Chapter One

The world is replete with inexplicable phenomena, mysterious things and unfathomable paradoxes, but none of that uncertainty troubles Callum Steele. His intellect is razor sharp, and his thoughts operate with military precision. Control is defined by his name in the dictionary, with a lovely photograph accompanying the entry. He is not mentally inflexible, or closed minded, but his mind is a fortress, built for the business of war and there is only a very small portion of the compound designated for leisure. He’s comfortable with himself at one hundred and eighty-three centimetres and eighty-four kilograms of reasonably well-toned muscle and only a smidgeon of excess fat. Callum doesn’t like his teeth, but other than that he’s very comfortable with himself. He works as a hotel reviewer for a travel and accommodation service called The Doghouse, and thrives in the individual nature of the work, although he can be a team player when required and is not altogether an unpleasant colleague.

“Cal, Cal, Cal,” said Ande.

Callum groaned. Another interruption. Didn’t this woman have any work to do? He waited, pondering.

Ande is very loud, and not at all shy. You can see her chomping at the bit, bouncing in her seat as she forestalls her impatience to participate in a conversation, any conversation. She’ll happily dive right into the middle of a discussion, without bothering to ascertain the facts already stated, and simply inject her two-cents’ worth. She rubs people the wrong way, but she doesn’t mean to. She’s just a little overbearing at times. Callum prefers to think of her as over enthusiastic. Ande’s heart is huge. If it’s true what Jesus said about the mouth producing words which overflow from within then, Ande needs an equally large mouth and the brass to use it. Inappropriate or not. Sensitive or otherwise. If Ande has something to say, and you are within earshot, you will know all about it. There’s honesty in that approach. Callum certainly appreciates that, but there is also a bluntness which disavows intimacy. Perhaps that is Ande’s intention: to frighten people away with her abruptness. Men, especially, were to be treated with contempt according to Ande. Callum recalled a conversation he’d had with her not long after they first met. She joined The Doghouse as a junior writer, but Ande presented as a seasoned professional.

“If any fool tries anything with me,” said Ande, with a fire glowing in her black eyes, “he will know new varieties of pain.”

Callum flinched at the hateful glower and the acrid tone. Bravely, he ventured a question. “Have you had some trouble with a man?”

“Trouble?” said Ande, her eyebrows exploding towards her hairline. “Trouble is a seven-letter word, and that ain’t the half of it.”

“So, there’s another seven-letter word meaning the same thing for worse trouble?”

Her smile was so bright and genuine that Callum could scarcely believe it was the same woman standing before him, who had, moments before, been splashing misandrist vitriol all around the room. She couldn’t have hated men that much.

“I don’t need a man in my life,” said Ande calmly. “I don’t want a man. I’ll just concentrate on me, and all those two-legged dicks can chase canaries.”

“Sound like there’s a good story there,” said Callum, after he had settled his laughing fit.

Ande’s turn of phrase was something else. It was unclear whether what she said was a poor translation of an adage from her native language—which he realized he didn’t know yet—or an invented expression. Either way, it sounded funny. However, Callum did not miss her point. In fact, it pierced his side, causing him some considerable pain.

“Where are you from, Ande?”

“Melbourne.”

He should have known better. “I’m asking about your ethnicity. Your parents?”

“Oh,” said Ande, as if she had not deliberately misinterpreted his question. “My mum and dad are Congolese. I was born in Kenya. We migrated to Australia when I was eight years old. Anything else you’d like to know?”

Ande’s akimbo stance and slightly cocked head cautioned against further intrusions, so Callum wisely backed off.

“What do you want, Ande?”

“Huh?” She frowned.

“You rushed over all excited, calling my name,” said Callum. “Did you want something?”

Ande laughed and palmed her forehead. “I forget.”

She left him then, but thoughts of her remained. Such an interesting person. She was forthcoming on most issues, but her family was evidently a touchy subject, as were her origins. She considered herself as Australian as any other native-born person did. Her accent was a mixture of broad Australia English and something else: a strange bastardization of the odd vowel here and there, along with a touch of foreignness in the cadence of her speech. Clearly, she looked African. As far as many of the ignorant Caucasian masses knew, Africa was a country and it was foreign. Enough said. She didn’t fit in. Ande obviously had issues with that kind of prejudice as well. Truth be told, the total package she presented, screamed “chip on the shoulder.” Ande had been trying to prove herself good enough since the first day she walked into Wattawa Heights Primary School, and all the other children stared at her. Her personality won her just as many friends as enemies. She and her family had been subjected to racism for over twenty years. So, Ande was no shrinking violet when it came to standing up for her rights. Callum recognized her potential as a fiercely loyal friend, as well as an awful and relentless enemy. As peacemaking was one of Callum’s goals in life, he decided to tread lightly with Ande, allowing her to set the pace of revelation, if there was indeed to be any.

As a co-worker, she was great: Friendly and helpful, a real team player, always heartily engaging in team meetings. As a travel writer she was on the rise, fast winning fans and followers around the world courtesy of her aforementioned frankness. Naturally, those unfortunate hotels, motels and the like which did not meet her expectations were less than pleased with the verbal denigration she delivered. It was not true that any publicity was good publicity. With customers becoming increasingly choosy, and able to access information on an unprecedented scale, a word or two of warning about a particular establishment from one of the respected reviewers at The Doghouse was enough to cause them to continue their search. Customer reviews were ubiquitous, but the clout behind an official review was not to be underestimated. Ande and Callum were The Doghouse’s two most popular reviewers.

She waltzed back to his desk, only slightly more subdued. “I’m going to kick your arse in Thailand.”

“It’s not a competition,” replied Callum. “We’re doing the same job for the same company.”

Ande snorted, albeit in a remarkably ladylike fashion, and replied, “If you say so, Cal.”

“This upcoming Thailand special gives us an opportunity to travel and work together out of the office, but any rivalry will surely create tension between us. And we don’t want that, do we?”

Observing her casual expression and shrugging shoulders led Callum to speculate she just might be the most ambitious person he had ever met. Ambition could be a good thing, but as with all good things, it could quite easily be twisted into something far less pleasant. People who obsessed about success invariably lost track of things like friendship and loyalty. To those so possessed, fellow human beings became stepping stones. Ande didn’t seem the type to fall into the folly of infatuation, nor did she strike Callum as malicious, but one never knew.

“Quite right,” said Ande. “I look forward to working with you in Thailand. We’re heading north right?”

“Yes. It’s bit of a nostalgia-loaded trip for me really.”

“How so?”

“My mother was born in Mae Sai.”

“She’s Thai?”

“Burmese. Kareni, to be precise.”

“Ah-ha,” said Ande, with a knowing smile. “So, your dad must be a Scot then.”

“Aye,” replied Callum in his best Scottish brogue.

A falling KISS coffee mug interjected itself into their conversation by virtue of a swan dive from the table to the floor during which the contents of said mug splashed all over the floor and Ande’s leg.

“Watch it, Cal!” she cried.

Stunned, because he knew he was nowhere near that mug, Callum smiled awkwardly. “Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know how that happened.”

Ande grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on Callum’s desk and began to wipe coffee from her shoes and lower legs.

Callum tried not to watch her. “I’m really sorry, but that was just…”

“I’ll need some water. It’ll ruin my shoes,” said Ande, spinning around and marching away as if Callum had insulted her somehow.

It’ll ruin my shoes, said Callum to himself. He checked his own shoes and discovered they survived. It was also fortunate the coffee was not hot. Callum loved coffee, but often lost interest after the first few delightful sips. In a competition between eating, drinking or working, culinary pursuits ran a poor second.

He picked up the mug, which his sister had given him for Christmas one year, and smiled. It came with a matching T-shirt and a pair of socks: all with the famous rock band logo on it. Callum had loved KISS since he was a boy. He missed the big wave of KISS mania which swept Australia in 1979 with the release of Dynasty and their two highest charting hits, I was Made for Loving You and Sure Know Something, but he soon caught up. Revenge was the new release he bought in 1991 and from then he was hooked. With the back catalogue quickly acquired, he did everything but join the KISS army. There was, of course, plenty of competition for his hard rock and metal inclinations. Grunge had been born in Seattle in the nineties, and he’d still never heard a better song than Smells Like Teen Spirit.

“Here, I brought you another cup of coffee.”

Callum looked from his mug and floated out of his reminiscing to see Ande’s huge toothy smile. “Thanks. You didn’t need to do that.”

“No hard feelings, right?” She gestured to her feet. “And no permanent damage to my shoes. Do you like my shoes?”

Although quite indifferent to shoes, and feet for that matter, Callum knew it wouldn’t hurt to demonstrate suitable gratitude. “Lovely.”

Ande smiled. “Lovely.”

A strange silence prevailed as Callum sipped the coffee he did not want and Ande continued to admire her shoes. Didn’t this woman have any work to do? Seriously. “Well,” said Callum finally, “I have work to do, so if you’ll excuse me.”

He turned his back on her to face his computer screen. “Damn!”

“What’s up?”

“I can’t wake my computer up.”

“Probably just a loose wire.”

Go away, Ande. “Yes,” he said simply, almost tersely.

Callum stood and leaned over his monitor. While toggling every cord and cable he could find, he thought about the coffee mug and now the computer, musing how occasionally funny little things happened, and they often occurred in strings. Dad always talked about good things coming in threes, and Callum recalled his mother always countering that positive platitude which she incidentally insisted was incorrect, with the one about bad things. Both his parents were superstitious people, who while otherwise quite intelligent and rational, were capable of believing in ridiculous things. Evidence not required here, thanks.

Callum could feel Ande still at his back, and it bothered him. He devised a ruse to get rid of her. Not because he didn’t like her, but because she was just too much to take in anything other than very small doses.

“Ande,” he said without turning around. He had finished his toggling and was convinced   everything was in order. There was no apparent reason for his computer not to be working. “Could you go and check your computer to see if it’s working normally?”

She stood and stared at him as if he had asked her to dinner.

“Please,” said Callum.

When she left in a cloud of murmured complaints, Callum resumed his seat then glanced around to make sure she had gone. He bumped his mouse and the monitor came to life, displaying the login page. He started work immediately, researching hotels in Chiang Rai. Ande did not return to report on the state of her computer, and as his was working, Callum was well pleased with that. She must have become sidetracked or waylayed by another colleague. Good. There were over a hundred hotels to choose from, but many of them were only hotels by name, and not the kinds of accommodation he would be availing himself of, or reviewing. Callum was not exactly a five-star-only traveller, but not far from it. Certain basics of cleanliness and comfort could be provided by any number of resorts, guesthouses and the like, but Callum was after something a little special. The extra luxuries which made an overseas holiday more than just a budget holiday in another country. He spent half an hour scrolling through the list on booking.com before making a long list of ten possibles. An hour later, he shortlisted several properties, including The Legend Chiang Rai Boutique River Spa and Resort, which was the longest hotel name he had ever seen, The Imperial River Resort House, and the very cutely named De Hug Hotel. Eventually he settled, by using his gut, just like his father had taught him, on The Legend, but he made a note that a visit to De Hug was necessary to satisfy his curiosity.

By the time he had made the booking at The Legend, a much easier-to-handle nickname, and forwarded the details to his supervisor, Ande returned with the startling news that her computer was working very well.