The Wedding Countdown (26 page)

‘And so are you,’ says Raza. ‘Now, hop in! We’ve got a bit of a drive before lunch.’

Breathing deeply and sucking in my stomach I pull the door handle of the passenger door and swing myself into the beautiful car. The smells of warm leather and expensive aftershave send my senses reeling. 

‘I’m glad you came,’ he says. ‘I wasn’t sure whether you would.’

‘I don’t normally jump into cars with total strangers. But I’ll make an exception today.’

One neat eyebrow rises in a way I’ve only seen Mr Spock or Roger Moore do before. I make a mental note to practise it myself.

‘I’m not a total stranger, though, am I? You’re perfectly safe with me.’

But the way that he says it makes me feel anything but safe, in a rather exciting way.

Raza starts the car and I sit back into the cream leather seats, hoping my legs don’t make fart noises.

‘Just relax and let me spoil you.’

The car pulls away and I settle down to the strains of Verdi’s Requiem and gaze through the tinted windows at the blur of London’s streets. Soon terraces give way to the M4 and then the green sweep of Berkshire lanes. As we drive the twenty-eight miles to Cliveden we talk about our lives and our families. Nothing deep and meaningful, but it’s pleasant enough and by the time we arrive at the gates of the mansion we’re chatting away like old friends. I’m trying hard to be levelheaded but there’s something so seductive about being driven about in a beautiful car by an attractive man. I’m also a sucker for romance (why else would I sit through
Titanic
five times and still cry at the end?), and as the car sweeps up the long drive – past vast rhododendrons and secret-looking temples, to the elegant stately home – I’m lost. It’s like a fairy tale and I feel like a princess. This isn’t the usual activity of Mills Ali from Bradford. No doubt Minty Vane always gets film-star treatment but I’m normally delighted to make it to Pizza Hut.

The car pulls up outside the hotel, the tyres scrunching on the gravel as Raza turns the wheel sharply. Liveried footmen appear from nowhere to park the car for us, show us inside, take our coats, seat us. I almost expect to be taken to the toilet! I’m impressed too by how reverently they all treat him, including the maître d’, who addresses him by name. He must come here a lot.

‘We’re eating in the Terrace Dining Room,’ Raza says. ‘I hope you like it.’

‘I’m sure it will be lovely,’ I say. ‘You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble. It’s too much.’

Raza looks at me long and hard. ‘Only the best for you, Mills, you deserve it.’

What can I say to that? Swallowing nerves – I’ve never seen so much cutlery in one place unless you count the homeware department of Debenhams – I follow him into the elegant restaurant.

Once we’re seated Raza orders and points out the view. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that we’re sitting at the most expensive table in the place, as it’s placed just far enough away from the nosy onlookers who stroll across the terrace and try to peep in but near enough to have a breathtaking view of the parterre and lawns down to the Thames.

He pours two glasses of mineral water and swirls his thoughtfully while I sip mine. Looking up I meet his eyes and blush. I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous in my life.

‘Mills,’ says Raza gently. ‘You’re spilling water down your dress.’

‘Oh no!’ In horror I grab the nearest napkin. Unfortunately I also snatch the tablecloth and as I tug it I send the beautiful table arrangement flying. Flowers sail merrily past into the lap of a nearby diner, plates smashing noisily, and the bottle of mineral water gives the impeccable Raza an impromptu shower. The silence in the restaurant is colder than Frosty the Snowman’s gonads. For the billionth time in this life I want to die. Next time I’m sticking to Pizza Hut.

Luckily for me the deep-seated reserve of the English saves the day. As Raza and I sit dripping, the other diners continue to talk politely and chink their cutlery delicately against their bone china plates. Waiters melt from the walls to set my mess to rights. I apologise profusely to the soaked woman who assures me no harm’s done.

‘Oh God, Raza, I’m so sorry,’ I begin, but stop mid grovel because he’s doubled up with laughter. Tears run down his face and he clutches his sides.

‘Mills Ali,’ he gasps. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you! Do you throw drinks over
everyone
you meet?’

‘Only those I really like or really hate.’

‘Really?’ Up goes that eyebrow. ‘And which category do I fall into?’

Oh Allah-
ji,
I do believe we’re flirting.

‘Maybe the first?’ I whisper.

Raza smiles. ‘I’m so glad, Mills, because I really like you. Can we see each other again? In a halal and very respectable manner of course!’

‘Well,’ I say, as a waiter places a beautiful plate of food before me, ‘that depends.’

Raza looks crestfallen. ‘On what?’

I fork up some rocket. ‘On how good this lunch is.’

‘In that case,’ he says, ‘I’m glad I brought you to a five-star restaurant.’

‘Me too,’ I say slowly. ‘Me too.’

And I’m right back on that helter-skelter, with fear and excitement fizzing in my stomach. Could I finally have found the one? Can I escape my arranged marriage after all?

‘Is that you, Mills?’

Drat! I thought I’d managed to sneak back into the flat but Nish must have ears on elastic.

‘You’ve been gone for hours.’ Nish pads from her room and follows me into mine. ‘I was getting worried.’

‘You didn’t need to be.’ I throw myself onto my bed. ‘I’m fine.’

The bed sags as Nish joins me.

‘You had a good time then?’

‘It was fantastic!’

Actually fantastic is an understatement. I’ve had an amazing time. After a delicious lunch Raza and I walked with a guide through the grounds, right down to the silvery ribbon of the Thames before climbing back through woodland, past the blind statue of a long-forgotten Duke and back to the house. Then Raza surprised me with a pass for the Pavilion Spa, where I enjoyed a blissful facial before meeting him for tea in the Great Hall.

‘Oh,’ says Nish.

I sit up. ‘You might sound a bit more enthusiastic. Aren’t you pleased for me?’

‘Of course, it’s just that–’

‘What?’ I demand. ‘Come on, Nish, if you’ve got something to say then just come out with it.’

Nish pushes her hair behind her ears. ‘I wasn’t sure whether to say anything but you’re my friend so I think you should know.’

‘Know what?’

‘That guy I brought home last night,’ Nish says, ‘has been telling me a few things about Raza that make me a bit uneasy.’

I shrug. ‘I don’t think I’m going to listen to gossip from some stranger,
shukriya
very much, Nish.’

‘He’s not exactly a stranger though! Oh God, I didn’t want to mention it but–’

‘Just spill the beans!’

‘I didn’t meet that guy last night. I’ve been seeing him for a few weeks.’ Nish is the colour of ketchup; the
bechari
girl must really like him. ‘He’s Jamal, Wish’s brother. I met him when he popped into the office a while ago. I didn’t say anything to you guys because it’s early days.’

I digest this. ‘OK.’

‘Jamal’s known Raza for years,’ says Nish. ‘The two families are really close. I think Sher and Raza’s dad grew up together in Pakistan. Jamal says Raza’s got real issues because he’s not a medic and that he’s always been ridiculously competitive with Wish.’

‘So?’

‘According to Jamal, Raza’s had the hots for Minty for years. He went spare when she chose Wish over him.’

‘Lucky escape for Raza if you ask me.’

‘Yeah, whatever, but the point is, what if Raza’s only after you because he knows you and Wish are such good friends? Jamal says Wish is really fond of you, Mills, and he’s always talking about you.’

‘So I gather,’ I say darkly, thinking about Steve.

‘So how could Raza really hurt Wish?’ continues Nish. ‘He could make a play for the one girl that he knows his mate could never have! Being a one-hundred-percent perfect Pakistani, Raza can be with you – whereas Wish never can. Jamal says that’s exactly the sort of nasty game Raza would love to play!’

‘Thanks a lot Nish!’ I jump from my bed. ‘Thanks for ruining my day! Thanks for telling me a guy could only be interested in me as a way of scoring stupid points rather than because I’m worth being with!’

‘That’s not what I meant!’ cries Nish. ‘Babes, I’m only telling you what Jamal told me! He really thinks Raza’s trying to hurt Wish. It’s just the kind of thing he’d do.’

I shake my head, suddenly relieved beyond all measure as I realise Nish’s crazy theory simply can’t be true. There’s one elephantine point she’s overlooked.

‘Why would Wish be upset if Raza sees me? Wish and I are only friends.’

Nish looks away.

‘We are!’ I insist. ‘You know how my dad feels about mixed-race issues. Wish and I could only ever be friends. He’s always known that, and anyway he doesn’t have any feelings for me.’

‘Hmm,’ says Nish sliding off the bed. ‘I’m not so sure. But if you want to see Raza it’s up to you.’

As she leaves the bedroom the excitement of the afternoon evaporates, leaving me feeling uneasy. Bloody Nish and her paranoia! 

Collapsing onto my bed I attempt to conjure up images of my perfect afternoon. I try to picture Raza laughing as we walked through the woods. But my imagination is capricious and refuses to comply.

Why is it that all I can see instead are eyes of the deepest rock-pool green?

Chapter 24

‘Shut your eyes and no peeping.’

I laugh. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Are they shut?’

‘Yes!’

‘OK. Don’t move.’

I feel his hands brush the nape of my neck. Then he scoops my hair up from my neck and there’s a sudden weight just below my breastbone.

‘There,’ says Raza, releasing my hair. ‘Perfect. Open your eyes.’

I do as I’m told and gasp because I’m wearing the most stunning necklace that nestles in the swell of my breasts. An enormous emerald the size of a pigeon’s egg twinkles and glitters in the bright lights of Raza’s office. I touch it tentatively and the stone is icy cold against my fingertips. I don’t think I’ve seen such an over-the-top necklace since the last time that Nish and I blubbed through
Titanic
.

‘Do you like it?’

I rip my gaze from the jewel and meet Raza’s expectant gaze. His eyes glitter just like the necklace.

‘It’s amazing,’ I breathe, because it really is, but do I like it? It’s beautiful and certainly nobody has ever given me anything like it in the whole of my life, but it weighs a bloody tonne – and is it me or does that big emerald seem to glare at me like a disapproving eye?

I hope to goodness it’s paste.

‘It’s stunning, isn’t it?’ he agrees. ‘It’s from Asprey. I knew that you’d do it justice.’

‘It’s real?’ Oh Allah-
ji!
I’ll never sleep again now. I’ll be in a constant state of terror I’ll lose the bloody thing.

Why couldn’t he go to Claire’s Accessories like all the other guys?

‘Of course it’s real! Do I look like the sort of guy who buys costume jewellery?’

I look at him, lounging against his vast oak desk in his Turnbull & Asser shirt, his bespoke suit and Lobb’s shoes. No, Raza looks every inch the wealthy lawyer. Of course he wouldn’t pop into Claire’s.

Unfortunately.

Raza leans forward and adjusts the necklace against my chest. ‘I think far too much of you to buy tat. Only the best for my girl.’

I’m not totally comfortable with him touching me but I can hardly complain, not when Raza is always so generous. We’ve been seeing each other for three months and I don’t think I’ve ever been so spoiled. From meals out in London’s most exclusive restaurants, trips to the theatre and the constant showering down of gifts, Raza seems to revel in giving me presents, which is every girl’s dream come true.

Isn’t it?

‘I can’t accept this.’ My fingers scrabble to unfasten the clasp. ‘It’s too much, Raza.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Raza says. ‘I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more. Look on this as a token of how I feel about you, if it makes you feel better.’

Actually this idea makes me feel worse, if anything. I like Raza: a girl would have to be mad not to because he’s perfect partner material – solvent, generous, Pakistani, the list is endless – but things seem to be moving very fast.

But isn’t that what I wanted?

‘Don’t take it off.’ In one fluid movement Raza is behind me, his hands closing over mine. ‘I want you to know how I feel about you, dearest Amelia Ali, I want you to know you’re very important to me.’

His breath is warm against my skin and I shiver. There’s something about Raza that’s dangerous and that I just can’t put my finger on. Everything he does is very proper but sometimes his fingers stray and brush against my skin or he moves just that little bit too close for comfort. I can’t reproach him though because it is always accidental.

‘Accept it,’ murmurs Raza, into my neck. ‘I won’t hear of anything else. I’m not a man who takes no for an answer. I always get what I want in the end.’

I know that. After our lunch date Raza bombarded the
GupShup
offices with so many flowers that I was soon on first-name terms with the man from Interflora.

‘For Christ’s sake!’ Nina exclaimed on the fourth day of this, after almost breaking her neck on the latest offering. ‘Has Princess Diana died in here?’

‘Mills has an admirer!’ Raj trilled, tucking a gerbera behind his ear. ‘He’s sent half of Kew Gardens over to persuade her to go out for dinner.’

‘Then bloody go out with him, Amelia,’ barked Nina, trying to brush egg-yellow pollen from her black Armani. ‘And get this lot out of the office!’

And she’d stalked back into her lair, leaving Raj to cram the flowers into an assortment of pint glasses and milk bottles and me to call Raza and put him out of his misery.

‘It worked then?’ Wish had remarked, when I told him over lunch that Raza was taking me to The Ivy.

‘What?’ I’d paused, my tuna sandwich hovering dangerously between my plate and my mouth.