A Scandalous Secret

by Jaishree Misra

  ‘Oh, goodie, so we have this bijou little private disco all to ourselves?’ Sonya cried. ‘We could phone for some food later, couldn’t we?’

  ‘Or go to Kake di Hatti on Outer Circle – that’s a dhaba, you know, where the truck drivers go to eat.’

  Sonya’s eyes shone with glee. ‘Oh, Keshav, I’m so glad we met you. Our holiday has been so much more fun. It feels like we’re really experiencing India, doesn’t it, Stel?’

  Estella looked at Keshav and smiled somewhat warily. Sonya guessed that Keshav must have had words with Gopal regarding creating some private time for them because, half an hour later, Gopal suggested that he take Estella for a walk. ‘I will show you India Gate and buy you ice cream over there,’ he said, looking pointedly at Estella.

  Estella turned to Sonya, obviously concerned at the pairing off. ‘What do you say, hon?’ she asked. ‘You okay with that?’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Sonya said firmly. By now she too was quite keen to get a bit of time alone with Keshav. Their tacit mutual longing was exciting to say the least and she knew she had what it took to resist any unwanted advances. Just some cuddling and kissing: ‘No harm in that’, as her mum had nervously pronounced the first time Sonya had asked if she could take Tim up to her room back in Orpington.

  Estella still looked faintly worried but she silently pulled her sturdy Timberland trainers back on before leaving the house with Gopal. Sonya watched them walk down the drive before Keshav grabbed her by the waist and drew her back indoors. With one hand holding her firmly as though frightened she would fly away, Keshav pulled the door shut and latched it. Then, wrapping both arms around her body, he kissed Sonya properly, slipping one hand under her blouse to search for the clasp of her bra. Sonya felt his fingers fumble and stopped him by whispering, ‘Not now, Keshav. Let’s give it time, please …’

  Keshav drew in his breath shakily but acquiesced, running his palms in a brief frustrated gesture over Sonya’s clothed breasts before he firmly pulled her into the bedroom and tumbled with her onto the bedding.

  They lay together, kissing some more and Sonya, feeling her whole being set alight, wondered how she had ever considered what she had with Timothy to be the pangs of first love. Surely this is the real thing, Sonya thought, feeling herself tingle all over with suppressed longing as she lay with her head on Keshav’s arm. She looked up at him in a brief reprieve between his kisses and saw him smile down at her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  ‘What are you thanking me for, Sonya?’

  ‘For being so wonderful to me through this emotional mess I’ve got myself into. For making me forget my problems. For being the most gentle, and generous friend …’

  ‘For you I will do anything, my Sonya.’ Keshav grinned, ‘Do you know, in Punjabi “Sonya” means “golden girl”. That’s what you are: a beautiful, golden girl who has landed in my life like a pari.’

  ‘What’s a “pari”?’ Sonya asked.

  ‘How do you say it …’ Keshav screwed his forehead up, searching for the word. ‘You know, like an angel or a fairy sent by God?’ Keshav’s voice was now thick with emotion as he lowered his head to kiss her again.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  After her ghastly meeting with Sonya in Lodhi Gardens, Neha stumbled back to her house, barely aware of the people she passed on the way. She was in a state of such distress that she stepped out into Amrita Shergill Marg without looking and nearly walked into the path of a speeding car that swerved and blared its horn angrily at her. Somehow she managed to keep from crying, aware that Sharat would notice in a jiffy if she returned home with her face all blotchy and tear-stained.

  Reaching the house, she slipped indoors – Sharat was still in the breakfast room, blissfully unaware of her temporary absence – and so she ran upstairs to the safety of her bathroom. Locking herself in, Neha sat on the small armchair she used for her pedicures, wrapped her arms around her middle and bent over double, the most severe pain assailing her stomach. She desperately wanted to cry … for herself and for the girl in the park who had shouted at her with such anguish in her voice. Neha found it shocking that she had caused all that pain to another human being. Her daughter. For all these years she had determinedly refrained from thinking about the child she had given away. Even if some stray memory materialized in her head, it was usually ephemeral and unreal. But the girl with the bright blue eyes had been real, and apparently very damaged by what Neha had done. So much anger raging in her heart it was frightening. How far-reaching that decision which, at the time, had been made so swiftly, so thoughtlessly …

  The scenes were replaying like a television set gone haywire. Neha saw, as clearly as though it was yesterday, the face of the midwife who had given her the baby to hold for a few minutes.

  ‘Children need this initial physical contact with their biological mothers, my dear.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s okay? Marge the social worker had sort of warned me against bonding with the baby.’

  ‘Did she now? Well, that Marge has always been a cold fish. No children of her own, I’m told. Honestly, the people they hire to help others with their problems – you’d think the Social would know better sometimes! No, really, take her for just a few minutes. All babies deserve a cuddle first thing, for heaven’s sake. It’s their first experience of the world after all …’

  And so I took her in my arms. Tiny and fragile and making strange little clucking noises in her throat while she kept her eyes tightly closed. She was covered in white stuff, and was slippery to hold, but, suddenly, her eyes opened and she looked around, although I couldn’t tell if she could see me. They were blue, not like my eyes at all. But her hair was black and thick, like mine, slicked down to her head. So strange to think that she had emerged from me … so … so strange and yet so moving …

  Then one of the nurses came along to take her away. I wasn’t sure if she was taking her away for a bit, just to clean her up, or if it was for good. Later, I thought I should have looked at her face more closely before she was carried away. Later, it was so hard to remember what she looked like. For a while, she was imprinted on my mind like an instant Polaroid, indelible even when I wanted to forget. But then, slowly, over the years, that picture started to fade and, much as I may have wanted to remember, I could not …

  After she was taken away, I turned my face into the hospital pillow and wept but, if I were to be honest, I would have recognised that, at that point in time, I was weeping for myself and the mess I had got myself into; my heartbreak over Alastair and the end of not just my Oxford dream, but of youth and hope itself.

  Weeping for my baby came much, much later … selfishly, oh so selfishly, only when I knew there would not be any more …

  Neha jumped as someone rattled the doorknob. ‘Neha, darling, are you in there?’ Sharat’s voice called.

  Neha gathered her thoughts and replied, her voice sounding thin and unreal to her own ears. ‘Yes, it’s me.’

  ‘Oh, okay, just wondered where you were … hope you haven’t forgotten, we have Jasmeet’s lunch at the Crowne Plaza …’

  Neha’s heart sank even lower than before. She had forgotten that they had been invited to Jasmeet and Kul’s wedding anniversary party. She ought to cry off, make some excuse. She was in no state at all to sit around making frivolous social chit-chat. Neha pulled herself together – she had to, for her husband’s sake. Then she flicked the flush and emerged into the bedroom to find Sharat already pulling out clothes from his wardrobe in the dressing area.

  ‘Shall I wear this?’ he asked, turning to Neha with a white silk kurta held against his chest. ‘Or will it be too much?’

  Neha looked at the boyish confusion on Sharat’s face, her heart twisting with guilt and pain. He tended to ask her advice on the tiniest of matters, so great was his reliance on her good sense.

  ‘It’ll look great, Sharat,’ she said. ‘Wear it with jeans, rather than a churidar, then it won’t look too formal.’
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  ‘What are you wearing?’ he asked.

  Neha hesitated for a moment, wondering whether to plead a headache and stay at home. Then, looking at Sharat’s face frowning in concentration as he rummaged around for a pair of jeans, she said, ‘I think I’ll wear something Indian too, seeing that it’s still so hot – a salwaar kameez maybe.’

  They got ready, Neha helping Sharat with the buttons on his kurta and then turning to him for help with the clasp on her necklace. Little habits developed over the years that poor Sharat did not know would soon come to an end.

  After they were dressed, Neha called for the car. The journey to Gurgaon through the South Delhi traffic was always a bit arduous, but the sight of Jasmeet’s cheerful face as they walked into the restaurant of the Crowne Plaza was reassuring. She had, after all, been Neha’s classmate and friend since the age of six. They exchanged hugs and Neha gave Jasmeet the small jewellery box that contained a modest pearl and diamond pendant that she had bought as an anniversary gift. Twenty-odd people, most of them familiar to Neha and Sharat, had already formed a noisy group at one end of the dining hall. They now greeted the new arrivals raucously, making room for them to join in.

  ‘Hey, look at you, yaar, bloody thinner every time I see you!’ Reena Singhal complained, looking enviously at Neha’s slim figure.

  ‘Not true,’ Neha mumbled shyly in response, slipping into a seat next to Reena’s. Across the table, Sharat had already struck up an animated conversation with Reena’s husband Jimmy, a golfing buddy who had been pursuing him to invest in an Australian gold-mining company for weeks and was now clearly delighted with the opportunity he had been presented to revive his efforts. On the far side of the table were a pair of old classmates of Neha’s and Jasmeet’s from their schooldays and Neha waved at them by way of greeting, before returning her attention to Reena Singhal’s inane chatter which fortunately required very little by way of concentration.

  As the conversation flowed around her, Neha considered how little she actually knew all these friends. Jasmeet had stayed in touch far better with their old classmates, unlike Neha who, despite the parties she threw, had developed a reputation for being a somewhat reticent type. Perhaps that had been one of the coping tactics she had employed over the years – keeping everyone, even someone as warm and obliging as Jasmeet, at arm’s length. It had always seemed safer not to let anyone come too close, lest they should find out her terrible secret. Left to herself, in fact, Neha would quite probably have never thrown a party in her life; but Sharat loved entertaining so much and now his plans to enter politics had made it de rigueur.

  Neha looked around the table. Everyone was drinking and picking at the enormous platters of meze snacks as though none of them had a care in the world. Did any of these people have secrets of their own? And how would they react when her past became known? Even Jasmeet … Jasmeet, who adored her two pretty teenage daughters more than anything else in the world … what would she think of how Neha had walked away from hers?

  With the food in her mouth turning to wood, Neha thought again about Sonya. Where would she have gone after they had met? And who were the two youngsters who had come and pulled her away? The girl looked English so had probably come with Sonya from England. But the boy was Indian. Could he too have come with the girls from Britain? Or was he a local friend? Perhaps Sonya was staying with him while she was in Delhi …

  Neha tried to hold on to her runaway thoughts as the woman sitting across from her asked about her latest art purchase, which had been prominently featured in a society magazine.

  ‘Yes, it’s a new Anjolie Ela Menon,’ Neha replied politely. ‘No, no, not a large canvas at all. Of course, you must come and see it yourself …’

  Neha caught Sharat’s eye from across the far end of the table and returned his smile. Her heart squeezed itself in sudden fear again at the thought of what Sonya’s appearance in Delhi would do to him. Such a betrayal by an adored wife would surely finish him off. Perhaps, in a horribly ironic way, it was fortunate there were no children who would be affected by the inevitable destruction of their marriage. Neha cringed now, remembering how she and Sharat had in the past joked wryly that they might have cared less for each other had they had children, having observed friends with offspring focus so much emotional energy on the children that there was little left for the spouse.

  To calm herself, Neha turned to Jasmeet on her left who was narrating a story from her last catering assignment. Jasmeet’s work led her to meet the most curious characters and she was consequently a treasure house of funny stories. Everyone laughed as she now hammed up her impression of a nouveau riche Delhi businessman trying to pronounce French words like ‘canapés’ and ‘vol-au-vents’ and Neha tried to join in the merriment, hoping no one would notice how forced her smile was.

  She jumped as her phone rang in her handbag. A quick check revealed an unfamiliar number. Neha wondered if she ought to ignore it but, after a few minutes, it rang again and Neha got up from her chair to take the call. Unable to hear in the din, she walked towards the lobby, hearing a man’s voice say, ‘Hello? Mrs Neha Chaturvedi?’

  ‘Yes?’ she replied, arriving in the airy lobby where the muzak was soft enough for her to hear better.

  ‘Mrs Chaturvedi. I am calling about your daughter, Sonya …’

  Neha froze. She stopped walking and remained silent as her throat clogged up with fear. The voice said, ‘Hello?’ again a couple of times and, after an eternity, Neha finally whispered, ‘Who is it please?’

  The caller seemed to derive confidence from Neha’s diffident tone and started speaking again, now using a loud and rapidly escalating voice. ‘You do not have to know who I am, okay. It is not for you to ask me any questions. Can you hear me, Mrs Chaturvedi?’ he asked roughly.

  ‘Yes, yes I can,’ Neha replied, her heart thudding painfully in her chest.

  ‘Mrs Chaturvedi, let me say only this. You have kept your daughter away from your life and you have not told anyone about her? You should be so shamed. All the people are respecting you because of your money and your position. But they don’t know about your secrets. Especially a secret daughter called Sonya who you have never cared for. But I know. And I am wanting to tell everyone about it because people like you always gets away with everything … only poor people gets caught. It is not right. Everyone should know about you and what you have done. If you don’t tell them, I will.’

  And, with that, the caller hung up.

  Neha stood stock-still in the lobby, phone still in hand, feeling everything around her reeling and spinning out of control. Only when she sensed that the hotel staff standing behind the reception desk were looking at her curiously did she gather herself together and slowly walk back to the coffee shop to where her friends were still talking and celebrating raucously.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sonya was starting to get uncomfortable lying on the lumpy mattress that was occupying the floor of Gopal’s room, but she dared not move for fear she would wake Keshav up. He had been very keen to make love to her, reassuring her that Gopal and Estella would not be back for a while from India Gate. But, despite being terribly tempted by his ardent pleas, Sonya had held him off and, thankfully, he had been decent enough not to force himself on her. While she adored him being so close to her, something inside her head talked her out of going all the way so quickly. Instead, they had lain entwined together on the mattress, kissing intermittently and chatting about all manner of things, Keshav seeming fascinated by Sonya’s stories of England. Then, abruptly, he had fallen asleep with his head pillowed on her upper arm and was now snoring gently. Delhi’s evening sun had swiftly disappeared and it was now the light from a nearby streetlamp that was shining through the faded curtain hanging crookedly across the window.

  Sonya wondered how Estella and Gopal were getting on – they had left over an hour ago and would surely be back before too long. Suddenly Sonya was very conscious of needing to get up and make herself decent. Ho
w embarrassing if Gopal and Estella walked in right now and found her languishing in Keshav’s arms like a right old slut! Hopefully Estella had understood from their earlier conversation how desperately Sonya had needed to distract herself from the awfulness of her meeting with Neha Chaturvedi. Add to that the intense attentions of a handsome guy like Keshav and it had all been too irresistible. It was without a doubt the warmth of his attention that had melted away the tautness of her earlier nerves and Sonya was grateful to him that she hadn’t thought of Neha all evening. Now, of course, it was all seeping back, the horrible queasiness in the pit of her stomach when she thought of the angry exchange they had had back at the park. Sonya wanted to look at her watch to calculate the time difference and plan a call to her parents back home as well. She ought to tell them that she had made contact with Neha and was okay. She’d leave out all the horrible details, and she’d certainly leave out any mention of Keshav! But her watch hand was trapped under Keshav’s head at the moment …

  Sonya shifted her arm gently, flexing her numb fingers to stop them tingling. She needed to get to the toilet too and looked down again at the man sleeping with his head laid so trustingly on her arm. He looked like an innocent little boy with eyelashes sweeping down over his cheeks – he really did have the longest lashes! Despite that, he was very macho, Sonya thought, pleasantly muscular and with fine downy chest hair visible through his shirt, which was unbuttoned to the navel.

  Her reverie was broken by the sound of Keshav’s phone bursting out into a jaunty ringtone. Keshav had told her that it was the title song from the most recent Bollywood hit, but he was unable to understand the reference when Sonya said that parts of it had been lifted from a Black-Eyed Peas number. The cacophony woke Keshav up. He looked up at Sonya blearily before lunging for the phone with a muttered curse.