The Noble Path: A relentless standalone thriller from the #1 bestseller Peter May (intellectual books to read .txt) 📖

of him, appealing to the fragile conscience of affluent Westerners. And at the end of the day he would get up and walk away with his takings on stiff legs. Sivara got up and did a stiff-legged walk around their table to impersonate his brother.

When he sat down again and her laughter had subsided, he looked at her very seriously and said, ‘You really are very beautiful, Lisa.’ And he slipped a hand over hers. She withdrew her hand slowly, not unflattered by his interest. And it occurred to her, through a warm haze of alcohol, that she had been picked up and was paying for the privilege.

Sivara ordered more sake and Lisa drank and felt giddy. But she didn’t care. She was having a good time and Sivara was lovely. She suddenly remembered that she had not phoned David as he had asked. To hell with David, she thought. Sivara talked and talked. How he would like to visit England and America. He had seen so much of these countries on television and would really like to go. But he was only a taxi driver. He could not afford such a trip. Travel was for the wealthy. And Lisa told him how this was the first time she had ever been out of England. When the bill came she paid and asked, ‘What shall we do now?’

‘We could go to floating market at Thonburi,’ he said. ‘You like that?’

‘Oh, yes, let’s. Is it far?’

‘We go by boat, on the klongs. But you must pay.’

‘Oh.’ She looked at the dwindling number of notes in her purse. ‘I need to change some more money.’

‘Is not problem. I will take you to money changer.’

In a small, airless room at the back of a shop in a nearby sidestreet, an obsequious little man with no hair and one tooth changed a traveller’s cheque for her. Sivara sat waiting impassively in a chair at the back of the room, looking cool in his neatly pressed white shirt. ‘Is this the proper rate of exchange?’ she asked him.

He nodded gravely. ‘It is very good rate, Lisa. This man is friend of mine.’

Lisa didn’t much like the look of Sivara’s friend, but he passed her a bundle of notes in exchange for her cheque and didn’t even ask to see her passport. It was certainly simpler than going to the bank and, she thought, he had a funny face. When he closed his mouth his single yellow peg of a tooth protruded over his lower lip. But she was glad to get back to the taxi, sitting in the front now beside Sivara, as they drove down to the landing stage at the Oriental Hotel.

Sivara got them a hang yao and told her she would have to pay the driver, but that he had got her a very good price. She paid and sat behind Sivara, holding on to his shoulders as the long sleek boat powered its way down the Chao Phraya river and into the Klong Dao Kanong. Children, standing waist-deep in the klong water, waved as they passed. A boatload of saffron-robed monks smiled serenely. Lisa was exhilarated by the wind in her face, the spray from the water, the sights and sounds of an alien culture; teak houses on stilts, rickety bridges, and the dozens of boats, sampans, water-buses and rice barges that trafficked up and down the klongs. Old ladies, wearing reed-woven sunhats like upturned lampshades, sold hot meals from floating kitchens.

The floating market at Thonburi was thick with tourists and boats selling all manner of goods, from vegetables and live chickens to opium pipes and herbal remedies. Dozens of boats bobbed gently together on the water, owners engaged in lively conversations with competitors, or bargaining with potential buyers.

Sivara got their driver to cruise slowly among the boats so that Lisa could look at everything. She bought them some fruit, a straw hat for herself and, despite his protests, a couple of shirts for Sivara. ‘That’s for being so good to a stranger in Bangkok,’ she said and kissed him lightly on the cheek. She did not see the look in his eyes, only the smile.

They bought drinks from one boat. A concoction of various fruit juices and Thai whisky. Lisa was a little dubious. But Sivara encouraged her. ‘Is very good. Very refreshing,’ he said. ‘You like it.’ And she did. It was cold and sweet, and she felt a glow across her cheeks. ‘Another?’

‘No,’ she laughed. ‘I think I’ve had quite enough. I feel as though I’m getting very drunk.’ But more than the drink, she was intoxicated by the seductive allure of the Orient, by her new undreamed-of freedom, by the good-looking young Asian man who so clearly found her attractive.

On the way back she put her arms around his waist and rested her head on his back. ‘I’m so tired,’ she whispered. ‘So tired.’ He turned his head to look back and smile at her, and he squeezed one of her hands. She barely noticed.

It was almost dark when they got back to the Oriental landing stage, and Lisa put her arm through his as they walked to the taxi. ‘I have to go back to the hotel,’ she said, suddenly remembering. ‘I have to make a phone call.’ She turned to him as he opened the car door for her. ‘Thank you, Sivara. I’ve had a really lovely day.’

He smiled, his hand brushing her arm. ‘I enjoy it, too, Lisa.’

She got in beside him and they drove through the dark streets in silence. She felt pleased with herself. For a novice in these matters she had managed very well on her first day in the mysterious East. She was even beginning to get used to the heat.

They seemed to be driving for a long time through dark, narrow streets, away from the main thoroughfares. The buildings on either side were very old and shrouded in night. ‘Are we nearly there?’ she asked.

‘I must collect parcel from