undercover policeman.
Wallace sat in his room and considered what he should wear for dinner. He had had a pleasant afternoon with Julius Kalim, eventually he had forgotten his fears and begun to wonder whether Major Lincoln was right after all that after the flash drive had been handed over nobody would be interested any longer. They had had a coffee and then wandered through the shopping centre where Wallace purchased a small camera that had been a bargain. Kalim had done all the haggling and had beaten the shop-keeper down to less than 50% of the original asking price.
‘How did you do it?’ Wallace asked in wonderment.
‘Ah…! Long practice,’ Kalim smiled. ‘When you have been on the other side of the fence…or the haggle…you can detect a point at which the items will be sold or at least where the price is still acceptable. They always start off far too high. Even the most gullible tourist knows that, the secret is being aware of how far you can go. It’s all in the way the hands are moved, in the words and the facial expressions. After a while you can sense it. In this particular case, had we gone any lower he would have been making next to nothing, as it is he made a not unreasonable profit and you paid the right price.’
‘He didn’t look too happy.’
‘Ah, that is all part of the sales technique. He knows you could be back tomorrow, and if he looks displeased, or upset and disappointed today, you may possibly feel under an obligation to him tomorrow for obtaining what could be termed today’s bargain. You could probably feel guilt about his starving children that his facial expression and body language conveys to you and be a softer target should your paths cross tomorrow.’
That made sense, Wallace had no doubt that the lines of any preliminary skirmish would be different tomorrow. He resolved to avoid that particular shop on the way back to the hotel.
They had arranged to meet for dinner at the hotel, Wallace was determined – Kalim or no Kalim – that he would not stir from the security of the building after sunset, nor would he leave it subsequently until it was time to leave for the flight at midday the next day. Wallace had already telephoned Major Lincoln and told him that he wanted an embassy car to take him to the airport the next day, he was not going to travel by cab – maybe he had been guilty of watching too many spy thrillers on television, but he still feared the possibility of being kidnapped. Those two thugs had been a trifle too tenacious for his liking. There had been a short, sharp argument, but Lincoln had finally grudgingly agreed to send one of his minions.
Kalim rose to his feet as Wallace entered the dining room and the waiter ushered him to the table.
‘Would you join me in an aperitif?’ he asked, and waved to the waiter before Wallace had a chance to reply. He seemed to be studying Wallace closely as they sipped their drinks.
‘You are English, are you not?’ Kalim enquired.
‘No, Australian,’ Wallace answered.
‘My apologies, I thought I detected a trace of an English accent, southern counties to be precise.’
Wallace told him that he was right, after some hesitation. He had been born near London and his parents had left England when Wallace was very young. Accents are funny things. Wallace had picked up a broad Australian accent while at school, mainly due to peer pressure, which had slowly tempered over the years through to early teens, when it had slowly disappeared. His parents spoke what could be best described as an upper class English accent, with a trace of the southern inflexion peculiar to the Home Counties. As the years had passed during secondary school years this accent had gradually re-asserted itself and become more and more part of Wallace until there had been many times he was mistaken for a recent English immigrant.
That he was still a “Pom” and would be one for evermore was made inevitable during school and early commercial years. Whenever England made an Ashes tour he was subjected to incessant leg pulling, particularly when England lost a wicket, notwithstanding that his instinct was to support Australia. He still had a British passport, like many who were born in the United Kingdom, mainly because if he travelled to London either for work or to see relatives, he didn’t want to have to go through as an alien and join a long queue. As a British subject a British or European Union passport enabled one to walk straight through Customs. Wallace also had an Australian passport, which he was using on this trip.
Kalim was an entertaining companion, he laughed heartily when Wallace told him of the joke that had misfired at Singapore. He discovered that Kalim was a Muslim, with a name like Kalim that didn’t cause a surprise, and that he had been born on an island off Sumatra. Wallace told him something of his own background and hopes.
‘A circuit speaker,’ Kalim pursed his lips. ‘Is there enough scope in that to keep going?’
‘Not entirely,’ Wallace shook his head. ‘Enough to keep me and a few other circuit speakers going, but it is nothing like it is in the USA Population is the key there, there are many large cities in the USA that support many large companies, but in Australia we only have about five large population centres. In addition, the US being what it is, they like motivational speakers.’
‘You are going to the United States in the near future?’
‘No, more likely England, I am going there in a few months,’ Wallace replied. ‘There aren’t enough speaking engagements there to keep the wolf from the door…’ he hesitated wondering if Kalim knew the connotations of that figure of speech, but Kalim nodded understandingly ‘…however I have enough contacts in insurance from my time in the industry in Australia. I’ve never had problems obtaining temporary work – companies always have room for people to process claims, especially motor claims and water damage claims if there is a sudden storm that causes widespread damage.’
‘What does your wife think of this – are you married?’
‘No, not any longer, we have just had the divorce process I’m afraid.’
‘Oh I’m sorry to hear that. What happened…Oh I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.’
‘That’s all right, there’s no secret about it. Elsie and I found we didn’t get on, and the parting was somewhat unpleasant.’
‘You are divorced now?’
‘Just,’ Wallace replied. ‘The process was finalised a few weeks back, after we’d sorted out the financial side of it.’
‘So you are living separately?’
‘Oh for sure,’ Wallace said. ‘She still lives in our unit in a bay side suburb, I moved out.’
‘Ah, these things happen,’ Kalim shook his head sadly. ‘But maybe it is for the best, when all breaks down.’
He poured some wine into Wallace’s glass.
‘What is the procedure in Western societies when divorces take place?’ Kalim asked as he put the bottle down. ‘This is something that is rare in our society. Does the wife retain the husband’s name or revert to her former name?’
‘It varies,’ Wallace answered. ‘But Elsie still uses her married name, calls herself Elsie Wallace.’
‘Interesting,’ Kalim said. ‘Tell me, when are you going to England?’
‘In
