‘I’ll do my best,’ he said.
I certainly hope you do, she thought.
23
Sitting in his room in Bangkok’s Mandarin Oriental hotel, Miles looked down at the Coutts bank statement in his hand and reread the figure in the ‘total’ box. It was still there, all six noughts. He looked out of the window, over the Chao Phraya river, a smile spreading across his face. Finally, he was free. Free from his father, free from the golden yoke of being Robert Ashford’s son, free to make his own choices, his own mistakes.
Miles had finally turned twenty-one and that meant that his trust funds had finally kicked in. Now he was really rich. In the month leading up to his birthday, he had been worried that his father might somehow manage to stop them. Both Connie and Robert had taken a very dim view of his departure from Oriel. He had hoped that when he went home to announce it, his father migh
t have understood; after all, it had all happened in the name of entrepreneurialism. Instead, his mother had burst into tears, while Robert had mumbled that both his children had let him down before retreating silently to his study.
Miles folded the bank statement and put it away. At least that was the last time he’d have to face his parents’ small-minded disapproval. He was his own man now – and his first decision as master of his destiny was to go out and celebrate.
He left the hotel and got in a cab to explore Bangkok. He was in Thailand as part of his own personal ‘grand tour’ which had begun within days of his dismissal from Oxford. He went to Rio for Carnival, LA for Easter, Greece for summer, then zig-zagged back to New York, then Cape Town and Goa before heading to Thailand. The world was one long party if you knew where to look and Miles’ entire address book was a roll-call of socialites, party animals and playboys desperate for the next thrill.
Bangkok was supposed to have been an overnight stop-over en route to Phuket, but the Mandarin Oriental had been so nice he had checked himself in for a week. Miles gazed out of the cab’s window at the endless pink and blue neon signs: ‘Go-go bar!’, ‘24-hour Sex Show’, ‘Girls, Girls, Girls!’ You didn’t need insider knowledge to find the Patpong Road; in fact it would be hard to miss. Although Miles had no great desire to see Thai girls firing ping-pong balls from their vaginas, curiosity about this famous hotbed of wickedness had got the better of him. He left the cab and wandered among the thronging streets, peering at the signs advertising pedicures, two-for-one beers and ‘full-body massage’. On the pavements, petite Thai girls in white vinyl boots beckoned him into their darkened doorways. Miles was having a great time. He hopped from bar to bar, drinking Singha beer and enjoying the alien sensation of being dislocated, surrounded by people who had no idea who he was: giggling couples on a naughty pit-stop to their honeymoon oasis, Western men in denim and football shirts gawking at sights which would stay with them all the way back to Dusseldorf and Tynemouth. It struck Miles that this was the first time he had truly been alone in years. Eton, Danehurst, Oxford, he’d always been surrounded by ‘his people’, and even when he’d flown the nest, he’d sought out other playboys to join him on his quest for the next high. But here, he was just another farang, a foreigner, a fish out of water – and he was loving every minute of it. He could go anywhere, do anything and no one would ever know.
He turned into another street, just as gaudy as the other strips, but here the girls in miniskirts had been replaced by muscular men in vests. In tight groups, their arms casually draped around each other, they watched Miles pass and smiled appreciatively. Miles was mesmerised, frightened, but above all excited. He hesitated on the street, then, taking a deep breath, he pushed his way into a humid basement bar, the throb of the music hitting him in his chest, the condensation dripping down the black lacquered walls – everyone seemed to be sweating, even the club. He elbowed his way to the bar and ordered a Jack Daniel’s, knocking it back as he looked around. Men were everywhere, many stripped to the waist, drinking, dancing, even kissing. Miles was aroused by the sheer forbidden nature of the place. I’m just curious, he told himself.
‘Your first time in Bangkok?’
He looked up. The man was maybe ten years older than him, and there was a trace of a European accent – Dutch? German? He was shorter than Miles but his pumped-up build bulged from the sleeves of a black T-shirt and his dark blond hair was cropped. Part of Miles wanted to run straight out of the club into the fresh air, but his feet felt welded to the spot.
‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.
The man smiled. ‘Just a look.’
‘What about you?’
‘I come to Thailand twice a year. On business,’ he smiled. ‘It suits me.’
Miles glanced at the man’s rough hands; on his finger was the glint of a wedding ring that both shocked and reassured him.
‘You do know what this place is, don’t you?’
Miles shrugged. Nonchalant, uncaring, as if he could take it or leave it, but inside his heart was pumping rapidly.
‘Should I show you the back?’
‘What’s there?’ asked Miles, finishing his drink. Suddenly his throat seemed very dry.
‘What do you think?’
Miles allowed the man to lead him towards a door at the back of the bar where he gave a handful of baht to a bored-looking Thai man on a stool. Inside was a dark corridor smelling of disinfectant, a number of doors leading off to the right. Low sounds echoed behind the walls, moans, murmurs.
Holding one of the doors open, the man indicated that Miles should enter. Nervously, he stepped into a small, dark booth. The heat was oppressive and he felt his body tense. The man was behind him now in the confined space, so close that Miles could feel his breath on the back of his neck.
‘Relax. I don’t bite,’ he said, smiling. ‘Not unless you want me to.’
Reaching past Miles, he pushed a token into a rusty slot and a window instantly opened in front of him. Inside, on a vinyl mattress, were three naked men touching, stroking, fucking. For a second, a series of images jumped into Miles’ mind, schoolboy fumbles in the dorm at Eton, stolen experimental kisses in the bathroom, the odd encounter on a stairwell in some club in London. But nothing like this. Nothing this – real.
‘Do you like this?’ asked the man as he unzipped Miles’ chinos and reached inside. ‘Ah, yes, I think you do.’
Miles closed his eyes, his breath coming in rasps now.
‘How’s that feel?’ asked the man as his trousers fell to the concrete floor.
Miles said nothing, but it felt wonderful. It felt so good to finally release the shameful pent-up desires he’d carried with him for so long, and now, finally, he was ready and willing for the pain and pleasure he was about to receive.