The Noble Path: A relentless standalone thriller from the #1 bestseller by Peter May (learn to read books .TXT) 📕

was not an attractive man, but full of charm, Lisa thought. He had been particularly attentive and put her at her ease in this gathering of strangers. She heard the sound of Grace’s voice raised in laughter and she glanced down the table to see her in animated conversation with a small, ugly man in an expensive-looking grey silk suit. There were twenty round the long table, silver cutlery and cut crystal glasses sparkling in the candlelight. Much wine had been consumed with the meal and the conversation was lively, punctuated by frequent bursts of laughter.

Most of the men were middle-aged or elderly; politicians, high-ranking army officers and senior policemen, Grace had told Lisa. Influential friends. Their female companions were all very young, Lisa’s age and a little older. Dazzlingly beautiful, delicate oriental girls, demure in traditional costumes of patterned Thai silk, or in long figure-hugging Vietnamese ao dai.

Lisa’s dress, when it had been delivered that morning, had delighted her, the deep crimson complementing the hint of strawberry in her rich blonde hair, the daring cut exposing a wide slash of creamy white skin across the swell of her breasts. Grace had regarded her with obvious pleasure, nodding, satisfied, and said, ‘You’ll be the belle of the ball, my dear.’

But when she first arrived at the club, Lisa had felt very conspicuous, tall and big-boned and rather clumsy beside these sylph-like Thai girls. Her skin, she thought, seemed an ugly, blue-veined white compared with the smooth golden brown of these lovely creatures. She felt very unattractive. So she had been surprised, and then flattered, when very quickly she had become the centre of attention, eyes dwelling on her with undisguised admiration. She had caught the jealous glances of several Thai girls and felt her confidence returning, taking a heady delight in the attentions of such important people. Once or twice she had caught Grace’s eye, and Grace had nodded, smiling encouragement.

The General introduced himself early, fetching her a drink and telling her that she must sit beside him at dinner. A young white girl, particularly one as beautiful as Lisa, must take great care in a city like Bangkok to choose carefully the company she keeps, he had told her. His mischievous smile had instantly endeared him to her. She had laughed. But still she remembered Sivara.

The meal was served discreetly by white-jacketed waiters who flitted soundlessly among the guests like ghosts. Seafood platters on beds of rice, tender beef curry and coconut in scooped-out pineapple shells, cellophane noodle salad and sticky rice with coconut cream. For the most part the men drank Thai whisky and the women sipped at glasses of expensive French wine. At the other side of a small, dimly lit dance floor, a quartet of musicians played lazy American jazz music that drifted across the conversation.

Lisa felt warm and relaxed, and was gently tipsy from too much soft, fruity, red wine.

‘Grace tells me your father is in Cambodia.’ The General’s simple statement startled her. In the days she had spent lying around reading, lazily flipping through Grace’s huge collection of books on erotic art, accompanying Grace on occasional shopping trips, she had almost forgotten why she was here. The nightmare of the attack by Sivara had retreated from her memory like a bad dream, and for the first time since her mother’s death she had begun to relax, succumbing to the warm somnambulant comforts of Grace’s sumptuous villa with its pretty maidservants and good food.

‘Yes,’ she replied, and she felt her face flush with guilt. Why did it seem so much less important now that she find her father than it had only a week ago?

The General shook his head sadly. ‘It’s a bad business.’

‘What do you mean?’ A stab of fear pierced Lisa’s complacency.

‘Have you not read the newspapers? Refugees from Cambodia and many deserting Khmer Rouge are flooding over the Thai border in their thousands. The Khmers have been well beaten in the south and are retreating north into country which, by all accounts, is now ravaged by famine. And the Vietnamese seem poised to take Phnom Penh any day.’

‘But what does that mean for my father?’

The General put a comforting hand over hers. ‘I’m afraid, my dear, that any Westerner caught up in events south of the border has little or no chance of surviving them.’

‘It will be a difficult time, too, for Thailand.’ A dapper, middle-aged member of the government sitting opposite poured himself another whisky. ‘Just when we thought we had the communists under control at home, there could be anything up to half a million of them flooding over the border.’

‘Frankly,’ an earnest middle-aged journalist cut in, ‘I see a bigger threat from having the Vietnamese along our border. At least the Khmer Rouge kept themselves to themselves. The Vietnamese are well known for their territorial ambitions.’

The General lit a fat Havana cigar. ‘There are already several divisions of our troops on their way to stiffen border security, Lat, as you well know. It would be very unhelpful of you to print such scaremongering speculation in your newspaper.’

The politician added, ‘We also have the full financial and political backing of the Americans.’

The journalist curled his lips in a sardonic smile. ‘A lot of good that did Thieu in Saigon or Lon Nol in Cambodia.’

‘You mean there could be a war?’ Lisa felt nonplussed by this exchange on a subject of which she had so little grasp.

‘Oh, I doubt that,’ the General smiled. ‘A little sabre-rattling, perhaps.’ He patted her hand reassuringly. ‘I’m sorry to alarm you about your father, my dear. Perhaps he will survive. He is a soldier, after all, is he not?’ Lisa was shocked by how much he seemed to know. He leaned closer and whispered, ‘La Mère Grace has told me everything. She thought I might be able to help.’ She smelt the whisky and cigar smoke on his breath.

‘And can you?’ Her voice seemed very tiny.

‘I will certainly do whatever I can. My people on