Free The Thai Amulet by Lyn Hamilton

thirty-five.
    “So Wongvipa is…” I said, then stopped. When in a foreign country, don’t ask too many personal questions would be a good general rule.
    “My first wife died many years ago,” Thaksin said answering my unfinished question. “I am fortunate to have a second family. I met Wongvipa shortly after I lost my first wife.”
    “Khun Wongvipa worked in the office of Ayutthaya Trading,” Sompom’s wife, Wannee, said. “Packing boxes, I believe. That is where my father-in-law met her.” I heard a rather sharp intake of breath from Yutai, beside me, and a brief hint of displeasure crossed Wongvipa’s face. I thought I saw the faintest hint of a smile flit across Khun Wichai’s face, but I couldn’t swear to it, and when I looked a second later it was gone. Thaksin, however, seemed to have missed the remark entirely.
    “We will have tea and coffee in the living room,” Wongvipa said. Her tone had an edge to it. We all climbed out of our seats.
    “I know Mr. William,” Nu said very quietly as the beverages were served. “I do not know where he has gone, but I would be very happy to talk to you about him.” She looked as if she was going to give me her business card, but stopped. I looked up to see Khun Wongvipa coming toward us. “I was just offering to show Ms. Lara around the ruins of Ayut-thaya,” Nu said before she moved quickly away to sit by her mother.
    “That will not be necessary, Nu,” Wongvipa said. “We will see to it that Ms. Lara is shown the sights. Yutai is well steeped in our history and would be delighted to show her around. Now, I see you looking at some of the objects in the room. Is there anything I can tell you about them?” she said, leading me away from Nu.
    “I think everything is so beautiful,” I said, making appreciative noises as Wongvipa pointed out a few of her possessions to me. “Who are the people in the portraits?” I asked, peering more closely at them. “Family? That’s Khun Thaksin, is it not?” I asked pointing to a portrait of two relatively young men, dressed in very formal Thai clothes. Both men were dressed in high-collared white jackets, what we might call Nehru style, dark, short pants I suppose we would call pantaloons, and what the Thai call
chong kaben,
white kneesocks and black shoes. Both wore brightly colored sashes, chunky silver rings and bracelets, and one of them, who reminded me of Chat, held a sword.
    The portrait was very detailed and quite extraordinary.
    Thaksin looked rather determined and serious, the other young man rather more relaxed, distracted might be a better word. The artist had captured with his careful brushstrokes something very fundamental, I thought, about his two subjects.
    “Yes,” she said. “My husband, many years ago, of course, and his brother, Virat. Virat unfortunately died shortly after this was painted. It was a great tragedy for the family.”
    “And this?” I asked, pointing to the second portrait. It showed a woman in a rather luxe dress of gold-printed silk. It was a combination of Thai fabrics and Western dress and looked unbelievably opulent. The woman was standing with one hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy, who was dressed like a little Siamese prince in heavily embroidered fabric and a gold, pointed headdress.
    “That, if you can believe it, is Sompom,” Wongvipa said. “With his mother. My husband’s first wife,” she added, in case I’d forgotten. “Rather grand, isn’t it?” She abruptly turned away and went back to the group.
    “Rather unusual portraits, aren’t they?” Khun Wichai said, coming up behind me and studying them closely. “A moment in time, and a certain social status captured forever.”
    “They are very interesting,” I agreed. My companion was taller than the average Thai, and he had lovely almond-colored eyes, which seemed to take some amusement from everything he saw.
    “I hope you’ll enjoy your stay in Thailand,” he said graciously.
    “Thank