The Delhi Deception (19 page)

Carla and Elouise used to make fun of her and called her “the Enchantress,” as she had the skills and demeanor of a seventeenth-century Mughal courtesan. But it was not a laughing matter, as she managed to keep father and son apart. She also tried her best to discredit Carla in the old man’s eyes and often made it difficult for Carla to spend time alone with him.

Elouise was ingenious in entertaining the Enchantress, which gave Carla precious moments between grandfather and granddaughter. These memories brought Carla to the realization that she had to protect Elouise as Elouise had so fiercely protected her. And that meant protecting Harry.

George could be barking up the wrong tree. Maybe there was no connection whatsoever. Just because Harry was working for the Indian Nuclear Program— Americans could be so paranoid. She decided she would examine Harry’s computer files herself and not mention anything to George, not yet. This much, at least, she owed Elouise.

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CHAPTER 13

C
arla listened closely to the sounds of the house as it started to quiet down. She felt acutely alert, probably, she thought, as a result of the day’s activities. Locking her door, she dimmed the lights and opened her laptop. Afraid of using her host’s network, she connected to her mobile phone instead.

She couldn’t concentrate. She couldn’t believe that she was actually going to read the private files of her best friend’s husband. But, opening the files, she was surprised and relieved to find that they contained nothing unusual. She went through most of them carefully. With only a few more remaining, she thought she’d tackle them the next day, as it was past three in the morning. She was about to close her computer when she saw a file named “Soraya.” Her curiosity roused, she opened it, but was blocked—she’d have to have a password to open the file. Her skin prickled; she knew this was the file she had to see. It was the only one that had been given a password. Why such an elusive name? The file must be highly secretive. Carla tried a few obvious passwords, like the names of Harry’s daughters and anniversary dates, but was unsuccessful. With a groan, she closed her laptop and locked it in her suitcase.

The following morning Carla woke up late. Kishan must have tried waking her, knocking on her door as he did every morning, but she slept soundly. When she awoke, he brought her tea and fruit in bed, explaining that it was too hot on the veranda. Elouise and Harry had already left, and Elouise had instructed him to get Carla to call her when she woke up.

George rang as she finished her breakfast. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thanks, I did.”

“How about your hosts?”

“Oh, of course. They were out, but came back early as the kids weren’t behaving.”

George replied quietly, “I see. What are your plans for the day?”

“I was thinking of going to Santushti for some shopping. Preeti Kapoor suggested it. Apparently it’s like a garden surrounded by high-end boutiques.”

“I know it well. The land actually belongs to the Indian Air Force. Their barracks are adjacent it. It’s not cheap, but the shops carry good quality stuff. There’s a nice little continental restaurant—do you want to meet for lunch?”

Carla hesitated before replying, “OK, what time?”

“Why don’t you give me a call when you’re done shopping and ready for lunch? The embassy is only ten minutes away.”

“Sure, see you later.”

“Carla, I almost forgot. The embassy is hosting a pool party tonight at some farmhouse outside Delhi. These parties are normally great fun. Do you want to go?”

“As long as I don’t have to wear a bikini.” Carla laughed.

“With a body like yours, you should go naked.” George chuckled, and Carla blushed.

In a somewhat haughty tone, she said, “Good-bye, George. I’ll see you at lunch.”

Carla phoned Elouise, who was visiting a relative of Harry’s in the hospital and told her that she was meeting George for lunch and dinner.

“That’s fine, thanks for letting me know. I might be stuck here for some time. It’s customary for relatives to hang out at the hospital in moral support of sick family members. You are so busy with George these days, but I’m going to demand a few days soon so that we can get out of town, OK?”

“Of course, I’d like that. We’ll chat later, and good luck with the sick relative.”

Carla dressed in a hurry, taking care to remember her hat and large sunglasses. She couldn’t risk being recognized. It was only the previous day that she had seen the auctioneer. But she wasn’t one to be easily cowed either. She no longer felt so vulnerable. She wouldn’t let the possibility of being seen keep her at home while she was in such a fascinating city.

Then, for an instant, Carla’s resolve crumbled. The little girl who had died just days before of a heroin overdose flashed before her eyes.
I can’t go back there. I won’t make it out alive the second time around.
Thinking rationally again, she figured the chance was pretty slim of someone being there who could possibly recognize her. And besides, giving in to the crippling fear of “what if” would only drive her into a life of seclusion—a hermit haunted by disturbing memories.

Santushti was a charming garden shopping center. It reminded Carla of the Koi Samui Airport’s open-air, dutyfree complex. There was a good balance between fashion and home-ware stores. Carla found herself engrossed by one specializing in ethnic techniques like tie-dye and handwoven embroidered quilts and bedspreads. She was so tempted to buy something, but the thought that she might not be moving back into her flat in Harley Street stopped her. As consolation she bought a couple of magnificent tie-dyed scarves in vibrant colors.

Carla continued browsing, making her way to the restaurant, where she looked at her watch for the first time. It was past two. She phoned George, but he did not answer. As she was about to leave a voice message, he phoned back. His voice was strained. “Hey, I’m afraid something’s come up. I won’t be able to make lunch. I’m really sorry.”

She was disappointed but replied, “No problem. I’ll see you later. Are we still on for tonight?”

“Yes of course, I’ll pick you up at eight.” He hesitated for a second, his voice gentle when he said, “Carla, I’m really looking forward to seeing you tonight. Don’t cancel on me, OK?”

Carla went limp at the longing in his voice. “I won’t, I promise.”

She asked for a table and once seated, she studied the menu. Realizing that she had lost her appetite, she ordered a small salad and nimbu pani. She then scanned her phone for messages or missed calls. She was relieved to see nothing from her husband.
What am I doing? Why am I so attracted to George? I’m still married to Andrew
. Carla sighed and realized that she couldn’t keep sweeping the fact under the table. She’d have to face things sooner or later, but right now it was so convenient.
Really, is that all it is? Convenient?
Groaning softly, she dug her fork into an olive, and covered her mouth in embarrassment when it sped off her plate, and landed in an expensive looking purse next to a woman at the next table. Luckily no one noticed and Carla called for the bill.

After lunch she picked up chocolates she had ordered for Elouise and the girls from the chocolatier at the Hyatt Hotel and then went home to nap. When, at seven, she started getting ready for the party, she realized she didn’t have a clue on what to wear. She went looking for Elouise, who was doing homework with Chanda in the girls’ study.

“I’m going to a pool party with George tonight. Any suggestions what I should wear?”

“A bathing suit,” Chanda said, smiling broadly. “It’s a ‘pool’ party, get it?”

Carla laughed and hugged her. “You’re so cute, I could eat you.”

Chanda screamed in mock fear, and Elouise told her, “Not so loud, Chanda. Finish your math and I’ll be back in a sec to check it. I’m going to show Auntie Carla what to wear.” Elouise led the way to her bedroom and then onto the spacious dressing room. An upholstered bench was in the middle of the room. Carla sat on it while Elouise opened her cupboards. “You could wear just about anything, but most women wear a bathing suit with a sarong or kaftan. Full makeup and jewelry are a must, as well as Jimmy Choos. The glitzier the better.”

“I suppose you are going to loan me everything, as I most certainly have none of this.”

Elouise smiled. “That’s what friends are for.”

Carla loved a turquoise full-piece bathing suit with golden shells beaded on the straps. Elouise took out a matching floral-patterned kaftan in sheer silk. “That is gorgeous, let me try it on.” The bathing suit was a little small for Carla’s bust, but Elouise convinced her that she looked great and was wearing the kaftan over it anyway. Carla wore her hair loose over her shoulders, with a yellow hibiscus behind her ear. Her gold-plaited sandals matched the beading, and she felt beautiful.

George arrived promptly at eight. He whistled when he saw her. Suddenly quite self-conscious, she wished she hadn’t decided to be so daring. Kamal opened the door for her but avoided looking at her in the slightly transparent kaftan.
Is he just being respectful or is he disgusted?
Carla wondered. George got in beside her, and his loud Hawaiian shirt made her laugh. She realized that with such a garish print next to her, she wouldn’t be the one people would be staring at. “Where did you find that?”

“A treasured memory from Hawaii, Spring break, many years ago…”

“I see. That must’ve been fun.”

“It was.”

Kamal followed George’s directions to the venue, and after forty minutes the jeep turned off the congested road, where it was stopped at a large steel gate. Private armed guards checked credentials, while US military police watched from a distance. They were all well armed, and Carla was surprised to notice the stacked sandbags near the security checkpoint.

“I don’t have any ID,” Carla said, concerned.

“It’s OK; you’re with me—I’ll vouch for you.” The way George said this—humbly but with authority—excited Carla.

The checkpoint guards scrutinized both George and Kamal’s IDs and then handed them back, asking for Carla’s. George got out of the vehicle and approached a US military policeman. They talked for half a minute. The policeman walked toward the security guard and said something to him, pointing to Carla. The guard then smiled and saluted both George and the policeman. George got back into the car as Kamal was waved through.

They drove down a long driveway framed by enormous palm trees. Fairy lights encircled the tall, slender trunks. The villa was a spreading single-story building on an expanse of manicured lawn. At the entrance to the villa, uniformed men ushered George and Carla inside. Music and laughter drifted in from outside. They walked through the large glass sliding doors onto a sandstone deck with an exquisite swimming pool. “Oh my God, it looks like an exclusive resort,” Carla said, enthralled.

With an indulgent smile, George took her by the arm, and they walked toward a group of Western guests dressed much like themselves. A stocky man in his late fifties smiled warmly as he greeted George, slapping him on his back. “Hey, my man, how’re you doing?”

George slapped him back and said, “I’m good. How are you guys?”

A tall, dark-haired woman standing next to him smiled and said, intoned with the distinctive mark of the American privileged, “We are fine, thank you, George.”

Turning to Carla, George said, “Let me introduce you: our ambassador, Richard Summers, and Anne, his better and ever patient other half.”

Richard shook her hand in a firm grip and said, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Anne shook her hand limply. Her hands were cold. “Are you from Delhi?” she asked.

“No, just on vacation.” Carla was distracted by a waiter offering her a tall, ocean-blue drink with a cherry and pink cocktail umbrella hanging off the side of the glass.

“Those are lethal,” Richard warned with a smile.

“What’s in it?” Carla asked, taking one from the tray.

“No idea, and I don’t care. They are delicious,” Anne said, taking one from the waiter. Carla smiled, her glass to her lips. She had the distinct impression that Anne was baiting, or competing with her in some way.