She awoke to the cool fight of an Indian dawn and, staring out at the pinkish grey sky, thought immediately of Giles Farrow. She still found it difficult to know why he had kissed her. Anger to begin with, of course, but afterwards, when the anger had died, he had not reverted to his usual sardonic self but had spoken to her as if he were seeing her for the first time, and did not dislike what he saw.
Too restless to remain in bed, she showered and dressed and went down to the garden. As always there was a slight breeze, and the air had the fresh tang of the sea about it so that she breathed in deeply, filled with an unexpected joy that came from she knew not where. She pirouetted lightly across the grass—a slip of a girl with long, honey-gold hair and large pansy- brown eyes, delighting in the softness of the earth and the blueness of the sky.
At eight o'clock she was sitting on the terrace having her breakfast. The marmalade and toast were delicious, but she still avoided taking any butter, which was of such poor quality that it was not worth eating. It tasted more like solidified ghee, the clarified butter in which Indians did their cooking but which bore no relation in taste or look to European butter. But the excellence of the fruit more than made up for this, and there was a profusion of choice from enormous tangerines, apples, mangoes and small, delicious-tasting bananas, each one no bigger than a man's index finger.
She was just finishing a third cup of coffee when Giles Farrow came out on to the terrace. He had never appeared at breakfast before and she wondered if this was a new departure for him or whether he was taking a day off.
'You're up early,' he commented.
'I still can't get used to the perfect weather and it seems a pity to waste it by staying in my room.'
'Do you usually dance around the lawn to greet the day?'
Her cup wobbled in her hand, but she spoke coolly. 'If I'm happy I always dance—sometimes I sing too.'
His mouth quirked. 'Is there any particular reason for your happiness this morning?'
'Perhaps because we're friends,' she said gravely. 'Not real friends, but at least we're no longer enemies.'
'And that made you happy enough to dance?'
'Yes.' She sighed. 'It isn't pleasant to stay in a house when you're not wanted.'
He was silent, frowning, his well-shaped brows almost meeting above his long straight nose. 'I hadn't realised you found my behaviour so upsetting,' he said finally. 'You always gave me the impression that you didn't care a jot what I thought of you.' His glance was penetrating as it rested on her. 'For someone who seems so transparent, you hide your feelings very well.'
'That's not a logical comment, coming from you, Mr Farrow.'
'Giles,' he reminded her.
She went pink and then nodded. 'If I'm transparent, how can I hide my feelings? I think you should reassess your opinion of me. Either I'm not transparent— in which case you can't see through me and guess my motivation—or I am transparent and you'll always be able to know what I feel!'
Unexpectedly he laughed, and the moment lessened the severity of his features. His face was alive with warmth and his eyes glowed with humour. As always, she was fascinated by their ability to go from amber to gold and then to darkest topaz. Aware that she was staring at him, she pushed back her chair.
'Please don't rush off,' he said. 'We declared a pact last night, if you remember.'
Abby subsided again, her hands suddenly clammy. To have Giles Farrow friendly to her was almost as disconcerting as having him antagonistic. She searched for something to say, but could think of nothing bright or witty. He did not seem to mind her silence, but went on carefully peeling an apple. He had beautifully shaped hands for a man, the fingers long and the nails oval. She recollected their touch on her skin and quickly focused on less intimate thoughts.
'Did you always want to be a nuclear engineer?' she asked at random, saying the first thing that came into her head
If he was surprised by the question, he did not show it. 'I first wanted to be a train driver,' he smiled, and began to cut his apple into sections.
'But after you got over that particular ambition?'
'I then decided to follow my father. He'd been in the same profession. My interest in nuclear physics grew from that.'
'And now you're one of the top men in your field. You must feel very proud.'
'I suppose I do,' he said, after a moment's thought. 'But it tends to make you spoilt. Everyone defers to your opinions and you expect that to happen in your private life too.'
She wondered if he was thinking of his broken engagement and regretting the stand he had taken. But she dared not ask him, and when next he spoke it was to change the subject completely.
'Tell me about your own background, Abby,' he asked.
'It was a very ordinary one. My father died when I was a child and my mother worked terribly hard to support us. I left school as soon as I could, but even with my wages coming in, things weren't easy. But then my twin sisters were discovered in a beauty contest and from then on things got better.'
'They're models now, aren't they? My aunt mentioned something about it.'
'Very famous models,' said Abby. 'You've probably seen them without realising it. They were the twins in the big whisky campaign last year.'
His expression told her that a visual image had flashed in front of him.
'Those two girls are your sisters?' he asked in astonishment.
'I'm the plain one of the family,' she said bluntly.
He reached out for another apple and she was illogically disappointed that he made no comment. Still, what could he have said that would have been flattering to her? She bit back a sigh and was glad when a step behind her announced the arrival of Miss Bateman.
'Come on, Abby, we're going shopping,' she announced. 'I'm tired of working.'
'Then let me do some typing for you,' Abby pleaded. 'My holiday has gone on long enough.'
'Just listen to the child pleading to work!' Miss Bateman regarded her nephew. 'She's incredible, isn't she? But I've made up my mind. I want to do some shopping and I refuse to go alone.'
'I'll fetch my handbag and meet you at the car.'
Smiling briefly at Giles, Abby hurried away. She was glad their conversation had been interrupted. Although their enmity had ended, she didn't want friendship to take its place. For friendship from Giles might grow into something that would be far more destructive to her peace of mind than his enmity had been.
CHAPTER TEN
Miss Bateman did her shopping the way she did everything—with unbounded enthusiasm—and the car was soon laden with brass bowls, leather bags, and sari lengths of brocade and pure silk.
By eleven-thirty Abby was prepared to call it a day and return to the house, but her employer had still only completed half her shopping, seemingly intent on buying gifts for every one of her numerous friends.
'I'd like to buy you a little something too,' she said, but Abby, knowing that the woman's 'little something' could turn out to be something far from little, firmly refused the offer.
It was one-thirty before they finally reached the resplendent Taj Mahal hotel, where Miss Bateman had decided they were to have lunch.
'You've seen so little of Bombay that I feel guilty about it,' she explained, and led the way into an enormous square marble foyer, predominantly decorated in gold and white.
In London, Abby had had occasion to visit most of the luxurious West End hotels to make special deliveries of one or other valuable book to a customer, but she could not remember seeing a foyer as busy as this one. And the diversity of the people in it! Arabs in flowing white robes; Chinese in stark black jackets and narrow trousers; Savile Row-suited Englishmen and the casual attire of the Australian and American. All the world and his wife—and probably his mistress too —seemed to be milling round the vast length of the reception desk, where a dozen or more clerks were handing out keys from a board which looked as complex as a computer.
Miss Bateman led the way across the foyer and tur
ned left down an arcade lined with shops as elegant as one would find in the Burlington Arcade. She had only taken a few paces when a tall, slim girl emerged from one of die shops and almost bumped into them.
'Hello, Vicky,' Miss Bateman sounded distinctly unenthusiastic. 'I didn't expect to see you here. Giles told me you were flying up to spend a few days at the Bird Sanctuary.'
'Jack went alone. I couldn't face the prospect of sitting quiet as a mouse for hours at a time watching my little feathered friends.'
Vicky looked at the diamond watch on her wrist, as if to indicate a pressing appointment, and Miss Bateman nodded curtly and stalked on. Abby followed, carrying a vivid picture of Vicky in her mind. How stunning she had looked in a vivid pink dress and jacket that had drawn attention to her exotic dark looks. Abby felt as dowdy as a pigeon by comparison and wished she too could make male heads turn. But not all male heads. Only one.
'Here we are.'
Miss Bateman stopped outside a heavy wood door bearing the name Dragon Room. Predictably it proved to be a Chinese restaurant, filled to overflowing, though a table was found for them as soon as she gave her name.
Abby was surprised they should be eating Chinese food in India, but understood why when the meal— which her employer knowledgeably ordered—was set before them, for it was the most delicious she had tasted, bearing as much relation to the Chinese food she had eaten in London as dogs did to cats.
'One can't drink wine with this type of meal,' Miss Bateman said. 'So how about champagne?'
Abby laughed. 'Isn't that wine too?'
'Yes, but sparkling, so it goes with food. But if you'd prefer ordinary wine ..
'I'd prefer China tea,' Abby said firmly.
'Saving my money for me?' came the dry response. 'You needn't, my dear. I have far more than I could ever spend in two lifetimes. If Giles doesn't hurry and give me a few great-nephews and nieces to spoil, I'll have to build a gold-plated cats' home!'
Abby laughed again, and tried not to think of Giles' children. But it was all too easy to visualise them: sturdy little youngsters, tall and straight-backed the way he was, with the same brown hair and amber eyes. Determinedly she concentrated on her food, angry for once more letting this unpredictable man take over her thoughts.
Lunch over, Miss Bateman rested in the garden room at the far end of the arcade, while Abby set off to explore the rest of the hotel.
It was like a world of its own, with half a dozen restaurants, many different shopping areas apart from the large main one, and patios where guests could sit and watch exotic birds and fish. She was amused by the American-style coffee bar, which seemed so incongruous filled with sari-clad ladies, and infinitely preferred the Tandoori, a dimly lit Indian restaurant where one of the waiters, seeing her peep in enquiringly, was happy to show her around, most of the clients having already departed.
'I hope you will come and have lunch or dinner here one day,' he said. 'We do an excellent Tandoori chicken. It is very special.'
'I had it once in London,' Abby told him.
'It couldn't have been as good as you will get here. It must be cooked in a brick oven. Please follow me and I will show you ours.'
He led her across the restaurant, which was set on raised tiers, and then through to the kitchen which was modern, exceptionally clean, and hot as Hades. What it was like in the summer, when the temperature outside was over a hundred degrees, Abby dared not think.
'There you are.' Her escort pointed to a large brick- built oven, heated by coal and attended by a dark- skinned Indian who, at a muttered order, opened the oven door, which immediately sent out a terrific blast of heat and a glimpse of scarlet-coloured poultry.
'It smells delicious,' Abby gasped, and fell back a step. 'I'll definitely order it when I come here.'
Satisfied that he had gained a convert, the waiter led her back through the restaurant again, and she was nearly by the exit when she saw the man and woman sitting at a table some few yards to her left. They were too engrossed in one another to notice her, but even in the dim lighting the pink silk dress was recognisable, as was the man's mahogany brown hair and classical features. So that was why Vicky had elected to remain behind in Bombay! Anger and disgust welled up in her. How could Giles be so stupid as to still want the woman who had let him down so badly many years ago and who, by seeing him now, was also letting down her husband?
Quickly Abby walked down the steps, averting her head as she came nearer the table. But she need not have bothered; neither the man nor the woman were paying any attention to anyone around them. Resolutely she returned to Miss Bateman.
'I didn't expect you back so soon,' the woman said. 'I hope you didn't rush on my account.'
Abby shook her head. 'I've seen all I want.'
How true that was! she thought wryly, and wished that the image of Giles and his lady love could be expunged from her mind. Why did Vicky Laughton want to see him again? Was it to prove she still had a hold over him, or was it just an innocuous meeting of erstwhile lovers who were now merely good friends? Somehow Abby could not see such a woman being friends with anyone, particularly a handsome man.
'You're very quiet,' Miss Bateman commented. 'Is anything the matter?'
'I have a slight headache,' Abby lied, and followed her employer out to the car.
Unseeingly she stared at the passing street, with its taxis and bikes and the inevitable beggars who tapped at the windows as they were halted by the many traffic jams.
Why should I care that I've seen Giles Farrow lunching with Vicky Laughton? she asked herself in quiet desperation. It's his life and he can do what he likes with it; it makes no difference to me! But that was a lie, and even as she thought it, she had to admit it as such. It did make a difference to her. With every nerve in her body she wanted to be in Vicky Laughton's place. She wanted Giles Farrow to look at her in the same hungry way. Without realising it she must have given a gasp, for Miss Bateman put her hand on her arm and looked at her with concern.
'Are you sure you're all right, my dear? I didn't make you eat too much, did I?'
'It's only a bit of indigestion,' Abby replied, offering the excuse given her.
'I'll order some lemon and sugar for you as soon as we get home. It's a wonderful tummy settler.'
The car accelerated as they climbed Malibar Hill with the large houses and the apartment blocks set back in gardens and surrounded by trees. They entered their own drive and came to a stop.
'If you don't want me for anything special,' Abby said quickly, 'I'd like to he down for a while.'
'Of course. Stay in your room as long as you like,' Miss Bateman said. 'I have masses of notes to make.'
Gratefully Abby hurried away. She had to be by herself; to assimilate the knowledge she had just learned and to see if thinking about it again would help it to disappear. With a deep sense of the inevitable she knew this would not be the case. For better or for worse she was in love.
How had it happened and when? Only a short time ago she had not even liked him! It's purely sexual attraction, she told herself. It couldn't be anything more meaningful, for they had nothing in common. Yet sexual attraction, while it lasted—and it could last for a very long time—had the power to hurt. If this weren't the case, she wouldn't have been so shattered to see the way Giles had looked into Vicky Laughton's beautiful face this afternoon.
'How can he let her make a fool of him all over again?' she muttered as she slammed the bedroom door behind her. But then men in love were easily turned into fools—as were women!—and in this respect Giles was no worse than the rest of men.
Going down to dinner later that evening, she was dismayed to find Giles was dining at home. He looked particularly handsome in a honeysuckle silk sweater and tan slacks. His casual attire made him. seem younger too, and it was harder for her to see him as the intellectually brilliant man who held such onerous responsibility.
'You're looking very solemn,' he commented, as she walked towards him.
> She shrugged without answering and, after another sharp look at her, he came to her side with a drink.
'I don't want anything, thanks,' she told him.
'Try it. It's only fruit juice.'
Reluctantly she took the glass and sipped from it. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him watching her and wished she were not so affected by his nearness. She moved towards Miss Bateman, afraid that if she remained by his side he would see she was trembling.
'I've just been telling Giles that I want to go on a little trip,' the woman said. Abby looked at her blankly, her mind still on the man behind her. 'To Aurangabad,' Miss Bateman continued. 'It's an hour's flight from here.'
With an effort Abby tried to remember what she had read about it. 'Isn't it famous for its caves?' she murmured.
'It's only famous for its cave,' was the amused answer. 'Aurangabad itself is nothing more than a village with a few hotels built to cater for the tourists who only go there to see the cave and the rock temples.'
Abby nodded, full memory returning as she did so. The Temples of Ajanta, discovered in 1819 in a crescent-shaped ravine some fifty miles from the town of Aurangabad, were a supreme example of early art, having been painted some two hundred years before the birth of Christ.
'If it's convenient for you,' Miss Bateman said, 'I'd like to go there the day after tomorrow. Giles will arrange the tickets for us.'
'I may not be able to get them,' he interposed. 'You know the state of chaos of the Internal Service.'
'I have no doubts about you getting them,' his aunt said firmly. 'The Government will do anything if you ask them.'
'You rate me too highly,' he smiled.
'I know your worth,' she replied. 'And it's time you acknowledged it too.'
Aunt and nephew eyed each other as though crossing mental swords, and Abby had the presentiment that Miss Bateman knew he had been lunching with his ex-fiancée.
'Why don't you come with us to Aurangabad?' Miss Bateman suggested.
'I'm not sure I can get away.'
'Is it work that keeps you?'
Rachel Lindsay - Man of Ice Page 10