A Bali Conspiracy Most Foul by Shamini Flint

Crouch had friends – who were they?’
    â€˜You mean the white people they used to meet sometimes? ’
    â€˜No, those people were friendly with Mrs Crouch. She said that he had other Balinese friends that she didn’t like.’
    â€˜I do not know them. But I have seen them around Ubud.’
    This time even Bronwyn sensed that there was something Wayan was holding back.
    Singh asked abruptly, ‘What was it about Crouch’s friends you didn’t like, Wayan?’
    He stared down at his feet. ‘Why should I not like them?’
    â€˜That’s what we’re wondering.’
    â€˜It is nothing, Pak ,’ Wayan said reluctantly. ‘Only his friends were not Balinese.’
    â€˜Not Balinese?’ Singh was surprised. ‘But I thought both you and the wife agreed that Richard Crouch didn’t hang around with expats that much?’
    â€˜That’s right,’ agreed Wayan.
    â€˜Then what do you mean?’ Singh was fed up.

    Bronwyn suppressed a grin. The Balinese could smile and talk and appear to co-operate without actually saying anything if they set their minds to it.
    â€˜His friends were Indonesian, but not Balinese. They were mostly Javanese, I think.’
    Bronwyn, unlike Singh, understood immediately. She told the inspector, ‘There’s a lot of resentment amongst the Balinese about the influx of Moslem Indonesians from the rest of the country. The Balinese are extremely protective of their Hindu ancestry and culture.’
    â€˜Is that so, Wayan?’ asked Singh. ‘Do you dislike the newcomers?’
    Wayan was embarrassed but defiant. ‘They take jobs from Balinese, sir. They work in construction and they run warungs . Also, they are all Moslem and we Balinese are Hindu. It is very important that we are a Hindu island – if too many Moslems come, there will be more mosques than temples!’
    There was a silence as Singh and Bronwyn digested the information.
    Wayan added defensively, ‘And now you see what the Moslems have done to Bali? It is they who do the bombings. Now all of Bali suffers.’
    Â 
    â€˜I want a divorce.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜You heard me …’
    Tim Yardley watched his wife carefully. She seemed genuinely shocked, her finely plucked eyebrows, redrawn with a dark pencil, were arched. The pupils of her grey-green eyes had grown large in the evening light.
    â€˜I don’t believe you – you’re just upset.’
    Tim sighed. He had been reluctant to take this step
without consulting Sarah Crouch. But it had been impossible to reach her. She was lost in an emotional maze of her own. And he could not help her, be there for her, until he was free of this woman staring at him, an expression of bemusement on her face. His gaze was drawn to the streaks of white across the orange sky, jets flying over and leaving their poisonous trail. The setting sun was behind a huge embankment of cumulus clouds but golden rays were pouring through the gaps like a benediction. Tim felt confident of his decision. He would not change his mind.
    â€˜Stop staring into the distance and tell me what this is about!’
    He turned back to Karri, noting the long-suffering tone she had adopted. She was still not taking him seriously, convinced that this was some minor rebellion that would soon recede.
    â€˜I want a divorce because I can’t carry on like this – you treat me like dirt, you sleep with other men. You’ve destroyed our marriage – almost destroyed me. I want … I need a last chance to look for some happiness.’
    He saw that he had annoyed her. The scarlet tips of her long fingers were pressed together as she tried to keep her temper.
    When she spoke, her tone was scornful. ‘What is this – some sort of mid-life crisis? You don’t have the courage to make it on your own. That’s the only reason you’ve hung around making a fool of yourself –