The Delhi Deception (28 page)

It was during an international polo match between India and Argentina that she had fallen in love with the dapper and unbelievably handsome captain of the Argentinian team. He was besotted with the beautiful and spirited young girl and asked her father for her hand in marriage. It was a scandal the likes of which Lahore had not seen in a long time. They refused, humiliated to the core by this proposition. Sikh girls married into Sikh families and that was that. Jashpreet, who was very close to her, had tried to intervene, but to no avail.

She was sent away to England, to a finishing school of sorts. A seemingly demure, contrite young woman came back home. Her delighted mother started making enquiries about suitable boys, but Pushpa was not interested. In fact, she proved to be an embarrassment, behaving outrageously at every formal meeting between her family and the families of these boys. It was no surprise to anyone when there were no marriage proposals. She became a spinster and insisted on living alone, becoming the family’s official chronicler.

Pushpa was sitting on her bed in front of a box filled with old photographs. She was sorting through them when Elouise walked in. Her eyes lit up with joy as Elouise touched her feet and said, “Sastrikal, Bua ji.”

“What a nice surprise,” she said in her cultured voice. “Come. Sit here next to me. I was just going through some old photographs for Reena. She wants to write a book on the family.”

“Oh, that’s a great idea. I’m sure it will be a bestseller. Of course, she wouldn’t manage without you. I’m sure you know in which cupboards the family’s skeletons are kept.”

Pushpa chuckled softly. “What would you like to drink?” she asked, smiling impishly and looking at her wristwatch. “It’s past twelve, so how about a gin and tonic?”

“No. I don’t think it’s a good idea, and besides, I’m not sure your doctor will approve,” Elouise said with a wink. At eighty-five Pushpa’s blood pressure was dangerously high. The old lady sighed, and with delicate, tapering fingertips she meticulously twisted the few straying strands of white hair into the little bun at the nape of her neck.

“Really, what’s the point of being old and wise yet not allowed some fun?” She smiled ruefully, called Deepa, and said, “Well then, I guess tea it is.”

After a polite exchange over tea and Britania biscuits, Elouise asked, “Bua ji, who was or is Soraya Khan?”

“Goodness, my child, I don’t seem to recall that name. Why?”

Elouise frowned, hesitated for a moment, and then made up her mind to tell Harry’s great aunt about her findings in Harry’s study. With a guarded expression on her face, Pushpa listened intently to everything Elouise told her, especially about the letters and Koran hidden in his desk.

“And, no clue as to the origin of those letters?”

Elouise shook her head. “No. There weren’t any envelopes. There was also no address in the letters.”

“This is strange. I never expected her to contact him, but I guess with him losing both his parents, she couldn’t resist,” Pushpa said, looking pale and sad.

“What do you mean?”

Getting up from the bed, stiff and slightly bent, Pushpa went over to a small teak desk in exquisite rosewood inlay. She opened the top drawer, reached in behind it, and pushed a small button on the inside of the desk. A small side drawer clicked open very slightly. It was perfectly concealed in the intricate floral inlay. She pulled on the little drawer. With shaky hands she removed a small neat pile of letters tied with a green ribbon. Shutting the drawer, she went over to the armchair and sat down. Slightly breathless, she rested for a few moments, her eyes on the letters in her lap.

“Elouise, I’m going to tell you a story I have kept secret for thirty-eight years. I promised my brother, Jashpreet, but circumstances have changed and so I will break this promise. What you choose to do with what I tell you is your business.” Pushpa shook her head slowly. “I feel quite relieved to be able to share this very heavy burden with you. You are young and strong, as I once was.”

Elouise moved closer to her, perching on the edge of the bed. She jumped slightly when Pushpa called out quite loudly to Deepa to bring her a gin and tonic. “I think you should have one, too, my dear,” she said, smiling at Elouise, who felt she couldn’t—did not want to—decline this time around.

Carla was undecided about phoning Andrew and thought it best to wait for Elouise’s return. When Harry returned home from the office, she heard him in the courtyard but decided to stay in her room. An hour later, Kishan served lunch in her bedroom. When he returned to take her tray, he was visibly disappointed at seeing how little she had eaten. “Food not good, Madam?” he asked.

“Oh no, of course not. It was wonderful as usual, but I’m not hungry today. Must be the heat,” she apologized, a little embarrassed.

Carla heard Harry leaving again, and as she walked through to the kitchen to look for Kishan, Elouise arrived home. Flushed and highly agitated, Elouise greeted Carla, who barely had time to say anything as Elouise went on:

“We’re leaving for Kashmir tomorrow morning. There’s a flight at 9:20 on Jet Airways. I’ve booked our tickets.”

In perplexed silence, Carla followed her to her room, but Elouise was in a hurry to leave again to pick up the girls from school. “Why Kashmir?” Carla asked as Elouise emerged from the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, I can’t explain now. The girls have already called twice. I have to pick them up, and then I have to quickly pop in on one of my friends to ask if she’d mind looking after the girls for a day or two.”

Carla followed her out to the car and said, “Is it official, our trip to Kashmir, or—”

“No, thank God you asked. You must tell Andrew and George if they call that I’m taking you to a spa in Bangalore. If they want to know which one, just tell them you haven’t a clue. OK?”

“Of course,” Carla nodded, a frown creasing her brow as she went to her bedroom, where she decided to call Andrew.

He answered on the first ring. “I’m so glad you called. I was about to call you.”

“Oh.”
Well, why didn’t you?
she thought, slightly irritated.

“Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” he asked casually.

“I’m afraid I can’t. Elouise is taking me to a spa in Bangalore tomorrow. We have to be at the airport early, by seven tomorrow morning.”

“I see. For how long will you go?” He sounded quite miffed, Carla thought.

“I’m not sure, two days at the most.”

“I know this may sound a bit patronizing, Carla, but we really need to get out of here. Fortunately, I have been given a week’s leave, but I have to get back to Kabul. We could go back to London together—spend a few days together. Reconnect, you know.”

Carla didn’t reply immediately—
What does he mean, “reconnect”?

Andrew went on, hesitant now. “I really want to work things out. Please give me a chance.”

“Let’s talk when I’m back, OK?”

He sighed. “OK, I’ll wait. Enjoy Bangalore.”

She was quite uneasy when she said good-bye, wondering whether she shouldn’t just go back to London with Andrew. But she instantly put her shoulders back in self-reproof, ashamed at her lack of courage. She pulled her red overnight bag from the top of the wardrobe in the dressing room and started packing.

Carla was awake at six thirty when the punctual Kishan brought her a steaming cup of tea. As it was already quite hot in her room, she sat on the cool veranda to drink it.

Elouise had come home quite late the previous evening. After dropping the girls, she had gone out for supper with some of the moms on the fundraising committee. On her return she was exhausted and asked Carla to be patient; she would explain what it was all about. Carla had waited up for her, quite desperate to find out what was going on. But on seeing Elouise’s resolve, she realized that she had to bide her time and be patient.

Dressed in khaki cotton pants and a white linen shirt, Carla was ready at precisely seven o’clock. She got into the car as the driver put her small suitcase into the trunk. Elouise was five minutes late, wearing jeans and a short cream kurti. She caught her hair in an untidy bun as she got into the car next to Carla. “Good, we should be on time,” she said with a relieved smile. “Did you eat something?”

“No, it’s too early for me. I’ll wait till we get to our mysterious destination in Kashmir,” Carla said with a hint of sarcasm.

Elouise laughed. “I knew you were going to bitch about this information block-out. I promise you I’ll tell you everything as soon as we find a certain person in Kashmir.”

“Do we know exactly where this person is, or do we still have to search for him?”

“I have the exact address, don’t worry—and it’s a woman, by the way.”

Carla widened her eyes—a woman? Somehow, this was far more intriguing. “Oh. Young or old?”

Slapping her playfully on her thigh, Elouise said, “Wait and see.”

There wasn’t much traffic, and within half an hour they were at the airport. After checking in at the Jet Airways counter, they went to the lounge, where they drank cappuccinos and ate a couple of finger sandwiches. Carla was recounting her conversation with Andrew when Harry called Elouise. She looked tense, becoming more flushed in the effort to converse normally, and as she said good-bye, her hazel eyes filled with fear and sadness.

This is all my fault
, Carla thought, wishing she hadn’t come to Delhi. “Is everything OK?” she asked Elouise.

“Yes, Harry just called to tell me that he had reached his destination safely, and he’d be at the conference all day.”

“Elouise, I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess.”

“It’s not your fault. I have to get to the bottom of this. I don’t think Harry is involved in anything sinister, but there’s definitely something strange going on.” She smiled at Carla and continued, “Have you heard from George?”

“No, I haven’t. But he’s just respecting my wishes, so I shouldn’t feel so down, right?”

“You really fell hard, didn’t you?” Elouise said, smiling.

“Don’t embarrass me. I think that’s our flight they’re calling.”

“You’re right. Let’s hurry; we still have to clear security.”

The airplane touched down at 10:35 in Srinagar, ten minutes later than the scheduled time. Carla stared down in fascination at the scenery below: the city seemed quite dwarfed by the expanse of the famous Dal Lake and surrounding verdant hills. In the distance the snowcapped peaks of the Himalayas rose majestically through the dense white clouds—like chess pieces, Carla thought, God stalling for checkmate.

As they waited at the taxi stand, Carla noticed a number of military personnel as well as policemen. It was only when she scanned the crowd that she realized that she and Elouise were very obvious—the only Westerners. Carla knew from an assignment for CNN that tourism had dropped to practically nil after the spate of kidnappings by Islamic militants fighting for independence from India in Muslim-dominated Kashmir.

The cooler climate, at least fifteen degrees cooler than Delhi, was welcome.

“Kashmir used to be the preferred summer destination for most Indians, but since the terrorist attacks, the tourist industry is struggling to survive,” Elouise explained to Carla.

The Innova taxi drove them through the city along the lake, which had houseboats of all sizes moored to the banks. “I read somewhere that one can rent them,” Carla said.

“Harry told me that his paternal family owned a houseboat they used only in the summer. It was really the British who introduced this houseboat tradition to the Indians. They were not allowed to own land so they built houseboats.”

Cruising down the long driveway leading up to the Grand Palace hotel, the taxi driver pointed to the Zabarwan Hills on the one side and the apple orchards on the other. The hotel architecture was stylishly European. Noticing Carla’s interest in the building, he said, “This was famous palace of Maharajah Hari Singh. His uncle Pratap Singh build it.’”

“I see. When was it converted into an hotel?” Carla asked.

“I think in 1950s, sorry, not know,” the driver said, laughing self-consciously.

After checking into their rooms overlooking the manicured garden, the Dal Lake in the distance, they met back in the lobby.