Days in the Life of a Pattaya Hotel Owner

So the saga continues. Our relationship is now at an all time low and we either have days where Mrs. Boss totally ignores my existence or she launches yet another loud — very loud — attack upon me.

After a few days of chatting about the present state of my marriage with Peter, I realised it was now time to employ a lawyer. This time it would not just be a one hour consultation, but a proper instruction to act on my behalf and move for a divorce.

I had counseled a few people I know about lawyers here in Pattaya, but found no one who gave me any real confidence. One of the lawyers suggested, as he did not handle divorce cases, that I check the listings on the British Embassy web site. This I did and found a company I recognized from back home in England — MacKenzie Smith. They have offices in Bangkok and Phuket, as well as here in Pattaya. They would be my choice. I called to arrange a meeting and this was set for the next day, early afternoon.

I sat in the lawyers meeting room and as I waited for the appearance of the senior partner, began to feel as though my rather large frame was being forced through the top of a milk bottle. My past life did not flash before my eyes, but my future life did and I sure did not like what I was seeing. “It is just nerves,” I told myself as I sat and waited.

As I mentioned earlier I visited a lawyer in Bangkok. Although I was much more positive about my fate than I had been, I still felt uneasy. I am a foreigner in a foreign land. I do not speak the language. I do not know the laws related to divorce. I do not understand the way the people here think. I do not like the idea of my arse being handed to me on any sort of plate — again! Yes, I was nervous…very, very nervous.

Mr. Singalongwith Engleberthumperdink eventually arrived in the conference room, as I was now told it was called. Fortunately my lawyer also went by the name Tuk, which turned out to be the only piece of good news I was going to get throughout the meeting. He asked me to outline facts of my situation and I duly went through the points I had rehearsed several times before the meeting. During the course of my recitation I pushed a few sheets of typed up A4 paper in his direction, these contained all of the information I was now giving him verbally.

Once I had concluded, I sat back and waited to hear his opinion and what chances he thought I had of not getting me my arse handed out on a plate. He was not going to give me much encouragement and, as I listened, I had thoughts of plate shops and, at least, being able to choose the platter my arse would surely soon be sitting upon.

Tuk’s first and most salient point was that I was not married. Now he granted I was married in the UK, but we were not in the UK so that mattered not one jot. He accepted my claim that we had also been married in Thailand and that he was sure I could produce several hundred witnesses who were present at the ceremony, as I had indicated. But, and this was a huge but, the biggest but I had ever heard. My mind was back to my arse again and its appearance on a plate, I now imagined a silver salver being carried through a steamy Thai court room, a buzz from the fan spinning overhead, and four men in morning suits holding one corner each of an arse laden salver. They smiled at me as they walked by. I was, of course the only one standing — well without an arse I could hardly sit could I.

I jolted myself upright and started listening rather than daydreaming or, more appropriately daynightmaring. The but was made clear. My wife had not registered the marriage and therefore we were not married in the eyes of the law of Thailand. Everything we owned as husband and wife was in her name and therefore everything we owned was, in fact, owned outright by Mrs. Boss and Mrs. Boss alone. She was free to sell anything she owned and was not liable to give me a penny. My heart sank and the fears I had previously harboured were now coming to life in front of my eyes.

I sat lifeless and, unusually, very silently as I listened to Tuk go relentlessly on and on about the difficulties I faced. He did not actually say, “Mr. Meacher you have been a complete prick and taken for a mug,” but then, he really did not need to. The look on my face would have been enough to assure him that I was more than well aware of this indisputable fact!

Fortunately Peter had come to the lawyer’s office with me and, as this was not happening to him, was more in control of his mental faculties. He started asking questions and endeavouring to ascertain how we move forward from this position to achieve, hopefully, some degree of success. Peter’s main point, which would have been mine were I able to form words, was that I had put somewhere between 15- to 20-million baht into the country to buy our presently owned assets. Mrs. Boss had contributed nothing. She never had any money before she met me!

Slowly Tuk began to tell me what I needed to do. What papers I needed to get hold of and what records I should show. It was necessary for me to prove that I brought money into Thailand and for that money to be linked directly to payments for the purchase of the land and property in my wife’s name. I also needed to provide him with a copy of her identification card through, which he could check records to establish exactly what was owned under her name.

I endeavoured to suggest that she never had any money before she met me. I told him that everything I invested in Thailand I had before her and I met, let alone married…or in this case, did not marry. She would be completely unable to prove she purchased these assets without my money. I was shot down, and quickly. She did not need to prove anything — that was for me to do! I slipped back in my chair, I was capable of only listening, my one hope was gone.

We said our farewells to Tuk and walked to a nearby restaurant. I was not in the mood for eating, but ordered a pizza nonetheless. One slice eaten and I was looking for the waitress and asking her to put the remains in a take-away box — I actually felt like asking her to put me in a take-away box instead but resisted that urge. Peter tried to put a positive spin on things. Phrases such as, “It cannot get any worse than this,” were trotted out but, surprisingly, did not make me feel any better. All I could do was return to the hotel and, when Mrs. Boss was not around, go through the hundreds of large manila envelopes that she used as her filing system. I would take all relevant papers and all papers that I did not understand just in case they proved to be relevant. I would start to build my case.

Back at the mansion I sat in my office waiting for Mrs. Boss to depart so my investigation could begin. Had the fact that I owned nothing not been enough, proving that I owned what I claimed presented even greater potential problems. Tuk had explained to me that had, in fact, Mrs. Boss purchased land and buildings in her name with my money that this was property fraud. A foreigner cannot own more than 50 percent of any land or building. If my wife had done as I had indicated then we would both be liable for prosecution with each offence carrying a 20,000-baht fine and up to two years imprisonment per person. My calculations put this at a potential 100,000-baht fine and up to ten years in prison for both Mrs. Boss and I. Tuk had the decency, no doubt seeing how distraught I already was, to suggest that as a foreigner and the person who brought the matters to light, I would probably only get a fine. This was no consolation.

I fiddled around for a couple of hours before seeing Mrs. Boss readying herself for the off. I then looked on in horror as she went behind the reception desk, picked up an armful of manila envelopes and marched out of the office. I knew immediately that all of the information I needed would be in those files now making there way to goodness knows where. My head simply fell forward, as if the muscles in my neck had just decided to pop out for a beer without telling me, and my head crashed onto my desk. I have never felt so beaten, so stupid, so useless or as completely fucked as I felt at that moment. Yes, Peter, things can get worse and they just have!

Later that evening I decided to go through the several hundred manila envelopes that were left in the office. I held out little hope of finding any relevant documentation, although Mrs. Boss is completely disorganized when it comes to paperwork. There remained a small chink of light shimmering in the blackness that engulfed me. As it transpired, I started to find a few bits and pieces as I trawled through endless files. Nothing concrete that one could say was proof positive and make my case, but a start. By the end of my session, a good three-plus hours, I had enough scraps of paper to give me a glimmer of confidence and knew that there must be a way to find other documents. I had also been lucky enough to find a copy of Mrs. Boss’ ID card and knew this would be of great value in the records search part of the investigation process.

The next day I went to my bank and ordered statements back to the time I had opened the account — early 2004. I then started to write down all of the possible avenues I could explore in order to secure more concrete information. The list, when completed, was short but it had enabled me to at least focus on the positive elements, small as they were, rather than continue my self pitying.

This, I know, is going to be a tough road to travel. I still hope to be able to bring Mrs. Boss to the negotiating table and hash out a deal between us that will see us both move forward separately, but with a fair deal having been reached. The optimist, however misguided, was returning to my soul but how long he would stay remains to be seen.