The One She Was Warned About (7 page)

* * *

Nikhil had been right. The following week did pass by in a blur. On Thursday, though, Shweta began to get a nasty tickling feeling in her throat, and by the time she left the office on Friday she had a full-blown attack of sinusitis.

‘Go home and drink lots of hot soup,’ the finance director advised her during the closing meeting. ‘It’s the Delhi winter—you Mumbaikars aren’t used to the cold.’

It wasn’t all that cold, Shweta thought as she trudged to the Metro station. Winter hadn’t set in yet, and the weather was still very pleasant. She’d visited the company doctor and got a prescription during lunchtime, but the medicines weren’t helping. By the time she got to the guest house she was feeling really ill.

‘You have a fever,’ the guest house cleaning lady said, after putting a work-roughened but surprisingly gentle palm on her forehead. ‘Are you sure you’ll be able to take the flight tomorrow?’

‘I’ll decide in the morning,’ Shweta said.

In the morning, though, she felt even worse, and knew there was no way she could get on a flight. She’d tried a short-distance flight once when she’d had only a mild cold, and the pain in her ears and sinuses when the flight took off had been excruciating.

‘Ma’am, today is OK, but we have another booking from Sunday evening onwards,’ the clerk said when she told him that she’d have to extend her stay at the guest house. ‘I’m sorry, but you will have to ask the company to book you a hotel.’

Deepa was most unsympathetic when Shweta called her to explain. ‘For God’s sake—it’s just a cold, isn’t it? Can’t you come back to Mumbai?’ She exhaled in annoyance when Shweta told her she couldn’t. ‘Right, I’ll ask my secretary to get you a hotel booking, then. This audit project’s jinxed—first Faisal, then you. You guys are toppling over like ninepins.’

The hotel was a lot more luxurious than the guest house had been, but it was centrally air-conditioned, and even after fiddling around with the controls in her room for half an hour Shweta wasn’t able to get the room any warmer. Finally she gave up and crawled into bed. She almost didn’t get up to pick up her phone when it rang, but habit made her walk across the room and fetch it from her bag.

‘Hi, Nikhil,’ she said, but her bad throat made her voice so raspy that she knew he’d hardly be able to make out what she was saying.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Cold,’ she said. ‘Sounds worse than it is.’

‘OK,’ Nikhil said, sounding relieved. ‘You’ll be back in Mumbai tomorrow, won’t you?’

‘I’ve cancelled my flight,’ Shweta said, ‘and checked into a hotel because my room at the guest house isn’t available. I’ll come back some time next week, when I’m feeling more human.’

‘Don’t you know anyone there at all?’ Nikhil asked.

The concern in his voice made her feel a lot better immediately.

‘Should I send someone across from my Delhi office to help?’

‘No,’ Shweta said promptly. He’d probably send the girl who’d bought the presents for her, and Shweta didn’t want strangers around. ‘I’ll manage—I can call the hotel guys for help if it gets too bad. Anyway, in Mumbai when I fall ill I have to look after myself. I’m used to doing it.’ In actual fact she’d hardly ever fallen ill since she’d started working in Mumbai, and on the few occasions she had Priya had taken care of her.

‘I don’t like the thought of you being there all alone,’ Nikhil said.

‘Come down to Delhi and be with me, then,’ Shweta said flippantly.

Nikhil disregarded that. ‘Are you sure there’s no one you can call? What about your father and aunt?’

‘I haven’t told them I’m ill!’ Shweta said in alarm. ‘Anita Bua’s a world-champion worrier, and my dad’s not much better. Don’t you dare let them know.’

‘I won’t,’ Nikhil said in mollifying tones. ‘I just thought it might be nice for you to have family around.’

‘It’s very nice when I’m well,’ Shweta said. ‘It’s a disaster when I’m not. I’ll need to put the phone down now, Nikhil. I’m a bit groggy from the medicines, and my throat hurts if I talk too much. I’ll message you the hotel number—we can talk tomorrow.’

Nikhil frowned after she’d rung off. Shweta hadn’t sounded well at all, and he hated the thought of her being all alone in an unfamiliar city.

* * *

Shweta was still asleep when the phone rang shrilly in her room the next morning. She tried to ignore it for a while, but whoever was calling had the persistence of a Rottweiler, and with a final groan of protest she caved in and picked up the receiver.

‘Yes?’ she said, in a tell-me-one-good-reason-why-I-shouldn’t-throttle-you kind of voice.

‘Ms Mathur?’ the girl on the phone said in a disgustingly cheerful voice. ‘I have Mr Nair here, waiting for you—will you be able to come downstairs?’ She broke off for a few seconds to have a muffled conversation with someone, then got back on the line. ‘Oh, he says that you’re ill and it would be better if he could come up to your room—is that OK?’

Half asleep, for a few seconds Shweta was thrown by the unfamiliar ‘Mr Nair’. The only person she could think of with that name was her neighbour in Mumbai—he was a curmudgeonly lawyer in his mid-sixties, and she couldn’t for the life of her imagine why he’d landed up at her hotel, asking for her. Then she woke up fully and realised that the girl meant Nikhil.

‘I’ll come downstairs,’ she said, and then remembered that she looked an absolute fright. ‘Actually, no—maybe you should send him up. Or—wait...not right now. Ask him to come up after ten minutes or something. I’ve only just got up...’ She trailed off, aware that she was making a fool of herself.

The girl seemed to understand, however. ‘Sure thing,’ she said, and this time her cheerfulness didn’t grate on Shweta’s nerves.

With the prospect of meeting Nikhil in a few minutes the day seemed a lot brighter—even her throat didn’t seem to hurt quite as much. She pushed the bedcovers back and went into the bathroom, washing and brushing her teeth in record time. She grimaced at her reflection. She very rarely fell ill, but when she did she made a thorough job of it. Her hair looked stringy and unwashed, and her eyes were puffed up, as if she’d been on a week-long drinking binge. Along with her hollow cheeks and chapped lips, they made her look like something the cat had dragged in.

The doorbell rang before she’d had a chance to do anything more than comb her hair and pull it back into a neat but rather limp and lifeless ponytail. Making a face at her wan reflection in the mirror, she went to open the door.

‘Don’t scream in fright. I’ve only just woken up,’ she announced to Nikhil. Then she caught sight of the chocolates and flowers in his hands. ‘Ooh, for me?’

‘I was thinking of popping around to the Prime Minister’s house with the flowers,’ Nikhil said, strolling in and shutting the door behind him, ‘but if you like them you can have them instead.’ His face softened as he took a good look at her. ‘Poor thing,’ he said. ‘You’ve lost weight since I saw you last, and your voice sounds awful.’

Shweta grimaced. ‘Thanks—you’re so tactful. How did you land up in Delhi?’ Nikhil was still looking right at her, and there was a quality in his gaze that made her blush in confusion. ‘I mean...I thought you were supposed to be in Mumbai. That’s what you said when we discussed it last.’

‘I was,’ Nikhil said, reaching out and taking the flowers from her to put them on a table. ‘But I thought I’d come and check on you first. I’ve always had a thing for damsels in distress. Especially when they have deep, mannish voices and are wearing purple pyjamas.’

‘Deep,
husky
voices, you mean,’ Shweta said. She was having trouble keeping her voice steady. The thought of him having changed his plans to come and check on her was so moving that she took refuge in flippancy. ‘And these pyjamas are the latest in chic nightwear. All the best people are wearing them—even in the day.’

Nikhil nodded seriously. ‘I especially like the effect of the matching
chappals
,’ he said, indicating her fluffy purple flip-flops. ‘The green scrunchie is spoiling things a bit, though.’ He got up and moved closer to her. ‘Feeling any better?’ he asked, reaching out to stroke her hair.

Quelling a mad impulse to press her lips into his palm, she nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said—and, before she could help herself, ‘Oh, Nikhil, it’s so good to see you!’

She wasn’t sure who made the first move, but the next second she was in his arms, with her face pressed against his chest. He held her close, pressing his lips into her hair, moving his hands first soothingly and then rather excitingly over her back. She clung to him, inhaling the fresh clean scent of his body, nuzzling closer as he moved her into a more comfortable position. The material of his T-shirt was soft against her face, and she could feel the taut muscles of his chest through it.

‘You’ll catch a cold too,’ she said, her much-maligned voice muffled against his chest. ‘And stop kissing my hair. I haven’t washed it for three days. I have just brushed my teeth though.’

Nikhil laughed at that, and gently tipped her face upwards. All thoughts of flippancy flew from her mind as she looked up at him, and she gave a little gasp when he brought his head down and kissed her very, very thoroughly. When he broke the kiss, moving his head back a little, she knotted her hands firmly in his hair and pulled his head down again. He succumbed without a protest.

‘I wasn’t intending to do this,’ Nikhil said when they finally broke away from each other. ‘You’re not well. I just meant to make sure you have everything you need...’

‘I have everything I need now,’ she said, her eyes dancing as she reached out for him again.

He shook his head and took a firm step back. ‘Be sensible,’ he said.

‘I’m not going to launch myself at you and rip off your clothes,’ she said, a little annoyed at the way he’d stepped back. It was a pretty tempting idea, ripping his clothes off—though maybe not just now. Without his arms to support her she was feeling a bit dizzy. The virus evidently wasn’t done with her yet. Unobtrusively, she started backing towards a chair to sit down. It wouldn’t do to faint immediately after kissing him. It would give him entirely the wrong idea.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

So not as unobtrusive as she’d hoped after all. ‘Just a little light-headed.’

‘Have you eaten?’

She hadn’t, and the guilty look on her face gave it away.

Nikhil gave a disgusted shake of his head. ‘And here I am, grabbing at you like some sex-starved maniac. Let’s get you something to eat first, and then we’ll take you to a doctor.’

‘It’s OK—’ she began to say, but her voice wasn’t up to so much exercise and trailed off in an unlovely croak. Nikhil had ignored her anyway, and picked up the phone to order soup and toast from room service.

‘Don’t talk for a bit,’ he advised once he got off the phone. ‘I’ll put your things together, and once you’ve had your soup we can get you checked out of the hotel.’

Shweta gave him an alarmed look. ‘I have a small flat in Gurgaon,’ Nikhil said. ‘It’s a bit of a drive, but I’ll be able to look after you properly there.’

It sounded lovely, being looked after properly by Nikhil. He waited till she nodded, then said, ‘I’ll head back to Reception, then. Tell them to get the bill ready.’

Shweta watched him as he left the room. He was pretty amazing, she decided. The perfect combination of looks and charm and devil-may-care attitude.

The soup arrived, and after she had swallowed the last spoonful Shweta decided to test her voice again. ‘The quick brown fox...’ she started to say to the empty room, but her voice refused to rise above a whisper. Sighing, she got up to collect her scattered belongings and push them all higgledy-piggledy into her suitcase.

Nikhil came back when she was almost done with her packing. ‘I thought I told you I’d do the packing for you,’ he said. ‘Go and get changed. I’ve arranged for a car.’

Shweta held out a hotel notepad to him on which she’d written, ‘Have lost my voice.’

‘A woman who can’t answer back—perfect,’ he said.

She punched him in the arm.

To her annoyance, he didn’t even react, merely saying, ‘D’you need help getting ready?’

She shook her head. If she’d had the use of her voice she would have asked him exactly what kind of help he was offering, but writing the question down wouldn’t have nearly the same impact. Instead, she picked up jeans and a T-shirt and went into the bathroom to change.

It was a long drive from Connaught Place to Gurgaon, and Shweta dozed on Nikhil’s shoulder for most of the way. It was a relief to have everything taken care of for her. Nikhil had even paid her hotel bill, refusing to look at her scribbled notes asking him how much she needed to pay him back.

‘We’ve reached my flat,’ Nikhil said gently as the cab pulled up in front of his apartment building.

Shweta woke up and groggily got out of the car. She was trying to help the driver get her suitcases out when Nikhil firmly steered her towards the lobby of the building. A teenage boy was waiting for them with Nikhil’s keys.

‘I’ve cleaned the flat and stocked the fridge with food,’ the boy said. ‘Take a look, and if you need anything else give me a call.’

‘Thanks, Krishna,’ Nikhil said. ‘Shweta, take the keys and go upstairs—the flat’s on the sixth floor, to the left of the lift. I’ll pay the driver and be up in a minute with your suitcases.’

It was only when she was in the lift without Nikhil’s supporting arm under her elbow that Shweta realised quite how ill she was feeling. Her head felt as if it was stuffed with cotton-wool, and her knees had a distinct wobble in them. She only just about managed to get into the flat and collapse onto the sofa. When Nikhil came in a few minutes later, she was already fast asleep.

Nikhil stood looking at her for a few minutes. She looked very young and defenceless as she slept, with her long lashes fluttering slightly with every breath and her hair spread around her in absolute disarray. He wondered what he was doing, bringing her into his home. He’d had more than his fair share of female company in the years since he’d left home and struck out on his own. Except for one short, relatively serious relationship, all his women had made it clear that they wanted a good time and not much else. He’d told himself he liked it better that way—love was for wimps. Now, however, the feeling that was overcoming him was a perilous mixture of attraction, affection, and good old-fashioned lust—it was difficult to sort the three out in his head.