‘Thanks.’ He pretends to mop his brow with his sleeve, and then carries on with some tales about his family. I try to listen but my brain is whizzing around, stupidly ahead of itself, imagining just how impressed my family would be with him. OK, so he might not be a doctor but Daddy-ji couldn’t fail to be delighted with a whole variety of medical in-laws. It could save a fortune on BUPA!
Raza clicks his fingers under my nose. ‘You’re very quiet. Is it something that I said?’
I wrench myself out from my daydreams. No way am I going to tell him what’s going through my mind, or the bechara man will run a mile. I can’t say I’d blame him either; this marriage business kind of takes over your life. I can’t wait to actually be married just so that I don’t have to worry about it any more and can get on with normality. I wonder if it’s the same for Raza?
‘You look worried,’ he says.
I cross my fingers behind my back and tell him about what Steve said to me earlier, and how worried I am about the impression some people may have of me. I also make it clear how I came to be in Wish’s bedroom in case, Allah-ji forbid, Raza should think I’m the sort of girl who’s in the habit of frequenting men’s bedrooms.
‘Wish feels sorry for you,’ says Raza. ‘He said he thought it a shame that you had to struggle to find love. I guess it’s been so easy for him and Minty in contrast.’
‘Oh.’ I pretend to be fascinated by a party boat cruising down the Thames. ‘I see.’
That hasn’t really made me feel much better. Wish feels sorry for me. Fan-flipping-tastic. I’m an object of pity. It seems Steve wasn’t so wide of the mark after all.
‘Hey,’ Raza says gently. ‘Don’t be surprised that Wish doesn’t understand your situation. He may be my best mate but…’
‘What?’
He turns those brooding eyes on me again. ‘Wish isn’t like us, is he? He’s only half Pakistani and he hasn’t had the most conventional upbringing in the world. You can’t really blame the guy for not getting it.’
‘I suppose not,’ I say, but somehow the way Raza says this makes me feel that I can blame Wish.
‘After all, Wish has the kind of freedom most Pakistani kids can only dream of. He doesn’t have any of the pressures you and I face.’
‘No, but he has other pressures,’ I say, recalling how Wish once talked about wanting things that he knew he couldn’t ever have.
Raza’s top lip curls. ‘It must be terrible being him, free to come and go as he pleases with Minty. Neither of them giving a toss about what anyone else thinks. Although Wish is my oldest friend and I love him dearly, I feel I owe it to you to tell you the truth about him.’
All of a sudden I feel very cold out on the balcony.
‘Dear trusting Mills,’ whispers Raza into my ear. ‘Just a few words of advice. Wish is a decent guy but he hasn’t a clue how it is for us, and how much emphasis we lay upon family and tradition. He even has freedom of choice when it comes to dating girls who take their clothes off for a living. Don’t expect a guy like Wish to give you the sympathy that you deserve. Keep your relationship with him strictly professional because, believe me, he doesn’t have any respect for you.’
I watch the churning river and feel a similar churning inside. Surely Raza can’t be right? This doesn’t sound like the Wish that I know. But on the other hand, Steve and Raza do know all my most personal secrets, so somebody isn’t telling the truth. Why on earth would Raza lie?
I shiver.
‘You’re cold; allow me.’ Raza shrugs off his jacket and places it over my shoulders. The heat of his body warms my skin, oddly intimate and not altogether unpleasant.
‘It’s really strange,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘I feel as though I know you really well, Mills. Please don’t get the wrong idea, but ever since Wish first mentioned you and your situation I’ve been intrigued and I’m always asking after you.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ I sense his smile in the darkness. ‘You were just a stranger to me but maybe I yearned to know more about you because it was meant to be that we met tonight? I wasn’t even supposed to be here tonight. I was meant to be flying out to Rome on business but something stopped me.’ He turns to face me, ‘I truly think it was Fate.’
All this is more corny than the Jolly Green Giant and I should snort with laughter and tell him to get over himself.
That’s what I should do. But sheesh, give a girl a break. I’m outside on a balcony with one of the most beautiful men who ever breathed air, looking at a spectacular city view and gazing up at a sky sprinkled with more stars than a child’s glittery Christmas card, so I can be forgiven for indulging myself a little. And although I don’t believe in horoscopes, Raza is certainly tall, dark and handsome…
Could he be the one?
‘Don’t laugh,’ he murmurs, ‘but I was wondering, Mills, bearing in mind that I am one hundred percent Pakistani, whether you would consider meeting up some time? Nothing inappropriate, I promise. Maybe a meal out? Or a trip to the opera?’
Now is probably not the time to mention the only Oprah I’m familiar with has a chat show on the telly. Raza obviously comes from a very different background. What on earth would a wealthy, eligible guy like him want with a humble Yorkshire lass like me?
I steal a look at him. He’s certainly handsome with those liquorice black eyes and sharp cheekbones. His lithe body reminds me of a panther with its power and stealthy grace.
And he’s Pakistani and single and solvent. Mummy-ji will die of joy.
I turn away from the view and look back into the party. My eyes search out Wish and, of course, there he is bopping away on the dance floor with Minty draped all over him like a green suede rash. I tear my eyes away from them and smile brightly at Raza. It’s time I focused my attention on a decent guy who actually wants to get to know me, rather than my sorry collection of Mickys and Dawuds and… Wishes.
‘I’d love to meet you for dinner.’
‘Phew!’ Raza exhales. ‘You had me worried for a moment. I though I was about to be given the polite brush-off. You won’t regret your decision, I promise.’
He looks so delighted that a corner of my heart starts to thaw.
‘I don’t doubt it for a minute,’ I say.
Seeing Raza could be a whole lot of fun, and fun is exactly what I need after all my disasters.
Suddenly I feel in the mood to join my friends on the dance floor, especially with such a gorgeous man in tow. Never mind Minty’s bitching and Wish’s gossiping.
This is a great party!
Chapter 23
‘Who’s that beeping their bloody horn on a Saturday morning?’ grumbles a hung-over Eve. ‘It’s going right through my head.’
Nish looks up from her tea making. ‘No idea, but it’s a nice car.’
‘Why do wankers always get the nice cars? And,’ Eve’s eyes narrow, ‘how come you’re taking two cups back to your room?’
Nish flushes.
‘You crafty cow!’ cries Eve. ‘You pulled! Who is he? Come on, you old tart, tell me!’
Beep! Beep!
‘Christ almighty, will you shut up!’
Wincing with every blast of the horn Eve shuffles to the window and looks down into the square. ‘Oh! That is a nice car!’
I peer over her shoulder. A beautiful Jag has pulled up under the plane trees. My stomach flips. It’s Raza.
‘Wait a minute,’ Eve frowns. ‘Isn’t that the guy from last night’s party?’
Raza swings his long legs from the car and leans against the bonnet. Seeing us at the window he waves.
‘Come on, Mills,’ he calls up. ‘I can’t wait to show you Cliveden!’
Eve’s chin is on the windowsill. Nish seizes her opportunity and scuttles back to the mystery man, sloshing tea in her haste to escape Eve’s inquisition.
‘Bloody Hell,’ breathes Eve. ‘You’ve both pulled!’
‘I haven’t pulled.’ I wave back at Raza and shrug myself into m
y coat. ‘We’re meeting for lunch, that’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ parrots Eve. ‘Girlfriend, have you any idea at all where he’s taking you?’
I wind a scarf around my neck. ‘We’re just going for lunch somewhere nice. We thought we’d get to know each other a little better.’
‘Cliveden House is one of the most luxurious hotels in the country,’ shrieks Eve. ‘It’s where Steven Gerrard got married! Babes, he must be really keen!’
As I thud down the stairs I smile to myself. I guess you could say he’s keen. We’ve not known each other for twenty-four hours but already Raza’s gone out of his way to make me feel special.
‘I don’t want to waste a minute,’ he whispered last night as he helped me into the taxi. ‘Can I take you for lunch tomorrow?’
I’d agreed and for the entire journey home I’d felt as though I was zooming down a helter-skelter. I’ve had to tell myself sternly that Raza’s enthusiasm is because he’s met a single Muslim girl without two heads rather than because he’s besotted with me. But I still woke up at four a.m. with a lovely knot of excitement twisting in my tummy.
Well, it was either that or an extreme reaction to the Bacardi!
‘You look beautiful,’ says Raza when I reach the car. ‘Here, these are for you.’ He thrusts a stunning bouquet of cream roses under my nose.
‘Shukriya.’ I bury my nose in them but they’re oddly scentless. ‘They’re gorgeous.’
‘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.’
The Wedding Countdown Page 20