The Monsoon Rain (3 page)

Derek had assumed she would want to have a little conversation before he hung up, but Mira was unable to hold a conversation and told him good-bye and hung up. She was angry with herself for letting him have this effect on her; she should be more in control of herself. Never mind—she would have to make up for it tomorrow. She would talk and talk and talk away. Should she talk a lot or try to
be sophisticated and smile a little and not say much? Wasn’t that the way the women of the world conducted themselves? That’s what she had read in the glossy magazines anyway.

Derek, in the meantime, was having a cozy conversation with his bosom buddy Charles over a glass of whisky at a pub in London. It was early evening, and already the pub was filling up with office goers having a drink before making their way toward the Underground or the overground trains for a bit of unwinding, a bit of a friendly natter with their buddies.

Derek and Charles managed to get a table in a corner away from the prying eyes and noisy chatter.

“Be careful, pal,” Charles warned Derek. “Don’t go and do something you’ll regret later.”

Derek stretched himself further down in his comfortable chair and drawled, “Of course, man. What do you take me for?”

His friend looked rather quizzically at him. “Derek,” he said in a somber tone, “do you HAVE to ask her out?”

Derek could detect a slight sneer in his friend’s voice. Charles was looking at Derek, eyeing him through his horn-rimmed glasses. His steely look was appraising Derek. This Derek did not miss.

“She is innocent, a very innocent girl,” Charles said. “Leave her alone, pal. What about Hannah?”

“What about Hannah?” Derek repeated with an edge to his voice.

“Well, Miranda is very naïve and unsophisticated. Why, Derek, why? Why don’t you leave her alone?” he continued to ask, taking a sip of his cold beer.

“You are repeating yourself.” Derek by this time was sitting straight, half a tumbler of whisky in his right hand. He had become quite agitated, and the knuckles of his hand had become quite white as he clutched the tumbler tightly.

Why did Charles have to remind him of Hannah and open up the deep crevices of his mind? He was trying so hard to forget, but no, this friend of his had to remind him. Charles knew about her, but he
had not broached the subject of Hannah with Derek before nor had Derek mentioned her for some time. Charles was in the dark as to their arrangement at that moment. Was it really off—or was it on?

“She is something out of this world, Charlie,” Derek replied in a very serious tone of voice. “If I had only met her a few years ago, things could have been avoided. You know what I mean.”

“Not Hannah, you mean to say.”

“No, not Hannah. And as a matter of fact,” he said, taking another sip of his drink, “not only Hannah, but—” He stopped midsentence. “Hannah is not quite on the scene anymore. Though we haven’t called it off. But there is an unspoken understanding.”

Charles realized that Derek was definitely hedging and not coming quite clean.

“I am warning you, Derek. Please be careful with Charu’s friend.” Charles seemed quite concerned.

“I know my reputation precedes me,” Derek said. “What an oaf I have been. But this time I mean to be different. Tell the love of your life that she need not worry about her friend.”

Charles carried on mercilessly. “Keep your zip up. You don’t want to cause another scandal, now do you?”

“Easy does it, pal.”

Charles leaned forward and removed the tumbler from Derek’s hand. “We don’t want any accidents now, do we?”

Miranda could hardly get through the day. She kept getting caught daydreaming. She was even cautioned by the ward sister. But her mind was too preoccupied with what she was going to wear that evening and her hair. Should she wear it up or down? Thank God she was finishing early today; she would have to rush home for a quick bath and change.

When she got home, Molly was in the front room entertaining their neighbor Mrs. Farringdon. Miranda could hardly escape saying hello to the old dear, who was a very sweet lady and a friend of Molly’s.

“Mum?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I am going out, and I will be back late.”

She smiled ever so sweetly at her mum so that Molly’s heart simply melted.

Miranda knew that Molly would understand. Climbing the stairs two at a time, she breezed upstairs to get ready for the evening.

By the time Derek came to fetch Miranda she was a bag of nerves. The shrill sound of the doorbell broke the silence in the Stewart household. She opened the door, gave a quick good-bye to her mum, and she was out the door.

Miranda looked very pretty that evening. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, and she looked very young and pure.

“Hello,” Derek said, bending down to give her a peck on the cheek.

“Hello,” she replied, blushing. She could not help the surge of blood rushing to her face, which she could feel had turned her face crimson.

Derek liked what he saw and was looking forward to a wonderful evening with a pretty girl on his arm.

He was tan and looked good in his brown T-shirt and brown trousers, a casual and smart look.

Being May the weather was quite mild, and a feel of summer was in the air.

They said very little in the car except for Derek inquiring how she had been and how work was—all rather mundane and ordinary, unimportant little chitchat.

But at that very moment she felt as if she did not have a care in the world. The man of her dreams was by her side, this man who had managed to completely and absolutely sweep her off her feet.

The quick peck still lingered on her cheek. Her whole body tingled, and she felt as if she was on fire. She wanted more and more and oh ever so many more kisses! She was besotted. But maybe things were moving too quickly, she thought.

As Derek drove he once or twice let his hand lightly touch her arm, and when she looked at him, he smiled.

“So how was your day?” he asked, just for a brief moment turning his head sideways, away from the driving.

“Nothing much. How was yours?”

Derek apparently was very busy at his family’s London office overlooking some land deals that the company was negotiating to buy and being there to sign the papers.

“I had hardly any time to change,” he said. “At least my secretary has the presence of mind to always keep a change of clothing for me in the office. I just have to tell her what I need and for where. It’s funny, she even has a set of ties to match with the suits for impromptu meetings.”

She felt so happy, but she stayed quiet.

“Penny for your thoughts,” he said.

She sat up with a jolt. By that time they were driving along Oxford Street amid the buses, crowds of people, and other cars. The newspapers were still full of the Profumo affair, so the paperboys were busy with every newspaper, every front page featuring the latest the news. It was very difficult to get away from it all.

“Let’s go to a coffeehouse.” Derek’s voice broke into her thoughts as they made their way toward Soho and Frith Street. “A new one has opened up.”

Her thoughts were far away from coffee and Soho then. Miranda felt herself wanting him, which was wicked! What would her mum say? Then again, what did it matter what mum said? She was a young woman who needed to assert herself, who wanted to show Derek and the rest of the world that she was a sophisticated and all-knowing woman, a young woman of the times. Despite all these jumbled thoughts, she still did not feel at all assertive or confident! Mira was a girl from the suburbs, and very rarely had she ventured into the world of the rich and famous.

She felt her desire slowly creeping up. She could not curb it. She wanted him. The first date, and she was already feeling awfully sexy. The jukebox at the coffeehouse was loud. She had a cappuccino and so did he.

By the time they got to Kensington it was dark, and the streetlights had been on for some time. The London traffic was busy and bustling as they walked along Kensington High Street. She saw Barkers department store. So many times she had heard her mum mention the famous store, and her mum had taken Mira there as a special treat for cream cakes.

They passed Biba, the famous store, and Kenko, the coffeehouse. The girls walking down King’s Road were so smart and sophisticated. They wore their hair short and wore short dresses. She felt so very drab compared to them! What did Derek even see in her? “He could get anybody, so why me?” she wondered. Suddenly she wanted to go home. She craved the safety of the suburbs and the safety of home. This life was not meant for her. How could she ever dream of being with Derek?

He hardly spoke in the car; he seemed very far away. When they arrived at his penthouse suite, they fell into each other’s arms even before he could shut the door.

He kicked the door shut. “At last,” he said. His hungry mouth started to desperately search for her lips as if he could not get enough of her. With slow deliberation he undid her dress and led her to his king-size bed.

It was not late, still early evening with the noise of the London traffic penetrating the wall of the penthouse flat. The king-size bed was soft and extremely inviting. Miranda sank into it.

Was she going to tell him? Or keep mum? Was being a virgin such a crime? What was she to do? Could she slip out and leave? Not a chance—she was encircled in Derek’s strong arms.

“NO,” she suddenly screamed and pushed him off her with a tremendous force that she did not know she possessed.

“No,” she said again. “Please, no.” She tried to wriggle out from his tight embrace.

He let her go, looking angry, very angry. He did not force himself on her he was not a cad.

“I am a virgin,” she uttered softly,

He sat up and looked at her directly. “I am sorry, Miranda,” he murmured under his breath. “I should not have put you in this situation.”

“I did not know”

“Let me take you home.”

With that, he sat up and Miranda slipped off the bed from under him. He smiled a wry smile. What an oaf he had been—again. Hadn’t Charles tried to warn him? But he’d paid no heed. “Keep your pants zipped,” Charles had said.

Derek stood up and glanced briefly at Miranda. “I have a busy day tomorrow,” he said very matter of fact. “Got a delegation coming.” He was trying hard to make light of this regrettable and shameful situation.

“Where is the loo?” she inquired, embarrassed, not having heard a word he had said.

Derek stood up and opened the door of the bathroom.

Once inside she bolted the door, terribly frightened that he was going to pounce on her again from one of the hidden corners. Where was her sophistication? The woman of the world? She was trembling, nauseous. Looking into the mirror she saw this pale and frightened face looking back at her. Hair was messed up; her eyes were so full of confusion and bewilderment.

Thank God he had not forced himself on her she wouldn’t have known how to deal with it.

Even to sit on the toilet to go to the bathroom was difficult. She was so nervous and shaken. At last she gingerly undid the bolt. Peeping out, she saw he was not there so she ventured out.

“Are you ready to go?” She heard his voice coming from the adjoining room, a tired and strained voice.

“Yes,” she answered ever so softly. What a way to end the day she had so been looking forward to.

Sitting in the car beside him was torment enough, and being driven across London in utter silence was absolute torture.

Each of them was busy thinking about the evening’s incident in different ways, their own postmortems of the last half hour.

Why did he have to seduce her? He was guilty. She was a virgin. Oh God! Why?

History was repeating itself, he thought bitterly as he drove, clutching the steering wheel in a very tight grip.

Charles had warned him. What was he to do now? He liked her, liked her immensely, but what about his bad behavior, not to mention his baggage? Why could he not be friends with her for some time before pouncing on her? Charles would certainly ask him about her and what was he to say? Would he lie? But that would not be possible. Charu was bound to know. It was all his fault, and he had lost her forever.

Derek was a proud man, and saying sorry was not in his psyche.

At last Derek turned into her cul-de-sac. Miranda did not wait for him to open the door; she bolted out of the car and into the house.

For a long time he sat there, thinking. At last he turned around and left. She was watching him the whole time from behind the lace curtain upstairs, suppressing her tears.

It was a lovely summer day, blue sky and a dazzling sunshine—very rare for England. An Indian summer, as predicted by the weatherman. The garden would need watering.

Miranda was missing Derek, which she realized was rather strange after the way he and she had behaved. Mulling over the incident in her mind again and again she was unable to draw any conclusions. Why had she behaved in that strange manner from the time she’d met Derek to the ride home?

Charu had asked her about the date but Miranda had been noncommittal and not very forthcoming, leaving Charu rather disappointed to say the least.

Derek’s world was alien to Miranda; she was a girl from the suburbs. This, all this glitter, money, penthouse flats were not in her vocabulary. Best to be sensible and try and push the whole thing to the back of her mind, to the innermost recesses where it would be
difficult to extricate. Her life was an ordinary mundane life, and his was different. They were worlds apart.

“I know, I should have been more cautious,” Derek admitted to Charles as they sat in his penthouse.

“I warned you! Why do you do such things?”

“I don’t know what came over me,” Derek replied.

Was there a hint of remorse? Or was it because the poor girl had managed to get away, Charles wondered, a cruel thought that disappeared as soon as it had appeared.

“I have decided to go back to the gardens soon,” Derek said.

“That is the best you can do? Run and hide when the going gets tough?”

“I don’t run away from circumstances or ‘things,’ but I have a tendency to commit blunders.” Derek looked very worn and weary. “You know, Charlie, my friend, I thought I was falling in love with her, and even now I have this very tender feeling for her.” He clenched and unclenched his fist.