The Delhi Deception (29 page)

“I’m afraid we can only see her this afternoon. She asked us to come at three,” Elouise said, disappointed.

“That’s OK. I’d love to explore a little. What do you say?” Carla asked.

The driver who had brought them from the airport was still in his car, and when he saw the two women, he rushed to them, offering his services. Elouise negotiated an all-day rate, to which he agreed with a beaming smile. He suggested taking them to the city center on Residency Road. It was a broad, busy road, shops and restaurants lining its sides. Elouise asked him to drop them off at one of the many handicraft shops. Carved walnut furniture and smaller items like trays and jewelry boxes interested Carla. She decided to buy a jewelry box with a concealed compartment.

“I wonder what you’re planning on hiding in there,” Elouise said while she picked up some papier-m
â
ché boxes, hunting scenes beautifully painted on them. “I think my girls would love these. They can store treasures in them—what do you think?”

“They’re lovely.”

The charming shop assistant insisted on showing them their selection of hand-embroidered cashmere shawls. Seated comfortably on a long bench, the young man unfolded dozens of them. They were far more reasonably priced than the ones Carla had bought in Delhi. She was unable to resist a cream-colored pure pashmina, embroidered in a delicate beige and duck-egg blue floral pattern. Elouise admired a taupe-colored one embroidered in burnt orange. Carla insisted on buying Elouise the shawl and, after a brief battle of words, presented her friend with the gift.

Satisfied with their purchases, they didn’t go into any more shops but strolled casually down the road. At one o’clock, their driver picked them up and suggested they lunch at Ahdoo’s. According to him, it was the most famous eatery in all of Kashmir. The restaurant was part of a hotel and unassuming in its typical Kashmiri décor of silk carpets and walnut paneling. The waiter spoke perfect English and suggested they try the Wazwan buffet. They agreed readily, their appetite now stimulated by the aromas emanating from the kitchen.

Carla’s mouth opened in surprise when the waiter carried a brass tray almost the same size as the table filled with at least a dozen different dishes. Another waiter placed a basket of flat breads, like naan, on the table.

“This looks great, tuck in,” Elouise said, breaking off a piece of bread and dipping it into a dish that looked like chicken curry.

Carla tried the lamb on the bone and said, “This is so good.” Each dish contained some form of meat or chicken, even the vegetable dishes. “Somehow I don’t think a vegetarian would like it here,” Carla laughed.

They ended their enormous lunch with Qahwah, Kashmiri saffron tea. Elouise leaned back on her chair and said, “I am so full; I need to sleep.”

“No chance of that, it’s two thirty. Is our mysterious lady not expecting us by three?”

Elouise looked at her wristwatch and said, “Gosh, you’re right; we’d better leave.”

They paid what seemed to Carla like a ridiculously low amount for all the food consumed and found their driver. As Carla was about to get into the car, she caught sight of a man staring intently at her. He looked away quickly, feigning absorption in a street sign. There was something oddly familiar about him, and as she sat down she realized that he had been on their flight from Delhi. He had not wanted to change seats with a pregnant woman who needed an aisle seat. The hostess had asked another man a few rows back, who graciously obliged. Frowning, she decided that it was just coincidence and better not to alarm Elouise.

Elouise gave the driver the address, and as they drove down Residency Lane, Carla noticed that while most women wore a head covering there were few burqa-clad women about. Once they were out of the city, they drove along the lake until they reached a beautiful park called Nishaad Garden. Quaint, European, period-style houses on large grounds surrounded it. The air was crisp and smelled clean.

They turned into a cul-de-sac and stopped in front one of the houses. Spectacular rosebushes crowded the relatively small front garden. Fruit trees, similarly crowding the back garden, branched high above the pitched roof of the bungalow. Elouise instructed the driver to wait, as she had no idea how long they’d be. He seemed quite happy and jumped out of the car to open the door for her.

They entered the property through a small wooden gate and walked down a stone path to steps at the veranda of the house. Elouise was about to knock when a slightly built woman in her late sixties or early seventies opened the wooden door. Her hair was steel gray and knotted in a bun at the back of her head. She wore a dove-gray salwar kameez suit, with the sheer embroidered dupatta covering her head.

Elouise knelt down to touch her feet, but she pulled her up by the shoulders and said, “Welcome, child, please come in.”

She turned, and they followed her into a living room furnished with a large silk carpet and a carved settee and chairs in walnut. The upholstery was faded, but the overall ambience was warm and inviting. Elouise introduced Carla to her without mentioning the woman’s name. Carla looked at her friend with an annoyed expression, but Elouise just ignored it.

The woman called a young servant girl and ordered something in Urdu. She folded her hands in her lap and smiled sweetly. Something in her expression reminded Carla of someone. A polite exchange ensued, Elouise congratulating her on her excellent command of English.

“Thank you, I was very fortunate as a child. An English governess and a retired British army officer and his wife were my neighbors for many years.”

The woman, noticing that Carla was studying a painting and squinting to read the artist’s name, asked, “Do you like painting?”

“Yes, I do. I’m not good at judging art, but this is really beautiful. Who painted it?” Carla asked as she stood up and inspected it closer.

“Actually I did,” the woman replied bashfully.

“Wow, I’m impressed,” Carla said as she read the name in the corner:
Soraya 1979.

.

CHAPTER 21

A
ndrew stared hard at the boiled egg and decapitated it rather aggressively with his butter knife, drawing the curiosity of the Scandinavian tourists at another table in Claridges coffee shop. Quite oblivious to their interest, he dunked his toast into the soft egg and chewed without much appetite. His conversation with Carla the previous evening had unsettled him. That he might lose her was a thought that filled him with cold dread. “I’m such a fool,” he muttered, not noticing the subtle, knowing glances at the neighboring table.

“Good morning, did you sleep OK?” Leila asked as she sat down at the table. She was wearing running shorts and tennis shoes.

“Good morning, and no, I didn’t. Did you go running?” Andrew asked her.

“I tried to, but it’s way too hot. I might go to the health club and use the treadmill after breakfast.” She ordered coffee and said, “Have you heard from Carla?”

“I spoke to her last night. Elouise has taken her to a spa in Bangalore for a few days.”

“That’s strange.”

“Why?”

“With all this stuff going on, I can’t imagine her doing that.”

“I don’t know; it’s kind of typical of her, running away from problems.”

“You know her best.” Leila drank the coffee quickly and said, “Anyway, I’m meeting someone at the Oberoi hotel for lunch today. He’s an old family friend who moved here a few years ago. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

“I was thinking of finishing that piece I was writing on Pakistan’s duplicity on the war on terror for
Time
magazine.”

“See how you go. I’m leaving at one; let me know, OK?” She pecked him on his cheek and walked away. Andrew, along with most of the men in the restaurant, admired her toned figure as she exited.

Andrew made good progress with his article and decided to join Leila after all. He met her in the lobby, and they took a taxi to the Oberoi hotel, which was only a ten-minute drive. During the drive, Leila received a phone call from her friend saying that something had come up, and he wouldn’t be able to make lunch. A little peeved, Leila asked Andrew if he still wanted to have lunch there, to which he agreed readily.

After clearing hotel security, Leila showed Andrew the bookstore in the lobby. They were well-known for large coffee-table books. Andrew was smiling mischievously, paging through a copy of
The Revised Karma Sutra
, when Leila told him to put it down and handed him a book by William Dalrymple called
The City of Djinns
. “This is a great book about Delhi; try it.”

Andrew bought it, and they walked toward the restaurant at the end of the lobby. Comfortable seating stretched along the right hand side of the lobby, overlooking the sparkling pool. Halfway along the couches, a man sitting alone, paging through a hotel magazine, looked up.

Leila smiled awkwardly and said, “George, what a nice surprise.”

“What are you doing here, holiday or business?” George asked genially.

“A bit of both, I guess. Let me introduce you.” She turned toward Andrew, who leaned forward to shake George’s hand.

“Andrew Riseborough,” Andrew said, introducing himself, horrified at his trembling hand.

George smiled and shook Andrew’s hand firmly. “George Alexander, nice to meet you. So you two know each other?” he asked with a studied expression.

“Actually, we’re colleagues. Andrew is a reporter with the BBC.” Leila appeared calm, but Andrew was having trouble trying to remain composed.

“Are you here for lunch?” George asked.

“Yes, at Threesixty,” Leila replied.

“That’s excellent—you don’t mind if I join you, do you?” He directed the question to Andrew while putting his arm around Leila in a protective gesture.

Andrew was tense and irritated by George’s intrusion. He asked Leila if that was OK with her, to which she replied, “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

Defeated, Andrew said, “Of course not. The more the merrier.”

George and Leila led the way with George laughing affably at something she said. A few paces behind them, Andrew was struggling with mixed emotions. He’d never thought of himself as the jealous type, but his bowels were in a knot. When they got to the door of the restaurant, Andrew leaned forward to ask the elegant hostess for a table, but she had already turned her doe-like eyes on George to ask him if she could help. George requested a table overlooking the garden.