but take her up there for a week, and if you can’t get her back under control I shall be surprised. Keep it a secret from her, and I’ll arrange it. You will be able to see just how successful Ranji has been.” Tim must have agreed, because Alistair was saying “Good, good. Now, let’s release Ranji from the bathroom and send her on her way, and we’ll get down to organising your holiday.” He brought Ranji to say farewell. She was properly dressed and her make-up had been repaired. She even looked cheerful as she shook Tim’s hand and left. “Ah, Ranji. A really delightful girl,” said Alistair. “I like her and her father, but I wouldn’t trust them with money. You’ll have to try her one day. I can promise you’ll enjoy it.” “Why did you make her undress?” “Didn’t you like it?” he teased. “It’s hard to argue when you’re without your clothes, so I knew it would help her talk. But also because she looks so tasty.”

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Chapter 14 Sherry felt happy to be driving through the Malaysian plantations again. Leaving Singapore behind gave her a feeling of release, of having the cage door flung open. Tim drove quietly beside her, concentrating on the road. The sunlight and shadow of overhanging jungle was flashing over them and the rich smell of tropical vegetation hung in the air. She looked forward to another break on Pulau Kelapa. Life felt good to her. Tim had come back again, and he was being unusually attentive to her. On his last break he had surprised her with flowers. He had stayed with her all the time, even taken her shopping for clothes. When he had returned last night, he listened with interest to her tales of everything she had done while he had been away. He had even asked if he could meet Ranji sometime, and now he looked as cheerful and excited about Pulau Kelapa as she felt herself. She sat back and enjoyed the humid air rushing past her. The boat journey to the island seemed to take forever. They could see Pulau Kelapa clearly from the mainland, but the chugging fishing boat did not get there in a hurry. She shaded her eyes to peer for familiar places under the palms. The island appeared deserted. She willed herself to close her eyes and doze. She awoke with a start and found the island jetty drawing near. The slowing of the boat’s engine must have woken her, and running down the jetty to meet them came Faith and Hope, waving and calling out to her. They helped her off the boat and dragged her off, Tim following behind with the bag over his shoulder. The twins pulled her off to the side, missing the resort office. They wanted to take her to Alistair first. She found him sitting on the verandah of his cabin, reading the newspaper and drinking through a straw from a tall, red cocktail. A turbaned boatman with a twisted nose and broken smile was relaxing on the steps. He jumped up as they approached and came to take Tim’s bag.

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Alistair set his paper aside and spread his arms. “Sherry, Tim, welcome to my kingdom! Come and take a drink. The sun is bad for you without internal support.” He shook her hand and kissed her before calling to the boatman, “Ahmed, drinks for our guests.” He turned to welcome Tim. Sherry had just got comfortable at the table and set her sun hat under her chair when Ahmed came smiling and nodding to her elbow with an iced drink on a tray. “Memsahib…” was all he could manage. She took the drink and raised it to Alistair. “What’s this, Alistair? I’m suspicious.” “Oh, it’s a genuine Pulau Kelapa sling. Like a Singapore sling but better. You’ll like it.” He raised his own glass to her and pulled at his straw. “Mother warned me about coloured drinks and strange men. Oh well, as long as you don’t have designs on my virtue.” Ahmed had brought Tim’s drink and together they tried it. Fruity, bittersweet. Probably stronger than it seemed, but very easy to drink. “Oh, I like that! You are such a kind host, Alistair.” Faith and Hope were chattering and laughing. They seemed to be drinking cold tea. Sherry sat in silence, sipping her drink as Alistair asked Tim about their journey up. Ahmed was standing beside her again. Although she had not finished her drink, he had another on his tray and was offering it to her. She looked up at his friendly face. He was smiling and she wondered why he had let his teeth get so stained, and why the gap in his smile had not been bridged. He had come very close and she was staring at his face as if through a goldfish bowl. The chatter around her had changed into an enveloping buzz and she felt as if she was moving through treacle. She woke abruptly. She looked up at a cabin ceiling, white with simple brown beams. She raised her head in confusion and tried to remember where she was. She lay naked on the bed. The cabin door hung open and she could look out over the beach to the sea, bright with sun flashes. I was drunk, she thought. With just one drink, I was drunk. I must have fainted and they brought me here. Where is Tim? She lay back and examined herself. Her head felt heavy and her mouth was dry. She felt nauseous. She forced herself to sit up and the silver chain cascaded onto the floor. She looked at the belt around her waist. A heavy leather belt, rich

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and moist with saddle soap and reinforced with the chain that held it closed. There was a small padlock at her hip, securing the chain that looped around her inside the belt. Disbelieving, she followed the chain down to the floor. It ended in a ring that had been threaded onto a thick wire that ran from the back of the room out through the door and into the sand. Head still spinning, she looked around her. She was in a large room. The wide bed stood on one side, with the opposite wall taken up with a compact kitchen. There was a counter with a sink and a gas ring. Cupboards below and a small refrigerator. Pans hung on the wall and there was a rack of plates drying above the sink. Where was she? This was not like the cabin she had stayed in before. And why was she chained? She stood up and felt her stomach rise. At the back of the room she saw an open door with a step down to a wet concrete floor. She rushed out into a simple toilet and shower room, and was violently sick. Cold and trembling, she rinsed her mouth and washed her face at the sink and returned to the room a little more in control of herself. At least whoever had captured her was reasonably humane. Her chain sliding along the thick wire would allow her to move around, even step outside. She went to the door and looked out. Immediately, she knew this was not Pulau Kelapa. The beach was deserted. Only a small cove limited by black rocks. She stepped out onto the verandah. The cabin was built on stumps above the sand. To her left jungle came down to the sea. On the other side the beach graded into a rocky point. She went to the end of the verandah to look behind the cabin. It sat perched on a finger of land sticking out from the jungle. Coconut palms swayed over it and lent their shade. She was alone in this strange place. There was no sign of other cabins. No people walking on the beach. No sound apart from the lazy ripples caressing the sand. In the distance, across the emptiness of the sea, the dark mainland hills watched her. Frantically, she looked around for help, for any sign of humanity. Then she noticed footprints on the sand. In front of the cabin the dry sand was a confusion of prints, old and new. Leading away, down the wet tide-washed sand, a single set of prints ran down to the sea. Sandals and a towel showed someone had gone swimming. She picked out a shadow in the water. A swimmer. She could see a snorkel sticking up at his head. The man dived, lifting his

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flippers up out of the water and disappearing. He was white and naked. It might be Tim. A harsh snort came across the water to her as the man surfaced again and cleared his snorkel. She called to him. Tim lifted his head and saw her. He waved and swam back to shore. It was a relief to see him paddle out of the water and wrap the towel around his waist. He came to her carrying his flippers and still wearing his mask and snorkel in his hair. He had a wide smile on his face. “Good morning, sleepyhead. What do you think of Paradise Island?” “What’s happening? What’s this?” she lifted her chain to him. “Who put this on me?” He looked at her with a half-smile. “I did.” She felt furious and relieved together. “You frightened me. Now take it off.” “No. I’m going to get a shower. Why don’t you make some breakfast? There’s bacon and eggs in the fridge.” She could not believe him. “Tim, take it off right now. It’s not funny.” “No. It’s not funny. So make the breakfast and we’ll talk about it.” He pushed past her towards the shower. She ran after him and grabbed his arm. “I’m not making any damn breakfast until you get this thing off me.” He seized her wrist and looking at her coldly, slowly tore her hand away. “Very well, I’ll make breakfast and then we’ll talk. First of all, I’m going to wash the salt off me.” She sat on the bed, anger boiling inside her. She could hear the shower running and Tim humming to himself. The bastard! What was he thinking of? And where were her clothes? She looked for their bag but it was nowhere. The books she had brought with her lay on the bedside table, and she thought she remembered their shampoo and wash bags in the bathroom, but no clothes. Tim came from the shower wearing shorts and drying his hair with the towel. She stared venom at him, but he ignored her and went to hang the towel over the verandah rail. “Now then,” he said complacently, “two eggs for breakfast?” “I’m not eating anything until you get this belt off,” she spat. “Oh well, I’ll breakfast alone. Can I offer you a coffee?” She threw herself at him but he held her off with one hand. “I can make this chain shorter, you know. Sit on the bed until I’ve made

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breakfast, and then we’ll talk.” He pushed her back. The bed caught her behind the knees and she sat. Tim turned to the kitchen counter. He seemed in no hurry but at last his meal was ready and he carried it out to the verandah. “Good. Now you can come outside and we’ll talk.” Her mood had gone from fury to despair. “Why are you doing this to me, Tim?” “Come outside and we’ll talk.” He took her hand and drew her off the bed. “Come on, sit down and be civilised.” He sat her at the table. He had piled his plate high with eggs and bacon, and she saw he had brought two cups of coffee. He pushed one over to her and went back for a plate and cutlery for her. He wanted to share the eggs and bacon but she stopped him. “No! I don’t want anything. Why are you doing this to me? Where are we, anyway?” “Where are we? This is a little island that Alistair has lent us. Pretty, isn’t it? I could retire here. We must enjoy it while it’s ours. “Now, business. I know what you’ve been doing. I know about Ranji and her lessons. I know you’ve been giving blowjobs to her friends. I know about the Irishman.” She could not believe what she had just heard. “But—but—how do you know?” “Never mind that, but you know what really pisses me off? You’ve been pushing me away all the time. Talking about needing space, about being special friends, separate beds, no sex, the whole lot, and at the same time you’ve been sucking off half of Singapore. How am I meant to feel? You care more about Ranji and her friends than you’ve ever cared about me.” “But, you don’t understand.” “Of course I don’t understand. Do you?” “But it’s not sex…” “Not sex? Sucking cock is not sex? What is it then?” “It’s about the yoga, the Goddess. Papi said… He wanted me to learn. To be better.” “Oh yes? Better for who? Him? The Irishman? Certainly not for me, and I’m your husband.” He stood abruptly. “I’m going for a walk. Wash the dishes and we’ll talk later.” She reached for him but did not dare to touch. “Please, Tim, please. Take this belt off me. Give me some clothes.”

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He looked at her blankly, and turned to leave. He set off along the sand towards the jungle. Her world reeled as she watched him walk away. She had been happy, and he had destroyed it. In the midst of beauty, she was in despair. She put her head in her hands and cried.

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Chapter 15 She sat at the table on the verandah trying to read a book but watching the jungle fringe for him to come back. She had washed the dishes and tidied the room. She had showered and washed her hair. She had found a broom and swept up. Now she had nothing to do but wait, sweating uncomfortably under her heavy belt. The sun had passed over the cabin and she guessed it was early afternoon. Suddenly, she heard a noise behind her, and Tim appeared around the other end of the cabin. He looked comfortable. “Hi. Have a good morning?” “Please, Tim, let me explain. And then I’ll go.” “You’re not going anywhere until I let you. We’ve got the rest of the week here, so you’d better get used to it. Want to make some tea?” “Please, Tim. You’re right. I know you are. I shouldn’t have gone with those men. I’m sorry.” She started crying again. “Please let me go. Don’t hurt me.” He patted her shoulder. “Relax, no one’s going to hurt you. Now make some tea.” “Make it yourself!” she flared. Tim seemed unfazed by her tears or temper. “Fine. You like one too?” She turned her back on him, tears falling. The small gas ring took a long time to boil the water. Eventually he returned with one mug. He offered it to her. “You should take something…” but she shrugged him off. He sat opposite with his feet on the verandah rail, looking out to sea. “Such a beautiful place. Unbelievable.” “What are you going to do with me?” she asked quietly. “Oh, nothing. Don’t worry. You’ll just have to do more or less as I want for the next few days, that’s all.” “But this belt—it’s hurting me.”

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“Really?” He leant over to look more closely. “You’re getting red. I guess you shouldn’t wear it all the time. I’ll get it off you.” He went into the cabin and she heard him rummaging in one of the cupboards. He came back with another length of chain. “Now, give me your hand.” He wrapped a stiff canvas cuff around her wrist and pressed the Velcro tab closed. He threaded the end of the new chain through the loops of the cuff and padlocked it. She waited passively as he tried the cuff for tightness. He bent to fasten the free end of the chain to the wire with another lock. “There. Now let’s get that belt off you.” He unlocked her with a small silver key and pulled the chain free of the belt. It fell away from her. “Stand up!” She stood as he examined the mark left on her skin. “No harm done,” he said. “Now wait a minute. Some cream will do you good.” He brought sun cream from the bathroom. He sat and she stood between his knees while he rubbed the cream into her waist. As she turned, she had to lift the new chain over her head. His hands were strong and gentle on her and the cream felt good. He was caring for her. “Better? You should wash that belt in fresh water and rub some saddle soap into it. There’s some in the bathroom. I’m sure you’ll need it again soon.” “Why are you doing this to me, Tim?” “Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure that out eventually,” he smiled. “Now I’m going to take a siesta. Want to join me?” She turned away from him as he went inside to lie down. She tried to read her book but found it difficult to concentrate. Tim woke when the sun was already settling in the sky. He came out onto the balcony. “Come on, let’s go for a walk.” He had brought her sandals and a sun hat. She thought about refusing but she needed to get off the verandah. “Stand up, you’ll need cream on your shoulders.” She stood still as he rubbed sun cream over her shoulders and back, over her bottom and down to her thighs. He turned her around and covered her front, arms, breasts, belly, efficiently and without suggestion. “I like you without hair,” he remarked as he did her thighs. “That was a really good idea.” She felt like a child. He produced a dog collar with a long lead attached. “Lift your hair, let’s get this on you.” She held her hair up as he put the collar around her neck and snapped a padlock through the closure behind her neck. He must have a stock of them, she thought. He put a Velcroed cuff around his own wrist

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and clipped the lead to it. She was tied to him. He unlocked her wrist and freed her from the chain. Not allowing her to do anything for herself, he knelt at her feet and fastened her sandals. “Right, walkies!” he said with a smile and she found herself smiling back. “That’s better. A pretty smile makes the world go round.” They strolled the strand, watching the sun tip and fall toward the mainland. For the first time that day she felt relaxed with him. He was happy, talkative, caring. His arm rested lightly around her waist and the fact that she was naked apart from a hat, sandals and dog’s collar did not seem to matter any more. He took her sandals off and carried them while she paddled in the water and then sat with her up to their waists, watching the sun go down. As the sun started to touch the far hills, he jumped up. “Whoa! We’ve got to hurry. I must light the lamps while there’s still enough light to find the matches. Come on!” They hurried together back to the cabin. She hoped he might let her free, but the first thing he did was pick up her cuff and ask “Wrist or ankle?” She decided to try it on her ankle for a while. She felt hungry and relented enough to prepare the rice while Tim struggled to get the charcoal in the barbecue alight. Ahmed had given him a fish to grill. The smell drove her appetite mad. They ate on the verandah, protected by mosquito coils burning at their feet and with two Tilly lamps attracting every insect on the island. Tim had produced a bottle of gin and mixed it with fresh lime juice, water and ice from the limited supply their small gas-powered fridge could provide. They sat and watched the phosphorescent ripples on the beach, the black sea and pinpricks of light on the distant shore. A full moon shouldered its way out of the sea behind them, lighting the sand and darkening the rocky shadows. They were both tired. Tim drained his mug. “Bed time. Are you going to join me?” Sherry decided to make a stand. She would not be dragged into bed with chains. “No, I’m not getting into bed with you until you let me go.” “It doesn’t work like that, love. Oh well, suit yourself. I’m going to get a shower.” She washed up and went for her own shower. When she came back into the room, Tim had rigged the mosquito net around the bed and was already asleep in its shadows. She spread her towel on the floor, turned off the lamp and lay down.

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The bright light from the open door woke her. She lay on the floor, her bones hurt, and the mosquitoes had bitten her. Sometime during the night Tim had put a pillow under her head and spread a sheet over her. The bed was empty and she crawled onto it. Tim bounding onto the verandah woke her again, and he made sure by picking up the end of the bed. “Get up, lazy bones. It’s a beautiful day in Paradise and I want my breakfast.” She rolled onto her stomach. “My bones have stopped working,” she mumbled but he kept on lifting the bed and banging it on the floor. She got up and stumbled to the bathroom, dragging her chain behind her. Tim started clattering and whistling in the kitchen. He waved her through to the verandah when she emerged. She sat looking out over the sea, wearing nothing but the cuff on her ankle. Her nakedness and even her chain had begun to seem natural now. Tim brought coffee and plates, and then a large omelette with chilli, ginger and onion, along with scraps of last night’s fish. Sherry felt hungry again and it smelt wonderful. She ate and only when she was clearing her plate she noticed Tim watching with a smile on his face. “Now, did you wash and soap that belt? I’ll take you out on the surfboard.” “Not the belt again…” “I think so. It’s safer than tying up an ankle or wrist.” “Let me go free for a while. There’s nowhere I can run to.” “That’s not the point. Help me clear up and we’ll get ready to go.” He brought a tee shirt for her, to protect her from the sun. He pulled it on first and put the belt over it. While he went for the board and snorkelling gear, she followed the wire out onto the beach. It disappeared into the sea. She wondered who had put it there and why. At least it meant she could go at will from the bathroom out onto the beach and even into the water, and she felt grateful for it. Tim rubbed cream onto her arms, legs and nose and then locked her chain to the board. She put on her mask and snorkel and lay on her stomach with her face in the water over the back of the board. Sitting between her feet, Tim paddled her out to the reef. Once there, he slipped into the water and she hung in space watching the reef world below, and Tim’s dives down to the coral. He was naked again and looked like a Greek statue with the curtains of sun rippling across his back.

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As Tim paddled back, the ripples slapped against the board and wet her tee shirt. She lay on her back with her hat over her eyes. “Alistair and the girls are coming this afternoon,” Tim volunteered. “What!” she pushed herself up onto her elbows, “Coming here?” “Yes, we’re going to have dinner together.” “But—but you can’t bring them here. They can’t see me like this!” “Why not? They know you’re here, and why, and they like you. Of course they want to come for dinner.” “Let me go, Tim. Please! I’ll do anything you want. You can put the chains back when they leave. Please don’t let them…” “Don’t worry about it. They’ll understand. I expect Alistair does the same if the twins ever step out of line.” Tim said she could dress as she pleased—meaning she could choose how to wear her chain. She accepted the ankle cuff and started to clean the cabin. Tim disappeared and came back with a yellow flower for her hair. “Here you are. I want you to look your best. Go and put some makeup on. You don’t want them to think you’re down-hearted.” She sat vacantly on the verandah and waited for their guests. Tim brought her book, complete with bookmark. “There’s something here for you. It’s your right, but I don’t want you to use it.” The bookmark was an airline ticket. She opened it and read the back page. A single ticket in her name, Singapore-Heathrow, open-dated. She closed it and returned it to the book.

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Chapter 16 Alistair’s long narrow boat burst into view from behind the trees late that afternoon. Ahmed stood in the stern steering at the outboard, and Alistair sat with the girls in the bows. They waved as soon as they saw Sherry. Tim jumped out of bed and ran to the water’s edge to catch their bow. Sherry wanted to join him but her nakedness held her back. She stood in the shade of the verandah and watched as Alistair handed the girls down to Tim, who made a big show of carrying them one at a time onto the sand, setting them carefully down and patting their bottoms. Then he went back to help Ahmed and Alistair with two large iceboxes. Faith and Hope rushed up the beach to Sherry. “Sherry, Sherry!” they called as they bounded up the steps and into her arms. Then they stood back. “Ooooh, Sherry! Very sexy English lady!” They examined her closely. Faith reached up to press her fingers against the side of Sherry’s breast. “Big! I like susu like this.” Hope said something Sherry did not catch and they both collapsed in laughter. “Forgive my little children, Sherry,” said Alistair as he plodded up the sand with one end of an icebox. “They are just wondering how they would look with breasts like yours. Now, let’s get this inside.” Ahmed, carrying the other end of the box, smiled and waved with his free hand. He clearly approved of her. Before long they had all crowded around the table on the verandah, and watched Ahmed and the boat disappear behind the jungle curtain. “So, Sherry,” started Alistair, “what do you think of Paradise Island?” “It’s lovely. Is that really its name?” “No, we’re not so romantic. Actually, its real name, Pulau Ikan, means Fish Island and that’s only attractive if you’re hungry. It’s my little home away from home. I come here whenever I want peace and no traffic or telephones. Have you taken her around it yet, Tim?” “No, I was saving that up. She’s just walked on the beach and we paddled over to the reef on the surfboard. The coral’s fantastic here.”

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“Protected. I got it included in the Marine Park area so there’s no fishing at all. Not even by tourists. No one ever comes here because it’s out of the way and there’s no beach, apart from this one. So you won’t have any admirers, Sherry, unfortunately for you.” She shuddered. “Thank God! It’s bad enough have you and the girls see me like this. Tell Tim to let me go. Or at least give me some clothes.” “Ah-ha, Tim! Did you hear that? I hope you’re not going to let her cover up that beautiful body? I like her like that; I can’t remember when I enjoyed myself quite so much.” “But the chains…” she tried. “Necessary, my dear. And besides, being tied up makes you look—I don’t know—cute, I suppose. Helpless. Sweet. You look delightful. I wish I’d remembered the camera.” “No!” Sherry was horrified, “Not that! It’s bad enough…” Alistair sent the girls in for drinks and moments later they reappeared with three glasses of Kelapa Sling and iced tea for themselves. Sherry looked at her drink suspiciously. “Don’t worry, my dear, there’s nothing in it this time. Cheers!” He raised his glass to her. “Here’s to the pretty prisoner!” Carefully, she drank with the men. The taste brought back memories of a time so long ago. Only two days? Two days and a lifetime ago. “Tim, Alistair. Tell me why I’m here, and why the chains.” He smiled impishly at her and then looked at Tim. “Why is she here, Tim?” but Tim ignored the question. “Perhaps he’s just trying to teach you something. Now then, drink up and let’s go for a swim. Before these things do too much harm.” He sent the twins inside again and, through the thin walls, she could hear them chattering and moving around. They were nude when they returned carrying her dog collar. They looked fascinating in their naturalness, their liveliness, their beauty. They were woman as God had designed her, slim, graceful, black hair over their shoulders, no trace of tan lines marring their smooth brown skins. They were petite, almost childlike, and without artifice. They rushed Sherry as she put down her drink and clipped the dog collar around her neck. Tim passed them a small key and Hope knelt to unclasp her ankle. Faith pulled on her lead. “Come, Sherry, we go to swim!” ‘No,” ordered Tim, “not until you’ve put some cream on her. She’s not the same colour as you and she’ll burn. It’s next to the bed.”

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Faith passed her lead to Alistair and the two girls rubbed cream into her skin, hurrying but missing nowhere. Their small hands were everywhere, rubbing and burrowing until she was slippery all over. “Now her nose,” said Tim, “or it will get as red as Rudolph. Then you can take her.” They pulled at her lead and she ran down the beach with them, leaving the men to watch as they splashed in the shallows. “Make a lovely picture, don’t they?” mused Alistair. “Yes. It’s the contrast, I suppose, and Sherry seems to be enjoying herself.” “Of course. Why not? Is she showing any sign of changing yet?” “I’m not sure,” Tim thought for a while. “She’s eating again. She wouldn’t even do that to start with. I’m surprised she’s not fighting with her chain. I thought I’d have to watch her all the time, but she seems to have accepted she can’t get away. That doesn’t mean she’s given up yet. I hope you’re right. I’m still afraid she’ll take off as soon as she’s free.” “She won’t, trust me my friend. You’ll see. Come on, let’s go and join them.” Tim followed Alistair’s lead and kept his shorts on. As they walked down to the water, Alistair instructed him. “You’ve got to keep on being friendly but firm with her. She’s got to be able to rely on you and know exactly where she stands. Don’t ever trade with her. Never let her say ‘I’ll do this if you let me do that’. That’s not her place. If you want her to do whatever she’s offering, then she should do it without payment. So if she ever tries to trade, take what she’s offering anyway. She’ll soon learn. “But don’t take anything by force. Just let her know that you could force her, if you wanted to, and then wait for her to bring it to you freely. You can reward her afterwards, but not by taking her chains off. Give her things, do things for her, but don’t set her free.” He stopped Tim at the water’s edge so he could finish. “Tell her she’s pretty and sexy, but don’t try anything with her yourself. When she’s ready, she’ll come to you and it will be much, much better that way. Make her jealous. Play with my girls as much as you want, they like you. In fact, I think I’ll tell them to put on a show for you tonight, and we’ll see how Sherry reacts.” Tim dived into the sea and swam around the girls to deeper water. Looking back, they made a beautiful picture with the beach and coconut palms behind them. He dived and swam underwater towards them, skimming the rippled sand. Two brown legs emerged out of the fog. He

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grabbed the ankles and pulled his head between them. Ignoring her struggling, he surfaced under Faith and lifted her out of the water on his shoulders. Her hands clutched in his hair and her legs gripped him tightly as she shrieked. He wiped salt water from his face and looked at Hope holding Sherry’s lead. They both looked surprised. “Come on, Sherry, lift her up and we’ll see who’s strongest.” Sherry hesitated and then pulled Hope in front of her. She dipped her face into the water and pushed under Hope, lifting her out of the water. She was heavy. Sherry looked at the brown legs over her shoulders, reaching down to frame her breasts. Why not, she thought, and started towards Tim and Faith. She felt Hope slip the dog lead over her wrist and reach for her sister. They played until they were tired. Tim decided to take Alistair snorkelling and left the girls lying in the shallow water. Sherry lay between the twins, thinking of nothing, enjoying the sun and water alternately bathing her. “You like the little house, Sherry?” asked Faith. “What? Oh yes, it’s perfect. Like a dream, but I wish Tim wouldn’t tie me up like this. Does he think I’m going to run away? I don’t understand what’s got into him.” The girls giggled. “I think you are very bad girl, that’s why,” said Faith. “Ali say you are bad girl with many men. Suck cock too much.” Jesus, thought Sherry, does everyone know? She felt embarrassed and suddenly sad for Tim. “I come here one time,” volunteered Hope. “Ali send me here for one week. Just me. No clothes. He chain me to the long wire and leave. Finish. I cry too much,” she added happily. “Then he come back and now everything OK. I good girl now.” “What! A week? By yourself? That’s terrible. Why did he do that?” “I wear panties.” “Panties?” Sherry asked in disbelief. “Yes. Ali say today, no panties, but I bad girl. I cry, I fight because old men coming for dinner and I no like see old hajji when no panties. Ali he say, I find you have panties, I put you on Pulau Ikan for one week with no clothes. I think he no do it. He not know if I have panties or no panties, but when we bring the food for the dinner, he touch me and— oh, oh—I have panties. I am very frightened, but Ali, he not shout, no smack my bottom. No. First he put me on his knee and pull up my

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sarong and show my bottom for all the old hajjis. I think he smack my bottom then for sure but no, he just take off my panties and show me to all the hajjis. Then tomorrow, he say nothing. He happy, normal, until we come here after three days. And then he leave me. He say, I tell you wear panties and I bring you Pulau Ikan, so now you wait here. I am very sorry. One week. No Faith, no peoples, only me. But now no problem. I good girl. Ali say no panties, Hope have no panties. Ali say no sarong, Hope no problems, and now he love me too much. Give me everything. And Faith. He love us too much.” Sherry closed her eyes and thought about what she had just heard. At least Tim had stayed with her. She would have gone mad if she had been left alone like Hope. Alistair seemed to cherish the girls, perhaps even love them, and they clearly doted on him. Marooning Hope did not seem to have done her any harm, but if Tim thought that chaining her up would turn her into some kind of docile slave, well, he had disappointment waiting. As soon as she got free again, she would… use her ticket home? She supposed she would have to. Unless Tim begged her to stay. Then she might relent, but not if he intended to behave like this to her. She would not stay if she was not respected. Then the girls led her back to the cabin. It was time to start cooking.

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Chapter 17 They were busy cooking when the men returned. Sherry had been clipped to the long wire by her ankle again while the girls, wrapped in sarongs, prepared their meal. She was not allowed to cover up. The girls definitely wanted her to stay naked. Tim and Alistair took turns for the shower and went out to the verandah with wet hair and sarongs around their waists. Sherry served them glasses of beer. They smiled at her as she brought her tray. “Ah, wouldn’t it be nice if the restaurants in Singapore had such beautiful ladies as waitresses?” mused Alistair. “Think of how upset all those uptight Chinese ladies would be. They’d never be able to keep their men at home. They might even have to start behaving like real women for a change. Wait a minute,” he had grabbed her wrist as she turned to leave. “Did you ever hear about the girls of Kuala Lumpur, Tim? You’ll enjoy this,” he said to Sherry. “Firstly, you have to know that there are three types of girls in Kuala Lumpur. Malay girls, Indian girls and Chinese girls. That’s basically it, Malay girls, Indian girls and Chinese girls. So if you ever find yourself alone visiting KL and you don’t know what to do at night, the best thing you can do is to take a Malay girl friend to bed with you. They are small and pretty, like my girls, but very, very clever when it comes to lovemaking. They’ll show you a thing or two and what’s more, they really enjoy doing it. “Perhaps that’s not possible, so the next best thing you could do would be to find an Indian girl friend. Like your friend Ranji, Sherry. They are bigger, and they have bigger tits, if that’s important to you. They can also be very knowledgeable. I think they study sex at home. Anyway, they might smell a bit different, but they’re very enthusiastic and you’ll enjoy yourself. “But maybe it’s not possible to find an Indian girl either, so the next best thing you could do would be to go to bed with a good book…”

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Sherry laughed with them. “You are cruel, Alistair. I meet lots of Chinese girls in Singapore, and they look lovely. I’d have thought you two would be happy to take any of them to bed. I’m sure they’re just as good as any of us once the bedroom lights are out.” “Maybe there are some,” Alistair conceded, “but they’re not easy to find. Or to get into bed. All the massage girls in Singapore are from somewhere else. Thailand, Indonesia, Filipines. Local girls don’t want to get involved. They don’t want to go with anyone who’s not Chinese. They can be very racist sometimes. And they’re not going to let any casual acquaintance into their panties, you can be sure of that. The only thing that really seems to light their fire is gold. Not money, that’s not the same, but there’s something about the Chinese and gold. Anyway, I think with all the ones I’ve tried I’ve either failed to get to first base, or I’ve been disappointed. After all, you can’t be much good at lovemaking unless you practice, don’t you think?” Sherry returned to the kitchen, thankful that Alistair had not volunteered an opinion about English girls. She suspected it would not be very complimentary. She had never really thought about being good at lovemaking. For her you just did lovemaking naturally, and you either liked it or not. Although, now she thought about her flute playing lessons, perhaps Alistair had a point. She certainly felt that her flute playing had become much better now, and Ranji thought so too. The cooking was progressing and spicy smells floated out of the kitchen—kelia ayam. The girls had chopped vegetables and chicken pieces, and thrown them into a wok. They put her to stirring it occasionally while they took their drinks outside. They could have a break until it was time to prepare the rice and urap salad. Sherry stood and stirred, and listened to the quiet voices chattering outside. The dinner was a classically good meal. Seated on the verandah, they watched the sun set over the mainland and the sea turn inky black. Alistair had brought a bottle of German wine and the table sparkled. Sherry was jealous of the flavours the twins had trapped in the chicken; perhaps she could try it herself as soon as she got back to Singapore. Tonight the girls even drank wine. Not much, just a couple of teaspoons in their glasses. More than that, Alistair told them, and the girls turned red and fell asleep. They just could not handle alcohol, but he liked them to try and be sociable. While Sherry helped with the washing up, the girls wanted to whisper to her. They pulled her into a corner.

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“What is Tim like?” asked Faith. “We never try Englishman. Only Indonesian and Malay, like us. It is big?” “Big? I don’t know… It’s sort of normal, I think.” Even in Malaysia, she reflected, girls will talk about anything. “Like this?” Faith held her hands apart like a fisherman. “No, more than that, I think.” “More big? Ooooh. That’s big! And fat like this?” She held up a soy sauce bottle in her fist. “Yes, like that. No, maybe a little fatter.” She reached for the bottle and tried to remember. “Yes, a bit fatter.” “Ooooh—you lucky!” said Hope then, looking at Sherry, added without malice, “But maybe you big too, so not so special.” Well, thank you Hope, she thought, that’s just what I needed to hear. She continued with the washing up. “You finish to clean, OK?” said Faith. “We go mandi. Ali say tonight we show Tim very good time, so must be clean.” They disappeared into the bathroom, leaving her alone to wonder what would happen next. She went outside to collect the glasses for washing and found the table had been set down on the sand. The men sat on their chairs, glasses in hand, looking over the beach from an empty verandah. “Ah, our beautiful waitress at last,” said Alistair handing her his glass. “Can we have another round please? Oh, and bring a pillow when you come back. I’d like you to sit at my feet for a while and the floor is too hard for your bottom.” She left unhappily, trailing the clinking chain behind her. The twins kept them all waiting. Alistair had put the pillow beside his chair and made it plain that she should sit. He put his hand around her shoulders and pulled her nearer, until she rested against his thigh. Tim gave no sign of noticing this familiarity. They were talking about politics, of the Islamist tendency in the north-eastern peninsula states of Kelantan and Trengganu. Alistair explained what strict Islamism meant to the people of those states, its good sides and also the laughable stupidities the old puritan men were trying to impose. He stopped when the twins came out. They had dressed for the occasion, if dressed was the word to use. In fact they wore no more than make-up and jewellery. Sherry had not seen them bring anything with them, but now they sported make-up and finery. Their hair was down, pinned back behind their ears with clips that twinkled in the lamplight. They had emphasised their eyes and lips

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to the edge of theatricality, almost like temple dancers. They had rings, rich and golden, and bangles for their wrists. About their waists each had a golden chain. Sherry knew that, if the gold was genuine, they were worth a fortune. The girls both had matching anklets with heart-shaped locks. She felt jealous when she thought of the crude canvas, Velcro and chain about her own ankle. Jewelled velvet collars around their necks completed the picture of pampered slaves of very high price. They came first to stand in front of Alistair, pressing their hands together and bowing light-heartedly. Then they went to Tim. They took his glass and set it safely against the wall. Then they started to tantalise him with their bodies. One on each side of him as he sat on his chair, they pulled one of his arms around their hips and started to wriggle and gyrate against him. They stroked him with their breasts, rubbing their soft little hills over him from his waist up to his neck and face. And they were enjoying it. Sherry saw with annoyance that their dark nipples had responded and hardened as they were dragged across his face, exploring his ears and his eyes. Tim was enjoying it too. He held them close and snapped at any nipple that came close to his mouth. At first the girls would not cooperate and pulled away, but soon they were taking turns to let him suck and stretch their hard points, one after another. Sherry looked down. A substantial tent had already grown in his sarong, and she felt jealous. “He is enjoying himself,” whispered Alistair, stroking her shoulder. “That must be very exciting for him.” Sherry looked into Alistair’s lap. He was also enjoying the show. The girls put Tim’s hands behind his head and pushed him back. He looked the picture of a contented male, relaxed, being ministered to by two smiling slave-girls. The twins kissed him, little kisses all over the front of his body and his neck. He closed his eyes and smiled, and the tent in his sarong grew obscenely. They touched it now. As they kissed him, ringed fingers wrapped around his hidden shaft and they felt him, exploring and squeezing. Hope stood up and pulled his head to her breast, while Faith fumbled with his sarong. She loosened it at his waist and pulled on it. Tim lifted his hips from the chair to help her and she tore it off and threw it to one side. Together the girls watched his sex straighten and grow to its full size. They whispered softly to each other. They knelt on either side of him and pulled his thighs opened to display his rampant cock to Sherry and Alistair. In spite of herself,

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Sherry’s gaze was glued to the friendly pole that reached up to lie on Tim’s belly. It looked bigger than she had remembered it. Hope laid her face against the outside of his thigh and reached under it to tease his balls with her fingertips. On the other side, her sister ran her hand up and down Tim’s cock, pulling the cover back to show off the swollen head and then hiding it again. She held it up for her sister to admire, and then pulled it towards her mouth and engulfed the angry plum. Tim moaned softly. Faith smiled and offered her sister the chance to do the same. He moaned again. Now Faith knelt between his open thighs, taking control of his cock with both hands, bending her head over it and swallowing an impossible length. Tim moaned and shifted in his seat. Hope jumped up and, taking his hand, held it between her legs. She bent forward to kiss him as he played with her, and then laid her head on his chest and through half-closed eyes watched her sister relish his cock. There was silence apart from the suckling sounds from Faith. Hope’s expression was dreamlike, and although Sherry could not see clearly, she could make out Tim’s fingers playing beneath her upturned bottom. Hope widened her stance to allow him more freedom and closed her eyes. Sherry was becoming frustrated. Tim should do that to her, not the twins. Her sex hungered for his touch. She felt Alistair stroking her hair. The display the three of them made was intense and exciting. The delicate brown female figures of the girls contrasted with Tim’s expansive white European body. Sherry could not see exactly what Faith was doing to him but she had both hands busy in front of her and her head bobbed and weaved on him. His muscles were stretching and tightening as he moved further and further towards the edge. Hope lay dreaming on his chest. Faith stood up and both Tim and Hope came back to life. The girls spoke and Faith pushed Tim’s legs together and straddled them. Awkwardly she clambered up him until she stood over his hips. Faith could not reach the floor with her feet and instead she used the rungs of the chair as stirrups. Under her, Sherry could see Tim’s pole, wet and pulsing. Then Faith’s hand gripped it, bending it and forcing the tip under her. Rapidly she settled herself down and forward and swallowed him up. Her hands on his shoulders, she wriggled her hips further into his lap and arched her back. She had thrown her head and her hair hung free.

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She started to ride, quickly picking up speed until she was galloping. Hope cried out sharply but she was too late. Tim had stretched out like a board and Faith, with her face buried in his neck, flew through her final furlong. For a moment they held still, and then Tim sat back down and opened his eyes. He was smiling. Faith sat up and looked around with guilt on her face. Hope looked cross. “What’s wrong?” asked Sherry. “She shouldn’t have done that so quickly,” said Alistair. “They were going to share it one after the other, but now it looks as if she’s used it all up at once. Hope is not a happy girl.” The girls were arguing, Hope reproaching her sister until she climbed inelegantly off Tim’s lap and clapped a hand around her pussy to stop leaks. Tim’s sex lay glistening on his stomach, wet but still hard. While Faith ran indoors, Hope reached out to touch it and smiled. Perhaps Tim was hungry enough and excited enough. She cuddled up to him and stroked his cock. “Looks as if she’s lucky tonight,” said Alistair. “Now she’ll be able to have as much fun as she likes.” He was still stroking Sherry’s hair absently and she wondered if she should do something for him. She tentatively reached for him but he caught her wrist and stopped her. “Not tonight, Sherry. Tonight is for Tim, and you, of course. Don’t they look good together?” Hope was licking Tim’s ear as she played with him. It fascinated and excited Sherry to watch her slim fingers working slowly up and down his shaft. Seeing Tim’s enjoyment gave her a good feeling. A silent movement beside her brought Faith back. Sherry wriggled over to allow her some pillow and Faith squeezed up to her. It seemed natural to put an arm around her shoulder and watch the show together. Faith snuggled closer. Hope was on her knees beside Tim, leaning over into his lap to lick and suckle. She had reached under his thigh to clasp his roots in her hand and pull the sheath of his cock tightly down. It stood vertically and Hope was sucking his plum into her mouth and letting it go to watch it swing from side to side. Tim’s eyes closed. He was in heaven. Hope was hungry. Facing her audience, she stood astride Tim’s knees and reached between her legs. Bending and reaching until she could control his stem, she backed slowly onto it and impaled herself.

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She sat on him, leaning back into his arms. Between her spread thighs they could see his root buried inside her. She rocked her hips to inch him slowly in and out. Her eyes had closed and she turned to rest her forehead against his cheek. She was in a world of her own. They watched in silence until Alistair said, “Help her, Faith.” She went to kneel astride Tim’s feet and reach up to plant kisses between her sister’s legs. Sherry could no longer see what was happening; Faith’s bobbing head obscured her view. Hope had thrown her head thrown back against Tim’s shoulder, and her movements were more urgent. She panted harshly as she moved. She was losing control. Her moaning came in waves as climax after climax hit her. In her ecstasy she could not move regularly. Faith sat back and started to probe with her fingers. She wanted to reach Tim. She slid two rigid fingers in and out of her sister, searching for the hidden plum. Sherry watched as Tim’s expression became vague and Faith picked up the signals. She accelerated, ignoring her sister’s panted “No, no, no…” Hope stayed on Tim’s lap after it had all happened. She lay limp against him, eyes closed. Faith came back to Sherry. “So quickly,” she said, sitting down again. “I’m surprised at the pair of you,” said Alistair. “I thought you were going to be very long and slow. I think Tim has made you both crazy. He must have something special about him.” Faith clapped her hands and laughed delightedly. “Oh yes, very special. We like it too much!” “Well, I’m sorry, Sherry. My two little girls were meant to put on a real show for you, and all they’ve done is indulge themselves. And wear Tim out, perhaps. I apologise for them. I’ll have a word with them when we get back and they’ll do better next time.” “No, no, it’s fine. Really. They did very well. I mean, it was nice, and Tim certainly enjoyed it.” “Well, if you’re sure… but they can do better, believe me. I’m going to take them home anyway. I expect they’ll be tired after all that excitement.” He went into the cabin for a torch and flashed it out to sea. Listen to me, thought Sherry. Complimenting the girls on satisfying my own husband—what’s got into me? But he did enjoy it; I could see that. I wonder if he looks like that with me?

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The girls had dressed again and pulled the iceboxes out of the cabin. Tim emerged looking a little sheepish. “When will we see you again, Alistair?” “Not tomorrow. I’m on the mainland then. The day after. We’ll bring some more food and the girls can cook again. What would you like? Any special orders?” “What do you say, love?” Tim asked Sherry. “What do you fancy? Chilli prawns?” Sherry was taken aback. Being asked for her opinion had surprised her. “Er—yes—if Alistair likes it too.” “Hey girls, sambal udang next time.” “Good, good. We like,” they replied, and Ahmed’s boat was rushing up onto the sand. Sherry stood waving, with Tim’s arm around her shoulders, as the boat backed away from the beach.

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Chapter 18 Tim led her by the hand back to the cabin. In spite of the good food and company, she felt bitter. “I suppose you enjoyed that.” “Oh yes!” said Tim, without shame. “It was fantastic. I can see why Alistair keeps them.” “I hate you!” she spat with tears welling, and tearing away from him, ran into the bathroom. He had stretched out inside the mosquito net when she returned. She tried the cabin door. It was locked. She would have to sleep on the floor again. She reached under the net to take a pillow. “Come and sleep up here,” he said. “Take off this chain.” “Sorry, you know I can’t do that. Come up here. You’re not proving anything by sleeping on the floor, and you’ll get bitten again. Look, come on up. I won’t think any less of you, I promise.” She lowered herself to the floor. It was cold and hard and she felt tempted to give in. Then the image of Tim being ridden by the twins came back to her and she refused. She cuddled the pillow and found her eyes were leaking. She woke from a restless night to find Tim scooping her up and dumping her onto the bed. She slept as he went out to swim and was only vaguely aware of him returning and making breakfast. The smell of coffee and frying penetrated her dreams and she crawled out of bed. They sat at the table watching the sea. Tim had turned the remains of last night’s feast into fried rice and she ate gratefully. “That was good food last night, don’t you think?” he asked. “Did you get the recipe?” “I think so. I think I can make the same when we get home.”

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“Good, and we’ll have to try hard and get the exact recipe for the sambal udang next time. I keep trying to get that right, but it’s never the same.” They were chatting like a married couple again. Sherry moved her foot to feel the drag of her chain. “You like those girls, don’t you?” “Like them? Definitely. They’re a lot of fun.” “Why don’t you get one like them, then? Or two?” Tim laughed. “Wouldn’t that be nice? And they could do all the housework for you as well. I don’t think we could afford it though, and besides, you’d go crazy.” “If they were in the house, I wouldn’t be. I don’t know what you see in girls like that. They just fuck, and you men love them.” Tim laughed happily. “Yes, we’re terrible, aren’t we? You know, I’m sure there’s a bit more to them than that, or Alistair wouldn’t keep them. Anyway, I expect he’s got an official wife or two to be intellectual with. It’s harder for you and the other Western women. You have to be intellectual and make love too. Multifunctional.” “You think we’re just here to please men, don’t you?” “But you do! I’m very pleased with you. Beautiful, intelligent, welleducated, versatile cook, and much more as well.” “And stupid enough to let you run around with little brown girls? You’ve got a nerve.” “I always think that the best way to keep a husband from looking at other women is to keep him permanently satisfied. Simple, and you’ll enjoy it too.” She jumped up in frustration. “Keep on dreaming!” she snapped and started to clear the dishes away. She had finished tidying when Tim came from behind the cabin with her trainers and a long bush knife. “We’re going for a walk. You’ll need your hat, and sun cream.” “Where are we going?” she asked as he rubbed cream all over her. “Top of the island. Let’s go and look out over the South China Sea. Perhaps we’ll see some pirates. Or a handsome young man with a helicopter coming to rescue you. Wouldn’t that be nice?” “Mmh. That would depend. I don’t want to be rescued wearing only trainers.” “And a dog collar,” he said, snapping it around her neck. “Now, let’s get that ankle free.”

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The path plunged into the trees and within a few steps they reached the stillness of the jungle. He stopped her and took an aerosol from his back pocket. “Cover your eyes. I’ll give you a spray.” The insect repellent felt cold on her skin but she was grateful. The bugs had already discovered her. They walked on following a rough path. Tim cleared vine tendrils away with slashes of his bush knife but found it awkward to slash with his other hand looped in her lead. He handed her the knife. “You do it. There shouldn’t be many more.” Slowly they moved along the path, gaining height, with Sherry removing anything that might reach out and scratch her exposed skin. She was hot and sweating freely in the still air. Tim followed at the other end of her lead. After about half an hour the jungle suddenly faded. They had reached the stony crest of the island where the thin soil could support no more than sparse clumps of grass. A trade wind beat on their faces. At their feet the island fell out of sight to the grey sea below. It looked fierce and unfriendly, nothing like the gentle bay by the cabin. Tim stripped off his shirt and folded it for her to sit on. He sat beside her, arm around her waist, and they enjoyed the wind on their bare skin. The path continued along the crest. “What’s down there?” she asked. “Nothing much. It just carries on and peters out on a rocky point. No beach.” “Do you think this island is really Alistair’s?” “Oh yes. Why not? He’s a prince or something. I don’t know if he gets to be Sultan when his father dies. I didn’t like to ask, but he’s obviously important. Works for the Government and has private business as well. He’s not short of money either.” “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who owned an island. If he was normal, I might fall in love with him.” “Go into competition with the twins?” Tim laughed. “I said, if he was normal. I wouldn’t be one of several wives. Or concubines.” “Yes, I’ve often wondered how that works. I should think a house full of wives would be a nightmare. Either they’d all be arguing or they’d gang up to make the man’s life a misery.” “I expect Alistair keeps them in line. Do you know he stranded Hope here by herself for a week once? As punishment?” “Really? Poor girl. I wonder what she did.” he mused.

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“You won’t believe this. He told her not to wear panties one evening, but she did. That’s all.” “Just that? Oh well, it’s a matter of principle, I suppose. Doesn’t seem to have done her any harm, though. They’re both cheerful souls.” Sherry thought about that. The girls said they loved Alistair, and that certainly seemed to be true. Hope could even laugh about her spell alone on the island. Sherry knew she would not be so forgiving. They hurried back down the path. Bursting at a trot out of the jungle they ran straight into the sea and lay gratefully in the shallows. Leaning back on her elbows, Sherry looked over her naked body. She would have a respectable full tan by the end of the week. She watched the ripples pretending to be waves as they curled past her. It was funny how she felt content to do nothing here. Living in Singapore with no friends, no schedule, no television would be frustrating but doing nothing felt natural on this island. The sea and the view satisfied her. Perhaps the life of a beachcomber was all she needed. She resolved to cook something respectable for dinner. That should soothe her conscience. The sun reached its zenith and they took shelter in the cabin. Tim stretched out on the bed, pretending to read. Sherry took her book outside and, as her eyes became heavy, wished for the comfort of the bed. That evening she did her best to provide a formal dinner. Tim sat and admired her as she brought out the fruits of her labour, even down to rice pudding prepared in a saucepan and cooled in the fridge. When she brought out the coffee, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to him for a kiss. She did not resist but turned her face to offer only her cheek. She slept on the floor again feeling satisfied with her dinner but also a little stupid. She was no longer sure what point she was trying to make by suffering alone down on the cold floor while Tim lay comfortably in bed.

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Chapter 19 Sherry woke with anticipation. Today Alistair and the girls would come for dinner. She would start to clean the cabin as soon as breakfast was finished. She would do the laundry first, and while that dried on the verandah, she could clean the kitchen properly. No morning sleep on the bed today. There was work to be done. Tim returned from snorkelling and joined her for breakfast. Then, seeing what she planned, he disappeared. She started work. It filled her morning. Sherry flung her book aside and, picking up her chain, ran down to the water’s edge. Alistair’s boat, full of smiles, coasted into the beach. She caught the bow as Tim ran up to lift the girls and their iceboxes out onto the sand. Alistair had dressed in white and wore a yachting cap. He jumped ashore to give Sherry a cuddle and a kiss. “Even more beautiful than ever!” he complimented her. “You must be driving Tim mad, dressing like that all day.” “Stop it!” she said, but let him keep her hand. “I’ve come to take you on a voyage around the island. What do you think?” She looked at Tim who nodded. “OK, but it looked very rough on the other side yesterday.” “Don’t worry, Ahmed will take care of us. Come on, let’s put all these things away and we can go.” They sat Sherry in the bows. Our figurehead, as Alistair put it. She enjoyed the sensation of the boat lifting and falling under her as Ahmed accelerated away from the beach. Soon they were skimming across the reef. The boat was long and narrow, a fast shape for rivers and calm seas. She sat high in the bows and turned her back against the spray. She looked aft at Ahmed and he smiled for her. The island passed by only a short distance away. The jungle came right down to the water, held back only by a narrow line of broken rocks. There were no beaches, no more cabins. The shadowed coral

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flashed by beneath them, only three or four metres deep. Sherry sat back and enjoyed the ride. They had not been running long, only one or two kilometres she guessed, before the boat started to feel the swell and began to pitch. Ahmed slowed down. The shaggy backbone of the island was dropping towards the sea until the trees gave way to a rocky claw reaching out and sinking beneath the waves. Beyond the point the sea looked grey and restless. As the boat started to labour Ahmed throttled right back. Now he would have to work with the sea and not against it. He swung very wide around the point. A long, unbroken cliff formed the seaward face of the island. Grey and vertical, it towered above them. Some grass and small plants struggled to survive in corners and cracks. Distant white dots covered the rock; seabirds nesting. “This is the place to dive, they tell me,” shouted Alistair over the engine noise. “There’s a Japanese battleship not far offshore. From the second war. The wreck’s deep and dangerous. Not for me.” Or me, thought Sherry, looking at the unwelcoming sea. She decided she was a creature of calm waters and sandy beaches. No communing with the deep ocean for her. Her stomach resisted the heaving and pitching of the boat, but she did not enjoy it. They followed the cliffs for a long time before they started to yield. Then, suddenly, she could see the point with the cabin and its coconut palms halfway along it. Her spirits rose and she felt happy again when Ahmed looped around to drop them on the beach. The twins settled on the verandah and the men decided to take the old windsurfing board out to the reef. Sherry sat alone in the bathroom. She had made an interesting discovery. Hair conditioner was very slippery. She had sat on the concrete floor and rubbed conditioner onto her ankle and under the cuff. This began to look promising. She had forced the cuff down until her heel and her instep held it. Not good. It was still very tight and she worked more conditioner under it. Careful not to rattle her chain, she started to twist it around her foot. It slid a little further. She twisted and pushed some more. Then she heard voices outside, at the back of the cabin, coming clearly over the bathroom wall. Tim and Alistair, coming for the surfboard. The cuff seemed to be moving over her heel and she struggled silently to force it further. “I’m just going to wax this a bit. Make it a little less slippery,” she heard Tim say. “I’ll get you some proper wax, if you like. This candle is

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not right at all, but I suppose we aren’t going to be standing on it or anything.” He must have laid the surfboard flat and she heard the sounds of rubbing wax onto the surface begin. “So, how’s Sherry coming along?” asked Alistair. Tim stopped rubbing. “I don’t know. She’s a tough lady, you know. Still sleeping on the floor by herself. I’m worried about her.” “Sleeping on the floor? She must be tough.” Sherry almost grunted with the effort, but she was winning. With a final push the cuff slipped free. The chain clinked as it fell and she stopped still, hoping that they had not heard. “I hope you’re right,” Tim was saying. “She doesn’t show any sign of giving in yet, and we’ve only got a couple of days left. I’d hate to lose her.” “I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. She’s bound to realise why you’re doing it eventually. She’s not stupid.” “I hope so. I love her, and I don’t know what I’d do if she took off to England.” “Don’t worry. If she’s still confused when I pick you up, I’ll straighten it out. Or I can take her home with me and the twins can do it. Ready? OK, I’ve got my end.” She heard them moving away with the board. She was still sitting on the floor, holding her cuff and trying to understand what she had just heard. Tim loved her. He had said so in honesty and she had heard it in his voice. So why was he doing this to her? What did he want? Surely he did not want a broken-spirited slave beside him, and she would not allow that anyway. Perhaps he just wanted her to be a slave sometimes, to use her like a toy when he felt like it. That did not sound very attractive either. However she looked at it, the important thing was that he wanted her. Her illicit flute playing did not seem to have worried him. He wanted her to stay, and he wanted her enough to take a lot of trouble to convince her. No matter that she did not understand how she was meant to react, he wanted to tie her to him. That sounded far better. She realised that she had taken off her cuff and now she had a problem. The last thing she wanted to do was upset Tim by appearing without her chain. At least, not until she had figured out what was going on. She put her toes back into the cuff and started pulling and turning. It would be difficult, but she would win.

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The twin’s cooking was heavenly. She had tried to follow the recipe, but they had bundled her out onto the verandah with the men. She had taken a pillow and settled herself on the floor at Tim’s side. Apart from short excursions to refresh their drinks, she stayed on the verandah until the twins finally emerged with the food. As never before, Sherry appreciated that this was the way that humans were meant to eat, in the open air, next to a warm sea and above all, in the company of their friends. The softness of the lamplight glittering their glasses, the rich smell of the prawns, the chatter around the table, would all stay with her forever. Finally, when the meal had been cleared away and the table set down on the sand, Alistair rang his glass and announced that he had something important to say. The twins looked up at him from their places on the floor beside him as he began to talk. “Firstly, my friends, let’s say thank you to our delightful chefs for a splendid meal—wonderful!” He raised his glass with a smiling face and toasted them both as they clapped and laughed in appreciation of the compliment. “Secondly, we have something more to celebrate. As we all know, a certain young lady…” “It’s Sherry!” squeaked Hope in delight. “A certain young and extremely beautiful young lady…” he continued. “Oooooh!” called the audience “A certain beautiful young lady has been staying here for the last few days. A little against her will, I think—yes?” Sherry felt embarrassed and did not meet his eye. “As I said, a little against her will, at least at first. She has been extremely badly treated by her mean and miserly husband...” “Oooooh!” again from the crowd and laughter at Tim, even from Sherry. “Who has not kept her as she should be kept. Such a wonderful and obedient woman…” he was interrupted again as his audience thought that ‘obedient’ was perhaps a little extravagant. “No, no. I won’t listen to you. I say wonderful and obedient. Such a wonderful and obedient woman is, of course, a jewel beyond price and her husband should treat her like a queen. She should be kept in the finest of silks and weighed down with gold. Well, I can forgive the lack of silks. Silk is not the fabric to bring to the beach. Perhaps he will

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provide them when they return to Singapore, and for the moment, we have only to look at her to see that covering such magnificence with clothes would be like gilding the lily.” Sherry felt deeply embarrassed by his words and wanted to protest, but Tim was beside her clapping frantically and whooping. Alistair waved for silence. “I shall continue. She looks better without the silks, but that’s no excuse for not having any gold. So, during our last visit, I spoke to this husband very severely, and at last he opened his wallet. We have been on the mainland, and the girls and I stood over the goldsmith while he prepared this for you.” From his pocket he drew a short, heavy gold chain and offered it to Sherry. She did not know what to do until Tim nudged her to get up. She took the chain. It lay over her palm, glistening richly. The links were thick and twisted to lie flat. The fastening was a small heart-shaped padlock. In its centre the links gave way to a plaque on which the words ‘Sherry my Love’ had been engraved in flowing script. It looked beautiful. Alistair took it back from her and gave it to the twins. They weighed and admired it together. Alistair passed them two keys. Sherry stood and watched her feet as the twins opened her cuff and threw it and its chain aside. Reverently they replaced it with the gold anklet. “Let us see, let us see,” called Alistair and she did a slow pirouette to show it off. And then she did not know whom to thank. She went to kiss Alistair but he waved her away. “No, no, not me. Your husband. He’s the one who thinks you’re worth it.” Tim was smiling widely as he watched her with her prize. She went to him and, to the applause of the others, kissed him. She settled happily beside him and rested with an elbow on his lap. She knew that as an oilfield engineer he was well paid, but heavy gold like this came at a price. It was by far the most valuable present she had ever received. She held at the back of her mind the thought that this was no simple gift but something much more symbolic. Still, it also showed that she was loved and respected. She felt comfortably owned, and that was a good feeling. Then Tim lent over her and whispered “Don’t you think you should give Alistair a little present yourself?” She immediately felt shocked and guilty. “Yes, but what? I don’t have anything with me.” “Oh, I don’t think he’d want anything like that. He’s got everything he could need anyway, but you could play his flute for him.”

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It was a kick in the stomach. The man who was meant to cherish and care for her sending her to—to suck another cock. Suddenly nauseous, she tried to work out an escape but found none. She had done it before for far less, she reasoned, and Alistair was her friend, and she owed him. Hating herself, she got to her feet. Alistair and the twins were expecting her. The girls unfastened Alistair’s loose white shorts and drew them off. He smiled proudly at her as she knelt in front of him. Sherry watched his sex stretching towards her. Slim and brown under its mushroom head, just as she had remembered it. She reached out with both hands to brush the rigid shaft with her fingertips. She was conscious of Tim watching behind her, and of the two girls close to her, their faces on either side of Alistair’s lap, expectant and waiting. She shuffled nearer between Alistair’s feet and bent to his cock. She knew how to do this and would give him the best he had ever had.

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Chapter 20 They stood on the beach together, Tim’s arm around her. Waving as the boat turned and gathered speed, taking their friends home. They stood alone in the moonlight. “I really enjoyed that,” said Tim. “Enjoyed what?” “The evening. The meal—everything. Didn’t you?” Sherry thought about it as Tim took her hand and led her back to the cabin. Yes, she had enjoyed it. The meal, the atmosphere. The chain that weighed around her ankle. She had been flattered by Alistair’s speech and then even more by the twin’s admiration for the experience she had given Alistair, and she had to admit to herself that she had even enjoyed giving that experience. Tim was right. It was a fine present and suitable for a man who had everything. But as she examined what had happened… It felt like probing with her tongue for an extracted tooth, again and again. What was Tim thinking? How could he make her do it? What did his love mean to him? When they got back to the cabin, Tim sat her down and unlocked her anklet. Again she took it in her hand and admired it. It lay like a snake in her palm, rich, powerful, dangerous. As she admired it, Tim took her by surprise by bringing her cuff and chain and kneeling to fasten it. For an instant she thought of kicking and fighting, but the chain had no terror for her now and she continued caressing her gold anklet before putting it away safely. Tim showered quickly while she tidied up the last of the mess. When she came back from her own shower he was lying still under the mosquito net. She reached under the net for a pillow but on impulse lifted the net over her head instead. After what had happened, sleeping on the floor was irrelevant. Tim’s eyes opened as he felt her kneel on the bed and he smiled. “Welcome…” he said.

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She said nothing as she lay down beside him. There was nothing to say. She lay rigidly on her back, waiting for him to touch her but he left her alone. She woke with a start. Morning had come. In her sleep she had pressed back to spoon into Tim’s body and his arm rested over her hip. His stillness and his breathing showed he was asleep but pressing under the back of her thigh she felt the warm hardness of his rod. She lay unmoving and felt it pulse gently against her. Tim was dreaming of good things. Gently she disengaged herself and turned to face him. His erection looked strong in his lap, pointing up at her, its half-hooded eye staring. It looked big, much bigger than the one she had pleasured last night. No surprise that the twins had been excited and had rushed to ride it. She wanted to play with it herself. Careful not to wake Tim, she wriggled down the bed to get closer. The tip looked wet, a tear in its eye. She reached out to touch it with her fingertips and it jumped for her. The shaft was hard, tough resilience covered by a dry, silky sheath. Using only the tips of her fingers, she drew the sheath back to expose the mauve plum. A change in Tim’s breathing told that he had woken. She grasped the shaft in her fist and pulled the skin firmly back. “Mmmh, I like that,” he said dreamily. With her other hand she cupped his balls, brushing the hairy sac. Tim stretched out straight, pushing his cock towards her. In the old days, she would have pumped him, built up his excitement by working her hand up and down until he could climax, but she was wiser now. With the sheath pulled back tight, she tormented his mushroom head. Trailing her fingertips round and round, poking under the rim, lightly scratching the taut skin. She took her reward of sighs and sharp intakes of breath. It felt good to do this to him. He was completely in her control. She renewed her attack, taking the plum between her fingers, squeezing it, pulling, twisting. His reaction became wilder and out of control until he was crying “No, no, stop! Stop!” “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Nothing, but it’s too soon. Stop a minute. I want to enjoy you first.” He knew what he wanted. He rolled onto his back and pulled her over him. He guided her to kneel astride his hips and then pulled her forward to lie on his chest. He felt big and strong underneath her and he would not let her rest. He had one hand behind her head kissing her,

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while his other hand ranged over her back from her shoulders down to her bottom and underneath. This felt good. Both hands were exploring her now as she held his face in her hands and kissed him. “Now—I want to see,” he said and lifted her up. Still astride him, he pulled her up his body until she knelt over his chest. She looked behind her at her chain. It snaked over his stomach and the rigid cock that lay there. It too was a prisoner. As she knelt over him, he played with her breasts, stroking them, dragging his fingers over the outer surfaces and round underneath. Moving in to attack her nipples, to pull and twist them in the way he knew she liked. It was immensely exciting. Then he surprised her again. He placed her own hands on her breasts and burrowed his hands under her knees until his arms were straight by his sides. “Now, you’ve got me,” he said. “I can’t move. Play with your breasts. I want to see you enjoy yourself.” The feeling was strange and unfamiliar. She had him trapped beneath her, his arms pinned. He lay there apparently helpless between her knees. Her weight pressed down on his chest, and between her spread thighs her sex had woken. Her hands were still at her breasts. “Go on, show me,” he urged. She wanted to please him so she cupped her breasts and started to tease and roll her nipples between fingers and thumbs. It felt pleasant, more than pleasant, and a delightful opening feeling rose in the base of her stomach. She played with her nipples more firmly. “That’s it,” he whispered. “It’s so sexy to see you do that.” Knowing he was watching her so intently made it more exciting. She had become very wet and she wondered if he could feel it on his chest. She pulled her nipples out far from her body, pinching and twisting them. The sensations in her breasts, her stomach and her pussy mounted. Suddenly she knew that, with Tim watching her, she could come like this. “Show me more,” he said. “I want to see you come.” She was enjoying her moment of power. She sat on top and in charge. She could give herself pleasure, as much as she wanted, and Tim could only watch. Dimly she realised that this was what he wanted, to lie helpless while she satisfied herself. She reached down to her pussy and started to rub. She felt wet and slippery, ready for more. Tim stared between her thighs. He was so near but she was just out of his reach. He could only watch as her excitement mounted.

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Then she thought ‘No, I won’t do it like this. It’s too easy. I’ll show him something to remember.’ She stopped rubbing and started to tease her pussy with both hands. She squeezed it closed between her fingers and then spread it wide so he could see her secrets. She took the tips of her inner lips between fingers and thumbs and pulled them out towards his face. Then she opened herself to him, pulling her inner lips wide and spreading her flower as open as she could. Using two fingers of one hand she held them wide while she ran fingertips up and down her wet slippery centre. It felt exciting and more exciting to see Tim’s face so close. Now she dipped two fingers into her tunnel and spread her honey over her petals and up to her clit. Her clit was hard and hungry, and crying for more. Changing her grip, she pulled back her hood and showed him her pink button. He stared at it. She hooked a fingertip under it, and it screamed for more. She could not stop now. She rubbed the enflamed button directly with her fingertip and in seconds she was coming. Her eyes were closed, her mind was lost and she rubbed frantically. Her orgasm swept over her and she rocked on his chest, backwards and forwards, both hands clasped around her spasming pussy. Tim picked her up and set her down on his cock. She could do nothing. Her body clasped the pole at its centre and she could not move. With hands around her bottom Tim lifted her enough so that he could move under her and thrust rapidly into her. Her orgasm returned with more force and she was only vaguely aware of Tim’s final excitement as he pumped into her. He let her relax. Pulled her down on top of him and straightened her legs between his own. She lay on his chest, his root still firm inside her, and let the excitement ebb. Aftershocks of pleasure ran through her and she felt herself clamp down on him and relax again. She drifted off. Ahmed came for them soon after breakfast. She was sitting on the verandah, dressed again, their bag beside her. The clothes felt uncomfortable and unnecessary. Now the time had come to leave, she felt a sense of loss. She looked back at the little cabin as they pulled away. So simple, walls, a roof, coconut palms. “I wonder if Alistair will let us come back some time,” she mused half to herself. “I’m sure he would, if you asked him nicely.” “But no chains next time.”

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Tim put his arm around her and kissed her forehead. “I think that’s my decision, don’t you? It would depend on whether you’d been naughty or not.” Ahmed took them straight back to the mainland. “Pulau Kelapa,” he said, pointing out a dark green hump on the horizon. Sherry looked back at their own island. It had already receded and the cabin was hidden beneath its palms. She sat back and enjoyed the wind and spray on her face. She thought about the past few days. “Tim,” she asked, “I can understand most things, but how could you send me to Alistair yesterday? I’m your wife…” He smiled at her. “I don’t think you understand how it goes. I mean, having a wife like you is like, say, owning a Lamborghini. It makes you proud and you want to show it off to everyone. It’s fun to make everyone envious, and of course you want to take special friends for a ride in it, just for the fun of it.” “But I’m not a car,” she said, offended by the comparison. “No, you’re much better than that. Just means I enjoy showing you off even more.” “But making me suck him…” “Why not? It was fun, wasn’t it? He’s a friend. It was a present from both of us, and you were much more impressive than I had expected. I can’t wait for my turn.” “Stop it! What if he had wanted to have sex with me?” “Well, I’d only let the most special of my friends drive my Lamborghini, and then only on very special occasions.”

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Chapter 21 Ranji came to meet her in the Pavilion. Sherry had chosen this place because of its atmosphere of Old Singapore, of the time when the British Empire ruled its colonial world in beefy complacency. The dark panelled room was furnished as she imagined the bar of a London gentleman’s club and they were served by old Chinese waiters in dark trousers and starched white jackets with high collars. There was no piped music and the room was an oasis of quiet just metres away from the traffic and bustle of Tanglin Road. Only the murmurs of other patrons and the rustle of newspapers disturbed the calm. Today Sherry was buying and they decided to be terribly English. Sherry had ordered a plate of sausages and mashed potato complete with thick gravy, and Ranji sat behind a large slice of steak and kidney pudding. It had been prepared in the traditional way, hard to find in a modern restaurant anywhere in the world, with glistening suet pastry boiled for hours. Ranji did not seem uncomfortable with the heavy northern food. “You don’t mind the cooking?” asked Sherry. Ranji smiled at her. “Too many calories I think! Really not good for Singapore. Here it is too hot for food like this, and this beer is also very heavy, but no problem now and then. I enjoy it, but it will make me fat. I can eat everything. English, Chinese, Malay, everything. Except mustard. Mustard is too hot.” “What? English food too hot for you? I don’t believe it!” “It’s true. When first I had mustard, oh, it was terrible. My eyes are watering, my nose is on fire and I think my brain will be cooked. Never again, not even a little bit, and the same for your horseradish. To think English people say that Indian food is too hot! “So, tell me. How was your week in Malaysia?” “Good. Really good. We have a Malay friend who owns an island and we went to stay there all alone. He calls it Paradise Island but I think its real name is Fish Island in Malay.”

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“Oh, I’m interested! A rich Malay friend who’s got an island. How big was it? Does it have a resort on it?” “Not big. Just a couple of kilometres I think, and certainly no resort. There’s only a small beach at one end with a cabin to stay in. He says he goes there when he wants peace and quiet.” “Still, it’s not everyone who has an island,” said Ranji. “Tell me more about him. Is he single?” “You know, I’ve never asked him. He travels with a couple of Indonesian girls, twins, who are very beautiful and sexy, but they don’t behave like wives. So perhaps there’s hope for you. You know him anyway. You took me to him for—er—flute playing once. His name is Alistair.” Ranji was silent. Then she asked carelessly, “Did Tim get on well with him?” “Very well. I think they like each other. Tim rescued Alistair from drowning one day so he says.” “So Alistair didn’t say anything to Tim about the flute playing?” “Oh yes. Tim knows everything.” “What? Oh no… you must have been in terrible trouble. What’s he going to do? What did he say?” “He didn’t say anything at first. I thought we were going to Pulau Kelapa again but they put something in my drink and I woke up on Paradise Island. Then Tim told me he knew everything, even about the Irishman. He kept me chained up all week as a punishment.” “Really? I didn’t think Englishmen could do things like that. Anyway, he’s let you out again now, so he must have forgiven you. That’s very weak of him.” “Weak? Ranji! I was chained up for a whole week. Well, almost a whole week. And when he wanted to take me outside, he put a dog collar on me, and a lead.” “Did he beat you?” “Oh no, Tim would never do that. I was afraid he’d send me back to England but he just kept me chained up and now I think he’s back to normal again. Anyway, no more flute playing for me. He bought me a gold chain for my ankle.” “Is he crazy? He catches you playing flutes all over Singapore and he buys you gold?”

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“Yes, and he made love to me at the end—it was fantastic. Wonderful. I came so much… It’s never been that good before. It knocked me out, I couldn’t move.” “Ah-ha! So keeping you chained up must have been good for you. Tim made love to you and bought you gold, but kept you chained up all the same. I didn’t think an Englishman could be so clever.” “Yes. I’m a bit surprised at him too. The ankle chain’s very heavy. It must have cost a fortune, but I think he’s telling me something with it… It’s a chain with a padlock after all, even if it is expensive.” Ranji understood straight away. “You know, I’ve never heard of a Western man who would do something like that. You’re very lucky. He must really want to keep you. Are you happy?” Sherry thought. “You know, I think I am. I love Tim. He’s nice and kind, but I suppose we were sort of drifting along. I thought he was too soft, but now… I never thought he could be so tough with me, but he was. He seems to think he owns me. He said I was like a Lamborghini.” “Oooooh!” laughed Ranji, “A Lamborghini! Well, that’s better than being like a Ford. Or a Daewoo. Lamborghinis have class, and they’re so expensive… I don’t know—a million dollars or something, and sooo sexy!” “Ranji! That’s not the point. I don’t know if I want to be owned by anyone. Not even Tim.” “Of course you do. Don’t be silly! It’s good for you. He owns you anyway, and you own him back. Of course, it’s more difficult to own a man. They like to go off by themselves, but if you do things the right way, they’ll always come back. We’re different. We like someone to own us and keep us well. Give us a nice house and clothes and gold. You’re still free, aren’t you? At least Tim is not an Arab or a Pakistani. Then you wouldn’t be free to wander around Singapore. A husband like that would talk about honour and keep you locked in the house. He’d quickly kill you if you played another flute.” “But he really thinks he owns me,” Sherry tried to make her understand. “He made me play Alistair’s flute again the night before we left the island. I felt a little upset with him but he just said it was a nice present to Alistair from both of us.” “Oh how sweet! I wish I had a husband like that. One who really understands.” “Ranji, you’re impossible. I’m not going to talk about it any more. What shall we have for dessert?”

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“No. Definitely no dessert for you. That’s enough calories for one day and now you must stay slim for your husband. If he’s going to take proper care of you, you must be beautiful for him. I’m so happy for you. Let’s go and buy some sexy clothes for you. To welcome him home next time.” When Sherry reached home with her shopping, she found a short hand-written note waiting in the mailbox. Dear Mrs. Armstrong, Could we please meet in the Pavilion tomorrow at 12:30? Please leave a message for me at home if this is not possible, Yours, Hangchi. How strange, she thought, but I suppose I’d better go. For the second time in twenty-four hours, Sherry pushed open the heavy wooden door of the Pavilion. Lunchtime, and it was full and smoky. She looked around for Inspector Hangchi and found him, coming to greet her from a small table in the far corner. She wanted to know why he had called for her, but he refused to be hurried. “First let us order our lunch. What will you have? If you have a special request, I can ask the chef. He’s an old acquaintance. How about grilled fish? I can ask for a grilled trout with ginger. He’ll do that for me. I know he keeps some trout for special customers, but you won’t find it on the menu.” “Trout, that sounds very nice. What are you going to have? Something else that’s special?” “I think I shall join you in the trout. Now—wine. Shall I order?” Their waiter brought the wine, Blue Nun, a German white popular in British Army messes around the world but unknown inside Germany. It came deeply chilled and condensation started to form on Sherry’s glass immediately. She studied her companion. He looked perfectly at home here, relaxed, knowledgeable, a man about town in the European style. She was quite surprised. He had seemed so Chinese the first time she had met him, but his English showed that he had been educated abroad. “You’ve been in England, Inspector?” “Please, call me Hangchi. That’s what my friends do. Yes, I was at school in Somerset, and then on to Trinity in Oxford. I love England, but the weather… I was glad to get on the ship home. So glad.” “So why did you join the police?” “The Army first. We were fighting guerrillas up and down the Peninsula in those days. I was in Intelligence and when Federation came, and the break-up, well, the Singapore Police seemed the only open door.

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Years later, and I’m back to Intelligence and terrorists again. The world never really changes.” “But we don’t have terrorists in Singapore.” “Well, yes and no. Fortunately there are no Chinese terrorists at the moment. No support for communism here any more. All the old insurgents have either gone back to China or changed their ways, but there are always undercurrents in the other groups—Malays, Tamils, Indonesians. Groups like that are difficult for us Chinese to penetrate. Occasionally, we have our successes. Not frequently, but some successes. Enough to discourage most of the others.” “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to target Singapore.” Hangchi laughed pleasantly. “I could wish all the world was as kind as you, Sherry, but it’s not. Look around you. Singapore is marching ahead. Building sites and pile drivers all the way down Orchard Road. Now we’re making all that new land on the foreshore. The new airport has just opened, and the Metro is coming. I hear even the old Pavilion will be history soon, worse luck. “We are getting rich and all around us are poorer countries. Indonesia, Thailand, even most of Malaysia. Not to mention countries like Burma and Cambodia. Most of them dislike the Chinese, and successful Chinese especially. We are Chinese, and an outpost of Western imperialism at the same time. Look at the rich American company offices, and all the embassies. All it takes is one crazy terrorist with a bomb…” “So you spend your life looking for terrorists?” “Yes, and gun runners and, of course, drug smugglers because terrorism and drugs go hand in hand. Terrorism needs money and drugs give them that. Fortunately, there are easier countries for them to penetrate than Singapore, so we don’t get the worst of the problem. But you know what they say about the price of peace being eternal vigilance. Well, that’s me. Here, at least.” She raised her glass to him. “Well, I hope you keep winning, that’s all I can say.” The fish was superb. Decorated with herbs and ginger cut in florets, and cooked to the second. It surprised Sherry that the Pavilion could manage food like this—a complete contrast to her meal with Ranji the day before. It was while they ate that Hangchi finally started to talk about why he had asked to meet her. “Sherry—I can call you Sherry, can’t I?

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Sherry, I like this place. It reminds me a little of Oxford. Very English. Solid, a little dull, very reliable. Makes me feel comfortable. Also, none of my colleagues seem to know about it, so I’m left in peace. When I want to sit and think, or just sit and read the paper, I say I’m meeting a contact and come here. They know me. Put me on one of the single tables over there. Or here if I have a guest. They take care of me, and leave me alone. I can hide away in the corner and watch a lot of people that I will never see in the course of my work. Normal foreigners, not the crazy ones. “So I was very surprised to be tucked away in the corner when in marches the daughter of one of my current suspects. Someone suspected of being very closely related to a consignment of guns and explosives that left Colombo and disappeared. Not only is the daughter of this suspect eating lunch in the Pavilion, but she is accompanied by the wife of a contact who has just brought me some valuable information about the movement of illicit money. Money that’s probably destined to buy supplies for Islamic terrorists. In fact, it’s quite possibly going to pay for the guns that have slipped off the radar screens. “So you see, I start to question myself. We don’t have coincidences in my business. When something looks fishy, in my experience it is fishy. “Talking of fish, do keep eating. It would be a crime to let your trout get cold. Here, more wine.” He filled her glass. Sherry said nothing. Her mind raced in circles as she tried to understand what she was hearing. “So, I thought to myself, something is going on. Then I thought about your husband and you, and I would be really surprised if you two were deeply involved in anything. I think I can judge you that far, and besides, the sort of people I’m talking about would never trust Westerners anyway. So I thought I would just invite you for a quiet lunch and let you tell me all you know about it. Is that alright?” “But I don’t know anything. Really.” “Oh, I think you do, my dear. You might not realise it but you probably know a lot of things that I would be interested in. Why don’t you start by telling me how you met Miss Chopra?” “Ranji? Oh, we go to yoga together.” “Yoga, I see. With that old fraud Bombar, I suppose.” “Fraud? He’s not a fraud, well, maybe a little bit, but he’s very good for yoga. I like him.”

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“Of course. He’s a very likeable chap. I enjoy his company myself and he certainly finds me the best Indian food you can imagine when I visit. So, you do yoga with our Ranji. What else do you do with her? Shopping?” She had the unpleasant feeling that he had not only watched them eat lunch but followed them down Orchard Road as well. “Yes, we go shopping.” “And…?” She hesitated. How did she admit to flute playing in front of Hangchi? “You may as well tell me, my dear. I have a pretty good idea of what Bombar and Miss Chopra get up to anyway. Bombar has been sending you out on little assignments?” “No, not at all. Well, just once, but Ranji, she was teaching me. About sex. To make me a better woman for yoga.” “A better woman?” asked Hangchi with disbelief in his voice. “Yes. Papi said that I needed more of the feminine principle. If I was a more feminine woman, more skilled, my yoga would progress. Until my spirit was right I would never move forward.” “Very well, I don’t understand but we’ll let it pass. So Miss Chopra has been teaching you to be more feminine, although I can’t imagine why she thinks you need instruction in that. What does this teaching involve?” Sherry looked at the table. Her fish was just a head and backbone. “It was about flute playing…” “Flute—oh, I see. Right. Well. I really don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry to have embarrassed you.” She looked at him directly. He was uncomfortable. “That’s alright. I’m used to it now. Ranji found some male friends and taught me how to do it. That’s all. I learnt, and we don’t do it any more. We’re just friends.” “I see. Can I ask you which male friends Ranji introduced you to? Anyone you knew?” “Oh, that’s difficult. There were lots of them and I didn’t know all their names.” “Tell me what you can. Start at the beginning.” She tried hard to remember. She could recall the hotels, the faces, some of the details but very few names. The sleek young Indian businessmen with their expensive jackets and ties seemed to have

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flowed together into one homogenised figure. She did remember the Professor quite clearly and his case made Hangchi smile. Then of course, there was Alistair. Hangchi laughed out loud when he heard the name. “Oh, Alistair. Now I’ve caught you! Alistair is an old friend. I was at Oxford with his father and I know the son too. Wait until I see him again. I’ll make him suffer…” “No—please don’t. He’ll know I told you, and he’s a friend. He knows my husband. We met on Pulau Kelapa and we stayed on his island last week.” “He knows Tim? Really? Now that is interesting. What has Tim been telling him? About the letters from Kalimantan?” “I don’t think so. We never spoke about anything like that. Not when I was with them anyway. Tim rescued him when he had trouble snorkelling, and we sort of got together afterwards.” She definitely would not tell Hangchi any details of what she had been doing last week. “Well, well, well. Naughty Alistair. Never mind, I won’t tell him I’ve met you. Now, what else has Bombar asked you to do? You said there was one time…” “Yes. Once. He sent us, Ranji and me, to see someone they called the Irishman. Except he wasn’t Irish.” She knew immediately that Hangchi was interested. He sat still and listened carefully. “He sent us to his office in Telok Blangah. We had to go to the Irishman and—and let him do whatever he wanted. He wanted us to dance together, and then he had Ranji while I watched, and then we went home.” “Really? But why? Why were you sent? Didn’t you ask? I don’t think Ranji would go there even for money, and the Irishman isn’t the most generous of men.” “Yes, of course I asked. I didn’t want to go and neither did Ranji but she said we had to. She said that her father had been arranging a shipment—no, she didn’t say that. She said he was involved with some people who were arranging it, and Papi was too, somehow. Anyway, the shipment had been delayed or something and the Irishman was making trouble. I think he was just bullying Ranji’s father and the others, and wanted to show how important he is. So Papi sent us as a sort of peace offering. That’s all. Ranji said we wouldn’t go back even if the Irishman offered us money. I didn’t like him. He was a creep.”

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“A very dangerous creep, my dear. I don’t want you to have any contact with him again. Keep out of his way. Now what else have you and Miss Chopra been doing?” “Nothing. I’ve told you everything, really.” “Are you sure? Right, I believe you, my dear. Well, well, well. You’ve given me something to think about. Tell me, shall we all meet for lunch when Tim gets back? I’m sure I’ll have some more questions for you by then.” Sherry was feeling a little better now. “Yes. Of course. I’m sure we’d like that.” “Good. Now look. I’ve been with the police for a long time now and people know me. They know what I do for a living, so perhaps it’s better if you don’t mention we’ve had this discussion. Or even that we met. You can tell Tim, of course, when he gets back. Oh, and you should probably be careful of the telephone. You never know. If you ever have to call me, use a public phone downtown.” “Do you think someone is watching me?” He thought for a while. “No, I don’t see why they should. I don’t see how they could connect you to me. It would be most unlikely. On the other hand… I try to never underestimate these people. Most of the time they behave like ignorant amateurs and then suddenly you find they are doing something that is really quite clever. Of course, it’s because of the stupidities that we can follow them. There’s always the worry that someone really clever is out there and we haven’t heard of him at all. Until something tragic happens. Anyway, don’t let it worry you. Just live a normal life and if anyone did take a closer look at you, well, there’d be nothing to find, would there?”

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Chapter 22 The tug came for Sea Sprite IV after lunch. The tide had turned and the brown delta water was flowing rapidly upriver. Delicately, the tug pulled them out into the stream on a tight bridle and started out against the current. They were going offshore. Captain Straughan rode with them. The PetroFance insurers insisted on proper supervision when equipment moved anywhere near their offshore wells. Tim was glad of the company as a change and they sat together on the verandah, beer in hand, watching the riverbanks slip by. From their raised platform they could look out over Sea Sprite’s crowded deck at the tug labouring ahead of them. Soon the channel began to widen and the river got rougher. They were nearing the sea. The water did not change. It was still muddy and brackish. The swamp gradually fell back, losing its nipa palms and mangroves until the riverbanks turned into distant beaches backed by scrub. The tug pulled them out between the channel marker buoys and the land started to shrink behind them. They slowed a little as one of the tug crew paid out the tow to a more suitable length for open water, and then they throbbed on, heading for the horizon. Captain Straughan sat back with his boots on the railing. He was a small, silver-haired man dressed in uniform black drill shirt and trousers. Everyone called him Captain in spite of a rumour that his America ticket was no longer valid. “I shouldn’t really be letting a barge like this out to sea, you know,” he said. “You wouldn’t get away with it anywhere else. I’m not sure you should even be operating in the delta, looking at your electrics.” “Oh well. Cheap is cheap, so they tell me, and have you ever heard of Krumbeins sticking to safety standards so tight that it costs real money? And PetroFrance is just as bad. They accepted the barge along with a cheap price, and they should know we’re not an offshore rig.” The Captain stretched. “Only in the Java Sea. Most of the time you can get away with anything. Did I ever tell you about that schooner that

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capsized? Wasn’t more than a couple of year ago. We was coming back down the Makassar Strait in a supply boat. We’d just been towing a jack-up to Labuan and was running back down the Strait when we come across this schooner. Capsized. Turned right over. Don’t know how. The crew were probably all asleep and they caught a gust. Anyway, over they went. They all got out and climbed up onto the hull. They could dive under the boat and get things—food and so on—so they rescued their cooking stuff and lit a fire to cook their rice, right there on the upturned hull. “So there they were. They could fish for food, and they had rice anyway. Firewood, water cans to catch rain, they were quite happy. We offered to take them off but they didn’t want it. They were just going to wait until they drifted ashore and they could get the boat onto its side. Then they were going to unload it—I don’t know what they were carrying—and pull it upright, and start again. Hard to believe, isn’t it? We gave them bottled water and left them to it.” Tim thought about that. It was quite believable, even in the land of tall tales. “I guess we’re all pretty slack. I’ve never heard of divers working the way they do here. They don’t seem to have any surface support at all. They don’t even go down fixed lines, just splosh over the side. Free diving, and no decompression chamber within hours. Even most of the Krumbein’s operation would be laughed at in the States or Europe, and you know the fuss they make about their professionalism and all that crap.” The Captain stretched luxuriously. “That’s the way it’s always been out here. It’s good. I like it. You should see places like the North Sea. Every other guy you meet out there is some kind of inspector. Can’t get a job done for all of them looking over your shoulder. Here you can just get on with it. The Indonesians won’t bother you, as long as you’re polite to the devious little bastards.” “How long have you been doing this, Captain?” “Since Vietnam. No place for people like me back home, so I just stayed on. Kinda neglected to file my IRS for a few years, so there’s no way I could ever go back. They’d just throw my ass into jail so, what the hell. I like it better out here anyway. Working on getting me an Indonesian passport, just in case. Sulawesi, that’s the place. Beautiful! When I finish up here, I’m going to get me a schooner out of Ujung Pandang and live on it. When I need a change, I’ll rent a couple of hands to help and just drift up the coast a bit. What else do you need? Most of

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the island doesn’t have roads anyway, so everyone lives with one foot in the sea. It’ll suit me.” “What about the people? Will they accept you?” “No problem. They like foreigners, and once they’re used to you, you’re part of the family.” “You’re not Muslim, are you?” “Me? Hell, no! I don’t hold with all that stuff, and if I did, there’s no way one of those doctor butchers is going to trim the end off my prick. Anyway, there’s lots of Christians on Sulawesi, and all sorts of local religions too. A lot of them don’t even speak Indonesian properly. There’s even some Dutch folk left over.” “So you don’t get too many Islamic crazies?” “In Sulawesi? Why would they bother? Sometimes the villages fight a bit but I guess they’d be doing that anyway, religion or not. However you look at it, there’s nothing there for the really vicious ones. I tell you, you’re more likely to get into trouble around here than Sulawesi. There’s always a few who get crazy with religion, same as anywhere I guess, but here there’s lots of foreign targets to blow up. So Allah tells them to go and kill a few people, wouldn’t be difficult. Just think of the publicity they’d get. Knocking off a few village people’s nothing. Wouldn’t even get into the Indonesian papers, but if they were to get a PetroFrance guy, well, you can imagine. There’d be television, foreign papers, everything. They’d be celebrities.” It was not a comforting thought. Tim stood up to stretch and look for CCB-1. It should come into sight soon. “When do you reckon we’ll get there?” he asked the Captain. “After midnight in the rain. That’s the way it’s got to be. Traditional. What’s for dinner?” “Spaghetti. You don’t want to wait until we get there? Think of Renaldo’s cooking.” “I’ll be dead of starvation if we wait until then. Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll get started?” They were back on the verandah, stomachs over-full, staring forward at the tug. The night-time sea was glassy smooth and the barge moved as if it was still in its delta. Below them Raymond and the guys had brought chairs out onto the deck and were sitting at the rail, chattering quietly and trailing fishing lines. Ahead, the bright lights of the tug made a stage set of its after deck. In the distance, sometimes

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visible, sometimes hidden behind the tug’s bridge, shone the lights of CCB-1. “Think I’ll lie down for a couple of hours,” said the Captain. “You going to stay up? Someone should.” “Fine. I’ll call you if anything happens.” Tim sat alone. He liked being offshore. It appealed to his sense of adventure. He stood at the railing and looked along the side of the barge. Water was foaming past the tyre fenders. He reminded himself to shorten their ropes tomorrow. Sea snakes liked to climb up on them and he could do without them. The night was cloudy and horizon invisible. There was nothing to see. Far astern, the flashing buoys of the delta channel had disappeared. In the whole world there was only the barge, the tug and the distant lights of CCB-1. It was a satisfying feeling. He turned over in his mind the memory of Sherry on Pulau Ikan. Pleasant thoughts. Initially he had worried about her reaction to the chains. He had been frightened that they would scare her off permanently, but that had not happened. It still surprised him that she had done what Alistair had predicted and accepted them. Even enjoyed them in the end. She had been fantastic on their last morning on the island, making love with such enthusiasm and finesse. She had never been so good at it before, and the way she had lost control of herself and come and come... It had been a wonderful experience and he wanted to repeat it. Right now if he could, except that Sherry was back in Singapore, and there would be no substitute for her out here on the ocean. He would just have to dream, and remember one of the nicest things about the whole trip. When he had opened his briefcase at the airport, looking for his passport, he had found a greetings card. Addressed to My Love Tim and containing Sherry’s single ticket to Heathrow. Nice thoughts; but there was nothing he could do about them now. He sat and read until the cold wind drove him inside. Years of practice woke the Captain when they were drawing close. They could see CCB-1 clearly now, moored to the tall well platform, a well-lit steel island in the rising sea. The wind was fitful as the black sky prepared to rain. The Captain got on the radio to call CCB-1 and to give instructions to the tug. They were steaming into a rainstorm. Tim put a rain slicker on and went out to watch. It hit them as the tug slowed to bring them alongside CCB-1. Immediately Sea Sprite IV started to drift, crabbing sideways.

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“Have the guys stand by for a rope,” ordered the Captain. “We’re only going to get one go at this. Why don’t you get down there and help them?” He had his walkie-talkie in his hand and was standing on the open verandah, dripping rain. Tim went down to join the men on deck. They had huddled in the shelter of his verandah. A catspaw spun into them and wild rain slashed under the verandah. Water was everywhere, running off their hair and faces, soaking them inside their slickers. The barge swung wildly towards a massive platform leg. Tim watched as the black bulk of CCB-1 heaved ponderously up to show its barnacled hull and drew one of its mooring cables up high out of the water. Sea Sprite IV would catch it amidships. Then the barge spun round as the tug plucked it sideways as if on a rubber rope and took them away from the black churning danger. The Captain had decided to abandon this run and Tim went upstairs. He found the Captain hanging up his clothes to dry. They would sleep and wait for calmer weather and daylight. They came alongside at first light and moored sweetly to the crane barge. They were in time for Renaldo’s breakfast, and for Captain Straughan to hitch a lift back to land on the helicopter bringing the PetroFrance representative for the planned operation. They sat in the steamy mess eating their viande fumeé. It felt good to be in Renaldo’s care again and, from his beaming face in the kitchen, he was happy to see them. Renaldo liked old friends. He came to sit and gossip when the CCB-1 crew had left to start their day’s work. “Capitan y marinero, non?” “Yup, that’s me. I’ve decided to be a sailor,” said Tim. “Sailing the ocean blue. Or the ocean brown around here.” The Captain just smiled. “So, they give me new billy boy, you see? Very pretty. Muy linda!” They looked again at the kitchen hand washing the plates. In an apron and small white cap he—or she—looked normally male at first sight. Slim, dark, lightly built, just like most Indonesians, but there was something about her face, plucked eyebrows maybe, or fuller lips, that made for uncertainty. Tim looked for breasts under her loose shirt. She started scrubbing vigorously at one of the stainless steel surfaces and his doubts evaporated. There were items of interest under that shirt. She looked up suddenly and caught him staring. “Ah-ha! So Tim is interested,” laughed Renaldo. “Come and I will introduce you.”

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Tim was embarrassed. “No, certainly not! I was just curious,” but he was too late. Renaldo had called her over. She had a pretty, open face and stood shyly beside Renaldo. “Now guys, this is Janice, my new offsider. Janice, this is Capitan Straughan, he’s a very big man, and this is Mr. Tim, he is my friend. He likes cornbread and coffee like me. While he is here you take good care of him, OK?” Janice muttered something under her breath and hurried off, swinging her hips. “Very nice, Renaldo,” said the Captain. “She must make you very happy.” “Me? Oh no. I leave that for the young men, like Tim here. No, no, I don’t look, I don’t ask no questions. She works good, and if she wears a skirt in the evening and plays with the crew, well, not my business. The crew, they like to have a billy boy. You see when they go for break, they all put on their life jackets, climb into the fast boat. They take care of her, help her go down the side, just like a sister.” “You’re right there. Even the island schooners like to have a billy boy along if they can,” agreed the Captain. “See ‘em all the time. Don’t know how that works on a small boat. Don’t want to know, come to think of it.” The tannoy was calling and the Captain grabbed his bag and made for the helideck. The characteristic wup-wup-wup of a Huey filled the air and the bird was overhead and settling. Minutes later it flew on its way again and the PetroFrance engineer and his Indonesian counterpart came down the stairs. Work on the rig-up could start. Tim and the crew spent a slow day, mostly waiting for the crane. At intervals, when it could spare a few minutes, it swung over Sea Sprite IV and picked up their equipment a bit at a time. When everyone else was ready, Tim would circulate the well with fresh water to kill the pressure. Tim did not start killing the well until after lunch. For once, it was simple and the well behaved itself. He pumped water until he killed the well. It died and stayed dead. The company man gave the word, and the slick line unit closed the subsurface valve. Now came the critical stage. The well’s master valve had been leaking and the whole wellhead would be replaced. The wellhead specialists set to work with hammer wrenches to disconnect the old head. There was a long hour of quiet and tense work until the retaining bolts on the new head were hammered up and Tim could start pressure testing. The sun was falling before he pumped

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diesel from the crane barge bunker to circulate the well and unload the bottom hole pressure to the point where it would flow again. He sat alone in his accommodation unit, reading after dinner, when there was a tap on the door. Janice stood there on the verandah with a stack of his laundry neatly folded. She pushed her way in and Tim stepped back in surprise. She closed the door with her elbow and smiled. “Where I put these?” she asked in a low voice. “Er—in there,” he stumbled. “You wait, huh?” and she disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Tim returned to sit with his book but he could not read. He heard the bedroom door open and then she moved into the bathroom. The door clicked shut. Janice came in fully dressed and with make-up. Her luxuriant shoulder-length hair had been clipped back at one ear to show a sparkling gold star in her ear lobe. She wore a red dress, flared and light, hemmed at her knees. It was tight at the waist and had a deep décolletage giving a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts. And she wore high heels. She looked stunning, and totally out of place on an oil field barge. Tim sat and stared before snapping himself awake. “Wow, Janice! You look fantastic. Sit down. Would you like something to drink? Tea, coffee?” “Kopi susu,” she said and sat on the small sofa, crossing her legs and arranging her skirts around her. “Mr. Renaldo send me. You like?” “Er—yes. Very good. Very beautiful.” He went to prepare the coffee and wondered what would happen next. He had no experience of entertaining beautiful women of doubtful gender on his barge. He felt nervous. Janice was not nervous. She sat comfortably and relaxed, and waited for the kettle to boil. She was enjoying herself. He brought her coffee and went to sit on his chair, but she grabbed his wrist and pulled him down to sit beside her. “You sit here,” she said with a smile. “You no like me, Mr. Tim?” “Oh, I like you,” he said. “You look very sexy. That’s a beautiful dress, and your hair… and make up. Very nice.” She did not answer but held out her hand palm downwards for him to admire. Her nails were neatly manicured and had dark pink varnish. He took her hand. It felt small and feminine. Her skin felt dry and warm.

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She purred a little and shuffled nearer. She smelt exciting. She casually put her hand on his thigh and reached for her coffee. She watched him over the brim of her cup. He felt a delightful anticipation. He did not know what was about to happen, but he knew this beautiful woman would do something wonderful. He put his arm along the back of the sofa, around her shoulders. She snuggled nearer and rested her head against his cheek. He breathed her scent, feeling her lively body against his own. Her hand moved on his thigh, stroking closer and closer to his swollen and hungry sex. Then her fingers were tracing the shape of his bulge, stroking him, diving deep and then returning to circle and press the head. It felt good. He moved his arm down from her shoulders until he could reach under her arm to touch the side of her breast. He could feel her bra and the tight orb inside. She turned to him and reached up to kiss his lips. She tasted spicy. He pulled her to him, reaching under the black satin curtain of her hair to hold her head as he kissed her deeply. When they broke, she smiled happily. At the moment when any woman is at her most attractive, Janice looked truly beautiful. She came to him for more and his hand dropped to her breast. It was small and firm. He reached inside her dress to feel more. She intoxicated him and he wanted everything. Janice sat up and reached behind herself to unzip the dress. She shrugged it off her shoulders and let it fall into her lap. She wore a simple bra of black lace, cut wide to display her cleavage. It had a heartshaped plastic clasp between her breasts and Tim reached for it. The bra fell open and she dropped it behind her. Her breasts were perfect, adolescent, with dark pointed nipples. Tim cupped one and brushed its point with the side of his thumb. She purred and wriggled extravagantly. She was undoing his belt and his zip, tugging wildly at his trousers. He lifted his hips and let her pull his clothes down to his ankles. “Oooh yes!” she said in triumph as she clutched his shaft, “I like him!” He helped her by unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off. He was naked with a hot and beautiful woman ready to devour him. He reached around her and pushed her dress down over her hips. “Stand up,” he whispered and she stood in front of him, her dress falling in red folds to the floor. She was wearing the smallest of black lace panties. He reached for her and turned her. She pirouetted slowly to show her charms. Like

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many Indonesian women, she had narrow, boyish hips. Slim, brown, unashamed, she looked completely desirable. He stared at her sex when she turned back, trying to make out what lay hidden in the black lace. He reached out to push her panties down but she quickly knelt between his knees, opening him up and reaching for his cock. He sat back and gave himself up to the sensations. She came very close to him; he could feel her breath on him. Her hands busily cupped his balls and worked his shaft as she examined his swollen plum. She looked happy as she brought his sex nearer and brushed her cheek with it. The electricity brought Tim’s heart to his mouth. She reached out with her pink tongue and lightly probed under the head of his cock. She licked and smiled, and bent her head to lick some more. It felt agonising. She looked up at him from behind his vertical cock. Her smile was half-hidden behind its purple head. Her beautiful black eyes, carefully ornamented with mascara, liner and shadow stared knowingly at him as she moved nearer and hearer to his cock. She opened her elegant red lips and sucked the head of his cock slowly into her mouth. It was too much for Tim. The sight of her and the feeling of her wet mouth had brought him to the edge of orgasm. She sensed it, and held still until his excitement faded a little and she could start to explore him. Using hands and mouth, she took him on a wild ride. She would lick and suck, pumping him slowly, feeling his excitement build to the limit, and then she would take him out of her mouth and wait. Again and again she led him to the edge and stepped back. It was torture. Tim leapt to his feet and drawing her up, picked her up like a child and took her into the bedroom. He laid her on his single bed and she reached for his cock as he stood beside her, taking him into her mouth again. He reached for her panties. She tried to stop him with one halfhearted hand, but he brushed it away and eased her panties over her hips. A small patch of black hair appeared and then her cock, folded up between her thighs and held in place by the panties. As she helped him take her panties right off, it fell from its hiding place and lay limp across the top of her thigh. It was small and wrinkled, and its exposed head was soft pink. It gave no sign of standing. Now she was completely naked she became more excited, moaning softly and rocking her head from side to side as she sucked him. It was riveting to see her writhing as she devoured more and more of his cock.

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He forced her back so he could get onto the bed, but she would not release him. Tim found himself lying on his side, watching her busy hands and mouth consuming his cock. She had wriggled down a little and now as he lay the wrong way round on the bed her hips and thighs were beneath him. At her centre, her soft cock drew him to her. He bent his head and sucked it into his mouth. It felt soft and slippery, like the delicate flesh of a rambutan. It tasted clean and spicy. She gave a soft cry as he took her into his mouth and thrust her hips towards him. Small and soft, he could take all of her easily into his mouth. He started to suck and release her rhythmically, enjoying the swelling and stiffening of her cock as he worked on it. She lost coordination as he sucked her and her movements on his cock became disjointed. She was moaning and pushing her hips up at him. He sucked harder and faster and then, without warning, his mouth was flooded with her cream. Dry tasting and smooth, she came as he pleasured her. She was giving up her orgasm to him, and the feeling excited him so much that he too came in great powerful spasms as she lapped eagerly at him and held him deep as they subsided. When she was sure he had finished, she spun around to kiss his mouth. They lay together kissing, sharing the tastes of their orgasms, as she held him and felt his cock soften. She lay happily in his arms. A large tug came for CCB-1 next morning. First it towed Sea Sprite IV well clear and Tim and the crew struggled to drop an anchor from one of their little used winches. Then the tug went back to trap the CCB-1 anchor buoys and trip the anchors so they could be winched aboard. They stood and watched as CCB-1 pulled itself up to its last anchor. They pulled the anchor free and the tug took up on the tow as they recovered it. The tug set its bow at the horizon and soon the crane barge was diminishing in the distance. Sea Sprite IV would float alone until a tug could be spared to retrieve her. With luck they should have at least a day of fishing and maintenance before that happened.

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Chapter 23 Sherry waited eagerly for Tim to return. She had spent the day tidying the house and preparing his dinner. Now as the light drained from the sky everything was ready. She had measured out the rice and it stood beside the stove. The water waited for it in the pan. She had chopped the vegetables ready for the wok, and a saucer held the garlic, ginger and spices that would go in first. Freshly shelled prawns were in the fridge, and a bottle of Niersteiner was getting really cold next to the ice box. Once she had prepared the food and table, she had given herself a good hour to get herself ready. She had combed out her hair as far as it would go, painted her finger and toe nails, made up her face for an evening in High Society. Earrings, gold cross in her cleavage, bracelets, and finally her new ankle chain. She stood in front of the mirror completely naked apart from her jewellery and heels and admired herself. She had to admit she looked good. Of course, she still felt big and clumsy when she compared herself to the twins, but on the other hand she was not as fat as Ranji. She turned around to look at her bottom. Her hips looked wide and her bottom too big. She turned back to look at her front. Here she felt happier. She liked her breasts. They were a comfortable size, perhaps a little large, but she liked the way they stood out. Her pink buttons were erect and pointing, perhaps in anticipation of Tim’s return. She liked her waist and the shadow of her belly button. Now that she had decided to care for the small patch of unruly hair that decorated her sex, even that looked elegant. She felt vaguely dissatisfied with its colour. She would have been happier if it was not so dark. Could it be dyed, she wondered, to match her blonde hair? Or should she go back to having no hair at all? All in all, she looked better. Not as sexy as she wanted to look, of course, but definitely getting better. She envied the twin’s dark colour, their slim figures and above all their strong black hair but then, she

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reflected, all the girls here have black hair. At least I’m special in one area. She had turned from the mirror and put on her only clothing, a new black cocktail dress. It had been expensive and without Ranji’s urging she would not have bought it. It was a simple knee-length creation of black chiffon with a pearl slip beneath to stop it being completely transparent. Thin straps left her shoulders bare and the whole thing looked as if it could double as a nightdress. As soon as they had bought the dress, Ranji whisked her off to a dressmaking cousin off Serangoon Road and they waited with glasses of tea while he shortened the dress to mid-thigh. The cousin, a thin bent man with a measuring tape permanently around his shoulders, had drawn down the steel shutter of his shop to protect her from the street as she modelled the shortened dress. What had been fashionably elegant before, had now become daring and racy. The cousin had shaken his head with disapproval but Ranji had clapped her hands in delight. Now, wearing this dress, she waited behind the front door as Tim’s taxi drew up. Dressed as she was, she did not care to go outside. The gate clicked open and clanged shut, and Tim stood in the doorway. She reached shyly for his bag but he dropped it on the floor and held her at arm’s length. “Wow—look at you!” he said as he examined her. “What a wife to come home to!” She felt herself blushing and he swept her up to kiss her. Later, in the double bed that had been newly returned to their bedroom, she lay contentedly beside his sleeping form. It had been a good evening. The food had been perfect. Tim was not so tired from travelling that he could not talk and tell her about his adventures out at sea. She had told him about Hangchi but that did not disturb his plans for enjoying his days off. Finally, when she returned from taking the plates to the kitchen, he called her to him and she had stood beside his chair while he hugged her and kissed her. His hands ran up and down her back and she had shivered in excitement. Then he had slipped his hands under the hem of her dress and peeled it off her. He took her right there. He had swept the table’s clutter to one side and lifted her onto it. She lay on her back with her legs resting over his shoulders while he bent to devour her. He had taken her for dessert, licking, sucking, probing, using his tongue and fingers to sweep her from orgasm to orgasm. When he judged she could take no more, he had

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sat back in his chair. In a daze she had looked at his big wet smile between her upraised thighs for a moment before he scooped her up and carried her to the front door so she could push it shut. He had carried her up to their bed and rolled her onto all fours. Standing beside the bed, he had taken her from behind with slow forceful thrusts. The joy of him filling her had quickly re-ignited her orgasms and she was barely conscious when he pulled her hips hard against his thighs. His cock had thrust deep and far inside her, and he emptied himself into her in powerful animal spurts. Now she was glowing beside him. Completely contented and completely relaxed. Her pussy purred as it savoured the memory of his assault. With Tim beside her again, she felt untroubled. She was in love and happy. Hangchi met them in the Pavilion. While they waited for their lunch, he got straight on with telling them what had been happening. “Firstly, the information in the letter you brought was good. Probably missing the first visit was a blessing. I expect that was just to build confidence and perhaps pay a small deposit. This time we saw the real transfer of cash. We were waiting for one Aidil Wiranto to appear on the passenger list from Balikpapan, and he came just as we expected.” Hangchi looked at them to make sure he had their attention. He seemed to enjoy telling the story. “Of course, he was just a courier. Not at all interesting. We wanted to know who he was doing business with and where the money would go. I was there when he arrived, up in the Seletar Airport security office, watching the television screens. We tagged him as soon as he presented his passport and watched him go for his bag. He was carrying a flat briefcase but had checked in a soft hold-all. He came out of Customs— we let all non-Europeans go straight through that night—and was met by a taxi driver with his name on a sign. The driver took him outside, past the regular taxis and into the car park. It wasn’t an ordinary taxi, but one from Johor Baru with its sign covered over with a ‘Not in Service’ cap. The driver was Chinese, but that’s no surprise from JB, and the cab had someone else waiting in the rear seat. They all took off but didn’t go far. Just to the nearest hawker centre where the two passengers got out.” He paused to sip his drink, and perhaps for dramatic effect. He smiled at his audience and continued. “That was when we first got a look at the man in the car; we know him well. It was Older Tan, he works for the Irishman. Aidil was carrying his bag and still holding the

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briefcase. They went to a payphone and Tan made a call. Afterwards we found it was to another payphone in Toa Payoh. He spoke for a moment and gave the phone to Aidil. After he had taken his turn, he passed the briefcase to Tan who hopped back into his car and drove off. Aidil was left to find a bus into town, which is a good sign of how unimportant he is. He’s checked into the Merlin and is acting the part of a tourist. Perhaps he is a tourist and the holiday’s part of his reward. “Anyway, Older Tan took off but he didn’t head into town. I guess we should have realised that he might be going straight to Malaysia— why else use a Malaysian car? Seletar’s no distance at all from Woodlands and the causeway, so we had a bit of a panic. I had to call a security alert at the checkpoint to slow him down while I tried to find Alistair.” “Alistair?” asked Tim in surprise. “Yes, your friend. He’s the one I talk to over there. Semiunofficially of course. Fortunately he was in town and not escorting his two young nieces around the east coast tourist resorts. Fortunately. He managed to organise a tail, and the taxi went to a charming little Chinese establishment called the Lucky Path Club, where Tan got out. And the Lucky Path Club is owned by... can you guess?” “The Irishman?” answered Tim and Sherry together. “Well, well. What nasty suspicious minds you both have, but you’re right. The Irishman.” “That’s good then. You know where the money went, so you can arrest him and find out where the guns are,” said Sherry. “Not so easy.” Hangchi took a sip at his beer. He was holding back, almost hesitant. “We’re stuck. That’s the truth of it. We know money’s been brought in to pay the Irishman, but we don’t know how much or why. We don’t even have the money. Alistair couldn’t organise a raid on the club, because he had no evidence of a crime. If he had raided but only come up with a briefcase of money, so what? There’s bound to be a good excuse for it. Brought from Indonesia to buy a shipping container of toothpaste or something. We don’t even know how much was in the briefcase. “No, what we need is the other half of the deal. I think the Irishman had the shipment stored somewhere, and it was handed over when Aidil and Tan made that phone call to Toa Payoh. Now we can’t find it. We don’t even know if it’s still in Singapore, or even if it ever was. It might be in Malaysia for all we know, and time’s running out. They handed

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over the money three days ago so I expect they’ll be moving it soon, if only to get it out of the Irishman’s grasp.” “You seem to know so much. There must be something you can do” said Sherry. Hangchi sighed. “In fact, we’ve got next to nothing to go on. From Sherry’s story, we suspect that Ranji’s father has some involvement, along with his friends, and that Papi Bombar knows more than he should. Still, there’s nothing hard enough to go forward on, and I’m beginning to think that Aidil is hanging around Singapore for a reason. His ticket has given him a full three weeks here, but that can be changed at will. Fortunately he met a friendly Malay taxi driver who is driving him around for a very cheap rate. One of ours, of course. We’ve even provided, through the taxi driver, a charming little girl from Thailand to make sure we keep track of him at night as well. He seems to have enough money to spend and the girl says she’s enjoying herself, but he hasn’t done anything suspicious yet. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to pull Ranji’s father in if we don’t get a break soon. I’d hate to do that because it’ll ruin all the contacts I’ve made on that side of town, and I suspect he’d keep his mouth shut anyway. But I’ll do it on Monday if that’s all we’ve got. I’ll have no other option. Except…” Tim wished he did not have to ask, but it was inevitable. “Except?” “Well—oh look. Here’s lunch. Good. I’m feeling hungry.” Tim and Sherry had chosen trout as recommended by Hangchi. The man himself took a very unhealthy looking steak topped with buttered garlic mushrooms and bacon. He smiled at them apologetically over his steak. “I only do it sometimes, you know. You don’t get meat like this at the food stalls, and the Department’s paying.” He attacked his meat. Tim wanted to start eating but he wanted Hangchi out in the open first. “You were saying? Except?” “Well, I know I shouldn’t ask, but could you get something out of Ranji, do you think? She might talk to you where I wouldn’t have a chance.” Tim looked at Sherry. “What do you think, love? You know her. I’ve only met her once.” Sherry had stopped with her fork in mid-air while she thought about her friend. “I suppose I could ask, but why would she tell me? “

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“Frighten her. Tell her Tim’s been told by an ugly policeman that they’re going to string her grey-haired dad up by his big toes and tickle him with cattle-prods.” Sherry was shocked. “You’d do that?” “Of course not! How can you imagine it! Singapore might be new but we’re not uncivilized. We’re not even allowed to have suspects fall down stairs or walk into doors. All our interrogations are recorded, anyway. No, if we did take him in he’d be safe enough, but I know him. He’s sure to believe the worst and I think Ranji will too.” They left to take a bus to Collyer Quay. They spent the afternoon wandering slowly in a big loop towards South Bridge Road through the small streets of old fashioned shophouses. This part of Singapore, untouched but presumably doomed by progress, retained the heart of the old Imperial trading city. Their grandparents, or even great-grandparents would have been quite at home. It was not until they were on the top deck of the number 191 heading for Holland Road that Sherry realised she had a question to ask. “You said you’d met Ranji once?” Tim started to answer and then smiled. “Oh dear. I’m not very good at secrets, am I? Yes, Alistair introduced me when he was telling me about the flute-playing. I wasn’t going to tell you. I didn’t want you to be cross with her. She seemed quite a pleasant girl.” “Ranji told you about that?” “Yes. Alistair forced her. Just to confirm what he told me. She didn’t have any choice.” “Well, Ranji. I suppose I’d guessed it was her, really. Not that it matters any more. If you don’t mind, that is.” “Me?” He put his arm around her shoulders. “Well, considering all that’s happened since then, and considering that I now have a double bed again, and a wife who’s so hot that she sizzles, well, no. I don’t mind at all.”

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Chapter 24 Sherry came out of the shower to find Tim destroying her new black dress with a pair of nail scissors. Her heart crashed. She had fallen in love with that dress. Why was he being so cruel? He looked up with a smile on his face. “What’s wrong? I’m just making a small adjustment.” She came closer to look at the mess of fabric spilled over his lap. He had turned the outer layers of chiffon inside out to detach the lining. He was removing the foundation of the dress, and she looked sadly at the wreckage. With a few more careful snips, he threw the lining aside and held the dress up by its straps for her to see. To her surprise the dress retained its shape, but the black folds hanging from his hands were transparent. He held it up against her damp body. “That’s better,” he said. “Now Ranji will be sick with jealousy. I can’t imagine she’ll be wearing anything like this.” Silently, she took the dress from him and went to prepare herself. Ranji and Tim were talking quietly as she came downstairs. She felt on display, naked and uncomfortable. Her mirror had told her that every detail, every fold and shadow of her body, was open to see. The fine black fabric flowed over her but hid nothing. Ranji looked up and came running. “Oooh! Look at you! So sexy; so elegant, and you take out the inside of this dress, oh, very clever. She is so clever, isn’t she?” Tim smiled at them. “Yes, very clever. Really knows how to dress, don’t you think?” “But this is not fair. You did not tell me. Now I am dressed like my grandmother. Now what can I do?” complained Ranji. She was wearing a sari of dark green and gold, and Sherry thought she looked magnificent. “You look fine, Ranji. Very beautiful and important.”

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“Not true,” she said. “You make me feel, I don’t know. Like an old woman. Next time it will be different. Next time you invite me, I will dress… I will make Tim very hungry. You will see. You will see.” “Mmmh, Ranji,” said Tim, almost licking his lips. “That sounds very interesting. Let’s invite her again, Sherry.” Sherry steered Ranji to the sofa. “We’ll see. I’m not sure I trust her with you. She’s a very sexy girl, you know.” “And that’s bad?” asked Tim. “Is that true, Ranji? I want to see for myself.” Tim did not bring up the real reason for Ranji’s dinner invitation until Sherry was clearing the plates away. “I’ve got some bad news for you, Ranji. I think your father’s in trouble.” “What? How do you know my father?” Ranji was shocked and defensive. “I don’t. Never met him, but I’ve had a message from Alistair. He says your father’s in trouble.” “Oh no,” whispered Ranji, “What’s happened now?” “I don’t know. I’m not involved, but I’ll pass on the message. Apparently your father knows about a shipment of something. I don’t know what. Alistair wouldn’t say. Anyway, he wants to know where the shipment is because the Malaysian police are going to ask the Singaporeans to bring him in for questioning. They say they’ve got enough information to extradite him.” Ranji slumped in her seat. She seemed to have shrunk. “Oh no.” She did not know what to say. “When are they coming?” “Alistair wants to know where the shipment is. He doesn’t want your father but his hands are tied. Unless he can tell the police over there where the shipment is…” “But he doesn’t have it any more. It’s gone. Sold. The Irishman knows where it is now.” “Won’t do, Ranji. The Singapore police would be happy to get the Irishman, but they can’t do it without evidence. If your dad could provide details, of course, then they would act.” “Details about the Irishman? Impossible. He would die before he did that, because if he told anything, we’d all die. Everyone in the family.” “So what can you tell us? Do you want to call him?” Ranji hesitated. “Alistair will know I have told you.”

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“Well, yes. I guess so, but he knows about your father anyway, so it won’t make much difference. I can tell him to keep quiet, if you like.” “Yes, he must not tell anyone, or my father’s friends will hear and… Listen, one time I heard him speaking on the telephone. He was talking about the Aljunied industrial estate, and I know that he never does business down there.” “You think that’s where the shipment is?” “I don’t know. I’m just telling you what I’ve heard.” “That’s a big area. Any details?” “I’m trying to remember. My father said you go past the swimming complex and turn left and then quickly right. Was it that? I’m not sure— maybe it was right and then quickly left. Then the place was on the right, not far away. He told them a number, I think, but I can’t remember.”

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Chapter 25 Tim flew back to Camp Dua with a sense of anti-climax that even Tommo’s antics with the old Goose could not lift. At sometime during the night before Hangchi had left a note in the mailbox. Unsigned, it had read We found what we were looking for. Nothing more. It looked as if the excitement was over. On top of that, he was no longer so sure of Sherry. Nothing he could put his finger on, but she was not quite as biddable as she had been. He might have to bring the chains out again on his next break. He wondered if it was something he would have to repeat regularly. He made up an excuse to visit Captain Rais as soon as he arrived but found that he had gone on a visit to Jakarta. He shrugged off his mood and went looking for a ride. A major intermediate casing string being run on the Siak, and Sea Sprite IV would be needed to provide extra pumping capacity. Raymond had moored bow on against the swamp barge and brought the bulk cement barge in alongside. So far, so good. Now they just had to rig up enough gear to turn Sea Sprite IV from an acidising unit into a cementing unit. They would be busy. Tim disliked cementing. It was the hard and brutal end of Krumbein’s business, and it always seemed to happen at three in the morning in the rain. Quite unlike his normal operations which were carried out in daylight, and usually finished in time for dinner. The guys hated it too, if only because cement dust gets everywhere and is far harder to clean up. Tim was already tired from travelling but they now started on a process that would see them getting more and more spent as they prepared for the job. They would man-handle the heavy treating pipe and chiksans up to the rig floor far above water level. Test the line to ensure it was leak-free. Run hoses down from the rig to deliver the mix water for the cement. Stack 15 gallon plastic drums of chemicals near the pump unit to mix the required chemicals into the water. They would be very busy.

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After everything had been prepared, there would be the nail biting period of waiting until the rig was ready for them. Finally, when their bodies were crying for sleep, the pump unit on the rig would fire up and start mixing. Following that lead, Tim would push his throttles forward and signal to Raymond. He would swing on the handle of the big surge can valve, and everything would disappear in cement dust as the powder dropped into the mixing system at something over a ton a minute. For the next four hours, if everything went well, they would be enveloped in noise and dust. The sodium lights would keep the darkness back and in their illuminated island beside the rig, they would labour and sweat and suffer until the last of the cement had been mixed and pumped. Then, at last, Tim would be able to relax and help the guys wash down the equipment. That was in the distant future. Right now he climbed up onto the rig and went in search of the plan. Two days later, he woke from a heavy sleep with the job behind him and the pressure off. His bed had moved and he crawled to the window to see what was happening. Mid-morning, and he looked over the deck of Sea Sprite IV at the Siak. It was moving. Or rather, they were moving. The tug had come and Sea Sprite IV was off to its next location. He had missed breakfast, and because they would be chugging through the delta for the next few hours, he would miss lunch as well. Never mind, he told himself, at least they would be free of the noisy, dirty and overpowering rig. Life was not too bad. Shaved and dressed, he stumbled out onto the verandah. The delta swept slowly by on either side. Down on the deck, Raymond had the guys cleaning and stowing the last of the cement mixing gear. He was up on the unit, breaking down the manifold so they could start repacking the pumps. It was good to have a reliable and experienced hand like Raymond running things. It made Tim’s work easy and, even better, a box of food from the rig waited at his door. Raymond looked up and waved good morning. Tim waved thank you for the breakfast and gestured that he would eat first and then come to help. Life was back to normal. The trouble that ended it all for Tim came two days later. They had finished an acid job the day before and had rigged down and waited to move on. Tim was idly looking out of his window, coffee in hand, when a boat nosed into view in the river channel. A standard Indonesian river boat, wooden, long, deeply flared bow. A roof covered most of its length

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and it had boxes and junk stowed on it. What made this boat different was the cargo. Instead of patient villagers with their bags and chickens sitting quietly below, the boat was covered with perhaps a dozen men. Young, aggressive men in a mixture of military clothing and Rambo head bands in red and white. They were hanging off the boat, ready to jump off and board, and they were armed. The iconic profile of AK-47 Kalashnikov assault rifles was everywhere. Tim’s stomach dropped. The Man Who Ate Pork sprang into his mind. He jumped back from the window. He had seconds at most. The door was out of the question. Running out onto the verandah would put him in clear view of the approaching boat. The only exit at the back would be through the bathroom window. He ran to clamber up onto the toilet and dived out. It was a tight fit and for a moment he thought he would be stuck. They would find him half in and half out of the window and he would be finished. In the end he struggled free, tearing his coveralls and breaking one of the window hinges, and fell clumsily into the water below. He scrambled back to the surface and let the current push him under the counter of the barge. For the moment he was out of sight of the deck, but if the boat carried on along the length of the barge, he would be obvious. He had to move, but where? They were moored at a well platform and the shelter of the nipa palms was too far away. He would be spotted long before he could reach them. Their protection was probably illusory anyway. If he reached them, he would not be able to push his way ashore through the palms. The boat could still reach him easily. Even if he did get through the palms, he did not fancy his chance of escaping. His pursuers would be more at home in the swamp than he was, and his feet were bare. He forced himself to think, and taking a deep breath, dropped under the barge and let the current carry him. The bottom of the barge was rough and rusty. He pulled himself to the side of the barge, trying to reach the legs of the well platform. It was dark in the shadow of the barge but even in the muddy water he could see the daylight around it. He worked his way to the edge and found what he wanted. The excavator tyre fenders were shadowed at the side of the barge. Lungs bursting, he chose one that just touched the water line and thrust his face into the space between the curve of the tyre wall and the barge. He struggled to take a silent breath. With his body beneath the barge and his head below the fender, he was invisible from above. He would be safe for as long as no one did a serious search.

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His body fell in the water and he felt for the bottom with his feet. His heels settled into the mud and moving cautiously, he brought his feet back underneath him. He sank into the mud until his foot reached something hard and rough. A piece of steel probably. Construction debris from the well platform. He was crouching slightly with his head tipped back and only his nose and mouth above water. He became aware of the noises around him. The chugging of the boat engine was getting nearer. It had not reached the barge yet and Tim was surprised. It had not been so far away when he had run from it. Panic must have given his feet wings. He wondered if they had seen the splash when he fell from the window. There was a thud as the boat came alongside and immediately he heard and felt running feet drumming on the deck above as the men jumped aboard. Frantically, he tried to understand what they were doing. He guessed they would run straight up to his cabin to find him, the foreigner, and not bother with the crew beyond keeping them under control. He thought he could hear shouting muffled by the water, but he could not make out any words. The running feet continued on the deck, moving in all directions. He would wait and pray. Later, he did not know how much later, he heard the boat engine pick up revs again. It was moving on. For a moment he thought it was leaving, but he could still hear shouting on deck. He guessed they were searching the nipa palms. They had figured out how he had escaped and were looking for him. He prayed that they would keep concentrating on the river’s edge. He waited and worried about the falling tide and how much room would be left under the barge. Very much later he became aware of a heavier engine in the water. He could feel the vibration as much as hear it. He guessed it was the tug, coming to move them. This was serious. If the tug moved Sea Sprite IV now he would be drawn through the water under his tyre and he did not know if he could hang on. He would be forced to let go and be left alone and obvious in the water. Then the boat was coming back. Perhaps the bandits would not stay. Perhaps they had given up. The boat touched for a minute and pushed off. Tim could hear its chugging start to soften as it left, running away from the approaching tug. He could not believe his luck, not yet. He waited in the increasing sound of the tug engine until he felt it nose gently against the end of the barge and throttle back. He risked pushing the tyre away from the barge to get his ears out of the water. Now he

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could hear them, his guys, his friends shouting at the river bank “Mr. Tim, Mr. Tim, all good now.” He had survived. He was shaking and he did not trust his eyes not to water as he pulled himself up onto the fender. The guys were there immediately, helping him up through the railing. It felt good to be home safe. The tug hooked up and started to move. Tim sent Raymond up to the tug Captain to get on their marine radio and report what had happened. He went to get a shower and a change of clothes, and a coffee to calm his trembling. Two of Captain Rais’s men were waiting for them when they tied up at Camp Dua. They were all led away, but Tim was taken alone to Captain Rais’s office. The Captain looked small and nervous behind his desk. He did not invite Tim to sit down but he took a chair without thinking. Captain Rais did not question him about what had happened. He had other things on his mind. “Mr. Armstrong, we have a problem with Darti. You must help her.” “Darti? What’s wrong with her?” “After the terrorists attacked you, they went to get her also.” “Oh God, is she OK?” “Yes. Safe at the moment. I was in my office this afternoon and her cousin pushed her way in here. She said that Darti had trouble with some bad men. I ordered my men to come and took a fast boat out there. We were too late, of course, but we caught the terrorists getting back into their boat. One of them started to shoot, but we got most of them and their boat. It is under the water now. “Darti’s house was burnt. We could see the smoke over the trees, but when I went to her place, she was waiting for me. She knew they were coming and she hid in the trees. Now she is safe with the police, but she must be moved. You will take her to Singapore.” “But—but—” Thoughts raced through Tim’s head. “How did her cousin know?” Captain Rais smiled. “It is better not to ask this question,” he said complacently. “Darti is not a normal person. She knows things that we do not know. Now, when are you leaving? You must make a place for her on the plane.” “Me? Why me?” “She must be outside Indonesia. These people will try again and again until you are both dead. Now you will telephone your office and make the arranging.”

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“Me? But I can’t. They won’t listen to me. I’m just an engineer. You call them. They’ll do whatever you ask, especially when you tell them about me too.” Captain Rais looked uncomfortable. He did not like the idea of leaning on a foreign company. It could mean trouble for him. “It’s OK,” Tim reassured him. “Just speak to Mr. Bang Bang. He’s the one who fixes things.” “Ah, I see. Bang Bang? That is his name?” “Well, something like that. Anyway, that’s what we call him. He’s our Indonesian who manages the contacts with government offices and so on. Tell them they’ve got to get me out for safety reasons. Then tell them that Darti’s your sister or something and she has to go to Singapore to the doctor. That should do it. Tell them they’ve got to help or you’ll keep me in prison until you catch the terrorists. You know how it goes.” Tim sat and listened as Captain Rais called Bang Bang. It took a while to find him but they eventually ran him down at home. Tim was surprised at the roughness in Captain Rais’s manner as he spoke. Perhaps he was just emphasising his position, but he smiled as he put the telephone down. “Very good. He will have places on the plane for you.” “But does Darti have a passport? And a visa?” Again the Captain smiled. “We are able to do some things very quickly, Mr. Armstrong, when it is necessary. Darti is already in Balikpapan. She will be at the airport with her passport tomorrow, and so will you. Tonight there will be guards on your barge, and tomorrow you will fly on a police helicopter.” Tim went to the radio room to telephone Pierre in Balikpapan. He did not like the bad news but immediately started preparations for getting Tim out.

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Chapter 26 The police came for him before breakfast. He was awake and waiting. He had hardly slept as he replayed the afternoon over and over in his mind. And now he would have to go. Raymond and the guys gathered on deck to shake his hand as he left. He climbed through the railing and Raymond passed his bag. He was leaving one of his homes. A last look back at Sea Sprite IV with its untidy assemblage of gear and his accommodation unit perched above the stern, a wave for Raymond and the guys, and he turned the corner. He marched with his bag over his shoulder and an immaculately pressed policeman with a machine pistol on either side. As they passed the mess hall he could see his friends at breakfast. He waved. It must have appeared that he had been arrested. The police helicopter was a serious piece of equipment—a Huey, big and navy blue, threatening, polished clean enough to eat off, and holding more armed policemen. Captain Rais stood at the edge of the helipad with a senior officer. He did not acknowledge Tim. Tim threw his bag aboard and clambered up. Hands helped him to a centre seat. Moments later the rotations increased, the helicopter lifted and lurched forward, and they were airborne over the Mahakam. Tim looked out of the open doorway at the muddy river and Camp Dua. He caught a glimpse of Sea Sprite IV. For a moment Raymond was walking on the deck, and then he had gone. Tim settled back in his seat and closed his eyes. They landed on the military side of the airport. Tim was escorted across the tarmac to wait in an office. He took out his book and settled down to read. He had missed breakfast but there was no sign of anything to eat. After about an hour the door eased open and a deferential Indonesian brought him perfumed tea in a cup with a lid. He waited some more, and then he heard voices in the corridor and Darti was ushered in. She looked lost and small, but her face lit up. She wore a simple cotton dress and her hair was held back with a rubber band.

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“Timmee! I am here!” She came to sit beside him but did not touch. She had a small dirty holdall packed to bursting that she pushed under her chair. “You are good? Yesterday was very bad. My house is gone. Finished.” “Yes, I heard. You lost everything.” “Yes. All finished,” she said sadly. “I only have this.” She pointed at her bag. “How did you get away?” She smiled at him. “I am waiting with the monkeys! I hide my bag and climb up to sit with the big nose monkeys. They are my friends. Then the bad men come and my friends run away. They not understand and the men are shooting bang-bang-bang. Stupid men! And they make fire and my house is finished, all gone.” There were tears in her eyes. “But Captain Rais got them…” To his surprise Darti laughed. “Yes, I see him from my tree! Their boat is coming, coming and Captain Rais is standing like this…” She jumped up and thrust her chest out importantly. “His policeman are sitting down and one man, a bad man, shoot. Very quick Captain Rais is in the river! And the policeman are hiding in the boat, but the boat is still going! Quickly coming to the other boat. The bad man are all shooting, but I give them bad luck. The police boat hit the old boat and the police come up and they must shoot. Very big shooting! Too much smoke! Bang-bang-bang, shooting everywhere, just like film stars, but the bad man have my bad luck and they are all finished. The policeman are very happy and they go back for Captain Rais. He is on the other side of the river now, he wants to hide! So I come down from my tree and wait with my bag for him to come for me.” “How did you know they were coming?” She smiled. “Oh, I know, Timmee, I know. My friends tell me. And now I go Singapore. In a plane. Good, no? Your wife like me, Timmee? I work, no problem. Cook, clean, I like go Singapore.” Tim avoided giving her an answer. Much as he liked Darti and enjoyed her company, he did not know how he would explain her presence to Sherry. They were taken to a police car by an unsmiling officer with nothing to communicate. He drove them right to the aircraft steps. They wriggled out of the car with their bags, the officer presented them with their passports and watched them board. At the top of the steps the stewardess

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was disapproving and refused to help with their bags. She pointed to two empty rear seats and left them to sort themselves out. Darti was lost. It was her first flight. Tim tucked her bag under the seat in front and sat her next to the window. The door behind them clunked shut. The stewardess mimed to the safety announcement and Darti watched closely. Suddenly the plane was moving. She stared out of the window in fascination at the passing grass and smiled happily as the ground fell away. She liked flying. She even liked the rubber chicken that Indopet provided. Now he had a chance to relax, he started to think. “Darti, why did they come for us? Why us?” “You not know? Captain Rais. He go to Jakarta, talk too much. Someone is too much angry and make trouble for Captain Rais. They make him talk too much, tell who help him. He give my name, your name to the bad men.” Captain Rais, thought Tim, it made sense. If the information had come out of Singapore, they would not have had Darti’s name. So the information must have come from Indonesia, from Captain Rais. The idiot. Would the terrorists go for him? Tim guessed not. In Indonesia a uniform still counted for something. On the other hand, foreigners or wild women living alone in the swamp would be fair game. As soon as they reached Seletar, Tim looked for a phone. He would need help. He caught Hangchi in his office, and they waited for him in airport security. It was a long wait. Tim held off calling Sherry. He wanted to know how much trouble he had before he called. Hangchi bustled in, looking harried and more disorganised than normal. He went straight to Darti and took her hand. “Miss Surpono, welcome to Singapore. We’re very happy to see you.” Darti drew herself up and stopped looking small and lost. He took Tim aside. “So, what are we going to do with her, Tim?” “I don’t know. She couldn’t stay in Kalimantan. The terrorists have had one go at her and they won’t stop at that. I’m not going back either.” “Oh, I didn’t realise, but it makes sense. I’ve been asking in Jakarta about what’s going on with her, but it’s too early to hear anything yet. Right, I’ll get her a six-month visa right now, and you can take her home.” “But I can’t. What about Sherry?” “Well, I can’t take her home. I’m not married and my flat…” “But Sherry—she’ll kill me.”

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“Never mind. That’s what being married is all about, as I understand it. Give me your passports and wait here. I’ll take you home.” When he had gone, Tim called to warn Sherry he was back in Singapore early, and that she would have to accommodate a refugee. He sat silently beside Hangchi as he drove across the island. He was thinking about his future. Krumbeins were notoriously unsentimental about their people and if they did not have a job opening for him right now, he was quite likely to be shown the door. A thought came to him. “Hangchi, could you lean on my company for me? Tell them you need me in Singapore for a while? If they can’t use me here right at the moment, they’re likely to let me go.” His response was straightforward. “Of course. Who do you want me to call?” It was that simple. He would be safe for a while at least, but he still had Sherry to deal with. Sherry was perfect. She was waiting at the door to welcome them and immediately made Darti feel at home. She had a bed ready in the spare room and while Darti showered, she ironed some clothes for her. By the time Tim came downstairs after his shower, they were sitting on the sofa looking a photos together. They took Darti to the local Pizza Hut as an introduction to Singapore. She enjoyed the experience. That night Sherry was warm and loving. Perhaps she realised how close she had come to losing Tim completely. She lay beside him and planned how she would take Darti shopping tomorrow, and show her Orchard Road.

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Chapter 27 Sherry had been shocked by Tim’s call from the airport and even more surprised to hear that she would have a refugee to take care of. It all sounded very serious, like something from the Second World War. Images of lost children in shapeless coats with strapped cardboard suitcases sprang to her mind, and she rushed to get the spare room ready. She was waiting at the door when Hangchi’s car pulled up. Darti was a small woman, dark skinned and slim. She wore a loose cotton dress, navy blue with white batik printing. She looked lost as Hangchi brought her to the door, and Sherry’s heart swelled. Tim had said Darti had actually lost everything she owned. Sherry took her hand and led her upstairs. While Darti was in the shower, Sherry at last had a chance to talk to Tim. He had been through a bad time and even though he pretended to shrug it off, Sherry could feel it had shaken him badly. On the other hand, he would no longer be rotating to Balikpapan. Krumbeins would have to transfer him somewhere else, and it would probably be a place where they could live together as a normal couple. That idea pleased her and she was excited by the prospect of a new country to live in. She woke next morning to the sounds of Darti in the bathroom and a feeling of a new life dawning. Darti needed more clothes. When they had tipped out her bag the night before there had been only a small heap of crumpled rags. They would get them into the washing machine first and see what was worth keeping, and then… She had already planned the shops they would visit. She climbed out of bed to start the day. Tim came downstairs last. Breakfast was waiting for him outside, al fresco in the shelter of the converted carport. All very civilised. He was still in love with the tropical climate, and hoped Krumbeins would keep him here. They would probably sort out the problem of where to use him with a transfer to Tierra del Fuego. If they transferred him anywhere, of course. He hoped Hangchi would make that call and insist on his staying in Singapore.

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“Ranji was spot on. She led us straight to the right place.” They were all sitting in the Pavilion and Hangchi was telling the tale. Darti was investigating her first ever plate of sausages and mashed potatoes. “That area is full of start-up industrial units. Blocks of single workshops with roll-down doors. It was just a matter of finding the right one. Next morning everyone came to work, so we knew that most of the units were busy doing other things. When the door is open, you can look right into most of them from the street. So that left just five suspect ones in the whole complex. I pretended I wanted to rent a unit and the estate manager took me around three of them—all empty. So then we were down to two. We went back with warrants for both of them. One of them, the renter was on holiday. Someone must have called him and he turned up while we were searching. Very sad, because we’d broken his locks. “It was the other one we wanted. Empty except for half a dozen big cases of Caterpillar parts. When we broke them open they were full of guns and worse. Kalashnikovs, ammunition, RPG-7s, Czech mortar shells and, much more dangerous, over a hundred Vietnam-era American Claymore mines. We had to evacuate the area and get the SDF to move it all.” “I didn’t see anything on the television about it,” said Sherry. Hangchi smiled and looked evasive. “Well, we’re a small country and we can do things like that. We don’t exactly censor the news but… It’s just a matter of calling the editors and making suggestions. “Anyway, the place had been rented in a Chinese name with an address in Johor Baru. Alistair had it checked and it was false, of course. And, because it was a Chinese name from JB, all we can guess is that the original renter was probably not Chinese and not from JB. So we’ve got the guns, and that’s good, but we can’t find a link to an owner. Or a seller, fortunately for Ranji’s father. None of the neighbours can remember anything useful about the truck that delivered the boxes. It was just a regular truck with a forklift on a trailer behind. We know roughly when they arrived so we’re looking for the truck, but I’d bet my pension that it was a cash deal and the truck owner won’t know more than how much he was paid. Probably won’t even tell us that because he hasn’t put it through his books. So all we’ve got is whatever fingerprints we can salvage, and they’ll only confirm that some worker or other touched the arms or the boxes. You can be sure no one important went near them.

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“I’m glad we got as far as we did, but I wish we could have tied something to the Irishman. I didn’t even bother picking up Wiranto. For sure, he doesn’t know anything important. I’m still hoping he’ll lead us somewhere useful.” “So the Irishman never touched the guns but he got the money,” mused Tim. “I wonder if he’s paid the Indian connection their share.” “Probably. He cares about his reputation that much, I’m sure. Anyway, you won’t find money being moved around Singapore. He’ll probably make a payment in Malaysia or even Sri Lanka. Even if we did find it, there’ll be some kind of legitimate excuse for it. No, I think we’ve reached the end of the road on this one. “I called my contacts in Jakarta again, by the way. They had heard something about trouble with a foreigner in Kalimantan, but no details yet. We won’t get any help from there anyway. Even if I could get names and numbers to Jakarta, there are too many sympathisers in high places. The whole thing would just get lost.” “Did you manage to call Krumbeins?” “Yes, no problem there. I spoke to the Vice-President, no less. I explained that we required your continuing presence in Singapore for a while, in case I needed you for identification purposes or more information and he was completely ready to help. Did he call you?” “No, but Personnel did. They want me to check in on Monday. Good. That’s a relief. Bread and butter for another few months at least.” “Are they as bad as that? Don’t they take care of you?” Tim snorted. “I wish they did. No, it’s the oil industry. Very American. Hire and fire. If they didn’t have a slot for me right now, they’d put me on leave. Once that was over, if they still had no job waiting, I’d be out. Makes you feel your efforts are really appreciated.” “Sounds very wasteful to me. Still, I think you’re with us for a while yet. Now, what are you doing this afternoon? I think I’d like to have a long chat with Miss Surpono here. Is that possible, my dear?” Darti looked up at Sherry and then nodded her agreement. “Tim, how much do you know about Darti?” They were walking back to the house from the bus stop. “Mmmh, not much. She’s a bit strange. She used to live by herself in a tiny wooden house out in the swamp. It’s unheard of for any Indonesian to live by themselves, and especially a woman. They always crowd their houses together. They can’t exist without neighbours. She made her living mixing herbs for medicine, and she tells fortunes.

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Apparently she’s quite good at it. My guys took me there when my stomach was bad. I don’t know what she gave me, but it stopped the problem dead in a day. Not bad, and one of the guys paid her for a fortune telling as well.” “That explains it. I was watching my horoscope on the television and she got quite excited. She said it was all rubbish, quite wrong and I shouldn’t listen to it.” “Pass. I don’t know anything about that, but I do know she’s a pretty clever lady that way. She was saying that when the terrorists came for her, she had packed all her things into her bag and was sitting up a tree with some proboscis monkeys. Her friends, she calls them. She watched the terrorists burn her house, and she watched when they got shot up by the police as well. She said that was a complete screw-up. The terrorists were just getting back to their boat, apparently, when the police appeared. Our Captain Rais was in charge and he fell or jumped out of the boat on the first shot. The policemen all dived into the bottom of their boat and no one was steering or watching where they were going.” “And Darti was watching?” “Yes. I wonder if that was why she went up a tree and hadn’t just run away into the swamp. Anyway, the police boat ran into the other one, everyone jumped up and started shooting. Darti says she’d given the terrorists bad luck, so most of them were killed but all the police survived. Even Rais, who was hiding in the bushes on the other side of the river.” “Did you ask her how she knew the terrorists were coming?” “She just smiled and said her friends had told her. I don’t know if she meant the monkeys or something else. Anyway, she was ready for them. Her bag was packed, right enough. Did she have much in it?” “Nothing really. A few tee-shirts and sarongs, all old and faded. A cheap pair of sandals. Comb. A small mirror with a plastic frame. It was pathetic really.” They had arrived at their house and Tim held the gate open. “Exactly how friendly were you with her, Tim?” Sherry asked as she unlocked the door. “She had a pair of silver ear rings in a box from a Singapore jeweller. Did you give them to her?” “Two small moons? Yes, they were from me. I used to make love to her now and then.” Sherry stood with the door half open. She could not believe what she had just heard. “What…?”

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“That’s right,” Tim sounded unrepentant and answered her as if everything was normal, “I used to visit her sometimes for a chat and a bit of fun. It was good. She’s quite clever that way.” Sherry looked at him. There was nothing she could say. “You bastard!” she cried and ran up stairs. Tim found her in the bedroom. She had taken his hold-all and was emptying her drawers into it. “What do you think you’re doing?” “I’m leaving! What do you think? I’d stay here with your girlfriend?” She found herself grabbed from behind, turned and thrown face down on the bed. “Don’t be stupid. You’re staying.” He was holding her down with one hand pressing on the back of her neck. He was calm and very strong. Sherry started to cry. “You don’t love me,” she sobbed. “You just want to use me.” She tried to struggle but it was impossible and she quickly gave up. “Now that,” said Tim, “could make me very cross. Do you think you can threaten me by behaving like a hysterical woman?” She felt his hand at her skirt. He was lifting it up over her back. She was sickened as she felt him pull the back of her panties down. “That’s right,” she said bitterly. “Go ahead and fuck me. That’s all you want, isn’t it?” “Oh dear,” said Tim sadly, “you really are trying to make things worse, aren’t you?” She felt him sit beside her, his weight depressing the mattress and bringing her closer to him. A sharp overwhelming pain shot through her and she shrieked in surprise. He had hit her! He had slapped her bottom hard, with the full force of his hand. He did it again and again. She was crying now, loudly and open mouthed, as she had not done since childhood. The pain in her bottom was shocking, and the humiliation made it worse. Tim stopped and her cries subsided to sobs. “There,” he said, “Half a dozen. Now, tell me you understand why that happened.” She kept sobbing into the bedspread but Tim would not let her rest. “Tell me,” he demanded, “or you’ll have the rest of the dozen. Is that what you want?” Frantically, she forced herself to think. What had she done? “Because I tried to run away?” she asked through her tears.

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She heard as well as felt the slap. It hurt. Her bottom was already sore and the new pain seared through her. “No!” said Tim firmly. “I’ve already told you that you are free to go whenever you want. Try again!” “Oh, please, no more. I’m trying…” She frantically scrambled through what had just happened. What had she said to him? What had he said? “Because—because I said you didn’t love me?” “Exactly. Well done. Now tell me if you still think that.” What could she say? “No.” “More,” he demanded. This was impossible, but she forced herself. “I think you love me.” “Love me truly…” “I think you love me truly.” “And?” “And—and—more than anyone else.” “True but what else?” What did he want from her? She wracked her brain. “And Darti can stay?” “What’s Darti got to do with anything? Try again.” “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted sadly. “What about you?” “Me? I—I’m not going away.” “Good, but not what I want. Try again. There’s still another five to make up the dozen.” She knew the threat was not empty and she tried again to guess what he wanted. It came to her. “And I love you too.” “That’s it. Honestly? You’re not just saying that because your bottom hurts?” “No. Honestly. I do love you, Tim.” He at last took his hand from her neck and bent to kiss her cheek. “Sweet,” he said, “Wait here a minute. Don’t move.” She heard him in the bathroom. He quickly returned and she felt his fingers spread cold cream onto her burning bottom and gently rub it in. Relief flooded through her. He closed the jar and set it on the bed. What would he do now? she wondered. “Your bottom’s all pink,” he said. “Very pretty. Let’s have a look at you.” She made no resistance as he pulled her panties right down and off. Then he picked her up by the hips and set her on all fours on the bed.

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She knew he was looking at her. “Very, very beautiful,” he said at last. “You really have the nicest bottom I’ve seen in a long time.” Despite her position, she was pleased. She wanted to please him more than all the others, more than the twins, or Ranji, and especially she wanted to please him more than Darti. His hands gently stroked and kneaded her injured bottom, holding her cheeks and opening her. Then she felt him pressing against her and to her surprise he slipped in easily. She was wet and ready for him. He gripped her hips and thrust firmly in and out of her. An orgasm started to build deep inside her. She lowered her head to the bedspread and gave herself up to him. It felt delicious. Afterwards he stripped the rest of her clothes off and laid her on her tummy. He lay contentedly beside her. “I don’t mind if you make love to Darti,” she said. “Really I don’t.” “Don’t be silly. This is your house and all the sex here belongs to you. And besides, the way you’ve been making love recently, who’d want any extra? I wouldn’t make love to Darti unless you pick her up and sit her on my cock.” She wriggled closer to him. “Now there’s a thought,” she said. “I bet you’d like that.” “Only if you liked it too. Now, stay here. I’m just going to get a cuff.” “Oh no, Tim! Not now. Not here.” “Of course here and now. You’ve been very naughty. You can’t expect to be that naughty and get away with only some pats and some delightful orgasms.” “But Darti’s coming back…” He came back with a cuff and short chain. She recognised it from the island. He quickly wrapped it around her ankle and fastened her to the corner of the bed. “There we are. Call out when you need to get up. I’m going for a shower.”

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Chapter 28 She was dozing when Hangchi brought Darti home. She could hear her excited voice telling Tim what they had done all day. Moments later Darti was at her door with a smile on her face. Sherry did not want to be looked at but had no way to hide her nakedness. “Oh, oh. Sherry bad girl,” Darti said with a smile and held up the key. “Mmmh. Sherry very pretty girl also.” She paused to examine Sherry and reached out to brush her breast. Sherry cringed in embarrassment. “Very pretty, very sexy. Now we go for chai. Quick mandi and you come down, OK?” and she opened the cuff. Sherry came downstairs fresh and clean. Her bottom felt warm and tingling, and too sensitive for panties. Naked, her skirt brushed it as she moved. The sensation worried her. She was not happy about her reaction to Tim’s spanking, or her enjoyment of his vigorous lovemaking afterwards. She pushed the thoughts aside for the moment; She could worry about them later. Now she should be a proper hostess. Tim had brought beer to the table and Hangchi was describing something with great animation. He looked up and welcomed Sherry. “I was just telling Tim about Darti and the birds. I took her to the Jurong Bird Park. I thought we could chat as we walked around. She liked it. She knows all the local birds.” Darti sat with her glass of beer, smiling at Hangchi’s tale. “Not all, Hangchi.” “Yes—all. That is not so surprising, but she can talk to them! Yes, believe it or not. We went from cage to cage and she talked to them. She talked and they came closer and talked back. Really, there was not a doubt about it. She’d chirp and whistle and they’d talk back.” “What were they saying, Darti?” asked Tim. “Oh, not happy. Some very sad. They like to fly, to fly everywhere.” Hangchi continued. “Then we went into the big cage, and the birds went crazy. They all came to talk at once, and most of them wanted to sit on her. Really! She looked liked a statue, all covered in birds, and more

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noisy than you could imagine. It was embarrassing after a while. Everyone wanted to watch and take photographs. There was a Japanese party there and all of them had to stand with Darti, two at a time, and get their pictures taken. They were queuing up to give me their cameras. I should have charged them a dollar a time. I’d be rich. She didn’t talk to the penguins, though. Said they wouldn’t understand her language, and they were too busy swimming anyway. I want to take her to the zoo this weekend. That should be interesting.” “Darti’s a very talented lady, you know. Did she tell you anything new?” “Well, you know, we were so busy talking and looking at Singapore, we never did have that chat. Perhaps at the weekend, if Darti doesn’t mind, that is.” “I like,” said Darti with a gentle smile. She seemed to enjoy Hangchi’s enthusiasm. “Do you like Singapore, Darti?” asked Sherry. “Very good! I like too much. So big, so much car, so much people…” “There’s lots to see, isn’t there Hangchi?” “Oh, heaps and heaps of things. I’m going to enjoy showing her around. You can come too, Sherry. I suppose Tim will have to work next week, but I can always put my time down to background interrogation or something. Or I can even take the odd day off. I have enough owing and I never use them. That’s what I’ll do, and we can go out and have fun.” His pager beeped, and sent him fumbling for his belt by reflex. He held up the little unit to read the number. Tim waved him to the phone. Hangchi barked into the phone in Chinese and then listened. The others could read from his face that he was hearing something interesting. He barked a couple of questions and then said “OK, OK, twenty minutes” and put the phone down. “Damn, damn, damn!” He looked quite upset. “It always happens when I’m busy enjoying myself. There’s been an explosion at the Irishman’s place in Telok Blangah. It’s probably nothing, but I’d better go and see for myself.” “I come, I come,” said Darti, getting to her feet. “No. Not possible, well, not really, I suppose. I’m driving my own car, and I could always say we were still talking. Why not? Do you mind, Tim?”

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“Me? Of course not. Darti can take care of herself. It’ll be interesting for her to see Singapore at night.” He looked in the mug of pens by the telephone for a spare key. “Does she have a handbag?” he asked Sherry. “I’ll get one. And some money, just in case.” Hangchi brought her back just as Tim and Sherry were about to turn in for the night. His car pulled up outside and Tim went to chat. Darti ran inside to tell Sherry what she had been doing. “You know,” said Hangchi tentatively, “I think she’s a very unusual woman. I’ve never met anyone like her. So simple, uneducated, but very clever.” “Yes, that’d be Darti. There’s a lot more to her than meets the eye.” “You know what she did? I stopped the car at the curb near where the explosion had been. You know how Telok Blangah units are set back from the road with workspace and parking in front? Well, the explosion had been against the building. It hadn’t done a lot of damage, just broken glass and a roller door blown in. So I’m standing there with the detectives, trying to sort out what happened, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Darti standing by the car and waving. Well, the detectives were just scratching their heads and looking at the mess, so I went over to her. She said ‘Two Indonesian men on motorbike. They drive up, drop a bag at the door and drive away, and they go that way.’ She was pointing to a little unofficial path going through a gap in the fence on the opposite side of the road. You know the sort of thing. Every car park has them. Little paths along the storm drains so pedestrians can get from place to place directly without following the roads. “I didn’t know what to think, but I remembered the birds, and anyway, it seemed like a reasonable scenario. So I called a couple of policemen over and we started to follow the path. Darti came too—I didn’t think to stop her. One of the policemen brought a torch and we found motorbike tracks, not that that would prove anything. Anyway, after about a hundred metres or so, we came to a storm drain and there’s a plank laid across it. It went straight into another car park. The policeman started to go across the drain on the plank but Darti called him back and said that the motorbike didn’t cross the bridge. Well, that’s obvious when you think about it. The plank would probably break, and it was too narrow anyway. So we looked around and, sure enough, there’s a small Honda motorbike lying on its side in the bushes. You could have knocked me over with a feather, and the police started to give her some

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very suspicious looks, but never mind, we’ve left a guard on the site and they’ll have a good look around in daylight. They’ve already started looking for anyone who could have seen two Indonesians cross that bridge and leave. “Tim, what do you think? Should I trust her? Do you think she could be right?” “Ah well. Now you’re asking. I don’t know. Perhaps you shouldn’t bet your life on her being right, but she is pretty good, you know. She certainly knew those terrorists were coming to get her before they arrived. And she got a message to Captain Rais in time for him to get there too, and there’s no telephones out there.” Tim smiled at his uncertainty. “Look, I’d certainly listen to what she says. It’s sensible, isn’t it? I guess you should still look at other possibilities as well, but she’s done pretty well so far, from the sound of it.” “Darti’s strange, isn’t she?” Sherry was lying in bed at Tim’s side. “I thought she was just a peasant girl when she came. You know, not stupid but simple. No education. Can she read?” “I don’t know. I don’t recall any books in her house, or newspapers. No, she had some newspaper, but that doesn’t mean much. She used to wrap her herbs in newspaper when she sold them. No one has any call for newspapers in a place like that anyway. I think most of the boys go to school and learn to read, so they can study the Koran, but I don’t know about the girls.” “Well, she doesn’t seem very Islamic to me, and if she let you into her bed…” “Ah, that just shows that Indonesia is different. Like England fifty years ago perhaps. Any girl who makes love without marriage is frowned on, but it happens all the same. And when they do, they’re not ashamed of themselves. Once their clothes are off, they just get on with enjoying themselves, and they’re much better at it than most English girls.” Sherry dug him in the ribs with her elbow. “Pig! Is that all the thanks I get for my efforts?” Tim chuckled and put his arm around her shoulders. “Not you. I said most English girls. You’re getting better and better each time you do it, and don’t say it’s an effort and make out you’re doing it just for me. You enjoy it just as much as I do. Probably more. You even enjoyed me spanking your bottom this afternoon.” “No I didn’t! It hurt.”

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“Of course it hurt. That’s what happens when you’re naughty, but you were very wet afterwards. I just slipped in so easily, like a hot knife through butter.” “Stop it!” and she poked him again. “You’re embarrassing me. I don’t know why that happened. It wasn’t because I enjoyed being smacked.” “Whatever you say, but I’m glad you enjoyed it in the end. Your bottom was hot and rosy pink. Mmmh – it makes me feel good just thinking about it.” Sherry slid her hand from his chest down to his sex. The thought of her pink bottom had a definite effect on him. She held his shaft and let it harden in her hand. “Tell me about Darti. What does she look like without her clothes?” “Oh, very nice. Of course. Mmmh, let me see. She’s small, like the twins I suppose, but she’s older. I think her tits are softer and she’s got a little tummy. No figure at all really. Not like my hot, juicy wife.” He gave her a squeeze and she squeezed his cock as a thank you for the compliment. “She’s got big nipples. Small breasts, but big, dark nipples, almost black, and they stick out naturally, but even more if she’s cold. She’s had children. I don’t know how many or where they are.” “And what does she look like down there?” She was stroking him gently and slowly. “Her pussy? Small, of course, because she’s small. There’s not much hair. She doesn’t shave or anything; I think she just doesn’t have much naturally. Her lips are small too, her outer lips I mean, and that lets her inner lips stick right out. They’re not small at all. Very black, but pink inside. She’s small and tight inside too. You’d never think she could take more than a finger, but it all goes in and she really likes it.” “Sounds as if you studied it very carefully,” said Sherry dryly, but she did not stop her playing. “Oh yes,” he agreed cheerfully, “Inside and out.” “Pig! I don’t know what I’m doing, lying in bed discussing another woman’s pussy with you.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re wonderful. Darti’s pussy is nice, but I like yours much better. It’s so tasty, and so rewarding.” “After this afternoon, I’m not sure I should reward you anymore.” He kissed her again. “Well, up to you, of course. I mean, if you didn’t enjoy it…”

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Chapter 29 Tim enjoyed the luxury of owning a car in Singapore. With private car ownership taxed almost out of existence by a caring Government, the possession of a licence to buy a car was something treasured like a family heirloom. Transient foreigners, except for the obscenely rich, just gritted their teeth and used public transport, but businesses were a different matter. Krumbeins had leased a car for Tim to travel back and forth to Jurong every day. Of course, he resented commuting and regular hours but after all, it would only be for a few months and then he could go back to operations. For the moment, he was concentrating on getting bulk cement silos installed in a converted oil rig supply boat at the Jurong Marine Base. Krumbeins were going to try delivering bulk cement straight to the rigs and platforms in the Java Sea, once Tim had got the silos and compressors hooked up and working. The dockyard hands had finished most of the heavy work of piercing the deck and dropping the pressure silos into place. Now they were busying painting and finishing. Tim and a small Krumbeins crew were installing the rat’s nest of valves and pipes and the large low-pressure compressors that would move the cement around and blow it up to the rig tanks. It was noisy and frustrating work, below decks in temporary lighting, manoeuvering awkward lengths of pipe in confined spaces. No matter how hard the fans were run, the air was hot and oppressive and every day Tim welcomed five o’clock and the chance to relax for half an hour as he drove home in air-conditioned comfort. The girls waited for him. They had been to yoga again and wanted to tell him how much Darti had enjoyed it. She seemed to have taken to it like a native Indian and particularly enjoyed the comfortable friendship of the ashram. Lunch with Ranji and the girls suited her very well. Tim wondered if she admired Papi Bombar quite as much as the other students, but if she had doubts, she did not show them.

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“Ranji is taking us to Bugis Street tonight,” announced Sherry. “We’re going to pick her up on the corner of Serangoon Road at eight thirty, so you’ve got plenty of time to get cleaned up and relax.” “Eight thirty? But I’m hungry, and I’ve got to be at work tomorrow, don’t forget.” “Never mind. There’s no point being early, the fun doesn’t start until eleven. I’ll make you a sandwich, but no more or you won’t enjoy yourself.” Later, as he worked his way over to Bukit Timah Road, it occurred to Tim that having two women in the house was not simple. Sherry and Darti had formed an unlikely partnership. They looked different. Tall, short; blonde, dark; European and Asian, and everything in their education and background should have set them apart. Some sort of sistership had grown up between them and they were rarely separated. True, Hangchi had taken to coming around and whisking Darti off for evenings around Singapore, but for the rest they lived together like sisters. They made plans that filled Tim’s spare time. With demands from the girls and ideas from Hangchi, he started to see more and more of the island nation, and to grow closer to its ramshackle Chinese soul. He learnt more of its short history and began to feel wistful for the time, not so long ago, when Chinese and European influences were more nearly equal. A time when everyone had his place and rubber plantations grew on Orchard Road. Ranji was waiting at the bus stop. They snapped her up and Tim drove the chattering car on to find a parking space near enough to Bugis Street. Bugis Street was an anomaly in Puritan Singapore, an unlikely honey pot of naughtiness. It looked normal enough, and during the day it was in fact a normal side street, bustling with city life, all shops and food stalls. Some time during the evening, as some shops closed, the food stalls expanded and set out more tacky tables and chairs. People started to drift in, ordering food and beer, and the whole street became more crowded, more raucous, everyone waiting for the fun to start. They picked their way through the gathering crowd and caught a stallholder bringing out another table. They commandeered it and waited for him to return with the chairs. They sat and looked around them as they waited for their drinks to arrive. The place looked old and run down. Stuccoed shop houses with heavy piers supporting their upper

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floors over the narrow pavement. Dirty pastel colours, different for each shop, gave the street a sort of grubby charm. To one side, not far from their table, stood the famous Bugis Street toilet. Somewhere, in the bowels of a city office, at some time in the late fifties, a budding town planner had laboured and brought forth an icon of modernism—a public toilet. God knows what arrangements people had made before this flash of enlightment, but now they had a public toilet. True, it did not fit in with Bugis Street architecture and ambiance. True, its linear godfather was Josef Stalin but, never mind, it was free, available and it worked. The locals accepted the dour, faceless roughcast block with machinegun ports in place of windows, set high up, just below its flat concrete roof. It is remarkable that such a miserable piece of municipal mindlessness later grew to be an internationally recognised artistic venue. Its concrete roof made the perfect al fresco stage to display dancing girls and the annual Queen of Bugis Street competition. Tim sipped gratefully at his beer and half listened to the girls’ chatter. He liked sitting at a table with three pretty girls, and enjoyed the questioning glances they collected from passers by. Not that they noticed. Beautiful women are used to being looked at, especially when they are dressed up for an evening on the town. They were in no hurry to eat and Tim ordered his stomach to stop rumbling. Darti dragged Sherry off to look at the tourist junk on offer down the street but Ranji stayed to help him keep the table. “How’s your father going, Ranji? You’ll have to introduce me one day.” She smiled, not certain if Tim was proper enough to rate an introduction. “Yes, one day. He’s fine.” “Business good?” Tim persisted. “No problems came up?” “Of course there were problems! After I spoke to you the police came and found that shipment, but my father wasn’t involved with that place anyway. I don’t think any of his friends were either. I don’t know who it belonged to, but the Irishman was upset. He’d paid us, so he must have been paid already, but he says it’s not good for business if the police get involved. Someone put a bomb in his office, you know, and Papi Bombar told me that the people who were getting the shipment are blaming the Irishman. He thinks it’s their own fault. He doesn’t believe the Indonesians can keep secrets. He’s a racist like all the Chinese. He doesn’t like us either, but that doesn’t stop him taking our money when it suits him. Or other things.”

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Tim thought about the ‘other things’ the Irishman had taken from Ranji and laughed at her bitterness. “Never mind, Ranji. At least he appreciates you for a beautiful woman.” “But so do other people, and they don’t … well, you know.” “Maybe, but I bet they wish they could!” Ranji looked at him with more interest. “You think so?” “Of course! Every time they see you, and I do too.” She had the grace to look shy for an instant. “I could be persuaded, Tim…” “Oh, you’d have to see Sherry about that,” he chuckled. “She’s in charge of me.” “Mmmh—then we’ll have a long wait. She’s too beautiful, anyway. What do you want with Indian girls when you’ve got her? Or Indonesian ones either?” “You ladies are all beautiful. All different but beautiful, and I’m definitely not racist when it comes to women.” He thought his own thoughts about Ranji’s naked body as they sat and listened to the tinny Chinese music filling the air. They were satisfied and pushing their bowls away when an excited buzz announced the arrival of the girls. They picked their way through the tables in twos and threes, stopping to banter with the diners and moving on. They were glamorous, dressed like film stars. All had long hair, either their own or a luxuriant wig in chestnut or honey blonde. In their walk, their talk and their coyness they painted a provocative parody of real women. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, male about them but their fertile, sexy femaleness hardly felt feminine either. They were what they were, and right now they were the stars of the show. They slowly fanned out to sit with the tourists, gracefully accepting the offer of a drink and posing for photographs with fat Australian couples. The music switched to disco and the volume cranked up. Darti’s eyes were bright and she clapped her hands as she watched the display. She, at least, had no problem with billy boys. The atmosphere warmed and a couple of the girls got up to dance together for the cameras. They blossomed in the photo flashes. Darti wanted a photograph and called out in Indonesian to a pair of shorter dark girls. They came slowly, shyly to the table. One wore a long blue cocktail dress with a halter neck and a dramatic décolletage to show off her adolescent breasts. The other had a knee length red dress, light

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and flared. Tim recognised it. Janice came up to the table, embarrassed and determined not to know him. “Janice! What the hell are you doing here?” The rest of the table stared at him. Janice whispered something to Darti who clapped her hands again and shrieked with laughter. “You know her!” accused Sherry. “Yes. I met her offshore last month. She works on one of the crane barges. Or she did then. She’s a camp hand, with Renaldo the cook. I told you about him.” Darti laughed again. “Timmee suck cock!” she teased. “Very good, no?” Sherry was scandalised. Tim just sat there, looking a little uncomfortable it was true, but he had been playing with this—this person beside her. She could hardly believe it, and Darti said he had sucked her cock. She just could not imagine it. Darti noticed her. “Oh-oh! Sherry cross.” “No, no!” she denied it. “Not at all. Why should I be cross?” She held her hand out to Janice and invited her to sit down. Her friend had already squeezed onto Darti’s chair so in a show of defiance she moved her bottom over and pulled Janice down to share. All the time her mind was turning somersaults. “Photo!” called Darti, “We want photo.” A skinny Chinese man of uncertain age appeared from nowhere with a large Polaroid camera and flash. “Ten dollars three,” he shouted over the noise, holding up three fingers to make his point. Ranji would not stand for that. “Five dollars three,” she shouted back. “Cannot, lah,” tried the man half-heartedly, but he knew when he was beaten. “Five dollars three, lah,” insisted Ranji, closing in for the kill. The man shrugged and resigned himself. The girls squeezed together with their new friends and smiled for the camera. Tim put twenty dollars on the table and nodded to the photographer. The money disappeared and he kept shooting. “Timmee—with Timmee now,” shouted Darti. Janice and her friend came around the table and draped themselves over Tim, pushing their chests out to make the most of their assets.

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“Sit down, sit down,” the girls were calling and Janice sat on one knee with her arm around his shoulders and posed with their heads together. The photographer stopped to change film. “What are you doing here, Janice? Given up on Renaldo?” “No, I short time only with Mr. Renaldo. Now I come to Singapore on pinisi—how you say?” she turned to ask Darti. “Schooner. She cook on Makassar schooner.” “Yes. Schooner. We come Singapore empty for cargo, but now, no cargo and we wait. I like Singapore; I like come here. Every night— make money for photo. Very good.” “What are you two talking about?” demanded Sherry. “Nothing, love. She’s come here on a trading schooner, but it sounds as if they’re stuck here without cargo. She’s making money by coming here every night to have her picture taken. I’d better give her some.” “As long as it’s just for photographs…” and everyone laughed at her. The photographer started posing the two girls all over Tim while Ranji counted the pictures that were developing on the table. They divided them up so that everyone had souvenirs, even Janice. “It’s probably just nothing,” said Tim on the phone to Hangchi the next morning, “It’s just that I can’t see them coming all the way from the Mahakam delta empty. It’s not normal, and they must have got here just about the right time. I know she was working offshore there not long before I got attacked.” “What a nasty suspicious mind you have,” mused Hangchi. “You’re probably right and it’s nothing, but all the same, I think I’ll give the schooner wharf a call. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

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Chapter 30 Hangchi was sitting alone in the living room when Tim returned home that afternoon, watching television and sipping a cup of tea with milk. “Hi—all alone? Darti getting ready?” “No, Tim. We have another problem. It’s the girl called Janice.” “Janice? What’s happened to her?” “Exactly. I called the schooner wharf as soon as you put the phone down, and they said they were holding a naked billy boy in the guardhouse and didn’t know what to do with her. I told them to give her tea and biscuits, and wait for me, and to close the wharf off until I could get there. “So—there she was. Sitting in the sergeant’s office, with tea and biscuits just as I’d asked. They’d even run out to get some biscuits for her and set them out on a plate. At least the sergeant had been clever enough to lend her his uniform jacket to put around her shoulders, but apart from that she was naked and she’d been beaten. Nothing seriously wrong I think, but she’s not looking very pretty. “I asked what had happened and she said she’d got back to her boat last night after being in Bugis Street. She brought some photographs home with her, and two men—I can’t make out yet if they were crew or passengers –had recognised you in them. They started beating her and asking her questions about you, and then left her tied up and naked. They said they’d be back with more questions, so she spent the night wriggling out of a porthole and dropping into the water. She didn’t know where to go, so she’d run to the guardhouse. You can imagine what she looked like when she got there, naked, beaten and with her wrists still tied together, and that’s quite apart from being a billy boy. I think that had thrown the sergeant. After I called he realised he should at least have looked for her boat, even if it was in the Customs area. “Everything came in a big rush then. I locked the door on her, called for reinforcements and with the sergeant we ran down to find her boat.

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We needn’t have worried. It was still there, the crew lying around and fishing. Scared stiff of us, of course, and we had no trouble getting the story out of them. You were right. They’d come empty and were waiting for a specific cargo that should have been there a few days ago. “The two men, the crew gave us their names but I don’t know if they’re real, had something to do with the cargo. They’d been coming and going around Singapore, sometimes leaving the wharf to make phone calls to Indonesia. They never used the phone on the wharf. I’m beginning to think that one of them was a gentleman who was entertained by our old friend Wiranto and taken for a drive around Singapore. Including a slow drive past the Irishman’s office in Telok Blangah, hardly a tourist sight. I’m trying to get our driver’s description and our photos down to the wharf to check with the crew. “The men have gone now, of course. Apparently they came back to the boat in the small hours, found Janice had gone and left immediately. The crew don’t know where. Once I got more men out to the wharf we started a vessel-by-vessel search, but I don’t think they’ll find anything.” “Where’s Janice now?” “Upstairs, I’m afraid. Sherry and Darti are taking care of her. I think you’ve got another member for your harem.” “Oh no—not here. Sherry will kill me. Oh hell!” “I don’t think you need to worry. They were both clucking over her like a pair of hens when I brought her here. I’d sent out for a tee shirt and shorts for her, but she didn’t seem to like them much. What with the injuries and the wrong clothes, she looked a bit sad when she got here. I had the police doctor look at her, by the way. He sewed up a cut over her eye and gave her some cream, but apart from that he says she’ll be fine. Just needs rest and recovery. “Would you mind calling Darti down? I was going to take her out this evening, but it looks as if we may have to give it a miss. She’s busy, and I really ought to sit and think about what we’ve got on our hands at the moment. I don’t want to jump to conclusions but… Trouble certainly seems to follow you around.” Sherry stopped him at Janice’s door. “She really doesn’t want to see anyone, Tim. Those bastards really beat her up and she’s feeling very sore. Darti’s sitting with her.” Tim put his head around the door to smile and say welcome, and then went to size up Sherry’s mood. She was fine. Not cross or resentful

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of another guest, just protective of a new friend in trouble. They spent a quiet evening in front of the television while Janice slept upstairs. Hangchi came back next morning. He’d left his car somewhere and arrived on foot. He peered through the gate and found the girls outside, picking at a late breakfast. As soon as the gate opened Darti went off to make him tea. Sherry made room for him at the table. “So how’s the criminal world this morning, Hangchi?” she asked. “Fine, fine. Ticking over like clockwork. How’s your patient? Still sore, I suppose.” Janice looked at the table and mumbled something. She had combed her hair out to cover her cut eyebrow, but nothing could conceal the swelling and bruising that surrounded her eyes. Sherry spoke for her. “She’s having trouble drinking anything. Her mouth’s sore, and her head’s aching, but she’s taken some aspirin and that should help. Have you found the men who did it?” Hangchi sighed. “I don’t think we ever will, to be honest. I’d be surprised if they’re still in Singapore. Or if they are, they’ll be well hidden. That’s not what I’m worried about at the moment. I’m trying to guess what their bosses are thinking right now. “They know their guns have been seized, of course. They were blaming the Irishman, or perhaps they just wanted their money back from him. I’m guessing that’s why they only put a very small bomb outside his office. Just to make a point. Now they’ll be sitting in Jakarta or wherever they are and thinking that there’s a link between their boat and Tim. And through Tim to us, the Singapore police. They know that much about Tim for sure. That’s why they tried to kill him in Kalimantan. One of the two men off the boat must have been involved in that operation and recognised Tim from the photograph. “So I’m happy, taking all things together. They’re thinking that the weapons were seized somehow because of messages passing between Tim and Janice. They’re completely wrong and that can’t be a bad thing, but there’s something I need to know. Janice, which photographs did you have? Were Sherry and Ranji in them?” Janice looked uncertainly at Sherry who nodded encouragement. “Yes. Two photo with girls, one photo with Tim.” “Damn! That’s a worry. We didn’t find the photos when we searched, so I guess the two men still have them. There’s always a chance that someone will recognise Ranji. Not a big chance, I suppose,

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but it’s something else to worry about. Don’t mention it to her. There’s no point worrying her, especially when she can’t do anything about it. “Now, I want to take Janice down to my office. We have to get her a visa, and fingerprint her, and I want to show her some pictures of suspects and ask some questions. Darti can come too, as a translator.” Darti took Janice upstairs to lend her some clothes. Hangchi sat with Sherry, drinking her tea. “Is Tim in danger, do you think?” asked Sherry. “No. I don’t think so. I mean, those people are dangerous but only if you get in their way. So he was in danger in Kalimantan, because they thought he was actively working against them, but here, he’s not involved any more. There’s nothing he could possibly be doing that would hurt them, so they’ll leave him alone. They’d like to knock him on the head, of course, but they’re not going to risk anything to make trouble for him. Why should they?” “What about you? You’re working against them.” “I’m safe enough. If I got really successful they might have a go, I suppose, but this is Singapore. There’s really not much going on. If Islamic people want to hold a revolution, they’ll do it in Malaysia, not here. All the same, I don’t think I’ll be visiting Jakarta as a tourist.” “I hope you’re right. It’s not a nice feeling, knowing those people are running around out there.” Even thinking about it again made Sherry nervous. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you who is in a much more difficult position, your friend Alistair. He lives right in the middle of all sorts of communities, and it’s only his traditional status that protects him. He does a lot more damage to the terrorists than I do.” Sherry lay half on top of Tim that night, thinking out loud about the changes in their lives. “Only two weeks ago—only two weeks,” she mused. “I was living here, you were in Balikpapan.” “And you were living like a nun…” “No I wasn’t! We’d already been to Paradise Island, remember? Anyway, I wasn’t like a nun before.” “Yes you were. May be a Hindu nun. Do they have nuns? I’ll have to ask Ranji next time I see her.” Sherry ignored his insults. “And now our bedrooms are full. I like it better this way. There’s more fun in the house.” “True. When are you going to tell your mother you’re living with a transsexual?”

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“Oh no. Never. She wouldn’t understand what a transsexual is, anyway. She’d think I was talking about some kind of stand-up comedian. Besides, Janice makes a good woman. You’d never guess if you didn’t know. She’s really shy about how she looks. The first day she came she was so embarrassed until she got some panties on. She doesn’t mind showing off her breasts though, but you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” “Mmmh—seem to remember they were quite nice.” She hit him. “Pig! I can’t believe you sucked her cock. You did do that, didn’t you?” “Well, it seemed like the polite thing to do at the time.” “If I ever catch you doing that again… Did you like it?” “It was OK, I suppose, but she’s not very big. It gave me a big surprise when she came—I didn’t get any warning at all.” “It seemed to be quite small.” “Yes, and it didn’t get any bigger. I don’t think you’d like it very much.” “Not that I’m going to try. I prefer my men without tits. Thinking about it, I’d like to see a picture of you sucking her cock. I might bring her here one night just so as I could take one. I could use it for blackmail.” “Someone’s bottom’s in danger…” threatened Tim. “No, you wouldn’t dare. They’d hear.” “Good for them. Good for you too. I’m sure you’d all be better for a bit of discipline now and then.” “You try anything of the sort and we’ll all gang up on you. I’m not alone now. I’m sure we could tie you up, and it wouldn’t be me wearing a chain and having my bottom spanked.”

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Chapter 31 For once, Tim was going out with the boys. Alistair had called and come around to pick him up. Ahmed drove the Mercedes and as they cruised into town Alistair explained the occasion. “We’ve been invited for an Indian dinner, and there’s someone you ought to meet. I’ll be very interested to hear what you think of him.” “So where are we going?” “Serangoon Road. The best Indian food in Singapore. Have you tried the Grand Trunk Road restaurant? It’s good, the best. They serve your food on a banana leaf and you eat with your fingers. I hope you’re not going to embarrass me by asking for a fork?” “No, I expect I’ll manage, but it doesn’t sound very grand if they eat from banana leaves.” “Just tradition, and I suppose it’s more hygienic than a plate washed in some of the Indian kitchens I’ve seen. As far as eating with my fingers, well, I washed them myself. Anyway, the food’s so good it would be a shame to eat it any other way.” “But who are we meeting? Ranji’s father?” “Patience, my friend, patience. It won’t be long.” Ahmed turned into the crush of Serangoon Road and crept forward. In the middle of the second block he stopped and they jumped out. The Grand Trunk Road restaurant stood opposite, a grand shophouse with a garish neon sign. They were ushered upstairs into a crowded room full of Indian men sitting cross-legged on the floor at low tables. They were doing as much talking as eating and the noise was loud. Meals covered the tables, colourful food laid out on dark green banana leaves. It all smelt delightful and Tim’s mouth watered. They were guided to a screened area at the end of the main room where a man dressed in the white robes of a monk was waiting for them, seated peacefully behind a low table. Without rising, he gestured for them to sit down. Following Alistair’s lead, Tim slipped off his shoes and folded himself down at the table.

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“Papi, my friend,” started Alistair, “here is Tim, Sherry’s husband.” Tim reached across the table to shake Papi’s hand. It felt plump and soft. Tim was intrigued by this influential man. He did not look imposing. Medium height, he guessed, and definitely carrying more weight than he needed. Shaved head, plump face, round glasses with bare wire frames. He did not look particularly Indian. He had something of an East Asian cast to his features. His eyes were deep and dark with long and feminine lashes. He wore his robe wrapped around him leaving one rounded shoulder bare. He smiled as he held Tim’s hand in both of his. “I am so happy to meet you, Tim.” His voice was low, almost husky, and his accent was clearly Indian. “Your wife is one of my most earnest students. I am very pleased with her progress. You must also be pleased with her. She is flourishing.” “Yes—yes, she is. I suppose I ought to thank you.” Here am I, Tim thought, thanking the man who taught Sherry to suck cocks all over Singapore. Not to mention his own. “No trouble. No trouble at all, my friend,” he turned to Alistair, “and you, Alistair? How are you? You did not bring those delightful young ladies of yours? I still wait for the day when you let me have them as students.” Alistair chuckled. “I can just imagine the pair of them in your class. They’d never stop talking.” “Well, well. Every student has her own way to follow. And your father? Is he well?” “Yes, very well. There’s no danger of my becoming Sultan any time soon, praise God. So what are you offering us tonight?” “Hurry, hurry, hurry. Sometimes I forget how busy you all are out in the world. You should learn to relax. Consider the food and savour it before it arrives. Anyway, I have organised some beer for you. Will that suit you, Tim?” He clapped his hands and a waiter appeared. When he returned he carried three bottles of Tsingtao beer, frosty cold. He set the tray down and Papi filled the glasses. Tim toyed with the idea of considering and savouring the beer before he sipped, but quickly gave up. He just drank it instead. The beer tasted smooth and full of flavour. Maybe, he thought, it pays to drink first and consider afterwards. He continued to watch Papi in an effort to see what he had that gave him such influence over Sherry and the other students.

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Alistair continued the conversation. “So tell us, Papi. How is your ashram these days?” “It comes and goes. Sometimes very busy, sometimes I have time to think. Now it is normal, I think. Sherry has brought me another student, Darti, do you know her Alistair? A very unusual student, such energy. Understanding her is like trying to catch rain drops in a sieve, but she is progressing. If she continues to concentrate, she will be the sort of student that a teacher experiences only once or twice in a lifetime. She has a great female element in her.” Alistair was interested. “Really? A great female element? Now I see why Tim has not introduced me. I shall have to insist. She sounds very interesting. What do you say, Tim? Do you think I’d find her interesting? Or are you keeping her for yourself?” “She’s interesting, alright. Very interesting, and sexy too, but I don’t give you much of a chance. Hangchi seems to be taking all of her time at the moment. He takes her around Singapore, to places like the zoo and the bird park.” “Hangchi? With a woman? I can’t believe it. He’s an old bachelor. I don’t think he knows what women are for.” “You’re right. He probably thinks she’s his daughter. Or granddaughter.” “Well, well, well. Now you’ve surprised me. If I were you, Papi, I’d be careful with that lady. You don’t want to be leading the Inspector’s daughter astray. I can’t imagine what he’d do to you. He’s already keeping a close eye on you.” Papi acted surprised. “Me? Why would he be interested in me? I’m only a teacher.” Alistair smiled. “Of course, Papi, but you do have business interests as well. I think he’s particularly interested in an illegal shipment that he found on the Aljunied estate. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” If Papi was troubled by the question, he gave no sign of it. “No, nothing at all. I can set his mind at rest.” “Good, good. I just thought I’d mention it. Perhaps he should be looking at your friends…” “I’m sure the good Inspector would be wasting his time. I don’t know where he gets his ideas. I have to tell you, Tim, that in Singapore Indian people are not always treated with fairness. Always Chinese people are suspicious of us, thinking the worst.”

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Alistair smiled. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Now, what are you going to give us to eat, Papi. I’m starving.” The food came quickly. Banana leaf platters were laid in front of them and a variety of small vegetable dishes covered the table. Tim served himself under Papi’s direction and ate small mouthfuls wrapped in torn chapatti. The variety was delicious, and he washed down the fiery food with more beer. Papi spoke as a man with wide interests. They discussed business in Singapore and Malaysia, and it was clear that he had a personal involvement. Then they moved on to the oil industry and Papi questioned Tim closely in an effort to understand the process of drilling. Alistair tried to bring the conversation around to terrorism and Islam, but Papi would not be drawn. He claimed to know very little about it. They left the restaurant together, feeling full and contented. Papi invited them to his office to sample his malt whisky. “You will see the room your wife comes to every week,” he said to Tim. “I hope you will find it interesting.” They followed Papi across the road and up the steep steps leading to the ashram. For all his weight, he climbed nimbly and was soon unlocking the door. It opened into a large dark room with three tall windows letting in light from the street. Papi reached for the light switch but no light came. He flicked it on and off. “Never mind. We will repair the lights tomorrow. Come into my office. I have candles there.” Tim followed Alistair into the room. He stepped through the doorway and a bright light flashed into his eyes. Shouting filled the air and strong hands were grasping the back of his shirt and pulling him down. “Stop—stop—stop!” a voice was shouting. He struggled, trying to reach the people behind him as he started to understand that the men in front of him, dangerous Chinese men, were holding pistols. Black and menacing, and pointed at him. He stopped fighting and tried to understand what he was looking at. Alistair was already on the floor, buried under two men who were forcing his arms up behind his back. Papi, in front of him, had been stripped of his robe. He was still standing, a fat man in long cotton drawers, his glasses crushed on the floor and his arms held behind him. He showed no inclination to struggle. The scene was slowly making an impression on Tim. There were two men with powerful torches giving light to the room and illuminating the others with their pistols trained on him. He guessed there were two

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more behind him, pushing his hands together behind his back and trying to fasten something around his wrists. He was watching like a dazed spectator. He was not part of it. The men did not want him. The men behind him finally secured his wrists with the zipping sound of a cable tie being pulled tight. One of them bent to do the same to his ankles. Alistair, his face pressed to the wooden floor, was being tied up in the same way. Papi had started to struggle now, his captors fighting to hold on. Tim was pushed to the floor. The men were talking to each other in Chinese. A rough hand pulled his head back. In the corner of his eye he saw an aerosol being sprayed into a gauze pad and smelled ether. The pad was clamped over his face and he lost consciousness.

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Chapter 32 Sherry did not call Hangchi until after two o’clock in the morning. Darti had come to her room in tears. She was frantic with worry for Tim and forced Sherry to call. At first Hangchi tried to soothe her but Darti had taken the phone and convinced him very quickly. He came to the door two hours later looking tired and worried. “No news yet. I’ve called Alistair’s house and they’re not there. Apparently they were going to have dinner with Papi Bombar. I’ve sent someone around to find Papi but he’s not at home either. The ashram door was open and there were a pair of broken glasses on the floor, probably Papi’s. Things don’t look good.” Sherry slumped onto the sofa. What had happened to Tim? It was a nightmare. Hangchi sat beside her and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ve come to get Darti. I want to take her down to the ashram. Are you going to be all right by yourself? Janice will sit with you.” She waited. There was nothing else to do. Sometimes she cried. Sometimes she tried to tidy the room. Janice put a cassette into the stereo and Boney M played in the background. Janice seemed as distraught as she was. Hangchi returned at dawn and sat with her while Darti and Janice made some breakfast. “It doesn’t look too good,” he told her. “They ate at The Grand Trunk Road and then they seem to have gone on to the ashram. I expect Papi was going to offer them a drink but someone was waiting for them. A few people. There were all sorts of scuff marks on the floor and Papi’s glasses. And his robe. It looks as if there was some sort of struggle— Papi’s glasses had been trodden on—but there was no blood. That’s a good sign, if you like. “Whoever it was, they seem to have been quite clean. No clues, apart from one plastic cable tie that might be related. The floor’s polished wood so we’re looking for fingerprints. If they didn’t wear gloves, of course. Our men are going around asking for information. Someone must have seen how they were taken away. They all live on

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top of each other down there, and everyone knows his neighbour’s business. We’ll get some sort of lead from them, I expect, but probably nothing useful. People don’t go to all the trouble of setting up a job like this and then use an identifiable vehicle to make their getaway. “No, the best sign is that they were apparently taken alive. If it had been a contract or a terrorist hit, all three would have been killed there and then. I’m still trying to get my mind around why they were taken. Who’d want all three? An Indian, a Malay and an Englishman. Doesn’t make any sense.” “Did Darti help?” “Yes, but I don’t know if I understand that either. She says there were a lot of men involved. They were waiting in the dark and they had guns and big torches. Strangest thing is she says they were Chinese. She tried to repeat some of their words, just fragments, and they sound like Hakka. Hard to tell because her pronunciation’s not very good and anyway, Chinese attackers just make things seem stranger. I shall have to think about it. I’m not running the case but I’ve got a watching brief on it because I told my bosses that Tim was my informant. It’s better that way because I don’t have so many people directly under me, but now there are lots of police involved. I expect we’ll know a bit more by the end of the day. That’s usually how these things work.” Ranji called soon after Hangchi had left. She was crying for Papi Bombar and they cried together when she heard that Tim and Alistair had been taken too. She called back after an hour with the news that the local word was that the Irishman had been behind it. At first Hangchi was inclined to discount the story but he did admit that the Irishman and his people were Hakka, so perhaps the rumour had something in it. He called back soon after and said he was coming for Darti again. He wanted to know her shoe size and told Sherry to have her waiting with her hair pinned up. He brushed off Sherry’s questions and hung up. He pulled up in a proper police car with a uniformed driver. He was carrying a navy blue police uniform for Darti and Sherry took her upstairs to change. Sherry thought she looked terrible. From her silly cap down to her clunky shoes, the uniform could not have suited her less, and she looked nervous. Sherry kissed her and told her to stand up and pretend she really was a police woman. That seemed to do the trick and she followed

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Hangchi out to the car looking something like a defender of the community. They were away for nearly two hours. Darti rushed upstairs to change into normal clothes as soon as they got back and left Hangchi to tell the story. “It was the Irishman. Darti’s sure of it. I couldn’t do anything, of course, I could only insist on seeing him to ask a few more questions about the bombing, and that was difficult enough. I asked him about the guns we recovered from the Aljunied Estate, just to let him know he’s in our sights. Of course, I didn’t get anything useful out of him, but the important thing is that he’s involved and that Darti says our people are not in Telok Blangah and never have been. “So we’re going to start putting a little pressure on his friends. They won’t like to hear that the Irishman’s kidnapped Alistair. He’s a very important person on the other side of the causeway, and they all have businesses over there. If word gets out on the streets that Chinese kidnappers have him, there’ll be riots. And riots are bad for business.” “But why would the Irishman take him? And Tim and Papi? What does he want with them?” “I don’t know. It doesn’t make any sense at all. I could understand him have a falling out with the Indians and maybe grabbing Papi as a hostage. Or I could see him being upset with Alistair, though it’d be senseless to touch him. I can’t see there’s any reason at all for him to be interested in Tim. Oh well, I’d better get back to the office and see if anything’s come up. Say goodbye to Darti for me, and I’ll pick up her uniform this evening.” That night Sherry lay in bed crying quietly. She had become used to sleeping with Tim every night and now his side of the bed was empty. The dark brought horrible thoughts that forced themselves onto her. Her imagination insisted on conjuring up images of what Tim might be suffering now. She got up and went to the bathroom for a sleeping pill. Her bedroom door clicked open and her friends slipped in. She drifted into sleep with Darti and Janice beside her. Next morning, she awoke with a start and looked around. The weight of Tim’s disappearance sank back onto her shoulders. Beside her Darti and Janice slept curled up together, black hair mingling on the pillow. Janice had a black lacy nightdress and panties, but Darti wore a child’s pyjamas covered in bouncy rabbits. She looked at the alarm—six

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twenty. She would have to wait before calling Hangchi for the latest news. She got up and started to do things. It would be a long day.

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Chapter 33 It was wet and it was noisy, but in the end it was the stink that woke him. Pungent, ammoniac, farmyard, it overwhelmed him. He floated back to consciousness, trapped, confined and unable to move. He could not see. He was being crushed from all sides by hard bands that cut into him, and a heavy weight lay above him. It was dark. Slowly he started to make sense of his surroundings. He was moving, in some kind of vehicle. He could hear an engine and feel the drumming of a truck moving rapidly on a road. He was wet, and there was water running over his face. Rain water, he supposed. The smell crystallized in his mind. Pigs. The stink of the pig sty. It dawned on him that the weight above him was warm and breathing lightly, probably a pig. He was in a pig basket, buried in a load of pigs. The pigs were in tubular open-work baskets made of thick rattan. Strong, light and completely confining. The strength of his rattan cage bore most of the weight of the pigs above. The animals lay quietly, resigned to their fate. He cleared his throat. “Alistair?” he croaked. “Yes,” came his quiet reply. “Are you OK?” “Yes, I think so. Where are we?” “I don’t know. I’ve only just woken up. They’re transporting us with some pigs, the dirty bastards.” Tim thought some more. His mind still refused to work properly. He remembered Papi Bombar. “Papi? Papi?” There was no answer. “Perhaps he’s still sleeping,” whispered Alistair. “They were Chinese. What are they doing with us?” “God knows.” He frantically tried to understand what was happening. “It must be a mistake. Perhaps they were looking for someone else.” “Not in Papi’s place. Perhaps we were a mistake, but not Papi. Who in their right mind cares about Papi?” They lay in silence with their thoughts. Suddenly there was the sound of the window through to the truck cab sliding open and light fell

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on his face. He could see the framework of his basket and a head beside him, probably Papi. Tim caught the smell of cigarettes. The people in the cab spoke Chinese. They were very close, within touching distance if Tim could have touched anything. He heard a hissing and again the smell of ether filled the air. Alistair swore and started to snore. A hand grabbed his hair and forced his head back against the basket. A pad was roughly forced over his nose and mouth and he lost consciousness again. When he woke again they had already arrived. The pigs had gone and he was no longer being crushed. He could make out the back of a van, scratched and well-used. He was lying face down and someone was beside him. Alistair. Before he could whisper the doors of the van opened. Chinese voices. He could feel one of the baskets being dragged out, presumably Papi. There was more talking and a wait before the sounds of splashing water. Papi groaned and spluttered. He heard heavy sounds that he could not identify and more orders, and he too was being dragged out. They were in a small courtyard with a concrete floor. He looked around as far as his basket allowed. Papi sat on the floor, naked in a pool of water, his hands secure behind him and his head down. Tim was stood up, a helpless piece of luggage in his basket. Several men stood around him, one of them holding him vertical and laughing while another pointed a hose at him. A powerful jet of water hit him. “Smelly!” said the man holding him up with another laugh. The men crowded around him and started to draw the basket off. It was difficult. He supposed they must have put him in head first and allowed his own weight to jam him in. Now the rattan was pulling at his clothes and he felt his shirt tearing. His bound hands were forced out through the basket and they had to pull it back down to free them. Finally they got the basket off and started tearing and cutting his clothes from his body. They forced him to the concrete and the hose man washed him down while the others went back for Alistair. Tim pissed while he had the chance. They were led into an animal shed, now disused with bare concrete floors and pens of galvanized steel pipe. They sat down in one of the pens and their handcuffs were fastened to the bottom rail with another cable tie. The door closed on them and they were alone. “Well, Papi,” said Alistair. “That malt whisky had better be worth all this trouble.”

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“It is good, my friend, but not that good,” said Papi sadly. Tim could only imagine the dark shape that was Papi looked sad. “Why are we here, Alistair?” “I was going to ask you the same, Papi. I don’t think it’s me they want. What have you been doing?” “Nothing, I promise, nothing, and anyway, they are Chinese. What would they want with me? Perhaps it is Tim that they want.” “I don’t think it’s me,” said Tim. “I’m just an engineer. I pump stuff into oil wells, or fix boats at the moment. There’s nothing interesting about me. I wonder where we are.” “I don’t think we’re in Singapore. They must have hidden us with the pigs to get us over the causeway. What do you think, Papi?” “I think,” he said thoughtfully, “that we are tied up in a stable. That is enough. I shall try to think about that only.” Tim suddenly felt very tired. His head ached from the ether and all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep. He started to wriggle himself around until he could lie on his side. The concrete felt cold and hard, and it was difficult to stay on his side. He tried lying on his stomach with his shoulder under the bottom rail of the pen. He put his cheek on the concrete and closed his eyes. Sleep came quickly. The shed door clanked open and woke them. Daylight flooded in. Tim struggled to sit up but before he could get upright the door had closed again. “Just checking on us, I suppose,” said Alistair. “Did you see who it was? I wonder if they serve breakfast?” Tim looked around at the dim walls. They were bare. No useful tools for escaping. Perhaps the owner of the shed did not watch the correct television series. The three of them sat facing into the pen, each to his own side. Movement was limited to sliding sideways along the bottom rail. Papi sat with his legs crossed and eyes closed, meditating. Alistair looked bored. There was a background noise of traffic passing. “If I get out of here,” said Tim. “I’ll never touch another slice of bacon. Those pigs!” “When I get out, I’ll have bacon every morning in revenge,” said Alistair. “Those bloody pigs pissed all over me. I wish they’d give us something to sit on. This concrete’s hard.” “Do you think they’re looking for us?” “I’m sure they are. The trouble is, where are they looking? Even we don’t know where we are, so how are they going to start? I’m sure the

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Singapore police are doing their best right now, but if we’ve been brought to Malaysia… We could be anywhere around Johor Baru. I should imagine they would have to start asking questions around Papi’s place, find out if anyone saw something. Then they will try to trace the vehicle that took us away. I suppose they must have taken us to one of the small farms in the north of the island and transferred us to the pig truck. I wish I knew what those people want. Or even who they want.” The hours passed slowly. All of them wrestled with the pain of their uncomfortable position. Tim and Alistair had both tried to twist their bodies and bring their hands around to their fronts, but it was hopeless. Hopeless, too, to try and uproot the frame of the pen. It had been built to contain pigs, and that meant building strongly. They were wasting their time. Papi moved little. He fought on a higher plane. The door opened again in the afternoon. A figure wearing a brown paper bag over his head entered. The crude eye-holes cut in it were dark and empty. He was leading a thin brown man who looked Malay, or possibly Indonesian. They came to the pen and looked over the rail at Tim. The Malay grunted and they both turned to leave. “Hey, you, we’re hungry,” called Alistair, “and we need some water.” But he was talking to the closing door. “Oh well, that’s answered one question at least,” said Alistair. “They’re interested in you, Tim, and that looked like an Indonesian to me. Have you been upsetting the Indonesians again?” Tim felt his heart sinking. He had just been inspected. By an Indonesian. It was very worrying. “Think about the fact that the man was wearing a paper bag,” said Alistair cheerfully. “If they’re hiding their faces it’s meant to be a good sign. It means they’re professionals and intend to let you go.” He did not mention that the Indonesian had not covered his face. Again time crept on. The day was drawing to an end and it was becoming difficult to see when they again had visitors. Tim counted five men, all with paper bags on their heads. They flicked a light on and three of them came into the pen and laid hold of Alistair while the other two worked behind him. They were putting proper handcuffs around one wrist only. Quickly and silently they did the same for the other prisoners. Tim flexed his fingers in relief. This felt much better than the cable ties. Two of the men returned. One threw three pillows into the pen. The other pushed a bowl of noodles and a plastic bottle of water to each of

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them. They smelled delicious. The three of them crouched with their faces close to their chained hands to hold the bowl and use their chopsticks. Tim sat back on his pillow and sipped his water. He was still savouring his noodles and wished they could have lasted longer. Some time later two men came back for their bowls and chopsticks, and the light was flicked off. In the dark he heard Alistair relieving himself. He pushed his naked backside through the railings and did the same before settling down with his pillow for the night. His spirits were sinking and he thought of Sherry. They had rice and water for breakfast and settled down to another day of doing nothing.

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Chapter 34 Hangchi called her as soon as he got to his office. He had little news. The neighbours had seen a white van, a Japanese shape, like tens of thousands of others in Singapore. They had not thought to look at the licence plate and could not remember anything unusual about it. There had been a lot of men, probably eight or ten, and they had driven to the back of the ashram to load something. Then most of the men had walked off in two groups, in different directions. They had been Chinese and spoke Hakka. “I know it doesn’t sound like much, Sherry, but believe me, that’s the way these investigations normally start. We’re crawling all over the ashram floor looking for prints, to see if there are any we recognise. We’re looking for other clues, but if we haven’t found any by now, I doubt there’ll be anything useful.” “Can’t you do something? Arrest the Irishman?” “I’m sorry, but we don’t have a reason. There’s no connection at all, apart from what Darti says and I’m not even mentioning that to my bosses, but everyone’s working hard. The Malaysians are very excited about Alistair being kidnapped. I hope they can keep it out of the papers.” “I want to do something…” she started to cry. “I want…” But she did not know what she wanted. Ranji came around. She had heard no more but was certain the Irishman was involved. She had a phone number for Alistair’s house in Johor Baru and they called it. Faith and Hope answered. They too were waiting and crying. Sherry was in agony. There must be something she could do. She thought wildly of going to the Irishman and offering herself as a substitute. She even proposed it to Ranji but she would not listen. “Why the Irishman should take you, huh? You’re a woman, no value. He wants one of the men. If he takes you as a substitute, he’ll be

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afraid that Hangchi will be at the door to arrest him. He won’t admit he’s involved.” “Perhaps we could both go again…” He could do what he liked with her if it would help get Tim free. Then the solution came. She tried it on Ranji and she reluctantly agreed that it might work. They got to work on the phone, and Ranji hurried home. Ranji and Sherry rode in the front of a large and anonymous black van. Their friends sat silently in the back. Hangchi was driving, dressed in police uniform. The size of the van made him uncomfortable. It was far bigger than his car. He picked his way across town towards the Telok Blangah industrial estate. Sherry felt nervous. None of them wanted to talk. Telok Blangah was busy with work and traffic but the Irishman’s block was quiet and had only parked cars outside. Presumably everyone was upstairs working. Hangchi pulled the van up close to the entrance. “Good luck,” he whispered. “Break a leg!” The girls climbed out and rushed for the door. They wanted to get out of sight as quickly as possible. Behind the door marked ‘Fire Escape’ they stopped to straighten their clothes. Sherry had done her best, wearing a light strapless dress, jewellery and too much make-up, but her heart was not in it. Ranji was the same; her transparent choli was dramatic but to Sherry she looked more nervous than sexy. She took a deep breath and led Ranji up the stairs. The long office was exactly as she remembered it, with its ranks of girls hunched over papers. This time she did not wait to be escorted. She nodded to the nearest girl and marched down the corridor to the Irishman’s secretary. Disapproval washed over her as she walked out of sight. Sherry tapped on the door and walked straight into the secretary’s office. The same woman sat there, typing. She stopped in mid-stroke and looked up with her mouth open. Sherry did not stop but opened the door and marched into the Irishman’s office before the secretary could get out from behind her desk. Yhee was taken by surprise and started to react in anger. A moment later he was standing and smiling to welcome his guests. The secretary disappeared, closing the door behind her. “Miss Ranji and Miss Sherry. What a surprise. Can I get you something to drink?” “Thank you, Mr. Yhee,” Sherry always thought there was no harm in being polite. “That would be lovely. Please excuse us coming without

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an invitation, but we have something very important to discuss with you.” Yhee said nothing as he prepared their drinks. Sherry guessed he was thinking very rapidly. He handed them their drinks with a smile. “So; why am I so lucky this afternoon?” “Mr. Yhee, you’re a businessman,” stated Sherry with a confidence she did not feel, “I’m sure you’ve heard about the kidnapping, three men from Serangoon Road? Well, one of them is my husband. I would like to do business with you to get my husband back, and Ranji would like to get Papi Bombar back.” Yhee raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. “But ladies, I know nothing about these things,” he protested. Sherry tried again. “Mr. Yhee, I know you’re a gentleman, and that you have so much influence with important people. We know you can help us if you want to. I want my husband back. Of course there’s Alistair too. We felt sure that if we were to—aah—make you happy, you could help us.” Something in Yhee’s poker face made Sherry believe he had been surprised. “Alistair?” “Yes, I think he’s called Prince Alistair.” “Alistair Tajuddin,” added Ranji. “I see,” said Yhee, “and just suppose I was able to help you, what sort of exchange were you proposing?” Got you, thought Sherry. She smiled at him “Well, that would depend on what you would like us to do for you.” Yhee could not help showing his excitement. “Dance for me, and then we’ll see.” “And then you’ll help us?” “And then I’ll try.” Sherry nodded. She could imagine just how hard he would try once he had been satisfied and his tongue was not hanging out like a hungry dog. “Very well, we’ll have to trust you,” she said. “Can I just wave to our driver?” She crossed the room to the conference table and walked to the window with Yhee in her wake. They looked down at Hangchi’s black van parked on the other side of the road. Sherry lifted the lace curtain and waved. Hangchi’s small white hand waved back. Yhee stayed for a moment, no doubt wondering why they had arrived in a large van instead of a taxi.

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“So, let’s dance,” said Sherry. “Do you have some easy music for us?” She stripped her dress off and threw it onto the table. She slipped her hand under Yhee’s elbow and let him walk her back to Ranji. She towered over him. Ranji unwound her sari and wriggled out of her choli. They stood together, holding hands, waiting for Yhee to start the music. He put on a Cat Stevens tape, an improvement on the Chinese music they had struggled with last time. They started to dance and Yhee came to sit in one of the soft chairs in front of his desk. He sipped his drink and stared at the swaying female bodies an arm’s length away. It felt silly to be dancing with Ranji, in an office, both dressed only in shoes. She put the thought behind her and concentrated on Ranji. She danced loosely, her arms out, clicking her fingers. Her shoulders followed the beat and her full breasts swung as she moved. The effect was startling and Sherry could not take her eyes off them. She knew Yhee would feel the same way so she danced in a slow circle until Ranji had her back to him. She took Ranji’s hands and backed her closer to Yhee before spinning her around to face him. She held Ranji’s arms wide and they danced together. Over Ranji’s shoulder she could watch Yhee’s fascination with the swinging riches in front of him. Without moving his gaze, he reached for his glass and took another sip. Ranji was dancing with more movement now and Sherry could imagine what that was doing to her breasts. She looked down at the vibrant body in front of her. Ranji looked very compelling. Sex on legs, as her friends used to say at school. She lifted Ranji’s hands and held them together over her head. Her body gyrated smoothly as she danced. Leaving her hands together, Sherry held her waist, feeling her hips move to the music. Ranji was soft and generous to touch. Sherry slid her hands up and down her flanks as they danced together. “Play with her,” commanded Yhee. Sherry let her fingers brush the sides of Ranji’s breasts. Soft, round, full of life. She cupped them loosely, letting them sway in her hands. She wondered at their heavy roundness. Still holding the breasts resting on her palms, she reached up with finger and thumb to pinch Ranji’s nipples. She pulled on them, forwards and outwards, restricting their movement. Ranji threw her head back to rest on Sherry’s shoulder and sighed. Her perfume filled Sherry’s senses. “More!” ordered Yhee. “Play with pussy.”

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Sherry left her breasts reluctantly and moved lower, holding Ranji back against her. They swayed together now rather than danced, and Ranji felt hot and exciting in her arms. She was stroking her front now, over the softness of her tummy and down to her smooth, fleshy mound. It felt full and firm under her fingertips. She looked at Yhee over Ranji’s shoulder. He was staring at her fingers. Ranji leaned back against her, swaying with her hips thrust forward, welcoming Sherry’s stroking. She reached behind her for Sherry’s head, pulling her forward so their heads were together. Sherry reached under her and her fingers slid into Ranji’s rich warmth. Ranji was excited. She turned her head to Sherry and sighed again as the fingers probed. “Show me!” said Yhee. Obediently Sherry used both hands to spread Ranji open and display her. “Good, very good. Now make her come.” Sherry pressed three fingers over Ranji’s clit. Slowly, uncertainly, she began to rub in little circles as if the pussy were her own. Ranji moaned softly and lowered her arms. She did not move any more, just leant back with her thighs open. She had given herself up to Sherry and her fingers. Gaining confidence, Sherry rubbed harder and faster. Ranji began to melt, surrendering herself to the insistent fingers. Her breathing came roughly and her hips rocked back and forth. Suddenly, she was coming. Tense and suffering in Sherry’s arms, her body begged for release. With a loud groan, she came. Both of her hands flew to cover Sherry’s and hold it still against her pussy. She hunched forward over her centre, head down and panting. She stayed there for moments, enjoying the last waves of her orgasm, before slowly standing up right and drawing Sherry’s hand away. “Oof! So quick!” she said. “I think you’ve done that before.” “No. Yes… but just me,” said Sherry in confusion. “Never mind, it was very good.” Yhee got up and led them to the conference table. He gestured Ranji to get up on the table. She sat for a moment with her legs dangling until he waved her back into the centre. Uncertain what to do, she sat back and let her knees fall open. “Very good. Very pretty,” said Yhee, and he moved a chair out of the way and pushed Sherry forward. “Now you suck, OK?”

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This is it, she thought, this is what I came for. Beyond Ranji, she looked through the lace curtains into the car park below. Hangchi’s van had gone. Ranji rested back on her elbows. Her legs were thrown wide and her pussy made an open offer. It was dark, several shades darker than the skin of Ranji’s tummy and thighs. The plump cushions gaped open from the way she sat and the frills of her inner lips stood out. They were very dark, almost black. Wrinkled together and folded to one side, they hid Ranji’s last secret. The covered ridge of her clit rose above them, fat and prominent, as fat as her little finger. Sherry rested on her elbows and stared at Ranji’s pussy, uncertain of how to start. “Lick me,” whispered Ranji and reached down to help her. Her fingertips brushed across her inner lips, pushing them from side to side. Sherry was fascinated. The glossy red nail varnish contrasted dramatically with the darkness of her pussy. “Lick me,” she insisted and with a finger on each side of her clit she lifted and spread herself. Inside she was a beautiful shining pink. She was a flower with dark, dark petals and a delicious sugar pink centre. Sherry moved forward and dipped her tongue into the honey. “Yes,” hissed Ranji. “Again!” Ranji was slippery on her tongue. She tasted slightly salty, subtle and exciting. Sherry probed deep with her tongue and felt Ranji sucking at her. This felt good. As Sherry licked, Ranji moaned very softly and her pleasure made Sherry lick harder. She wanted to give Ranji an orgasm and the thought excited her. Ranji took her hand away and the inner lips draped around Sherry’s tongue. She wanted to reach everything so she opened Ranji’s flower herself, pinning back the dark lips on either side while she licked long strokes up and down the pink furrow. Ranji had thrown her head back and was panting. Sherry burrowed her face deeper into her friend. Ranji was out of control, straining to lift her hips and hasten her climax. Sherry wanted to be deeper inside her and reached with two fingers into her honeyed tunnel. Ranji clasped her and begged for more. Sherry concentrated on her clit now, hooking the tip of her tongue up under her hood to flick at the hard button. She was driving Ranji wild. It must have had an effect on Yhee as well because Sherry felt him behind her. He gripped her hips and slipped into her. It felt good to be full, but she concentrated on Ranji. She was rotating her two fingers inside her, and sucking rhythmically on her clit. Ranji came in a rush, falling back onto the table and slamming her legs closed around Sherry’s head. Her fingers pulled at Sherry’s hair and

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she rocked from side to side, gasping “Stop—stop—stop!” A wave of disappointment swept over Sherry as she felt Yhee release into her. It was too soon. She had been cheated of her own climax. She held still as Ranji rocked on, shuddering through the last waves of her orgasm. Sherry helped Ranji upright again. She had a dazed look on her face and her hair was a mess. She looked around her and grabbed Sherry to kiss her full on the mouth. “Oh Sherry—that was so good…” and kissed her again. Sherry held her friend close and felt proud. It felt good to give pleasure, and to cuddle her afterwards. Then she remembered where they were and helped Ranji off the table. Yhee had disappeared. She led Ranji back to Yhee’s desk and took her comb from her hand bag. She sat in one of the soft chairs and combed her hair. She would leave a wet patch on the chair, but for once she did not care. She watched Ranji standing beside her, teasing out her long hair. She looked beautiful— nude and feminine. Yhee re-appeared from his private toilet. “Right then, ladies, would you like to get dressed?” “Oh not yet,” said Sherry with a smile. “Let’s see what you can find out about my husband first.” Yhee looked displeased, but he sat at his desk and reached for the phone. He was speaking abruptly, to a subordinate, she guessed, and did not seem to like the answers he was getting. He banged the phone down. “Now, you get dressed, OK?” Sherry smiled sweetly but did nothing. The phone rang. He listened and then shrieked in surprise. Again he banged the phone down. “You wait, huh?” and he hurried to the door. He looked short and flustered, and the girls smiled at each other. He burst back into the room, frantic and furious. “What is this, huh? You think I stupid man, huh? You think I do nothing? What are these women?” Sherry forced herself to be calm and polite. “Them? Oh, I expect you’re talking about Papi Bombar’s yoga students. They’re nice people, just waiting for Papi to be freed.” “But—but they got no clothes…” “Oh, I’m sure they have some. They’re yoga students. That’s how they dress.” “But it is not modest!” “No, they’re not very modest, and they’ll do anything for Papi.”

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“I call police!” “I don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. Yhee. I expect they’re waiting already. Can I just look?” She got up and walked to the window, hoping that her legs did not betray how nervous she felt. Yhee hurried after her. Hangchi’s van had returned and Hangchi was standing patiently beside it. In his uniform. “You see, Mr. Yhee, I think they’ve had a tip-off that a call girl service is being run from your office. Someone has complained that you are keeping naked girls up here for your customers to choose from.” She thought Yhee would have a heart attack. His face went deep red and he was shaking. “You filthy bitch!” he screamed as the phone rang. Yhee sprinted across the office to his desk. “Yes, what do you want?” he shouted into the phone. Sherry was beside him, waving him to wait. He grunted into the phone, put his hand over the mouthpiece and waited. “They’re in Johor Baru, right?” asked Sherry, reaching for her handbag, “Get them taken straight to this address. It’ll be more private that way.” Yhee glared dumbly at her, but took the slip of paper. A little calmer now he barked orders into the phone and read the address line by line. He put the phone down. “Now, you dress, OK?” “Don’t you love us any more, Mr. Yhee?” she said with a giggle. “Can I use the phone please?” She called Faith and Hope, and told them what to expect and to call back as soon as they had news. Then she settled down to wait.

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Chapter 35 Boredom was the single thing Tim expected from imprisonment. When it had crossed his mind, rarely, he thought with wonder of the brave, strong individuals around the world who had been imprisoned for years on end and emerged mentally strengthened from the experience. Of course, they were a small minority of prisoners. Most were criminals of one sort or another and were hardly improved by being locked up. Still, they too had to endure long periods of confinement in a life so pointless that there was little to think about beyond the prospects of the next meal. Or so he imagined. Now, he was a prisoner himself, chained to a rail and with only a pillow to keep his bare bottom from the concrete. He expected to be bored, his brain parked in neutral. Instead, his mind raced. He was trying to make sense of all that had happened and especially of the ominous Indonesian who had come to inspect him. That man had been really frightening. He looked at his companions. Papi had turned side-on to the railing. His shackled wrist gave enough slack for him to sit in the lotus position. His eyes were closed and his breathing almost imperceptible. His fatness and his round belly gave him a pyramid shape, a wide foundation narrowing to his smooth bald head. He looked like a carved Buddha. He was either meditating or hibernating. Alistair was more restless. His cuff scraped and jangled periodically as he shifted position. Wiry and lightly built, his naked body looked equivalent to half the bulk of Papi. He was nicely tanned, the shadow around his hips telling that he wore his swimming shorts only occasionally. Tim decided he was a man that women would find attractive, enjoying his friendly smile and confident good manners. He looked up and caught Tim watching him. “Thinking hard?” he asked. “Yes, I suppose so. Still trying to work out what the hell we’re doing here.”

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“It can only be money. I hope your company’s feeling generous.” “Hmm. I wouldn’t count on it. I’m no one important, and I’m not one of the golden boys who are going somewhere. I don’t think they’d pay much, if anything at all. They’d probably take the opportunity to demonstrate how tough they are. You know, set an example. Show the criminals that kidnapping doesn’t work. “No, if the idea is to ransom us, you’re the one they’ll be concentrating on. They’ll have more chance of getting something out of your father than from my bosses.” “Possible. I’ve been thinking about that, but you know what? I don’t think they recognise me. I’m just thinking about whether I should tell them.” “I wonder where we are exactly. I suppose we’d have to be somewhere around Johor Baru, wouldn’t we? They can’t have taken us too far from Singapore.” “You’re right, I think. It must have been near to eleven when they took us. They would have had to take us to a pig farm to get us into those baskets. Load the truck, all those things, and then get us over the causeway. I really can’t see them getting into Johor Baru before, say, two in the morning. Four hours before dawn. They’d have had to take the pigs somewhere to unload the truck, put us in a van, drive us here, that’s another hour at least. Then they washed us, brought us in here, and we still had at least a couple of hours before dawn. From the timing, and the sound of that traffic, I’d say we’re on a busy road somewhere near the edge of Johor Baru. “It would have to be an older area with Chinese farms, that courtyard wasn’t modern. I live in an area like that. My house could be just down the road.” They sat silently for a while, thinking about home. “What sort of place do you have, Alistair? A palace?” Alistair laughed. “Certainly not! I’ll have to invite you to visit. It’s just an old house. Victorian. Not so big, but set in nice grounds. On top of a rise, we have a beautiful view south, you can see across the water to Singapore. I live there with the girls and some servants. It’s a nice old place, been in the family since it was built.” “You married?” “Oh yes, my wife lives in KL. She’s got quite a place up there, her father left it to her.” “Oh. You don’t live together then?”

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“No, it’s not like that. We had to get married, it was to do with the families, but we’re happy. I really enjoy her company when I’m up there, but we don’t sleep together. Oh, we made a couple of babies, we’re got two sons who live with her for the moment, but I don’t think she wants any more. She doesn’t miss me much. She prefers women.” “Really? A full-time lesbian?” “Yes, I suppose so. She keeps things pretty discreet, of course. For the last few years she’s been keeping a masseuse from East Germany. Terrible woman. Always looks at me as if she’s going to tear me to pieces. Strong as a horse and with hair cut like a man’s. I can’t imagine what my wife sees in her, but they seem to be happy. I used to wonder what they do to each other in bed.” “Yes, certainly gets you thinking, doesn’t it?” “I did see them together once, although it’s a bit of a story. It was when my wife wanted our second baby. She invited me up for dinner and business, so she said. So we sat at the table, my wife, Elke and I, all very polite and civilised. I’d met Elke before, of course, but she still made me feel uncomfortable. My wife told me what she really wanted just as I was enjoying my coffee. “Doesn’t that sound very English? Sitting around the dinner table, politely arranging for another baby with your wife and her lover? I thought we were going to spend the night together but Elke had other ideas. She sent my wife off to get ready while we sat over a drink. Then she marched me off to their bedroom. “You’ve never seen anything like it, I’m sure. They’ve got the room all done up with pink curtains and lace, it looks like Walt Disney’s idea of a Parisian brothel. Anyway, there was my wife. She’d stripped off and knelt on the bed with her bottom in the air and her face buried in the bed spread. That was all I could see as we came in the door—her bottom sticking up and smiling at me. “I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. My wife used to be very modest. Elke went up to her, gave her bottom a smack, and said ‘Beautiful, isn’t she? She’s got a really nice arse.’ You could have blown me over, I was so surprised. It’s true, of course, she has a very pretty bottom but Elke was behaving as if she was its proprietor. “Then she says ‘I’ll get her ready for you. Strip off.’ and she started to get out of her clothes. I was really embarrassed. Stupid, isn’t it? I’ll happily do most things but taking my clothes off in front of Elke, that was really difficult. Anyway, there she was, naked and waiting, so I got

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undressed. Elke looked at me and said ‘I hope you’re going to be able to manage a bit more than that, and don’t expect us to help you get it up.’ “Of course, that didn’t help. It went like a wet noodle. Elke said she’d get my wife ready for me first. She knelt on the floor behind her and started licking. It was crazy. I’d always been so careful and gentle with my wife and here was this German woman diving straight in and sticking her tongue so far up inside I’m surprised it didn’t come out of her ear. My wife was loving it. She was moving around and moaning. She came in no time at all. “Then Elke looked over her shoulder at me standing there and shrugged. ‘OK, you work on that and I’ll have her first.’ She reached under the pillow and came out with a bundle of straps and a purple dildo shaped a bit like a strange banana. She put one foot on the bed and squeezed the short end of the dildo into herself. She was very hairy, so hairy I’m surprised she could find the right place. Then she threaded the straps over the dildo and started doing them up behind her. She ended up with an artificial cock sticking out of a harness that went around her hips and between her legs. I got another look of pity as she waved that purple monster around, and she grabbed hold of my wife’s hips and just speared her with it. No finesse—nothing. She just lined it up and pushed hard, and my wife moaned and pushed back. Unbelievable, and then Elke started to move. It was pile driver time. She was hammering away, making the bed rock, and my wife was grunting and moaning. They made quite a sight. My wife’s quite small and delicate, but Elke’s big and powerful. She must spend a lot of time naked next to the pool getting brown, and she does weight lifting as well. I could see all her muscles working as she banged away. “Well, Elke’s no rose but it was fun watching my wife getting well and truly serviced. She’d given up trying to move and was being held in place by Elke’s hands on her hips. She was really noisy, grunting and moaning, really enjoying herself. That looked nice and I was getting hard at last. I helped it along by hand, wondering when my turn would come. Elke was going faster and faster until she started coming and I could see her movements getting a little disorganised. She looked over her shoulder, saw I was hard enough and pulled out suddenly. ‘Your turn,’ she said and waved me in. My wife was shaking with excitement, I’m not sure she realised there’d been a change of members. She just kept on coming as I did her. I didn’t last long, and as soon as I came, Elke grabbed my shoulder and pulled me out. She jumped right back in

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and kept on thrusting. She looked at me and said ‘You can go now.’ I grabbed my clothes and went back to my own room. As I closed the door, Elke was going at full speed again and my wife was moaning and shrieking—she was completely out of her mind. “It worked, anyway. Nine months later we had another son. He’s a lovely little boy and Elke’s as proud as anything of him. I don’t suppose my wife wants to try for another baby but I’m sure I don’t want to do it the same way. Making love with a drill sergeant looking over my shoulder.” “Perhaps they’ll want Elke to have the next baby. Thought of that?” “God, I hope not! The thought of getting into that great hairy… I’d be frightened. She’s so muscular I’d be afraid she’d break it off. Perhaps I’ll volunteer you for the duty. At least you might be strong enough to hold her still. I can see my little story has interested you.” It was true. Tim’s cock lay draped over his thigh, half hard and thinking about it. He was suddenly aware that Papi’s had opened his eyes to stare. “My glasses,” he muttered. “I cannot see correctly but it looks very big.” “Oh it is, Papi, it is. You’d love it. My girls have both tried it and they say it reaches into all the corners. Did you ever try a man, Tim?” Tim was embarrassed by the question. “Er—no. Never. Not exactly.” “Not exactly?” “Well, there was a billy boy. Once.” “You should try a real man sometime. They’re different, aren’t they Papi?” “Oh yes,” he nodded. “Very different. The real thing. I prefer them.” “Didn’t you ever do anything at school, Tim? No? Oh well, that’s the English class system for you. You should have been born rich. We used to play around all the time because my father sent me to a very expensive school. You know, one of the ones that has huge oak boards with the names of ex-students killed in the Great War, all carved and gilded. And another list almost as long of all the ex-students who became prime ministers, bishops and generals. We weren’t allowed to meet any girls, so we amused ourselves in other ways.” “Really? It doesn’t seem to have affected your appreciation of pretty girls.” “Of course not. We only did it together because there was nothing else on offer. Not that we were very inventive. Too young to really enjoy

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ourselves, but we used to sit around in a circle and play with the cock on our right. It was all good fun. Especially if you were sitting next to a left-handed boy.” Tim was shocked at the thought. He had no idea that the great public schools were so—well—active. “Didn’t the teachers stop you?” “No, not much. Of course, half of them were doing it to each other anyway and the rest were probably too crazy to manage. They knew what was going on. We understood that much, but no one likes to make a fuss. They’d only have to send students down and that does all sorts of damage to reputations. The students’ reputations and the school’s as well. So I think they just tried not to see it. Of course, we made life as difficult as possible for the susceptible ones. You can just imagine what it must be like rubbing shoulders day after day with all those fit young men when you’ve got a secret craving for them. They must have been frantic with lust. They tried hard, but sometimes they didn’t manage to keep their trousers on.” “Jesus, that must have caused a lot of trouble.” “No, not really. Because no one was talking and no one was listening. We were hardly innocent choir boys after all so I don’t think it did any harm. We were all at the age where we would let anyone play with our cocks. They only had to ask. Look, Papi, he’s getting more interested. There’s hope for you yet.” “Oh I wish I had my glasses… It looks so big.” “If you talk to him nicely, you never know but you might get lucky.” Tim shut that idea down immediately. “No. Not a chance. Sorry Papi, but it’s just not my thing, I suppose.” Then seeing the expression on Papi’s face, he relented a little, “OK, maybe, if we’re here long enough. If we’re still here at Christmas time I’ll think about it.” A smile spread over Papi’s face and he closed his eyes again. Tim could not resist looking into his lap, but his cock was hidden by the fat of his belly. “How about you, Tim?” asked Alistair. “You’ve listened to my stories. Now tell us about your billy boy.” Tim related the story of Janice and that evening on Sea Sprite IV. Alistair did not let him rush through. He slowed the story down by asking questions and making Tim describe everything in the finest detail. He told of the barge and its crew, of Captain Straughan and their voyage to the crane barge. Alistair liked Renaldo and savoured the steam of his kitchen, the hot cornbread and coffee and, of course, he was interested in Janice. How she looked when she came to his room, how

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she dressed, how she sat. He wanted to know what she had done, how expert she had been. “Tell me what she felt like,” he pleaded. Tim was at a loss. “Well, like a woman I suppose. She seemed to want my cock just as much as a woman. More probably. She was as good at licking it as any woman I’ve ever tried. Better than most.” “But what was it like? You’re hopeless, Tim. Here am I starving for sex and you’re not giving the full Technicolor picture.” Tim tried again. “Well, she sat on the floor next to me and started to undo my belt and…” “What was she wearing by then? Had you taken her clothes off yet?” “I’d opened the top of her dress and taken her bra off.” “So, back up a bit. I want to hear about it step by step. We’ve got all day.” “Right. Let me start again. So I was sitting on the sofa with her. I had one arm around her shoulders and started to kiss her. That was nice. I liked the feel of her hair on my arm.” “Mmmh, I can just imagine it.” “And she had her hand on my thigh just here, and was stroking my cock with her fingertips. Through my trousers.” Alistair stared across the pen as he demonstrated with his own hand how Janice had touched and stroked him. His cock was lying half-hard in his lap and threatening to grow some more. “I was playing with her breasts as I kissed her. That was fun.” “What were they like?” “Small. Firm. Smaller than your girls’, but good to play with. Nice nipples, standing up and rubbery. She had a little black bra that did up in the front—here. So I unclipped it to let her breasts out. I pushed her dress off her shoulders so we could take the bra right off.” “And she looked good?” “She looked fantastic. Beautiful tits. Perfect.” “And then?” “I’m trying to remember exactly what came next. I think I took my shirt off, and she was trying to get my zip open. I made her stand up so I could slide her dress down over her hips. She was wearing tiny panties in black lace, very pretty. I made her turn around so I could have a good look at her.” “So, what did she look like?”

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“Very pretty, of course. Nice little arse on her. Girlish, I guess, rather than like a mature woman, and I couldn’t see where she was hiding her cock. She had something in her panties of course, but no more than most women. I couldn’t see any detail at all. Anyway, she wouldn’t let me take them off. She got down on the floor and helped get my trousers off. Then she really got to work on my cock.” “What did she do? Show us.” “Well, she held it between the fingertips of both hands, sort of like this.” His cock was respectably hard now and he held it between the tips of his outstretched fingers. “And she pulled the skin back like this.” “That must have felt good. I often wish I had a foreskin to play with.” Alistair was sitting with one leg bent, and his elegant cock had stretched out on his thigh. He was caressing it gently. “You must have been all ready to go right then.” “Yes, it felt pretty good. She was breathing on it, giving its head little kisses, even flickering her eye lashes all over it. It was fantastic. She looked so pretty down there enjoying herself. She’s pretty anyway, but just then…. She was holding my balls and working her other hand up and down the shaft.” “Wow, I love it when they take their time, don’t you?” “Yes, and then she held it to her mouth and just looked at me. That was really sexy, watching her with a little smile on her lips, pressing my cock against her closed mouth and looking up at me with big sexy eyes. And then, very slowly, she sucked me into her mouth. It looked so exciting I almost came right then.” He was holding his cock as he remembered. “Aah—happy times!” mused Alistair stroking himself. “And then she made you come?” “No, that was the beauty of it. She held still for a while until I could relax again and started to suck me in and out, very slowly. She ran her tongue round and round inside her mouth, stirring me up again. When she thought I was ready to come, she stopped again until I calmed down. She just kept doing that for ages, taking me to the edge and stopping.” “That sounds very clever, very classy.” “In the end, I couldn’t take any more. I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. I finally got her panties off then, although I don’t think she wanted me to.” “Yes, I guess that’s normal. Billy boys often seem to be embarrassed about having a cock, God knows why. What was it like?”

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“Small, and soft. It didn’t want to stand up at all, but I sucked it and it came eventually.” “Did you like that?” “Different. I think I might have had more fun if it had been a bit bigger, but it got stiff and then it came. It was OK, I suppose, but I was too busy enjoying what she was doing to my cock to worry about that. I wish she was here, I could use a little cherishing right now.” He was stroking his cock lazily and watching Alistair do the same across the pen. Papi cleared his throat. “If you come a little nearer,” he suggested, “I might be able to help.” “No thanks, Papi. I think I’ll wait. It will make getting out of here feel that much better.” There was a noise at the door and he hurried to tuck his cock between his thighs. It was another paper bag man. He came to look at Alistair. “You—what your name?” “Alistair Tajuddin, why?” The man grunted and left. “I think,” said Alistair, “they have just realised that they have a problem.”

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Chapter 36 The shed door opened and several paper bag men appeared. They were going to be moved. Tim looked frantically at Alistair and tried to convey by jerking his head that this would be a good time for a jail break. Alistair saw him, but did not seem to get the message. He decided he would try something alone and just hope that Alistair would be sharp enough to help. If only one of them could escape into the traffic outside, they would all be saved. Unfortunately, the paper bag men knew what they were doing and gave him no chance. They started with Alistair. A torn strip of cotton sheet was put into his mouth as a gag and tied tight behind his head. They blindfolded him with a bag and with two men holding him down inside the pen, another two outside unlocked his handcuff from the pen rail and put it around his free wrist. He was stood up on shaky legs and a manila rope run from his cuffed wrists, up his back and looped around his neck. They pulled the rope tight to lift his wrists far up his back. “Now you go free, huh?” said the team leader. “You free, understand?” and they led him out of the shed. Moments later they came back for Papi. Tim felt afraid. He was sure that the three of them would be separated. He would be passed on to the Indonesian man, and that would be fatal. He was already trying to adjust his mind to the prospect when they came back for him. They seemed even more cautious with him, perhaps fearful of his size. They did not attempt to stand him up until he was tightly trussed. The gag pulled fiercely on his mouth. Inside his paper bag he was already giving up hope of making a break. “You go free, huh? Understand? Free. You go now.” They tried to reassure him but he did not believe them. They had wound his rope around his elbows and pulled it tight before changing his hand cuffs. The rope was looped around his neck and back down under the tie around his elbows. They pulled it tight and the rough rope bit into him. There was nothing he could do. They dragged him to his feet and guided him

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outside. He felt the sun on his skin and rough concrete beneath his feet. They lifted one of his feet and put it on a metal step. “You go up, huh? One step, you go inside.” Timidly he stepped up. As he put his weight on the step, he felt it give and bounce. They were putting him into some kind of vehicle, probably the van they had come in. They pushed him to sit down and he felt one of the others beside him. There was some fumbling at his back and the drumming of his rope being pulled tight through an anchor point of some sort. The rope pulled him back against the metal wall of the van. His captors got out of the van and the doors slammed shut. The engine started and they began to move. It was difficult to sit upright as they bounced from side to side, and being blind made things worse. Tim experimented with getting the bag off his head by shaking it. It was free to move and no one stopped him. He shook and wriggled, making himself dizzy, but felt the bag inching upwards. Once it had passed his ears progress was rapid. The bag flew off and he blinked in the daylight. They were sitting on one side of the van. Papi was beside him, still wearing his bag. Alistair sat beyond him, his bag already at his feet. The inside of the van was old and scratched. The cargo compartment was separated by a grill from the cab where three men had their backs to the prisoners. The driver’s mirror had been twisted around and one of the passengers was watching them. “You go free, huh?” he repeated. “Five minute, you wait little.” There was nothing Tim or the others could do. Soon, much sooner than five minutes, the van pulled up and reversed. Tim could see large metal gates through the windows in the van doors. Their guards were wearing their paper bags again and jumped out. The sun flooded in as the doors opened. He saw an imposing entrance with large ornamental gates. His friends were waiting, Faith, Hope and Ahmed. “You go out! Out!” shouted one of the men. Tim tried to move and found his rope was loose. He pulled against it and it came to him. He shuffled towards the van door. Ahmed and the girls were there, reaching for him, pulling his rope loose and helping him out. Moments later they were all free, standing naked in the sunlight, having their gags removed. The girls laughed and cried, hanging onto Alistair while Ahmed untied his rope. Alistair led them all inside, away from the small group of passersby that had stopped to stare. As they hurried to the gates, Tim looked back for the van. It had gone and they had not noticed it leaving.

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It was a glorious day. Tim was alive, he was free and he had friends around him. The sun shone, the short grass tickled between his toes and he felt safe again. It did not matter that his hands were still cuffed behind him. They followed a curving drive up through a garden that was more like a park. Alistair’s house was an imposing white building with shuttered windows. It had a large masonry porch to protect Victorian ladies from the rain and the sun as they got in and out of their carriages. Their procession went around to the back of the house to a shaded swimming pool with a tennis court beyond. A small bar stood beside the pool, and on it a telephone was ringing. The girls ran to pick it up. “Yes, yes, yes,” they shouted excitedly. “He is here—now. You take,” said Faith, holding it out for Tim. He bent his head and she held it for him. His voice caught in his throat as he heard Sherry on the other end of the line. Sherry was quiet, subdued. There was not much they could say. When Faith took the phone away he found there were tears in his eyes. He looked around. Alistair was being hosed down by Ahmed, and Papi was waiting his turn. He went to join them. Sherry put the phone down. Relief flooded over her. With a big smile growing inside her, she went for her dress. Outside in the big office, the girls from the ashram waited for them. Bright, colourful and anxious amongst the dull women who worked there, they wanted news. They crowded around Sherry and Ranji, laughing, crying, asking for Papi. They ignored their surroundings and all crowded out down the stairs together. Hangchi’s van was waiting to take them home. Hangchi wove back across town, dropping off girls as he went. At the police station Darti, Janice and Sherry changed into his car and he drove them back home. “What will happen to the Irishman now?” asked Sherry. “Are you going to arrest him?” “I don’t know. I’ll have to consult with my colleagues in Johor Baru first. See if we’ve got enough to connect him to the kidnapping. I’ll have to warn you that it’s unlikely. He’s probably been too clever to leave any connection, and I can guarantee that none of his men are going to talk. “How did he treat you two? You must have been very persuasive.” “Not that persuasive, I think. He was happy enough to take what we offered, but I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have let them go as he promised. Not without the rest of the girls waiting outside, and you in the car park. You looked quite threatening in your uniform.”

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“I still don’t see why you had to be nice to him. You might’ve known he wouldn’t play fair.” “Oh, we had to give him the chance. A little bit of carrot’s better than a little bit of stick. He might’ve taken it, you know, and we all would have been a lot better off if he had. Now I’m afraid we’re in his bad books. He’s not going to forgive us for humiliating him. Damn it! After we tried so hard to be nice to him. I suppose he’ll chase all of us now, but especially Ranji and me. I’m beginning to get worried about it.” “No, don’t worry. You’re going to be alright,” said Hangchi. He sounded quite sure of himself. “I don’t know exactly what will happen to the Irishman, but I’m sure he’s finished in Singapore. Not because of you, but because he kidnapped Alistair.” “You know, he didn’t realise he’d taken Alistair. He seemed quite shocked when we told him. Is that bad for him?” “Very bad. Alistair’s a very important person in Malaysia, and kidnapping him is going to have consequences. Wait until tomorrow. I should have something for you by then.” Sherry sat at home. Her friends were upstairs changing and showering. Outside the day was fading and it mirrored her mood. After the grief and excitement of the past two days she felt drained and limp. She had spoken to Tim again. He too sounded tired. He had been handcuffed, he said, and it had taken a long time to cut the cuffs off all three of them. Papi was fine. He had been taken into town to get new glasses. Alistair had arranged it, and he would be fitted out that evening. Alistair was still full of energy. He had even gone into his office to report what had happened. Tim was left at home with the girls, and Sherry felt a twinge of jealousy. He had sensed it and reassured her. Tonight the girls had eyes and feelings only for Alistair. He told her that Papi was no sort of substitute and that made her laugh. He would come home tomorrow. Alistair was arranging a police escort to the border and a hand-over to the Singapore police. Darti and Janice called her upstairs. The shower was free. She went up to find them waiting for her with a bath half-full of soapy water. They stood her in it and scrubbed her all over. Darti was naked but Janice insisted on her panties. They both got wet all over again as they washed Sherry. Then they had insisted on getting her dressed again. They wanted to celebrate at the Pizza Hut in the shopping centre and they wanted Sherry

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to put on her finest. She let them dress her and did not object when Janice selected a dress she had bought for her flute-playing lessons. They would go to the Pizza Hut looking like three high-class tarts. They tripped back home along the rough pavement, arm in arm. Their tummies were full of pizza and Tiger beer. The tensions of the two past days had already faded away and been replaced by a pleasant relaxation. Sherry started to feel secure again; her friends walked beside her, and she expected Tim home tomorrow. They walked quietly along Holland Road, heels clicking on the concrete. She was happy, but there was the sense of a chapter coming to an end. Tim would have to move on, to leave Singapore. Even if they wanted to stay, Krumbeins would move them on. They would not tolerate one of their engineers being kidnapped and it would take more than a phone call from Hangchi to change their minds. Oh well, nothing was permanent in the parallel world of the oil patch. She always held at the back of her mind the thought that she would have to leave Singapore sooner or later. Assignments were meant to last two years, but business was a fluid thing and engineers were usually moved before their time. They would have their marching orders soon. They turned into Moonbeam Walk and she stopped in front of their house. It was a pleasant place, two storeys and a patch of tropical garden front and back. It had made a good home for them. The windows were open and welcoming behind the security grills. They had been comfortable there before, but since the recent changes to her life it held even happier memories. She would not be exactly pleased to leave, but she would be excited. It was time to move on, to follow Tim to somewhere strange. It would be a very different Sherry that boarded the plane out—smarter, hungrier, sexier. She was laying nude under the sheet, drifting towards sleep, when the door clicked open and Darti and Janice came in. Darti had wrapped a sarong around herself, but Janice liked to show off her breasts. She was naked except for the inevitable panties to cover her uncertainty. They were smiling like naughty children as they came to her. Sherry moved into the middle of the bed to give them room on each side. She wrapped an arm around each of them and they snuggled up. Their long, strong hair was draped over her shoulders. She felt like the earth mother. “What are you two going to do if we leave Singapore?” “You go, Sherry?” asked Darti. “No, you stay Singapore. We love you, Sherry.”

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Janice felt the same. “You stay, Sherry. We all stay here.” “I don’t know,” she pondered. “I think Tim will have to go soon. His company will send us somewhere else.” “Where you go, Sherry?” “I don’t know. Could be almost anywhere. Anywhere that has oilwells.” Darti thought for a while. “OK. No problem. You go, and we live with Hangchi. We make him very happy, but better you stay. We love you, Sherry.” She pulled herself up to kiss Sherry’s cheek. “You are very special lady, Sherry.” A shiver ran through Sherry as she felt Janice’s hand on her breast. “So big!” whispered Janice. Sherry forced herself to relax. She was with friends, she told herself, as Darti took possession of her other breast. She stared at the ceiling and enjoyed the small hands stroking her and pulling at her nipples. Deep inside she felt herself opening and yielding. Her hands were loose on their shoulders now as they leaned over her, nibbling and suckling at her. She stroked their hair, happy to give to her friends. Janice was laying half on top of her, holding her breast with both hands and tormenting its button with her teeth. She felt Darti’s hand on her stomach and gave herself immediately. She sighed as the fingers dipped between her thighs, searching for her centre. There was nothing for her to do. Her legs had fallen open and the girls held her thighs between their own. She thought she could feel Darti’s little brush of hair pressed against her and her soft dampness below. On her other thigh the lace of Janice’s panties slid insistently against her skin. They were touching her as only women can. Softly, delicately, searching, probing and pulling. She felt swollen and hungry, and already wet. She was slippery and their fingers slid freely up and down the folds of her sex. Inevitably, her excitement mounted. She was surprised at her response, so quick and so hungry. Fingers were rubbing her clit while others probed her entrance. One of them—Janice?—was reaching fingers into her, opening and stretching her pussy. Suddenly, she was coming, in a rush, without warning. She struggled, trying to free herself from the agony but her liberty was in their hands. They controlled her, squeezing and pulling as they drew her orgasm on and on, giving her waves of pleasure.

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Darti laughed at her. “Oooh, Sherry! So quickly! I think you are too hungry.” She let Sherry close her legs but did not remove the hand she kept pressed against her pussy. “You like?” “Oh yes. I like very much,” Sherry said as another shudder ran through her, “You’re both very clever. No, no, stop! Let me rest for a minute.” She struggled free of them. “That was fantastic, but now it’s your turn.” Darti wriggled into the middle of the bed and put her hands behind her head. “I like,” she announced and her friends fell on her. Her size enchanted Sherry. Darti was a woman, Tim said she had grown up children, but in Sherry’s hands she felt no bigger than a child. Her chest was slim and hard. Her breast was comfortable in Sherry’s hand, and she wondered at the shape and smoothness of it. The chance to play with Darti’s breast was fascinating. She pulled at it, moulded it and flicked her thumb slowly over its rubbery button. It crossed her mind that Tim must have done much the same when he made love to Darti. She lowered her head to suck at the proud nipple and worry it with her teeth. Beside her, Janice was doing the same. Darti’s eyes had closed and she was enjoying herself. It excited Sherry to think that she was following in Tim’s footsteps and she wished he was here to share in the pleasure they were giving Darti. She decided that when he got back they would take Darti together. She ran her hand down to explore her. Her fingertips brushed over Darti’s hair and slipped down between her lips. Janice was already there, stroking slowly up and down, spreading Darti’s excitement. Sherry reached lower. She wanted to be inside this wonderful woman. Her finger slipped in and Darti sighed. She felt warm and luxurious inside, and she gently squeezed Sherry’s finger. Sherry experimented with moving in and out of her tunnel. Darti moaned and her head turned from side to side on the pillow. A surge of pride rose in Sherry that she could give her friend such pleasure. She pushed a second finger into Darti and it was welcomed. With Janice strumming her clit, Sherry set up a steady rhythm in and out. Between them they drove Darti mad. Her eyes had closed, her face contorted and she was panting urgently. Her pleasure mounted rapidly and Sherry slowed down. She was watching Darti’s face for the moment when her climax would arrive, and she wanted to draw it out for as long as possible. Darti had spread her arms out rigidly across the bed and her

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hips thrust upwards to swallow Sherry’s fingers. She whimpered continuously. It may have been seconds, it may have been moments, but her orgasm arrived and Sherry slowed her movements to almost nothing. Darti rocked her whole body from side to side and kicked out, trying to escape from the fingers inside her. She grabbed for Sherry’s hand but they caught her hands and stopped her. She was twisting herself, legs closed together and her hips backing away from the torment. Sherry stopped moving inside her but refused to take her hand away. With two fingers lodged deep inside her, she followed Darti’s contortions until they died away and she could lie still. “Oh, too much,” said Darti weakly. Her face was damp and her hair stuck to her forehead. “You make me come too much.” A shudder ran through her and she squeezed Sherry’s fingers. “Come out of me, please,” she begged and jumped as Sherry slowly slid out of her. Sherry brushed the hair away from her face. “You like?” “Ooooh, Sherry, too much I like.” She smiled. “You very good. You know how…” “Yes, me and Janice.” She looked at Janice across their friend’s body. She was smiling happily until she saw what was in Sherry’s mind. “No, not me…” she begged but it was too late. Sherry threw herself across the bed and covered her. Janice was smothered, struggling and shrieking as Sherry tickled her. Darti joined in. “Get her panties,” ordered Sherry. “I want to see what she’s hiding.” She knelt astride Janice’s waist and held her wrists to the mattress. Janice tried to fight back until Darti managed to pull her panties down over her hips. She resigned herself. “Oh, very pretty,” commented Darti but Sherry could not see. She shuffled backwards to sit on Janice’s thighs. Janice’s slim brown body was blessed with a pretty cock. Pretty but small. Slim and neatly circumcised, it was stretching out on her tummy. “That’s sweet, Janice! I like it!” Sherry exclaimed and reached out to pat it with her fingertips. It was hard and bounced away from her touch. She shuffled back further to get a better view of the graceful girl with her neat breasts and incongruous cock. She looked sexy and exciting. I must try this, she thought, and bent to take the hard stem into her mouth. She swallowed deep, engulfing the whole elegant cock.

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Janice groaned. Sherry rested her forehead on Janice’s stomach and suckled at the sweet root. It was good to feel Janice moving beneath her. She became aware of Darti’s hand on her shoulder and realised she was being greedy. She let Janice fall from her mouth and offered her place to Darti. “Here—you try it. It’s fun.” Darti threw a leg over Janice and without hesitation, spiked herself on her cock. “Aaah—yes! Too much time. Oh yes, Janice!” and she started to grind her hips round and round. Janice closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. Sherry lay down beside her and slipped an arm around her shoulders. She lay still and watched Darti’s face. It did not take long. Darti’s orgasm returned and her frown gave way to a blank stare as she rode from wave to wave. Sherry watched in awe, wondering exactly what was happening to her. Darti’s ride became less frantic and demanding, and she collapsed into Janice’s arms. They lay together, Darti trembling and her friends stroking her. When at last she rolled off, they lay together in silence. Sherry quietly resolved that she would do the same again tomorrow. With the addition of Tim.

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Chapter 37 They celebrated at Chico and Charlie’s, the best Mexican restaurant in Asia. High in one of the steel and glass office blocks off Orchard Road they stepped out of the lift and into the arched brickwork of a village bar and restaurant. Mexican music played quietly in the background and a Singaporean girl, looking pretty in traditional peasant clothes from the Mexican high country, showed them to their booth. All around the rich and knowledgeable people of Singapore were tucking into exotic dishes. The food was good here. Not a Tex-Mex fast food disaster but proper careful Mexican cooking. Tim had heard that even the Mexican diplomats visited regularly to get a taste of home cooking. The girl brought Corona for Tim and Sherry, and lime juice with water for the girls. Darti and Janice were over-awed and looked with suspicion at the basket of corn chips and earthenware bowls of red and green salsa. Cautiously they dipped chips into the salsa and nibbled. Their faces lit up as they tasted the sharp, clean chilli and they set to in earnest. Hangchi arrived with Alistair and the girls and their table was full and lively. Ordering meals for four Indonesian girls took a long time, but once that had been accomplished Hangchi was ready to talk. “So, Sherry, I have some good news for you. No more Irishman. He’s gone. He left early this morning for Sheboygan.” Sherry was shocked. “But how could he leave? Weren’t you watching for him? And where’s Sheboygan, anyway?” “Of course we were watching. We knew all about it, but we didn’t have anything to prosecute him with. It’s better this way. In Singapore he was an important person. Rich, respected, big family, all that sort of thing. Now he’s been sent off to some sort of cousin in Sheboygan. I understand the cousin runs a restaurant, but he’s thinking of starting a general store as well. “As for Sheboygan, well, I’m surprised you world travellers don’t know where it is. It’s north of Milwaukee on the shores of Lake

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Michigan. I had to look it up myself. I don’t know what sort of town it is but I’m sure it gets very, very cold up there. Especially at this time of year. He should enjoy himself there.” “Oh no, that’s terrible. I can just imagine… I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” Tim pretended to slap her wrist. “After all the things he’s responsible for? I’d have been happier if he’d gone to Alaska, but how did you arrange it?” Hangchi smiled patiently. “I didn’t. I couldn’t, but last night certain people in Singapore were talking to certain other people in Singapore and Johor Baru. They decided that he’d overstepped the mark by kidnapping Alistair, and something would have to be done about him. I think they made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, as they say in the movies.” “Just as well,” chipped in Alistair. “If he’d tried to stay I’m sure some of our hotheads would have started rioting and burning Chinese businesses. Apparently the Chinese community in JB has had to pass on his businesses to buy peace. Serve him right, poisonous little toad. So he’s not only going to be shivering on the shores of Lake Michigan, but he’ll be broke as well. More or less broke, anyway.” Sherry shivered in sympathy. “I didn’t like him, but I don’t think I wanted him to go to jail.” “Going to jail would be the smallest part of his worries,” said Hangchi. “The people he was supplying with guns have become convinced that he double-crossed them. Took their money and then tipped off the police to seize the guns back for him. It doesn’t cross their minds that we took them and destroyed them. That wouldn’t be the way things are done in Indonesia. At the moment they don’t know who to hate more, the Irishman or Tim here.” “So they were definitely behind the kidnapping?” asked Tim. “Yes. They discovered you were involved with us when you were in Kalimantan. Rais talked in the wrong places. That’s when they tried to get you and Darti. Then you had the bad luck to be photographed with Janice here, and one of their men recognised you. Just a coincidence that you turned up again, of course, but such a strange one that they couldn’t believe you weren’t involved somehow in the loss of their guns. Apparently they accused the Irishman of employing you. He denied it, of course, and volunteered to catch you for them. For a fee. You were lucky, Tim. Very lucky.”

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“But why did they take Papi and Alistair?” asked Sherry. “Their bad luck, nothing more. The Irishman just told his men to grab everyone and he probably expected to let them go free when he handed Tim over. When he discovered he’d taken Alistair, he must have known his number was up. Things run on a very delicate balance here between the Chinese and Malaysian underworlds, and kidnapping Alistair would have upset everyone. Apparently the big names in Singapore were considering sending his head over to JB, just to make peace, but his family managed to avoid that. At a cost, of course. He’s not a popular man tonight.” “Well, good riddance, I say,” said Sherry. “Singapore is better off without him, and I shall feel a lot safer too.” “I’m not sure I do,” said Tim. “The terrorists are still out there. So I’ve got some news for everyone. We’re moving. As soon as we can pack. I spoke to Krumbeins this afternoon and they know everything that’s been going on, thank you, Hangchi, and they’re very keen to get us out of here. They’ve even given me a choice about where we go next. So what do you fancy, Sherry? Adelaide or Santa Cruz de las Sierras?” Sherry was shocked again. “What? Where? Where’s that other place anyway?” “Bolivia. It’s just about in the middle of South America. They’ve got gas fields there, and some light oil.” Sherry thought for a while. Adelaide in South Australia. She thought about it for a moment and all she could remember was that the city had been named after Queen Adelaide. It sounded terribly Victorian, but Bolivia was different. The High Andes, Che Guevara, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Nazis in hiding and vast cattle ranches. Then there was the sound of the name, Santa Cruz de las Sierras. It was no contest really. She raised her glass to them all. “I’d better start learning Spanish.” A thought came to her. “What about Darti and Janice?” “Darti’s coming with me,” said Hangchi firmly. “And Janice too, I hope.” “Hangchi!” cried Alistair, “I don’t believe it!” “Why ever not?” asked Hangchi amiably. “I’m not so terrible, am I?” He looked around at the big smiles on his friends’ faces. “No, of course not. It’s just that…that… I don’t know. I never imagined you…”

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Sherry rescued him. “I think you’d better keep quiet before you embarrass yourself. Let’s have a toast to Hangchi and Darti, crime fighters of Singapore.” She was happy to lie in bed waiting for Tim to come from the shower. She had been hanging on his arm all day. Now she had him back safe, the nightmare of the last few days had faded and she felt happy just to be with him. She lay back under her sheet. The shower had stopped and he would be with her soon. He bent to kiss her and she clung to him. He held her for a moment and gently pushed her back down onto the bed. He stood over her, big, naked and strong. With a swift movement he stripped the sheet off her. She was uncomfortable under his stare but forced herself to lie still. “Very nice,” he complimented her. “Very, very tasty. Let’s have a look at the other side.” She did not resist as he rolled her over and ran his hands down her back from her shoulders to her bottom. “Very nice,” he repeated and, grabbing her by the hips, lifted her clear of the mattress and set her on all fours with her feet at the edge of the bed. He kneaded her bottom with rough, strong hands. It took her breath away and she found herself getting excited. With a hand on the back of her neck he pushed her down to rest her head on the bed. Whack! The pain of his slap shot through her. She shrieked and struggled to get up, but the weight of his hand on the back of her neck was too much. “W-w-what?” she asked, “Why? Why did you—aaah!” and another slap landed on her defenceless bottom, and another. She was writhing but he was too strong. “You’ve been with the Irishman again, haven’t you? Did you have my permission?” and he smacked her again. “But it was for you… it’s not fair,” she sobbed. “What did you do with him? Did you suck his cock?” “No, no—he made me…Ooow!” She heard the door click open behind her and Darti asked “What you do, Tim?” “She’s been a bad girl. She’s just going to tell us what she was doing with the Irishman.” “Oh yes,” she heard Janice say. “She too much bad girl.” What, she thought, even my friends? But I did it for Tim… “So, tell us. What did you do for the Irishman?” “He made us take our clothes off and dance.”

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“I’m waiting—don’t make me waste my time.” “And he made me kiss Ranji.” “I see. Kiss her where?” “On her… on her… her pussy. He made me do it to her.” Her confession was rewarded by another whack. “And? Did you like it?” Sherry searched for the correct answer, anything that would save her poor bottom. “Yes. I made her come.” She cringed, waiting for another blow, but it did not come. “Very good, and then what?” “He put it in me from behind while I was licking her.” Whack! “Put what in you?” “His cock,” she cried. “He put his cock in me while I was licking Ranji. Oh God—please don’t hit me again.” “What do you think, girls? I was chained up in a pig pen and she had a Chinese cock up inside her. Is that bad?” “Very bad,” agreed Darti. “Hit her again.” Sherry could only sob her disappointment. “No,” said Tim. “I’m tired. You have a go, and Janice. Here, I’ll hold her down.” At least Darti and Janice were not so strong, but their blows still stung. “What else has she been doing while I’ve been away?” asked Tim. “Sherry very bad girl,” she heard Janice say. “She make pom-pom with us.” “Really? I’m surprised at her. What did she do?” “She make me come too much—very nice,” explained Darti. “Yes, she’s good like that. Hit her again.” Darti hit her. “And she suck my cock,” said Janice. “Very nice cocksucking.” “Oh, she’s an expert, so I’m told. You were lucky. Give her another two.” Sherry was past complaining now and sobbed quietly into the mattress. Tim moved to sit beside her and she winced as a dollop of cold cream was spread on her smarting bottom. Then the girls were rubbing the smoothing cream over her sore places and relief flooded over her. The girls were exploring her, going far beyond her cheeks, stroking her thighs, her hips and lower back, teasing her little star and her pussy. They slipped their fingers into her.

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“Look, Sherry very wet,” said Darti. She seemed to be holding a hand out for Tim’s inspection. “I think you take her now.” Tim moved behind her. Darti and Janice were whispering to each other as they guided him home. He slipped into her easily, filling her completely. Then Janice was in front of her, spreading her legs and offering her slim cock to be kissed. “Go on,” ordered Tim. “Suck her. Show us how good you can be.” Obediently she sucked the rigid stem into her mouth and was rewarded by a deep sigh from Janice. Darti was sitting beside her, one arm over her back, and the other reaching under her. Her fingers were probing the join where Tim was embedded in her and searching for Sherry’s clit. She began to rub with a purpose and Tim started to swing in and out in long slow strokes. “Why?” she asked, before she slipped out of control, “Why?” Tim chuckled. “Because we love you, silly.” “Yes, yes,” said Darti. “We all love Sherry too much. Now we make you fly…”

THE END WWW.JACQUELINEGEORGEWRITER.COM

ABOUT THE AUTHOR Other Titles by Jacqueline George Light o’Love The Prince and the Nun Foreign Affairs

Jacqueline lives in the far north of Queensland, Australia, on the shores of the Coral Sea. She has a house built for the tropical climate-on tall stilts and with walls that open to let the breeze blow through. She settled in Australia after living with her husband in many countries and cultures, and her travels have given her a fund of stories and locations she uses in her stories. We do not know exactly how far her stories come from her imagination, and how much from experience. She will not tell us but if you visit her website and ask nicely, she might tell you. Jacqueline writes romantic stories because she is an unrepentant romantic at heart. In a world that is drowning in poverty and violence, she tries to hold up a cheerful light and make everyone's life a little happier. That is a big job, but it is fun to make the attempt and, who knows, it might just work. When she is not writing, she is kept busy by her garden which is still maturing. Right now her coconut trees look young and scrappy, but come back in five years and they will be towering over the house. And what could be more romantic than a coconut palm?

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