by Sam Nash
“Embassy? How the…? Never mind, tell me all about it when I see you. Hey, listen. Connie just sent me a text. She has a source in government who says that an urgent memo has instructed all politicians to have reverse osmosis filters installed in their properties and to send the bills for direct payment to the Chief Whip.”
“Sounds like this suppression additive will be a permanent strategy. There will be countless miscarriages and birth complications, right across the country.” Mary’s concentration ebbed, straining their connection. She forced herself to concentrate.
“Have you got access to a TV there?”
“Er, yeah. Hang on, I’ll find the remote.” Mary felt all around the flat screen mounted on the bedroom wall, found the power button and scooped up the remote from the dressing table. “What am I looking for?” She asked Dan, already pressing the numbers for the news channel.
“The report on binge drinking.” Dan said, the strength of his transmission, fluctuating with concern.
“Okay, it’s on now. Says the recent hot weather is the cause. People out revelling until the early hours.”
“Give it a minute…”
Mary waited. The reporter moved into a packed hospital ward. The patients’ skin bloated and bronzed, their faces contorted bearing the pain. Medics on automatic pilot, hooked up the last of their monitoring machines to the latest tranche of arrivals and made frantic telephone calls to place the overspill. The female reporter made a prepared speech to the camera, citing a dramatic increase in alcohol consumption over the unusually clement weekend.
“You don’t think that their liver damage is alcohol related, do you?” Mary transmitted to her brother.
“I know it isn’t. See the lovely old lady covered in tubes and wearing a pink nightie?”
“Uhuh.”
“That’s my adopted mother. She has never touched a drop of alcohol in her life and was fighting fit last week. I told her not to drink the water but clearly, she didn’t take it seriously.”
“Oh God, Dan. I am so sorry.”
“I’m heading over there now. Speak to you later. There is some weird shit going on with Pip’s legal affairs.”
Mary watched the remainder of the news, picking out anomalies in their reporting and marrying them to the facts. Her recent tribulations had rent the veil of media bias wide open. Only now could she see the clever presentation of story angles in support of a falsehood, that once would have been consumed without question. At least she was no longer the top billing news item. Perhaps the whole Miracle Mary pantomime was on its way out. She wandered around the suite, stopping to pick up a strawberry left over from breakfast and gnawing on its flesh.
Mary glanced out of the window overlooking India Place. A long wheel base, white van was making a meal of a three-point turn, its warning beep blaring out every time the driver selected reverse gear. Inching forwards, turning the steering wheel, inching back again, the road became completely blocked.
A man in a black suit and tie scampered out of a four-by-four vehicle parked on double yellow lines and helped to direct the van driver. He signalled the clearance via winding motions to the wing mirrors with his hand, before thumping the van side as it reached the closest point.
At the maximum wheel lock, the van driver pulled away, honking the horn. The suited man waved, and in doing so, his jacket swung open, unmasking the firearm holstered beneath. The minister’s men were observing the embassy.
In the luxury of her corner suite, Mary moved to the side window, overlooking the tree lined pavement of Aldwych. No double parked black vehicles at this side, just a scruffy looking skinny man in combat trousers and white t-shirt. He leaned against the trunk of a young birch tree, his chin angled up at her window.
“Oh, for God’s sake, not him too. I’m surrounded.” She said aloud, although no one could hear. Alexi saw Mary through the window and saluted, grinning his wide smile.
Why on earth would Yelena keep Alexi informed as to my whereabouts? If he wanted to do me harm he could have back at Parth’s bedside in the hospital. He cannot seriously blame me for the Alaskan affair. That was the minister’s doing. I’m worse off here than in Brighton.
A light tap on the door crystallised her thoughts. “Come in.”
Karan stepped through. He was wearing traditional Indian attire once more. “Good morning, Mary. Are you feeling better today?”
“Yes, thank you. I apologise for what happened last night. I think it all got too much for me to bear.”
“Think nothing of it. I am glad you have recovered. Is there anything you require, some pain medication perhaps? I could not help but notice the severe bruising…”
“No, thank you. I’ll be fine. Have you thought anymore about what I told you yesterday? Is there anyone you know, perhaps in the UN or a diplomat, someone who could help?”
Karan chuckled. “Dear Mary. Who could possibly interfere with a directive from the Prime Minister herself? I have connections in high places, yes, but unlike you, I cannot perform miracles.”
That stung. Mary was thrown. Was he really the ally he professed to be? Coming to her senses, the alarm bells inside her head instructed her to read his mind at the earliest opportunity. If only she could settle her own jangling nerves and gain a secure lock on his sub-conscious thoughts.
Karan looked away. “I have a couple of calls to make now, but I will come and collect you when lunch is served.” He began pulling the door closed behind him but paused. “You look quite lovely today, Mary.” His compliment delivered through a strange and remote expression. Mary thought he looked torn. An indecision between what he should do, and what he wanted to do.
Chapter Twenty-One
The television brought no relief. It showed a world filled with wanton greed, at the expense of the deluded masses. Charities begging for donations to feed the maimed and sick in countries laid waste by war lords. No international intervention in root causes where no profit can be made. Suffering and harm, casually accepted as necessary to the evolution of mankind.
Clicking the remote, Mary rejected the vacuous and banal offered up to viewers. Entire channels devoted to sports. A balm of futility disguised as healthy competition. Another on shopping for pointless cleaning products. Mary’s channel hopping ceased. She could glean no answers from there, just the gradual erosion of optimism.
This embassy must be filled with important people. If Karan is reluctant to help, I should find someone who will. Taking a bolstering breath, Mary charged from the room and into the corridor. The housekeeper sat immobile in an upright chair on the landing, blocking her path. “Is there something that you need, madam?” The lady stood up and faced her. She had an odd power about her, as though her years of wisdom and service fortified her grace with a stubborn resolution. Mary tried to pass, but the old woman stepped in to thwart her progress.
“I’m just going for a wander, stretch my legs a bit.”
“There are many restricted areas within this building, madam. You are better served within your suite. Is there something in particular that you require? It is almost time for luncheon.” Her stalling tactics seemed to be timed precisely with the arrival of Shrimant Karan Shinde. The housekeeper bowed and excused herself, allowing Karan to take charge.
“I have neglected you, I am sorry. Urgent business waits for no man. I have cleared the entire afternoon, Mary. We shall eat and talk of your future.” They walked together down the marble staircase, through a crowded foyer of embassy staff and past a dining hall. Rich spiced aromas filled her nostrils, conjuring the taste of her days of travel with Parth. The turmeric stains left around her nails after eating street vendor food with her fingers. The happy grunts of satisfied diners sharing their food equitably. The playful giggles of children in the monsoon rains.
Mary smiled. Despite the terror and hardship presented online and on television, there is too, an equal share of goodness. A measure of hope, fermented in kind hearts, to be gifted to others. She stopped and looked back
at the orderly queues and patient faces of those awaiting service.
“Aren’t we going in here?” She asked.
“Come, I had this room prepared. Somewhere quiet for us to discuss our plans in private.” Karan ushered Mary into a small ante-room, its plain cream walls and modern ceiling tiles a far cry from the glamour of the ceremonial rooms beyond. At its centre, a single round table, covered in a crisp white cloth. A selection of steaming dishes, relishes and breads aligned on top.
Karan held the back of Mary’s chair, his gallantry undiminished. Once seated, they unfolded the linen napkins and laid them across their laps. Karan reached for an open bottle.
“Would you like some wine, it’s British and a solid vintage?”
“Thank you, no. I don’t drink.” Mary replied, feeling for the second time since her arrival, a mild flush of attraction. For God sake, get it together woman. Get him relaxed and read his bloody mind. She berated herself.
“Why is that? Do you not like the taste?” He poured the sparkling white wine into his own glass and listened intently.
“No, it’s not that. I stopped drinking because it triggered migraine headaches, but, well, they have lessened in frequency and intensity since I developed my um, abilities.”
“So, you have no reason to avoid drinking alcohol anymore?” Karan moved the airborne bottle towards her glass and waited for her approval.
“I suppose that’s true.” She smiled, shrugging her shoulders. With no definitive refusal, Karan poured. One sip of the Chardonnay and her taste buds shrivelled. The drying sensation even more penetrating for the long abstinence.
“It’s good, isn’t it?” Karan topped up her glass.
“Mmm.” Mary lied, forcing herself to take a further mouthful and swallowing it down before it could hit her tongue.
Karan lifted the steel lid from the heated receptacle and listed the contents within. “Let’s see. We have the perennial bhajis and samosas, mushroom pilau, a korma and a rogan josh. Please, help yourself.”
They ate and spoke in stilted sentences, both unsure of the temperature of attraction. Their first sustained eye contact was more disturbing than Mary anticipated. The intention to create a link into Karan’s psyche quashed by his paralysing smile. Another gulp rendered the wine less noxious, deadening her taste buds along with her nerves.
“The Defence Minister’s agents are staking out this embassy. I saw them from my rooms. Did you know?” She shovelled down the curry, which immediately inflamed her senses. Grabbing at her glass, she swilled the cool bubbles around her mouth, swallowed then blew out the fumes. “Wow, that’s hot.”
“Here. Have some raita. That’ll cool it down.” He spooned the minted yoghurt and cucumber onto the side of her plate. “I did know about the agents, yes. There is also an odd looking fellow loitering about too. Do you know him?”
“Unfortunately, I do. He is former Soviet military and a known terrorist. A very dangerous man. I have no idea who is backing him, but his resources seem endless.” Her desiccated tongue induced a craving for further moisture. She drained her glass and accepted a further helping from the ever-obliging Indian fellow.
Mary studied Karan’s features. His clean shaven, immaculately groomed appearance were a distinct departure from her husband’s prickly cheeks. A strong jawline framed his neat mouth, which captivated her attention. His allure was alarming.
“Have you been at the High Commission for very long?”
“Compared to some of the other diplomats, no, not at all. I have family connections that make me uniquely useful.” There was the lock Mary was waiting for. A prolonged gaze directly into her own eyes. Extending her brainwaves towards those ebony irises, Mary attempted contact. Just a little longer and…nothing. It was as though her thoughts bounced clean off him and smacked her in the face.
Perhaps the alcohol is jumbling my thoughts. She asked for a glass of spring water, slurping it down and making a conscious effort to concentrate. Mary listened to Karan’s short story of how he relinquished control of the vast network of five-star hotels to his younger brother, to enable his globe-trotting lifestyle of a diplomat. All the while, Mary attempted to latch on to his mind, without success.
What is going on? I have never had this trouble peeking into neural activity before. I doubt that there is any electronics around here that could interfere with the link. How is it that Karan can block me? Perhaps I lose the ability when I am not in full control of my senses. Shouldn’t have accepted the wine.
Karan excused himself from the table and poked his head around a door. Mary heard him make a request for more cooling raita and spring water. Returning to the table, Karan continued his convoluted story of his recruitment to the diplomatic corp.
Within moments, a young man, blustered through the door carrying a jug of iced water and a small, steel serving bowl. He winced at Mary, conveying the harassed spirit of a lunchtime waiter. With just that one glance, Mary hooked onto his mind and chuckled at the progression of animosity he felt for Karan.
“Would it have killed him to have grabbed the water from the kitchen? Why can’t he eat with everyone else? Loves to make our lives more difficult…” The waiter dipped his head at Karan. With a strained grin, he hurried back into the kitchens.
Mary broke the connection, relieved that she retained the ability despite the problems reading Karan. So, what is different about Shrimant Shinde, that prevents my snooping? Karan had switched topics, leaving Mary confused.
“I’m sorry. What was the question?” She said, pulling her focus back to her lunch companion.
“I asked how you know the odd looking military man, lurking outside your window.” He placed his cutlery together on the plate and clasped his hands together, his full attention on Mary’s response.
“Right, yes, sorry. His men kidnapped me.”
The abject look of horror on Karan’s face, had a strangely comforting effect on Mary. She was starting to believe that kidnap and torture were common place in global political circles.
“Did they hurt you? Was it for a ransom?” Karan leaned in towards her, his anguish engraved on his face. He reached out towards her arm again but touched the tablecloth instead.
“Ransom of a sort. They threatened the people close to me if I didn’t do as asked.” A swell of pain threaded through her arteries. A reminder of all she had lost in consequence. “I learned a lot while I was incarcerated. Protecting myself being just one thing.”
Karan shook his head. “I cannot imagine what you must have suffered, but I admire you, Mary. Finding the silver lining in your distressing experience.”
“I’d hardly call it a silver lining. These abilities have caused nothing but trouble. I wish that I could go back to being plain old Mary.”
“You could hardly be described as plain, at any time. And think of all the good you can now do for others. You are a gift to mankind.”
“A gift? No, I’m not that.” A rush of memories surfaced from the hypothalamus in her brain, filling her with remorse and self-loathing. “People died. Innocent people, good people.” She lowered her fork mid morsel and pushed her plate away. Her appetite vanished. “The problem is that those in power view me as either a useful and profitable tool, or a dangerous menace to their authority.” A deliberate trap to gauge expectations. Mary examined Karan’s expressions for any hint of a tell. Without the ability to read his mind, she had to rely solely on female intuition. What did he want from her?
“A menace? Why would they think this of you?” His features unmoved, inexpressive, unreadable.
Mary persisted. “Because I can discover all their dirty little secrets, I can disable electrical equipment, read minds…except yours. Why can’t I read you?” Where did that come from? That wasn’t meant to be said out loud. That damned alcohol.
“Really? Is that unusual? I thought that you were reading my mind all this time.”
“Does that bother you? That I can read minds?”
“No. I have n
othing to hide.”
“Generally speaking those who say that, have the most to hide.”
“In my case, it is true. Well, okay. I have been trying to hide my feelings, but isn’t that natural?” A ruddy glow percolated through his cheeks.
“Feelings about what? I honestly cannot read you. You are the first person that has presented me with this difficulty.”
“Feelings about you, Mrs Arora. I find myself inarticulate and uncharacteristically shy around you.” He filled her glass with another inch of wine and poured the remainder into his own. “I assumed you knew.”
“Oh, I um. No, I had no idea. That is…” She too grabbed at her wine flute and sank the contents. “Very unexpected, and complimentary.”
He pulled a face. One of perplexity. “Complimentary? Is it unwelcome?”
“I’m hopeless at this sort of thing. Can’t we just agree to like one another and leave it at that?”
“Of course.”
His slow blinking, captivating smile activated a fluttering inside her. This is not a good time to be flirting with a member of the Indian aristocracy. There are bigger issues at stake. Shaking herself present, she redirected her questioning.
“I’m curious, though. How is it that you seem to be the only person with whom I cannot forge a mental link? Can you block me intentionally?”
“Not that I am aware of. I do practice meditation techniques to still my mind. Perhaps that is causing the blockage.”
“Maybe.” Her voice tailed off to a wistful murmur. Something about Karan did not quite add up. During their first meeting under the arches of the Grand Temple in the grounds at Ditchley, he was a charismatic and proud nobleman. Secure in his own skin and quite the commanding presence. What had reduced him to such informal intimacies in such a short space of time?
A dessert of mango and pistachio kulfi arrived, garnished with tiny fragments of nuts and cubes of the fruit. A sweet frozen cream pudding that brought instant relief from the numbing spices of the previous dishes. To accompany the sweet, another bottle of white wine, opened, poured and relished.