The Fifth Season. Kerry B Collison
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their table, along with an assortment of small dishes containing a variety of pickles and sauces. Someone appeared and splashed lukewarm tea into hurriedly-washed, miniature porcelain cups, while a more senior waiter succeeded in pushing his way to where they were seated, to take their orders.
Harry pointed to the drinks list, ordering beers all around. Wine was not available; just cognacs, whiskies, soft drinks and beer.
‘I’ll order?’ he suggested, to the relief of the others. The experienced vistor pointed to a number of dishes he believed he understood, and accompanied by confused gesticulation between the pair, the waiter finally managed to understand what it was the foreigner wished to order, and scribbled impatiently on his pad. To Hamish’s surprise, the Bintang beer arrived cold, and he grinned at the others as they touched glasses in toast.
Mary Jo was a little disappointed that their venue made it impossible to communicate. She had hoped for an opportunity to discuss the IMF’s position regarding current negotiations with the Indonesian Government.
Now, she realized, Harold Goldstein had cleverly removed that opportunity with his selection of dinner locations. She looked across the table wondering if Hamish McLoughlin’s presence had been orchestrated, to prevent an in-depth interview.
Crab and asparagus soup was served, by which time all three had given up any further attempts at talking. Soon, other dishes arrived, and Mary Jo’s resentment at the evening’s outcome all but disappeared as the first tantalizing aroma of suckling pig reminded her that she had missed taking lunch in Bandung. Having never mastered the art during her many visits to China, she struggled with the chopsticks until an observant waiter provided forks and spoons. Mary Jo watched, as both men expertly separated pieces of deep-fried, sweet-and-sour kakap then shared the fish with her.
By the time they had eaten the tender squid, steamed prawns, Cantonese rice and kai-lan leaf which had been soaked in oyster sauce, surprisingly, the restaurant had all but emptied.
‘Where have they gone?’ Hamish asked, his watch showing it was ten o’clock.
‘Same thing happened the last time I was here,’ Harry replied, accepting a warm, wet towel from the waiter. He wiped his face slowly, releasing an audible sigh of satisfaction with the moment. ‘I was brought here last visit by the Finance Minister. A couple of Chinese businessmen tagged along, probably to pay for the evening and, before I could do anything about it, I found myself drinking XO cognac as if there was no tomorrow.’
The IMF official then shook his head, remembering what followed.
‘With my experience, I should have realized that the Chinese element wouldn’t have settled for just a few social sips. Anyway, once I discovered that the government officials had surreptitiously slipped away and gone home, I decided that I’d had enough and insisted that I be taken back to the Hyatt.’ Both Mary Jo and Hamish listened attentively, somewhat bemused that someone as well-traveled, and as senior as Harry had found himself in such a predicament.
‘Anyway, the Chinese hosts were reluctant to let me go and short of causing an incident, I agreed to finish another bottle with them. There’s not much more to tell except one of them fell over that railing over there,’
Harry explained, his expression serious, ‘and we had one hell of a job pulling him back up and inside. Needless to say,’ he added, his face breaking into a smile, ‘he was covered in mud and whatever unmentionables lurk in these filthy harbor’s waters.
Mary Jo noticed that the last guests were settling their bill. She decided to delay their own departure, taking advantage of the changed ambiance. As Goldstein concluded his anecdote, she waved to the waiter and requested coffee.
‘Why don’t we finish up at the hotel instead?’ Hamish suggested, spoiling her plan. She decided to be blunt and plunged in hoping for at least some time to probe Goldstein for information regarding the current crisis.
‘How about ten minutes, here?’ she asked, smiling sweetly. Hamish McLoughlin shrugged.
‘Okay by me, but I don’t think I could stomach their coffee. Harry?’
Goldstein’s eyes flicked unnoticeably. ‘Okay, Jo. But I’m not sure there’s a great deal to tell you yet,’ he fenced. He knew that by agreeing to meet with Mary Jo, she would aggressively pursue her questions. He had hoped that Hamish’s presence would provide sufficient distraction.
‘I don’t want to put you on the spot, Harry, but New York expects an in depth submission from me, and I thought the information would be far more reliable coming from you, than those bastards over at the Indonesian Ministry of Information. God, Harry, it’s incredibly frustrating trying to extract real facts from these people,’ she pleaded.
‘All I can suggest, Jo, is that the IMF is hoping that something more concrete will eventuate out of next month’s meetings. For now, there really is nothing much I can say. I’ll tell you what, though. I’ll give you whatever I can after the next round of talks. How’s that?’ he suggested, hoping that this would suffice. He really could not divulge that, as they spoke, Washington was in the process of preparing new guidelines for the Indonesians which, he expected, would result in the most severe ramifications should these not be adhered to by the Indonesian government.
Realizing that she had hit a brick wall, Mary Jo retreated graciously, smiling at the rebuff.
‘Exclusive?’ she asked hopefully, knowing that this would be unlikely.
‘Sure, sure,’ Goldstein laughed, pleased that she had reacted this well.
He raised his hand and called for their check. ‘Anyway, you could always pick Hamish’s brains for your story,’ he teased, grinning widely now.
‘Now that’s a possibility,’ McLoughlin joined in, pleasantly surprisedwith Jo’s behavior. She seemed to lack the aggression he associated with media types. ‘Why don’t we go back to the Hyatt and talk over coffee there?’ he suggested again.
They agreed, and Harry paid the bill, leading the way outside where their driver remained, sound asleep. Within minutes they were speeding back towards the city, the traffic around the Selamat Datang statue noticeably lighter as they arrived at the Grand Hyatt.
‘I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you two to it,’ Goldstein said, stifling a yawn.
‘Not even a nightcap?’ Hamish offered, surprised as it was only eleven o’clock.
‘Sorry,’ he apologized, reaching over to squeeze Mary Jo’s hand. ‘We’ll catch up next month,’ he promised, and winked at McLoughlin. ‘See you at breakfast, Hamish. Goodnight,’ with which, he walked away towards reception. They watched as Goldstein collected his room keys and messages, and waved as he stepped into the lavishly decorated lift.
‘Still want that coffee?’ Hamish McLoughlin asked, hoping she would not stay.
‘Perhaps something a little stronger. It’s been a long day,’ she replied, placing her arm through his. They returned to O’Reiley’s and found a table hidden in a softly-lit corner of the bar. They selected their drinks, then settled back to talk, enjoying each other’s company. The atmosphere was more subdued, the number of guests reduced to a few.
Sitting across the dark onyx table, Mary Jo decided that she approved of the Scot, wondering how, as a banker, he managed to maintain the deep suntanned features which complimented the man’s obvious athletic form.
He was certain to work out, she guessed correctly, at ease with Hamish’s warm and convincing smile.
‘Do you know why Harry was so reluctant to reveal what’s happening?’
Jo asked. Hamish looked past Mary Jo, distracted by the flickers of light at the other end of the bar as a couple there lit their cigarettes. Suddenly, something triggered a distant memory and he could taste the warm, comforting tobacco smoke as it entered his lungs. He returned his gaze to the attractive woman sitting opposite, pleased that he had given up smoking more than fifteen years before. He addressed her question.