A Scandalous Secret (19 page)

After Keshav had deposited Sonya and Estella back at the Mahajan household in time for dinner, they spent a little time with the family in their TV lounge before turning in for their baths and bed. Typically, Estella was out for the count as soon as her head had touched the pillow but Sonya spent a sleepless night, listening to the sounds of all sorts of unfamiliar creatures coming to life outside the window. She tried to count a persistent frog's croaks in a bid to fall asleep but got to two thousand before finally giving up. Her eyes were wide open, her nerves on edge. Then, getting up to splash water over her face for the umpteenth time, she told herself that it was the heat that was preventing her from falling asleep. Or perhaps it was her stomach that was still a little dicky from all the unfamiliar foods she had introduced to it since arriving in India. She eyed herself dubiously in the bathroom mirror and grimaced. Of course, it was none of those things. It wasn't even the annoying disappearance of Neha Chaturvedi, to be honest. Without a doubt, her current restless state was all due to what Estella had referred to as ‘The Keshav Effect'. She'd be kidding herself if she tried blaming the heat or food or anything else. It was all very well trying to convince Estella
of this earlier but what was the point in pulling the wool over her own eyes?

Sonya glared at herself. In her white cotton nightshirt, face scrubbed free of make-up and hair pulled back off her face in a pink scrunchie, she looked like a bewildered and frightened little girl. And that's exactly how she felt. No boy had ever made her feel like this before: not just confused but also oddly insecure. Here she was in this exotic land in these incredible circumstances and now she'd met a boy like no other in the UK. Perhaps it wasn't Keshav inveigling his way under her skin but India playing tricks on her mind. Many who had visited the country had written about its propensity to baffle and confound, like Forster in
Passage to India
, a book that had gripped Sonya when she had read it at school. She had subsequently got the film version of it from Blockbuster and watched it all by herself, knowing that it wasn't really Mum and Dad's scene. Sonya now piled her hair up on top of her head and twisted her neck around, wondering if she even looked a bit like Judy Davis who had played Adela Quested.

Sonya returned from the bathroom a few minutes later, retying her hair in exasperation in order to keep it off her sweaty neck. She cast an annoyed glance at Estella, supine and snoring peacefully. Despite being a terrible flirt sometimes, dear old Estella wasn't half the romantic she was, invariably stepping back at exactly the right moment, almost never making an ass of herself. As for Sonya, despite having started off on such a bad note with Keshav only this morning, she had managed a bizarre three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turnaround in her feelings for him. What was it with her? Was it
because
she had been instantly attracted to Keshav that she had initially put up such fierce defences? And – even if the attraction was now mutual
(and surely it was, given all the hand-holding and necklace-buying) – what was she to do about their total and complete incompatibility? And the fact that they only had a few days in Delhi? Estella was quite correct in warning her of it too. After all, she wasn't really the type to indulge in a one-night stand.

Sonya wandered across to the window. The night was warm and the air hung sticky and heavy over the garden, although a pair of fireflies were zipping and dancing around under a street light. After watching them for a while, Sonya returned to her bed and lay down again with a thump. She had to force herself to sleep if she wanted to go out again with Keshav tomorrow, as planned. But the anticipation of seeing him again in a few hours was making her feel dizzy.

It was such a strange thing, her attraction for Keshav. The man had a certain swagger about him that, in another context, Sonya would have considered most maddening: arrogant at times and so forthright with his opinions. There was, in fact, little about him that she would, under normal circumstances, have found appealing. But, lying sleepless in the dark somewhere in the heart of India and so far away from home, all Sonya knew was that she had found Keshav more and more personable – charismatic even – as the day had progressed. She had been especially touched by the caring manner in which he had escorted her and Estella to the crowded street on which they had lunched, treating them as though they were the two most precious charges he had ever been responsible for. He had also proven to be possessed of superhuman tolerance when they had later gone to the craft bazaar for their shopping. While she and Estella had gone a bit wild buying junk jewellery and gifts for family and friends back at home,
Keshav had waited patiently, smiling with amusement as he leant on various shop counters watching them haggle, stepping in to help only when necessary. And then doing so in a fabulously manful way, switching fluently between Hindi and English. When she had felt his fingers brush her neck as he had clasped the necklace around it, Sonya had felt an electric surge hit her heart, the kind of high-voltage moment that she had almost never experienced with Tim back at home.

Poor old Tim … Sonya had a sudden guilty flash of the last time she had seen him, sitting on the swings in Orpington Park while she had made good her escape on a bus. She hadn't been very nice to him. He was, after all, not merely a schoolmate but had been one of her best friends too, their friendship going as far back as middle school. But Sonya knew without a doubt that she would never in a million years be able to feel for Tim the way she already did for Keshav. Despite all their differences, it was with Keshav that she was more likely to experience that
thing
– that magical quality which had eluded her so far. It must exist. Surely she was not immune to that thrilling explosion of feelings that Emily back at school had once described as ‘a lightning flash through the body, reaching the very tips of your fingers and toes'. Sonya had never once felt anything remotely resembling that in all her time with Tim. Was it right to spurn the opportunity for such an experience now, when it was staring her right in the face?

It was close on midnight when Sonya's eyes finally closed themselves in a restless, fitful sleep.

 

Keshav turned up at the Mahajan household early the next morning, as promised. It was Sunday and so the whole
family was sitting in the garden, enjoying breakfast outdoors under the generous shade of a mulberry tree. Mr Mahajan was teaching calculus to his fifteen-year-old son, Rishi, who seemed a distinctly reluctant student from what Sonya could see. Despite Mrs Mahajan's efforts, both Sonya and Estella had cried off helping Rishi, stating a common aversion for any subject even remotely mathematical. Instead, they read the newspapers and made further travel plans with the help of their guide book while helping themselves to the generous bowl of cut papaya that had been laid out on the garden table.

Sonya's heart lurched slightly as the gates opened and she saw Keshav come striding down the garden path. He was wearing a clean white shirt today, matched with blue jeans, and seemed to have taken particular care over his appearance with a shave so close it had left his face shiny smooth. Sonya personally preferred the unshaven carelessness he had displayed the previous day – the ‘Banderas look' that most of the young fellows in Delhi seemed to sport – but he still looked rather scrummy. She fingered a strand of her hair nervously, hoping she was looking nice too, given that she had woken at the crack of dawn in order to wash her hair and iron her lacy blue Topshop shift dress. She had even run her new smoke-grey eye-kohl around her eyes in an effort to make herself look more Indian.

Keshav received an ecstatic welcome from Rishi but Sonya could not tell if this was genuine fondness on the part of the boy or merely a means to escape the rigours of his calculus lesson. ‘Keshav
bhaiyya
, can we watch the Australia-India test match together tonight? On the high definition LCD?' the boy said in a wheedling voice, doing his best to tempt the older lad.

Keshav tousled Rishi's hair and replied, ‘Maybe not tonight, Rishi. I have some other plans … but the next one is with you definitely,
theekh hai
?' He smiled at Sonya and Estella, and Sonya hoped desperately that his evening plans included her for, like Rishi, she too was extremely keen on Keshav's company tonight.

Sonya watched Keshav now as he talked to Mrs Mahajan in Hindi, feeling a strange ache in the pit of her stomach. Estella flashed her a warning look and moved her head sideways to signal that they should leave the breakfast table. They had made plans with Keshav to go into central Delhi and try once more to track Neha Chaturvedi down so there was serious work at hand. Both girls mumbled excuses and got up from their chairs.

‘I hope you don't mind if we use the car again today, Mrs Mahajan,' Estella asked. ‘We'll keep tabs, of course, on the mileage so we can settle up before we leave.'

‘Of course, it is no problem at all,' Mrs Mahajan replied, stacking the cereal bowls, ‘We have the other car if we need to go out anywhere. Anyway Sundays are usually quiet days at home for us. Mr Mahajan likes to sleep after breakfast, you see! So tired is he from his working week.'

Mr Mahajan, who tended not to say very much when his more garrulous wife was around, nodded and beamed beatifically at the mention of his forthcoming morning nap.

Mrs Mahajan carried on speaking as the plates were cleared. ‘You girls go and enjoy yourselves. Keshav tells me you are going to Lodhi Gardens and Humayun's Tomb. Oh, and that lunch you will be having along with your shopping at Khan Market, so I won't expect you back before evening, yes?'

Sonya and Estella looked at Keshav for confirmation as
neither had made any contribution to the itinerary. He nodded and so Estella said, ‘That's right, Mrs Mahajan. Keshav's very generous to spare us a precious Sunday. He's what would be called a “diamond geezer” in Britain.'

Mr Mahajan seemed very pleased with this description for Keshav and the girls could hear him laughing and repeating the words ‘diamond geezer' a couple of times as they went upstairs to gather their belongings from their room above the garage.

Fifteen minutes later, they were piling their bags, cameras and water bottles into the back seat of Mrs Mahajan's spacious Ambassador. This time they decided to sit together on the front seat and Estella heroically stepped aside to allow Sonya to get in next to Keshav. Sonya wondered if her friend had suddenly grown a little distrustful of Keshav as she seemed to be a little on-guard. But she rewarded Estella with a grateful smile as she climbed into the car and moved up so close to Keshav she could feel her bare leg brush against the material of his jeans. She managed to curb herself from laying a proprietorial hand on Keshav's thigh. Perhaps if Estella hadn't been around, she'd have felt less inhibited and thrown all caution to the winds …

Keshav drove them quickly into central Delhi, heading for Prithviraj Road. The plan was simple. They were going to make one more direct attempt at meeting Neha Chaturvedi at her house but, if she continued to evade Sonya, they would follow her around the city, exerting pressure on her by tailing her car until she agreed to meet Sonya and explain herself. Sonya, relieved at finally getting some action, was enthused by the idea; although the more cautious Estella had to be assured by Keshav that following someone around at a safe distance wasn't illegal in India.

When they arrived at Prithviraj Road, Sonya pointed out the large black gates and the discreet brass nameplate that said ‘Chaturvedi'. Keshav let out a low whistle. ‘I knew they would be rich people when you said Prithviraj Road,' he said. ‘But this! These people are majorly rich, man,' he said excitedly.

‘So what do we do now?' Estella asked, her voice wobbling with nervousness.

‘Let's go and ask the chowkidar if madam is in,' Keshav suggested.

‘You go – you can speak Hindi,' Sonya urged.

Keshav thought for a second before saying, ‘No, I think it would be better for one of you to go. You see, the chowkidar will be much happier to talk to a girl than a boy. He may even let you into the house.'

‘He did last time,' Estella recalled. ‘Well, I think it's the same guy. Can you tell, Son?'

Sonya peered through the dusty windshield. ‘Can't tell … I think it's the same guy but that might not be good news for us – he might be wiser after last time and have strict orders not to let us in again!'

‘Foreigners are welcomed everywhere in India,' Keshav reassured them, adding gruffly, ‘They're like VIPs wherever they go.'

‘Okay, bull-by-the-horns and all that,' Estella said suddenly, opening the door of the car.

She got out and Sonya scrambled after her in haste. Together they walked up to the guard's hut. An old Nepalese face peered out at them from over the wall. ‘Excuse me, we're looking for Neha Chaturvedi,' Estella said.

The guard looked uncertain.

‘Is madam in the house?' Sonya asked, trying not to betray her anxiety.

This time the guard nodded almost imperceptibly. Sonya clutched so hard at Estella's arm, she made her friend yelp. ‘Did you see that, Stel? He nodded. She's in!' Sonya hissed.

Perhaps their behaviour seemed suspicious, or the guard had been given stern instructions not to let them through after their last visit. Whatever the case, the man remained implacable, refusing point blank to open the gates for them on this occasion. Just when Sonya was contemplating calling Keshav for help, the guard compromised by allowing them to make a phone call to the house from a small telephone instrument that was wired up to his cabin. He dialled the number for them and held the mouthpiece a few centimetres away from his face as he bellowed, ‘Ram Singh, madam
ke liye koi
visitor
hain
.'

Sonya and Estella could hear a voice crackle down the line in response before things went silent. They waited, shifting from foot to foot as the guard held firmly onto the telephone and eyed them with increasing suspicion. It was all taking so much time that, before long, Keshav too emerged from the car and stood next to the girls. Finally, after what seemed like aeons, the telephone line crackled again and this time, the guard stood to attention as he answered with a brisk, ‘
Ji
, memsahib.' Then he handed the phone to Estella. With a look of complete alarm on her face, Estella hastily passed the instrument on to Sonya, behaving almost as though it would burn her. Face now pale and eyes wide, Sonya took the telephone between trembling hands and held it to her ear.