Secrets & Saris. Shoma Narayanan
arm—involuntarily she noticed the strength of the muscles under the warm velvety skin. ‘You wretch!’ she scolded. ‘For a minute there I actually felt sorry for you.’
Neil raised his hands. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It was too good to resist.’
‘OK, a real one now.’
He leaned back, his long strong body stretched out against the sofa. ‘Let me think. I like pink.’
‘Very poetic,’ she scoffed. ‘Come on, Neil, be serious here!’
He grinned. ‘I’m not good with parlour games.’
Bedroom games were probably more his thing. The thought popped into Shefali’s mind out of nowhere and she gave herself a quick mental shake. That line of thinking wasn’t going to get her far. Perhaps spending time with Neil wasn’t such a good idea after all—he was a little too good-looking to be a soothing companion.
‘OK, here’s one thing,’ he was saying.
Shefali stopped thinking to listen.
‘And it’s really something I’ve never told anyone before.’
She raised an eyebrow enquiringly.
‘When I was fifteen I watched this movie about a diamond heist and it was pretty inspiring, I guess you’d say. So I thought I’d stage a mini-heist of my own. I crept out in the middle of the night and broke into a neighbour’s house. Only I didn’t have the guts to steal anything valuable so I raided their refrigerator instead.’
‘I hope you had a good meal,’ Shefali said gravely.
‘I fed the food to the cat,’ Neil admitted. ‘That’s one more thing—I grew up in Bengal but I hate fish. And that’s all they had in their fridge.’
‘Aren’t you Bengali?’ Shefali asked, surprised. ‘Your surname sounds pretty typically Bengali.’
‘Dad is,’ Neil said. ‘Mum’s British.’
That explained the light eyes and chestnut hair, though his skin was as tanned as any Indian’s.
‘Did they meet in Kolkata?’
Neil shook his head. They’d met in Oxford, apparently, where Neil’s father had been studying, and they’d had an extremely tumultuous courtship. When they’d finally got around to getting married they’d returned to India to look after the tea estates that belonged to Neil’s father’s family.
Neil told the story well—not surprisingly, given that he made his living talking into a camera. She hardly noticed the time go by, and it was dark when they finally stepped out of the coffee shop.
‘The restaurant I know is not too far,’ Neil said. ‘Are you OK with walking, or do you want to take the car?’
‘Walking’s fine,’ Shefali said. ‘I’m a bit tired of sitting around anyway.’
She was acutely conscious of his nearness, of his arm brushing lightly against the sleeve of her kurta, and the smell of his woody cologne. The pavement wasn’t too well-lit, and Shefali stumbled slightly at one point. Neil put a hand under her elbow to steady her and she shivered at the unexpected contact.
‘You OK?’ Neil asked.
She nodded, hoping he didn’t realise how close she’d come to flinging herself into his arms.
‘Just a little tired, I think,’ she said.
‘I guess you’re not used to spending so much time in the sun?’
‘I’m not,’ she said ruefully. ‘That’s why I fell asleep in the car—I must look a real mess.’
‘You look beautiful,’ Neil said abruptly.
Shefali looked up in surprise at the unexpected compliment.
They were in a rather deserted lane, between two rows of closed shops, and in the orange glare of the streetlights her upturned face was pale and so breathtakingly lovely that Neil lost his head. He put a hand under her chin and turned her face up. Unhesitatingly, he bent down to press his lips to hers.
The kiss came as such a shock that Shefali stood absolutely still for a few seconds. The sensation was indescribable. She’d been kissed before, but the feel of Neil’s warm, demanding lips on hers was something else altogether. Involuntarily she clutched at his arms, trying to pull him closer. His hands were cupping her face now, and with a little inarticulate cry Shefali arched her body to lean in closer to the kiss. She was conscious of nothing other than the feel of Neil’s lips on her mouth and throat.
A lot of time seemed to have gone by when Neil let her go finally, and she stared at him, her eyes still a little hazy from the effect of his kisses. One of his hands came to rest lightly on her shoulder and the other caressed her cheek. He ran a thumb gently over her lower lip.
‘I should apologise,’ he said softly, and his voice was not quite steady. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. But I’m not sorry I did.’
She wasn’t sorry either, she realised. The kiss had healed something in her—helped her to start thinking of herself as an attractive, desirable woman once again. Pranav’s desertion had shaken her self-confidence badly, and she could only feel grateful to Neil for having given some of it back. But she’d only just met him, and the sudden attraction between them was something she was completely unprepared for. She needed to think.
‘I have to go,’ she said quietly.
Neil reached out quickly to take her hand, making her quiver with longing all over again.
‘Are you upset about this?’ he asked. ‘We both got a little carried away, but it’s not the end of the world.’
In spite of what he’d said, he was beginning to regret kissing her. He’d been very careful over the last four years not to get involved with anyone, and the momentary madness that had overtaken him was completely uncharacteristic.
‘I’m not upset,’ Shefali said, but her eyes were troubled. Three weeks ago she’d been ready to marry Pranav and spend the rest of her life with him. Now she was perfectly happy standing in a lane in a strange city kissing a man she’d just met—what did that make her?
‘Come on—let’s have dinner and I’ll drop you back to your hotel afterwards,’ Neil said.
Shefali followed him into the restaurant. It was a rather silent meal. Neil seemed to have withdrawn into himself, and Shefali began to wonder if he was, after all, having second thoughts. Maybe her reaction had been a little too abrupt. She would have explained if she could, but the whole thing with Pranav was still too recent to discuss over dinner with someone who—kiss or no kiss—was virtually a stranger. Especially when the well-fed family at the next table was doing its best to listen in to every word they said.
‘Shall we?’ Neil said smoothly, once he’d paid the bill, and Shefali trailed behind him to the car park rather like Mary’s little lamb.
He didn’t ask for her number when he dropped her off, and she didn’t volunteer it or ask for his. Presumably if he wanted to speak to her he would call the hotel. She was moving the next day, but she’d leave a forwarding address.
* * *
The sun pouring through cheap lace curtains woke Shefali on Monday, and she sat up with a muffled groan. She’d had a bad night, disturbed by dreams in which Pranav and Neil had alternately abandoned her at the altar. The last dream had ended with Pranav being eaten by a crocodile, which was distinctly weird—her subconscious was obviously taking the whole thing very seriously.
Shefali rubbed her eyes. The lace curtains would need to go—it was only six-thirty, but the room was flooded with light. Thick khadi was what was needed—or maybe blackout blinds if homespun cotton wasn’t available. And the walls were an awful colour—something between pistachio-green and olive. Mrs Dubey, though a wonderful person, had rather peculiar tastes in home