Point of Contact

Dr. Fairchild took the tall leather chair at the end of the expansive table, flanked on either side by his son and daughter. Jack sat next to Yong and Paul next to Lian. Two Indonesians, a husband and wife, began the service by bringing in the dishes as a third servant poured ice water into crystal glassware. The dining room, like the rest of the house, was modern with traditional touches, featuring dark wood timbers and white walls. The architecture and furnishings felt both tropical and colonial but not garishly so. It was an homage to history and the local culture, and impeccably stylish.

Dr. Fairchild raised a glass. “To our honored guests, and to our two countries. Peace and prosperity for us all.”

“Thank you,” Jack said. Paul agreed.

They feasted like kings on melon-and-mango salad, chili crabs, xiao long bao, pork rib soup, curry rice, tandoori chicken, and other exotic delectables, each dish a reflection of the wildly diverse cultures that inhabited Singapore — British, Malaysian, Chinese, Indian, and Indonesian. In a nod to his proud English heritage, Dr. Fairchild served frosty porters and Tanqueray gin.

Dr. Fairchild began the evening’s conversation formally, lightly touching on global economic conditions, the Federal Reserve’s latest meeting, the Bank of Japan, and other financially oriented subjects — something he knew Jack and Paul were familiar with. Lian and Yong offered few questions and even fewer opinions, allowing their father to drive the discussion. Jack felt like it was a warm-up to a sparring match.

As the meal progressed and the liquor began to take hold, Dr. Fairchild opened up the conversation.

“How well do you know the history of Singapore, gentlemen?”

“Only what I read coming over,” Jack said. “It’s an amazing place.”

“If you want to know the history of the island, just look at my family.” He beamed with pride, lifting his hands like a blessing pope.

“Let’s take our dessert and coffee in the library,” Dr. Fairchild suggested. “Or do any of you take tea?”

“Tea would be fine, thank you,” Paul said. “Chamomile, if you have it.”

“Certainly.”

Dr. Fairchild stood and led the group into a two-story library with floor-to-ceiling mahogany bookcases. Jack stopped in front of one unit and scanned it. The shelves in front of him were full of history texts and war biographies. Other shelves featured science, engineering, and technical works. Around the room on display tables or on shelves Jack spotted black-and-white photographs of English soldiers from the two world wars as well as the Korean War.

Jack stepped over to a display case featuring a well-worn Webley revolver — standard issue in the British Army for decades. Prominently featured high on the far wall in a display case was a captured Imperial Japanese Army battle flag, bullet-ridden and burned on the edges. Jack was something of a World War II buff, his grandfather having served in the 101st Airborne at the Battle of the Bulge.

“You have an amazing collection of books,” Paul said.

Dr. Fairchild shook his head with mock embarrassment. “You should see my Kindle! It’s even worse. Father was an avid reader. I’m afraid I picked up the habit myself.”

Jack and the others took their seats on plush leather couches and rattan chairs as the servers brought hot coffee and tea services along with plates and bowls of exotic desserts, setting them on the low tables in front of them.

“These are two popular local desserts, durian mousse with gula melaka and pandan chiffon cake. I hope they’re not too sweet,” Dr. Fairchild said, sipping a cup of strong black coffee.

Jack was already overstuffed but didn’t feel comfortable refusing the colorful offerings. He tried both. The pandan cake was moist and delicious. It tasted like hazelnut, one of his favorites. But he wasn’t as crazy about the durian mousse, with its strange textures and odd flavors — almost like buttermilk and almonds. The coffee was a smooth, dark-roasted Sumatran. He’d never tasted better.

“I mentioned before that if you want to know the history of Singapore you need only know about the history of my own humble family. My father was a lieutenant with the British Army, Malaya Command, stationed at Fort Singapore with the 30th Fortress Company, Royal Engineers, when the Japanese invaded. When the British Army surrendered, my father disappeared into the rainforest, eventually joining up with a Malaysian rebel unit where he met my mother. In between blowing up bridges and shooting Japanese, they fell in love. They married after the war.”

Dr. Fairchild pointed at the Japanese battle flag. He smiled broadly. “My father kept several souvenirs from the war, including me. He decided to stay in Singapore rather than return to Blighty, and started a small firm, which has since become Dalfan Technologies.”

“Impressive,” Jack said.