Travel Reference
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house to be in. I don't think it was the ghost of Jim that was bothering me: it didn't feel
like that. The house itself seemed to have a malevolent quality. It sighs and groans in the
breeze. Floorboards creak overhead. The images grin blindly from their niches. It was re-
assuring to hear the familiar tones of the photographer swearing in the garden, and I was
greatly relieved when I heard Riley, who had a gammy leg, come stamping back with the
drinks. I might have put it down to my imagination, but then some years later I was talk-
ing to a director of the Jim Thompson company, an American who had recently arrived in
Thailand. He told me he had slept in the house for a couple of nights, and he vowed that
he would never, never do it again. He shuddered at the memory.
