A Scandalous Secret (12 page)

What would it be like meeting her after all this anticipation? And how would
she
react?

The auto-rickshaw slowed down as it turned onto a wide and leafy road. ‘Prithviraj Road,' the driver said, half turning in his seat to look at the two girls. It looked like another world around here – so very different to the Delhi they had just driven through. Suddenly the traffic had thinned out and the noisy chaos had abated to a distant hum.

‘What's the number again, Sonya?' Estella asked, reaching out for the bit of paper in Sonya's hand.

‘Fifty-four,' Sonya croaked, by now barely able to speak for her nerves. They coasted along for another couple of minutes before the driver pulled up outside a set of tall metal gates. A wall covered with profusely flowering bougainvillea revealed only glimpses of the house beyond,
but they could see enough and it was Estella who summed up what they were both thinking when she clutched Sonya's arm and breathed in awe, ‘Bloody hell, Sonya, it's a fucking palace!'

At Delhi's domestic terminal, Sharat walked past baggage collection and hurried towards the exit doors. He had no suitcases to collect and his phone call to Ram Singh had confirmed that a driver would be waiting for him as he emerged from the airport building. He almost never travelled with luggage when he went to Lucknow, not merely because his mother maintained a whole wardrobe of expensive clothes for him back in his childhood bedroom, but also because of the time he saved by not having to wait for the baggage carousel to start moving.

Spotting Nek Chand, his tall and turbaned driver, Sharat walked swiftly in his direction. Nek Chand bowed before taking his valise and Sharat followed him through the car park. He sank into the back seat of his roomy Mercedes and slipped out his phone from his pocket. Neha's number persisted in being out of reach. It was most annoying. The signals at Ananda were usually bad but this time they really did take the biscuit! Perhaps it was something to do with all the rains they'd been having this monsoon, unusually heavy for North India.

With a click of irritation, Sharat replaced his mobile phone in his pocket. He had not been able to speak to Neha once since she had left Delhi two days ago, which
was not how he liked it at all. He never minded admitting how much he had come to depend on his wonderful wife over the years – it was a well-known fact that he was a devoted husband – but then Neha gave him good reason to be so devoted, as he didn't mind admitting sometimes! In particular, it was the manner in which she had handled the growing sorrow of their childlessness that Sharat admired. Many other women would have been filled with self-pity but – apart from the very rare occasions on which Neha seemed to retreat into a kind of silent shell – she had always maintained an air of calm and dignified acceptance, focusing on her charity work, specifically fundraising for Nirmalya orphanages and the street theatre group she had founded for slum children a few years ago. She was indeed the most perfect wife that a man could ask for. And when pushing his political ambitions, Neha was a publicist's dream.

‘
Memsahib ka koi khabar hai
?' he asked Nek Chand. But, as he should have guessed, the driver knew nothing of Neha's whereabouts and shook his head apologetically. Perhaps Ram Singh back at the house would have a better idea.

Sharat's silver car traversed the evening traffic smoothly, arriving at the Prithviraj Road house while there was still plenty of light in the sky. Time enough for a relaxing sundowner on the lawn as the sun set over the garden. Perhaps that would bring some uplift, even though Sharat would have chosen Neha's company to a stiff whisky any day! The guard swung the gates open and Sharat noted with pleasure how green and immaculate everything was, thanks to the recent rainfall. The flowerbeds were forming neat colourful borders to the lawn that was now covered in lengthening shadows cast by the surrounding trees.

He got out of the car and looked up in surprise as he walked up the stairs to the veranda. A pair of foreigners – two young girls wearing jeans and tee-shirts – were sitting on the wicker sofas. Ram Singh was hovering nearby with an anxious look on his face. He rushed forward on spotting Sharat, blaming the guard for having let the girls in without permission. ‘What could I do, sahib, but make them sit here on the veranda?' he said in Hindi, his expression contrite.

Sharat waved him away. They were only a pair of girls, obviously not conmen or burglars come to steal something away! ‘Hello? Can I help you?' he asked them.

‘Ah, well …' the dark-haired one spoke up. ‘We're here to meet Neha Chaturvedi actually …' she trailed off.

English accent, Sharat noted. She had mangled his and Neha's surname to incomprehensibility, but that was forgivable.

‘I'm afraid Neha isn't here,' Sharat said. ‘Can I help? I'm her husband …'

‘When will she be back?' It was the same girl speaking again. She was very pretty, large eyes startlingly blue against dark hair and golden skin. Her manner, however, was a bit rude and abrupt, Sharat thought.

‘Sorry, I'm not at liberty to say when Neha will be back,' he replied. Realizing that this time it was he who sounded discourteous, Sharat added with a smile, ‘Not for any other reason than that I never know myself when my wife comes and goes!' He laughed but noticed that neither girl smiled. This was getting curiouser by the minute. Who was this humourless pair in search of Neha? He persisted. ‘Do you need assistance with anything? Perhaps I …'

But the dark-haired girl, who was obviously chief spokesperson for them, got up suddenly. ‘Best we go, Stel,'
she said, ‘No point hanging around.' With this, the plumper blonde girl got up too and picked up their bags. The blonde shot Sharat a semi-apologetic look but the dark-haired girl continued to wear a tough expression on her face, not making eye contact with Sharat as they swiftly exited the veranda down the front stairs. Sharat watched them walk down the drive to the gates. It was very odd. The dark-haired girl looked vaguely familiar but Sharat was sure he would have remembered if he had met her before. They might merely be part of Neha's theatre group that sometimes invited young volunteers from abroad. Occasionally Sharat was dragged along to performances but the faces ended up looking the same to him under all that make-up.

He shrugged, walking indoors. Without feeling too positive, he tried Neha's number again but the message remained the same: ‘The Airtel number you are trying to reach is currently not available.' Sharat cursed under his breath. Things had a strange way of falling apart in Neha's absence; either it was the cook demanding to go to his village or the phone lines going down or, like last time, the desktop computer breaking down completely. Perhaps all these things happened while Neha was around too, but then she ensured he never got to hear of them. Not that this was a domestic crisis, of course, but something about the visit of the two foreigners had left Sharat feeling a bit uneasy. He wasn't normally given to weird hunches but it was as though a distant storm was brewing and about to break over their heads. He desperately wanted to talk to Neha. Hearing her low-pitched soft voice always had a calming effect on him. Sharat pulled out his phone and clicked on Neha's name for the umpteenth time. Amazingly, this time he was rewarded with a ringing tone. Distant and shaky but a
ringing tone all right! He held his breath, hoping Neha wasn't in the middle of one of those lengthy Ananda massages. He never understood why she so enjoyed all that alternative stuff; it was completely alien to him. Suddenly the ringing stopped and Neha's voice came on the line.

‘Hello, Sharat?'

‘Yes, yes, it's me,' Sharat breathed in relief, ‘God, I've been trying endlessly since yesterday!'

‘I know, I've been trying since yesterday too but, because of the rains, the landlines here are down.'

‘Are you okay, Neha? Enjoying yourself?'

‘Of course, I always enjoy Ananda. It's very quiet too, hardly any other guests as it's off-season. Just a group from South Africa who are en route to a Vedanta conference in Pune and the usual sprinkling of Americans. But how are things there? Your parents in Lucknow? Are they okay?'

‘They're fine, just the usual health grumbles.'

‘Pita-ji's arthritis?'

‘Bad. Poor guy can hardly walk. You should've come along, it would have made him even happier to see you.'

‘Oh, sorry, Sharat, but I wasn't thinking straight after our party. I'll go see them soon, I promise. And anything further from Vir Saksena?'

While Sharat was telling Neha of his plans to meet the Home Minister the following day, the line went dead. Sharat clicked the phone off in frustration and it was only much later that he remembered he had not had the chance to tell Neha about the mysterious visit by the two foreign girls.

Sonya managed to hold on until they had exited the Chaturvedi gates but, the minute they were outside on the pavement, she burst into tears. Estella put her arm around her friend's shoulders, trying to comfort her while also very conscious that the staring from all around was getting embarrassing. A pair of men at a nearby cab rank were looking curiously at Sonya sobbing on Estella's shoulder and people in passing cars were swivelling their heads around to see better – the sight of a delirious sobbing foreigner was a sight to behold. But Sonya was completely oblivious to the unwanted attention.

Estella patted her back. ‘Never mind, Sonya, stop crying,' she pleaded. ‘We'll try again after a couple of days. Besides, you got her mobile number from the butler guy, didn't you, so we could attempt calling that later, yes? That was a clever way to get her phone number, pretending you were a friend's daughter passing through Delhi …'

But Sonya was barely listening and Estella trailed off. She patted her friend's back again as she tried to quell her tears. After a while, Sonya finally spoke, her words emerging through heaving sobs. ‘Bitch … bitch …' she said, her face red and streaming.

‘C'mon …' Estella said, trying to be fair. ‘She didn't know
we were going to drop in today, did she? So she wasn't really avoiding us by not being there, I guess …'

‘But she did know, Stel!' Sonya exploded.

‘What do you mean?'

‘I'd written to say I was coming …'

‘You what!? But you never said …' Estella asked, confused.

‘I know, I know, I've been meaning to tell you but just hadn't got around to it, Stel.'

‘Fuck me, what did you
say
to her? And did you say we would be going today? I mean, you're not suggesting she's deliberately avoided our visit, are you?'

Sonya shook her head, relieved that Estella at least wasn't cross with her for writing to Neha. ‘No, I hadn't mentioned any specific date. But, when I sent the letter, I didn't even know for sure if she'd get it, you know, if the address was correct. But now that I know it's the right address, I bet she got the letter. And simply didn't reply. Bitch.' Sonya suppressed an angry shiver.

‘Which means that she may indeed be avoiding meeting you,' Estella said, trying to work her way through the muddle of information. ‘That would be a bummer, having come so far.'

‘Besides, she's so fucking wealthy! They're bloody
loaded
!'

‘Certainly would seem so,' Estella said, even though she wasn't very sure why that fact should upset Sonya so greatly. It was, to Estella's mind, all a little exciting if she were to be honest. For one, the trip out to central Delhi in an auto-rickshaw had been great fun, a mode of transport that was quirky and quick and cost no more than a couple of pounds. Then, on discovering the Chaturvedi house, it had turned out to be a beautiful
sprawling white mansion behind forbidding metal gates, manned by the obligatory servants (they had seen at least four: a guard, a valet, two gardeners and a pair of chauffeurs wearing white peaked caps). Having inveigled their way in, they had found an empty but amazingly elegant home that made Estella think instantly of
The Great Gatsby
; deep verandas lined with cushioned white wicker chairs that overlooked trim flowerbeds and manicured lawns that were hissing softly with sprinklers. A pair of gardeners was toiling at one end of the garden, weeding and trimming the edges of a creeper hanging over a shed, while someone else was stacking vast quantities of garden furniture inside it. It was a scene that was redolent with good taste and bucketloads of money. And, just as they were taking all this in open-mouthed, that suave Indian businessman wearing a smart suit and with just the right amount of silver sprinkled in his dark hair had turned up in his shiny sleek Mercedes, as though aware that he was the last prop required to complete a nearly perfect picture. Not that Estella had seen many Bollywood films but, as far as she knew, the kind of wealth evident at the Chaturvedi place was the stuff of Bollywood's most overblown escapist fantasies. Without a hint of kitsch, though, seeing how muted and elegant everything was. It had all been so stylish, in fact, that Estella had promptly lost her tongue when Mr Debonair had turned up in his Mercedes, leaving poor Sonya to do all the talking.

But this wasn't the moment to discuss all that with Sonya, who was still very upset. ‘I just don't get it, Stel,' Sonya continued tearfully, ‘Neha Chaturvedi is educated, she's clearly rich. From what I can see, the woman lacks nothing and yet … yet she gave me up?
Okay, let's say she had some compelling reason to do it then but, in all these years, she's never once bothered to try and make sure I was okay? Nor even replied to my letter! I mean, what possible justification can there be for any of that? All kinds of terrible events could have befallen me when I was a baby! I might have never been adopted and been in and out of foster homes. Or in a children's home and been the victim of the worst abuse all through my childhood for all she knew. But, did she care? Did she heck!'

Estella patted her hand, ‘Well, thankfully none of that happened, hon,' she said, ‘and you ended up with your lovely parents in Orps. Oh, and got little old moi for a best mate!' Estella paused, hoping Sonya would smile but she was still distraught and so she tried changing course. ‘Maybe Neha wasn't rich then. When she had you, I mean,' Estella offered. ‘Maybe she was just a penniless student and couldn't afford to keep you and later
became
rich by marrying that man in the Mercedes …' she trailed off again as Sonya shot her an anguished look. Another thought occurred to Estella, who had now stopped in the middle of the pavement. ‘That could be it, Sonya. She had an arranged marriage to a rich guy, who was told nothing about your birth, and she's never been able to tell him because she would end up losing everything.' Estella now had Sonya's full attention and so she warmed to her theme. ‘I mean, it's a pretty conservative society here in India, isn't it? A baby before marriage would destroy a woman's prospects, I'd have thought.'

Sonya's tears had dried up. She gestured to a nearby cement bench and they walked across and sat down. Traffic
was hurtling past them on the road but Sonya seemed oblivious to it as she spoke, her voice now low-pitched and sombre. ‘I think you've got it, Stel.'

‘Got it?'

‘The rich guy … the husband. He's the reason she's never searched for me. She's scared she'll lose him. They probably have their own children and she must be terrified of losing their love too …'

‘Yessss …' Estella said doubtfully, feeling a little shiver of apprehension pass through her at the hard expression on her friend's face.

‘So that's what I need to do,' Sonya continued. ‘I need to tell
him
.' She got up abruptly, intending to start retracing her steps in the direction from which they had walked. ‘Come along,' she said, turning to find that Estella wasn't following her – she was still seated on the park bench with an aghast expression on her face. ‘Aren't you coming with me?' she asked.

Estella paused for a minute and then slowly shook her head. She had never disagreed with her best friend before, except in the most minor things. In fact she had set out on this trip with Sonya, determined to help and support her through what was sure to be a painful process of self-discovery. But what Sonya was proposing now was cruel and heartless. It wasn't what Estella had come to India for at all. She stayed sitting on the bench, her face mutinous as Sonya looked at her incredulously.

‘I can't believe you're chickening out now, at the last minute, having come so far!' Sonya cried.

Estella took a deep breath, steeling herself to speak calmly to her already upset friend. ‘I'm not chickening out, Sonya.
Maybe I misunderstood, but we didn't come here to ruin anyone's life, did we?'

Sonya looked confused for a moment but soon gathered her thoughts. She raised her head and stood tall, a determined expression on her face. ‘You know what, Stel?' she said slowly. ‘If these people's lives are ruined by this, I don't particularly care. After all,
she
didn't seem to care about what would happen to me after I was born, did she?'

‘How do you know that, Sonya? Maybe she did grieve terribly … And what about that man – the one back at the house – he hasn't done anything to harm you. You don't even know him! And yet you want to ruin their lives. And your begrudging her her life and wealth? I don't get that at all.'

‘I am not,' Sonya muttered darkly, but without looking at Estella's face.

‘Yes, you are, from what I can see,' Estella countered. ‘I mean what if – just what
if
– we'd got here and found that your birth mother was a really poor woman, like Chelsea's birth parents. Someone like that beggar woman we saw at the traffic lights. Would you have been so angry then? No, obviously not! You'd have forgiven her instantly. What's got into you, Sonya? You were never like this!'

‘Like what?' Sonya's voice was still sharp.

‘This … this vindictive sort of person, Sonya. Look at you! The whole expression on your face has changed. You don't even
look
like yourself any more.'

‘I don't know what the fuck you mean,' Sonya looked defensive but Estella could see that her words were finally having some kind of effect. Sonya was now looking down, grinding the heel of her sandal into a clump of mud by the side of the pavement, as if she could take out all her
anger on it. Then she looked up and spoke in a small voice. ‘Please tell me what I should do, Stel, I'm so confused …' she said as tears started to flow down her stained cheeks again.