Harry St Clair: Rogue or Doctor?. Fiona McArthur
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she could follow it. Who was out of practice as a relaxed dinner companion? ‘What are you having?’
He put the menu back on the table. ‘I’ll do the set plate with lots of seafood and a side salad.’
She couldn’t even read the menu in the dark. ‘Sounds good.’
He sat straighter and glanced around. ‘You get a drink with it. Have you tried the local beer? It’s very light.’
She’d seen it advertised everywhere. ‘No, but bought the T-shirt.’
He grinned and signalled the waiter, who appeared like magic. ‘We’ll have two Jimbaran specials, two beers and a coconut drink, please.’
Obviously she’d been blatant with her curiosity about the coconuts. But it was nice he’d seen her interest. Or was it? She’d need to watch this man. He was unobtrusively delightful.
The waiter produced two beers from his passing friend, set them down and departed with a big white smile. Harry handed one over to her. Then he carried on the conversation as if there’d been no break.
‘Those T-shirts are the most common exports with tourists. Hope you didn’t pay more than twenty thousand rupees for it.’
So he was focused. She’d need to watch that too, but she’d been dying to talk to someone about this.
She tapped her glass with her fingernail. ‘I have issues with bartering. I can see the Balinese enjoy it, but I’d prefer just to buy the darn thing without the hassle. I find it very stressful to pretend I’m offended at the price.’
He took a sip and when he didn’t answer, she decided to copy him. A tentative sip. The drink was light, still beery and she wasn’t that much of a fan, but it was cold and wet and felt wonderful going down.
Then he said, ‘Wimp,’ and she nearly choked. He grinned and went on. ‘Barter is fun. It’s part of Balinese culture, like mental gymnastics. Good bargaining can make a huge difference to a family wage if they’re lucky. But the experience should never be unpleasant or too pushy.’
‘Yeah, well. I’m such a sucker.’ She sighed. ‘What do you do when people look sad and you feel guilty you haven’t bought anything?’
‘You smile.’ He grinned and showed her how. If he smiled at someone like that they’d probably give him the thing, she thought. Free.
He went on. ‘It’s the secret of Bali. Smile and mean it. For bargaining, if they start at fifty thousand rupees, you offer twenty-five. They’ll look horrified, you smile and they’ll smile and counter with forty. Then you say thirty and they’ll take thirty-five. It’s always good to aim for about five thousand under what you want to pay so the seller wins. It’s good luck for the seller and we can all do with that.’
Not an accurate picture of barter when she was involved. She tended to wilt at the first horror and fake accusation. ‘Forty-nine thousand would be a good barter for me. That sounds easy but it’s not.’
The light from the candle flickered across his face. He shook his head and she decided he didn’t have a bad angle she could concentrate on. ‘That’s because you’re thinking personal. It’s not personal. When it all boils down to it, if you want something, think about what you’d pay for it and be happy. Then change what they’re asking into your currency and you’ll see you still have a bargain. Carry a printed version of your dollar versus their currency. It’s simpler to remember that way.’
She wasn’t sure she was ever going to enjoy bargaining but maybe she’d give it a go with a little more enthusiasm. She could write out a conversion table. ‘Okay.’
Or maybe she hadn’t sounded as convinced as she’d thought because he said, ‘Or look for fixed-price shops. There’s always one around and then you’ll get a fair price, not quite as cheap but they’ll take out the wild swings when someone really good reels you in.’
She glanced at his confident face. ‘I bet you don’t get reeled in.’
‘Not often. By the Balinese anyway.’ There was an added nuance she didn’t want to identify and thankfully their food arrived.
By this time it was darker, and even though her eyes had adjusted, the candle gave off small circles of light that didn’t include the platter beside her. The waiter brought two more tiny candlelights but she still couldn’t see what she was eating. ‘So this is a taste sensation, not a visual one?’
He laughed, deep and amused, and she felt like a trickle of that cool sand under her feet had slid down her back and along her arms. Well, she was on a beach. It was okay. But she had a strong premonition there was more trickling sand to come.
‘Want to see your dinner?’ She watched him shift his body and reach into his pocket and then suddenly there was a blinding flash.
She rubbed her eyes. He laughed again. ‘Sorry. Should’ve warned you.’ His smile beamed in the night as her vision began to recover and he handed her his camera. ‘It looks like this.’
Bonnie’s meal was captured for posterity and illuminated clearly on the camera screen. ‘You’re really a do-now-think-later kinda guy, aren’t you?’ But she could see a long barbecued fish, brown and crunchy, and one gruesome eye. She wished she hadn’t seen that but at least she wouldn’t accidentally eat it in the dark. She shuddered.
‘The less thinking the better,’ he said cryptically, then went on. ‘The ones in the shells are mussels, and despite the thought if you’re not a shellfish eater, they taste wonderful. King prawns, calamari on skewers, crab and lobster meat piled on the side. And the green salad.’
It was all recognisable now. Actually, quite a neat trick to take the photo, she acknowledged, at least to herself. ‘Obviously you’ve used this in the dark before.’
He tucked the camera away in his pocket. ‘Too many times on my own. I’m glad you came.’
‘So am I.’ She was. And feeling more relaxed. Bonnie didn’t think it was the beer, though maybe it had more of a kick than he was letting on, but the atmosphere here would make anyone feel good.
Smiling Balinese waiters, the muted wash of the waves just a few feet away, candles all around them and brighter lights in the distance. Every now and then a plane took off or landed at Ngurah Rai airport across the water and the stars had started to shine more brightly as the night deepened. ‘This is pretty cool. Thank you for bringing me.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Her coconut drink arrived and even in the dark it looked huge. ‘Do you want me to take a photo of that so you can see it?’
She thought of the brightness of the flash and the disruption of the mood. ‘I can guess. It’s not worth the eye pain.’ She picked it up and the milk inside sloshed. ‘I’ll never finish this.’
‘That’s why I only bought one. Drink what you fancy and leave the rest. I’ll finish it so you don’t feel guilty.’
There was something disturbing about the thought of him drinking from her straw, too easy to picture and not without sensory ramifications. She turned the conversation.
‘The stars are amazing.’
‘Bit too much light here to do them justice.’
‘I love stars but wish I knew more about them.’
‘I’m not much better,’ he said, and they both glanced up then down at each other and for some reason they both laughed. The beginnings of a dangerous rapport. They both sobered.
Bonnie broke the silence. ‘So what do you do while you’re over here?’ She took a sip and the strong flavour of coconut overlaid the beer.
He attacked his meal as if he wanted distance from that moment too. ‘Nothing.’
He paused as if waiting for her to say how terrible to drift between jobs, but she wasn’t going to.
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