‘An affair?’
‘Well, it was your reaction to that call on your phone that day. Do you remember, coming back from Jasmeet’s – you cut off a call without even saying hello. Which seemed like such a weird thing to do. And, because of your uncharacteristic behaviour, I did a silly thing too. I called back on that number and heard a man’s voice. An American man’s voice. So, by the time you told me about Sonya, let’s just say I was as confused as hell!’
Neha looked up at Sharat and nodded. ‘I thought that might be what happened. That caller was Arif, the gentleman I met in Ananda. Remember, I told you I’d invited him to come and have a meal with us when he passed through Delhi.’
‘I’m sure you never said he was American! And, if you’d mentioned the name “Arif”, I’d never have assumed he was American from that either.’ Sharat’s accusatory tone was joking and he grinned now as he added, ‘Now, if he’d been called “Todd” or “Hank”, I think I’d have very easily made the connection, but not “Arif” for God’s sake!’
They started to laugh and, having reached the canna patch at the bottom of the garden, started to walk back up the way they had come. The sounds of their laughter reached the gardener who was packing up his tools at the other end of the lawn, the sun having long set and the grass now getting quite damp with dew. The old gardener smiled because he often liked to go home and tell his wife – the mother of his four children – that the sahib and memsahib he worked for were among the happiest couples he knew, even though they had no children of their own.
Chapter Forty-Two
Sonya quickened her footsteps as she and Estella pushed their trolleys out of the baggage terminal at Heathrow Airport. The flight back from India had got delayed at Dubai and she was concerned that her father would have been waiting an extra hour. When she spotted Richard, standing near the metal barriers just beyond Customs, wearing an anxious expression on his face, Sonya left the trolley right in the middle of the passageway and ran towards him in delight.
‘Daddy, darling Dad!’ she cried, yelling with renewed glee as she saw her mother standing behind him. It was only when the first excited hugs had been exchanged that she was suddenly mindful of poor Estella trying to make her way towards them, now pushing two wayward trolleys. ‘Oh, Stel, so sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you standing there like that. Just got a bit distracted by the handsomest man in the world,’ she said, giving Richard another hug.
‘Typical!’ Estella said, rolling her eyes upwards before parking the trolleys to one side in order to greet Sonya’s parents properly.
‘She hasn’t treated you like that throughout the trip, I hope,’ Richard Shaw grinned as he hugged Estella.
‘Worse! Baggage handler, dogsbody, cook, chai wallah, I’ve done it all on this holiday, I have. What one does in the name of friendship, eh?’ Estella replied, bending over to kiss Laura Shaw’s beaming face.
‘C’mon then, let’s get you both outta here. Car’s that-away,’ Richard said, making for the lifts that led to the multistorey car park.
In the car, Sonya and Estella chattered away, giving the Shaws all their news from India in a torrent of information but Sonya was aware that some of the more important subjects were being skirted around. There was time enough to tell her parents all about her meeting with Neha Chaturvedi when they got home and everyone had had the chance to catch their breath. She sat back while Estella narrated the story of their visit to an ancient synagogue in Cochin a day ago. Only half hearing her description of the sweet old Jewess they had met, Sonya looked out at the English countryside that was already turning to beautiful shades of rust and copper in an early autumn. It was lovely to be back, she thought, settling back with a small sigh. Mum and Dad, their cosy little house that always had a delicious smell of something baking wafting around it, her crazy gothic bedroom stuffed with bric-a-brac … much as she felt a sense of achievement to have taken on India and dealt so bravely with her past, this was home and this truly was where she belonged.
After dropping Estella off at her house and chatting briefly with the Wentworths, the Shaw family drove the two-mile distance to their home in companionable silence, listening to the one o’clock news on the car radio. It was only an hour later, after Sonya had showered and descended to the kitchen in her most comfortable pair of track-pants, that she finally took the chance to tell her parents all about Neha. She and Estella had discussed the Keshav business on the flight and decided that, while it would be necessary to tell their parents just enough to put them in the picture, the details were not required as they would only serve to distress them unduly.
Richard was pulling bottles of mustard and mayonnaise out of the cupboard while Laura sliced a giant sourdough cob on the bread board. Sonya took her usual place at the kitchen table and opened the subject in her customary direct fashion. ‘Mum, Dad, I’m sorry I haven’t touched upon my all-important news from Delhi yet. Not that Estella doesn’t know everything but I thought you’d rather hear about my meeting with Neha Chaturvedi when it was just us.’
Richard nodded approvingly, as he carried an assortment of bottles to the table, ‘Good thinking, darling,’ he said. ‘Much as I adore your Stel, some conversations do need privacy, don’t they?’
‘Dad said the second encounter was better,’ Laura remarked. Her back was still turned so Sonya could not read her mother’s facial expression but she felt reassured by how tranquil her voice sounded.
‘Oh, very much better. I think she was in a state of shock the first time we met but she’d calmed down by the time I saw her next.’
Richard brought the pile of sliced bread to the table before sitting down next to Sonya. ‘She hadn’t told her husband about you at that point, you said?’
‘Yes, definitely part of the reason she didn’t want me popping up so unceremoniously,’ Sonya replied, picking up a knife to start buttering the bread.
Laura was also seated at the table now. Her hands had been busy tearing up lettuce leaves and slicing up pickled gherkins but she stopped that to rest her gentle grey eyes on her daughter’s face. Sonya could, thankfully, not discern on her mother’s face any of the distress that had been so much in evidence before she had left for India.
‘And your visit prompted her to tell him, I suppose,’ Richard said. It was a question, rather than a statement, and so Sonya nodded.
‘Yes, she was kinda forced to fess up everything to him but I gathered later that she was, in fact, quite relieved to have been given a chance to do so. She said later, when I called to say goodbye, that he was upset at first – understandably, I guess – but then accepted it in the end.’
‘I can’t imagine what it must be like carrying around a secret like that in a marriage,’ Laura said, shaking her head. Sonya could not tell if the remark was a reproving one so did not respond.
Richard pulled the plate of buttered slices towards him and started filling them with mustard and cold cuts. ‘Well, he must love her very much to forgive her so swiftly,’ he remarked. Then, more gently, he asked, ‘Did she explain why she gave you up?’
Sonya nodded and took a deep breath. ‘She was an undergrad at Oxford, apparently having worked really hard to get there from India. Then she fell in love with her professor and – although she didn’t quite blame him – I got the impression that he kinda took advantage of her. Having got pregnant, she hoped for a while that he would reciprocate her feelings and, by the time it became clear that there was no chance of that, it was too late for an abortion.’
‘Nevertheless, once that decision was made, she could have kept you,’ Laura said. ‘Social workers don’t take children away from their parents these days if they can help it. Instead they put in all kinds of support to encourage mums to keep their kids, which is why there’s hardly any that come up for adoption. Not like it used to be when I was young.’
Laura was clearly still feeling a little judgemental but Sonya did not rush to Neha’s defence. Instead, she said, ‘I did ask her that but she
explained that she was alone in England, with no family and no real friends. Her parents back in India would have been too conservative to accept an illegitimate child and so, when it was suggested to her that she could give her baby up to a childless couple, she did. The sad thing is that she later learnt that she couldn’t have any children of her own.’
‘She was very young, wasn’t she? Eighteen? Nineteen?’ Richard asked.
‘Yeah, the same age I am now, imagine that,’ Sonya said.
‘Well, yes, that is very young. Most people that age don’t know what’s good for them, I suppose. She must have been so confused,’ Laura conceded, ‘and it’s very sad to hear that she was never able to have any more children.’ It was said a little grudgingly but Sonya was strangely touched to finally discern a touch of sympathy in Laura’s voice.
The cuckoo clock in the kitchen broke the sudden silence and Sonya sat up to say in a no-nonsense way, ‘Well, I had the explanation I needed so, in the end, we parted quite amicably.’
‘Would she want to stay in touch, do you think?’ Richard asked.
‘We didn’t discuss that, actually. And, when all is said and done, we occupy two totally separate worlds. But, if she does make contact again, I wouldn’t particularly mind. Would you?’ Sonya asked.
Richard looked at Laura and Sonya guessed that they had already discussed that possibility between them when her mother replied, ‘You know, darling, Dad and I would be perfectly contented for you to stay in touch with her if you want. After all, she’s missed out on all these wonderful years we’ve had with you and, now that you’re all grown up and leaving home, you should be free to make your friends in the world. Dad and I aren’t ever going to stand in your way. We love you and trust you far too much for that.’
Sonya felt a lump form in her throat. How she loved these two marvellous people who had given her so much, and with so few expectations. And poor darling Mum had sure made a long, tortuous journey to get herself to this point from the emotional mess she had been in before Sonya’s departure for India.
It was Richard who broke the silence this time, fearing a sudden deluge of female tears, Sonya knew. ‘Oh, speaking of love,’ he said, ‘I’ve been meaning to say, princess – old Tim was on the phone all of yesterday, calling to ask whether you’d arrived. I wasn’t sure how you’d left things before you went to India so I said something a little noncommittal, I’m afraid.’
Sonya reached into her pocket for her phone. ‘Thanks, Dad, typically thoughtful! Yes, Tim and I did go over a bump back there but he’s such an old mate, I couldn’t possibly leave for uni without saying goodbye properly, could I? Perhaps I’ll give him a quick call to say I’m back. Stel and I could take him to the Shalimar tonight to regale him with all our stories from India over a curry. I know all their names now!’
‘I thought you’d be up to there with Indian food, having only just come back!’ Laura gestured at her neck and laughed. ‘Those are your genes speaking, I suppose!’
‘Genes or no genes, right now I’d kill for another one of your special mustard-mayo ham sarnies, Dad,’ Sonya replied, holding her plate out.
‘Ah, the one that employs my secret Shaw formula. Coming right up,’ Richard replied.
Chapter Forty-Three
Sharat sat restlessly in the living room, listening to a Pandit Jasraj CD on his new Bose system, but keeping an eye on the antique glass clock to be sure he did not miss the next news bulletin.
The day had been a satisfying one, beginning with a hugely successful rally to launch ‘Saamna’, an organization he had recently formed to call for an end to local government corruption. At least three thousand people had attended – thanks in part to the huge advertisements that had been running in all the broadsheets these past few days – and nearly two thousand people had signed a joint petition which was later delivered to the Prime Minister’s residence. Already CNN-IBN had covered the rally in their six o’clock bulletin and Sharat’s contact over at NDTV had promised that they were running their package at seven, which included a one-on-one prerecorded interview with him.
Wondering where Neha was, Sharat picked up the intercom phone and clicked on the button marked ‘Main Bedroom’. Neha’s voice answered it within seconds. ‘Haanji, where are you?’ Sharat asked. ‘Aren’t you coming down to see the NDTV piece?’
‘Of course I’m coming. It’s not time yet is it? Give me two minutes.’
‘What are you doing?’ Sharat persisted, always unhappy to be somewhere that lacked Neha’s reassuring presence.
Aware of this, Neha laughed gently, ‘Arrey baba, I’ll be with you in two minutes. I was just thinking of trying that new meditation technique Swami Dayanand showed me but right now is obviously not the best time!’
‘That’s exactly right. Come down, na. We’ll watch it in the breakfast room. You can try all your meditation stuff later on.’
Sharat had already turned on the TV when Neha came into the breakfast room a few minutes later, settling himself on his usual wicker chair, remote control in hand. He shot a glance at her, observing the tiredness of her demeanour. It had certainly been a long day, and Neha had been firmly by his side as they handed out tea and refreshments at the rally, but, while the experience had led to a feeling of immense buoyancy in Sharat’s spirits, it seemed to have had the opposite effect on Neha.
‘You okay? Tired?’ he asked, patting the seat next to him.
Neha settled herself on the sofa beside Sharat and put her head on his shoulder. ‘I wonder, will you still be calling me to watch the TV news with you when you’re a big politician and on the news every day?’
‘Of course! Then you’ll have to not just watch with me but also bring me endless cups of tea and press my aching legs. That’s what good politicians’ wives do, I am told.’
Neha smacked Sharat’s thigh good-naturedly but they fell silent as the newscaster appeared on screen. The story of the anti-corruption rally was the third piece on the news, and they watched carefully as Sharat’s face appeared in a close-up shot while he was interviewed.
‘Very good,’ Neha muttered as the interview drew to a close. ‘You sound like a really seasoned hand, Mr Sharat Chaturvedi!’
‘I think I hesitate too much between sentences. Too much humming and hawing,’ Sharat said, frowning.
‘Nonsense,’ Neha dismissed. ‘You sound just fine. You don’t want to be too smooth. People don’t trust those silver-tongued politician types, I think.’
Sharat kissed her cheek. ‘As usual, you’re probably right, my dear,’ he said. Then he cupped his hands on either side of Neha’s face and gently ran the balls of his thumbs on the faint purple shadows under her eyes. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, his voice gentle. ‘Are you not sleeping properly?’
‘I’m sleeping just fine,’ Neha said, her expression suddenly defensive. Then she added, ‘Maybe we’ve been attending too many events recently. Muniza’s iftaar, Preeti’s party, Pramod’s book launch at the British Council. And, of course, all the preparations for yesterday’s rally. A few quiet nights in will sort me out, don’t worry.’
But Sharat continued to look concerned as Neha got up from the sofa and wandered around the room, turning on all the uplighters so that the room was suddenly filled with light. ‘Will you give me an honest answer if I ask you something?’ he queried suddenly.
Neha’s back stiffened almost indiscernibly as she continued to face the Taiyyab mural that always looked stunning when the halogen lamps angled to highlight it were turned on. Sharat waited till she had turned round slowly to face him. ‘Of course I will, Sharat,’ she replied softly.
‘Are you still grieving over Sonya?’ he asked in his customary direct fashion.
Neha hesitated for a moment before answering. ‘Why should I be grieving, Sharat? I mean, if anything, I should be happy to know that she is fine and in a happy place. Shouldn’t I?’
Sharat felt she was asking him a question, rather than making a statement. ‘I don’t know, Neh
a. Should you? Maybe it’s not as simple as that, you know. Maybe it was easier to cope when she was completely lost to you. But, now that that door has been opened slightly, you may feel you need to open it properly … let the light and air in to what was previously a very dark place for you …’
Neha remained silent and, because she was standing with the light behind her, Sharat could not read the expression on her face. After a pause, he said, ‘I think you should go to England to meet her properly, Neha.’
Neha’s reaction was surprisingly violent, her voice harsh as she said swiftly, ‘No, sorry, that’s a crazy idea, Sharat! I don’t want to go to England. What would I do there anyway? I can’t go chasing after her now! All these years later, and when she needs to concentrate on her new college life.’ She calmed herself, her tone turning contrite as she added, ‘It’s sweet of you, Sharat. I know you mean well, but it won’t work. We have to think of her too. She may not want to see me again.’
‘How can you assume that? She might actually be wanting to see you too, Neha,’ Sharat replied. ‘I mean, it was all left half-finished, the way in which you met and then parted. She too may be in need of some kind of … what is that American psycho-babble thing they say … closure? Yes, she might be needing closure too. But she can hardly walk in here again, given what happened when she was here last. No, I think the ball is in your court. You need to write to her, and tell her how things got resolved over here, and then ask her if you can go and see her in England.’
‘But … but her parents might mind, Sharat,’ Neha said, now openly crying, tears coursing down her cheeks. ‘Have you thought of that, Sharat? Her parents, who brought her up from the time she was a baby, they may not want me anywhere near her!’
‘They let her come here to Delhi, didn’t they? They must be more confident about her love than that, Neha. And surely they will understand that you aren’t trying to usurp them in her affections after all these years? I mean, she’s a grown adult now, for heaven’s sake.’ After a long pause, Sharat said, his voice gentle in the silence of the room, ‘Go, Neha. Go to your daughter. Show her you care enough to do that. God knows, you both need that bit of assurance to move on. You will only need a few days in England. Go and sort this out, and then come straight home to me.’
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