A Scandalous Secret (11 page)

‘No, no, it's fine really, we can manage these,' Sonya said in embarrassment as a small boy who looked no more than ten ran up to carry their bags.

‘Let him take them. They look heavy and have to be taken upstairs. Don't worry, Rajoo is stronger than he looks.'

There seemed no choice but to let the boy take both
their backpacks, although Sonya looked on in concern as the lad staggered off on skinny legs in the direction of a spiral stairway. She watched him lug his twin burden to a room above the garage. She ought to go after him and retrieve it but Mrs Mahajan was still talking, now pressing tea and coffee on them.

‘Actually, tea would be lovely,' Estella said.

‘Okay,' Mrs Mahajan looked satisfied finally and beamed happily at the two girls. ‘So pretty you are, both of you,' she said, looking more closely at Sonya to add, ‘You could even be Indian with your long black-black hair and tanned skin. Only your big blue eyes make you look like a foreigner but, here in India, we have people with light eyes too. Like my nephew whose mother is Kashmiri. He has got blue eyes too, just like yours …'

Before she could say any more, Estella cut in quickly. ‘D'you mind if we use the loo before tea, Mrs Mahajan?'

‘Nooo problem. Make yourselves comfortable first. You girls just go up to that room. Where Rajoo went. He will show you the bathroom and everything. I will get tea made and have it sent up with Ramod.'

It sounded as though Mrs Mahajan employed a whole army of domestic help, Sonya thought: one to make the tea, one to carry it, quite probably one to drink it for you too, like royals of yore. She followed Estella up the spiral stairs. Their room was charming, twin beds covered in colourful Indian prints and a massive ceiling fan, bigger than anything Sonya had ever seen before. Bright yellow curtains hung at the windows. The bathroom was basic compared to what she was accustomed to back in England, with a limestone floor and a plastic pail that had a matching mug hooked onto its edge. Sonya saw no evidence of a
shower unit. However, there was a loo and a washbasin and fresh supplies of soap and shampoo and even an outsized bottle of talcum powder. Everything looked and smelt sparkly clean.

‘Can't complain!' Estella said, looking around in delight.

‘I think we've done all right with the accommodation at least,' Sonya replied after the boy had departed the room.

‘All right? I think you've hit the jackpot with this one, girl,' Estella said in her typical jolly-voiced hyperbolic style, before throwing herself onto the bed with a loud groan.

Sonya smiled with pride, continuing to potter around the room, lifting up interesting knick-knacks to examine and looking at the pictures on the wall, all of which seemed to be old lithographs of Indian temples and monuments. Finding this place had taken days of research until one of her teachers had suggested googling ‘Homestays in India'. As soon as Sonya had done so, she had realized that she and Estella would be a lot better off staying with an Indian family, rather than in some seedy backpackers' hotel in the old part of the city. Much more reassuring for both sets of parents too. Which reminded her, she ought to call or text them to say they had reached their B&B in Delhi with no trouble.

Sonya sat down on the edge of the bed, pleased with Estella's reaction to the room. ‘Too right, Stel. I think I can now safely pat myself on the back for finding this place. And there I was so unnecessarily worrying my head off back in England. That lady – Mrs Mahajan – she seems nice too, I guess, despite the garrulousness.'

‘Yeah, I wondered if you were uncomfortable with all that “You look like an Indian” stuff. But she meant well
and seems nice and mumsy. Just what we need so far from home, I guess,' Estella replied. She stretched and turned onto her side to face her friend. ‘So what's the agenda then?' she asked. ‘I'll bet you have it all chalked out and printed off and filed away somewhere safe! When did you want to get going with your plans? We only have five days in Delhi before we travel on, remember? Be nice to try to get a bit of extra time in Agra, if we can manage it, and take a good old gander at the old Taj Mahal. It does seem beautiful in the pictures. What a testament of love; can you imagine if someone built a palace in your honour …'

Sonya was suddenly silent, not hearing any of Estella's prattle. Yes, she had started off with a plan, and a mission. But, now that she was on the threshold of making the biggest discovery of her life, she felt unnerved and not keen at all to upset her neat little applecart. Perhaps she ought to postpone things a bit. At least until they had got used to Delhi itself. ‘Hmmm, yes. Let's get rested first and then check with the Mahajans about local transport and all that,' she said rather vaguely, remembering too that she hadn't yet told Estella about the letter she had shot off to Neha Chaturvedi.

‘Are we thinking of going up to the Chaturvedi house to sort of lurk around a bit?' Estella asked. ‘We can't get arrested for
lurking
, can we?'

Sonya laughed. ‘Think we're okay on that score,' she said. ‘But it may be wise to wait till it's a bit cooler in the evening to … er, lurk comfortably, I guess.'

‘I hope it's not miles away. Have you any idea?' Estella asked, turning her head to look out of the window at the blazing sunshine.

‘I looked up the street on Google Earth. It's in central
Delhi apparently, rather a prosperous leafy area from what I could tell.'

‘I know I sound like my mum, but isn't technology amazing?' Estella said as she got up to open her suitcase and start unpacking her things into a small wooden chest of drawers by her bedside. ‘On the subject of addresses, I've been meaning to ask how you managed to trace it in the first place?'

‘Cloak and dagger to be honest,' Sonya replied, looking a little shamefaced. Estella was looking enquiringly at her and so she ploughed on. ‘Well, the Delhi address I got from the adoption report was one that I guessed was Neha Chaturvedi's parents' home. So I wrote a letter to that address, pretending to be an old Oxford classmate of hers looking to surprise her with a Christmas card. I'd created a new email address especially and – what do you know – a week later, her father emailed back with her current postal address. A pleasant one-liner, saying how glad he was that someone who knew Neha back at Oxford was trying to make contact. He was quite happy to maintain the secrecy so she would get a nice surprise. So, you see, it's all as easy as pie when you put your mind to a bit of machinating.'

‘Cool,' Estella said, admiringly.

‘Well, it was a bit sneaky, I guess. And you know me. I hate beating about the bush when there's a job to be done. But I didn't think the direct approach was appropriate in this instance.'

‘Sure,' Estella nodded in agreement, returning to stacking her clothes in the chest of drawers.

Having unpacked, the girls went downstairs in search of Mrs Mahajan. They found her in the kitchen, supervising two boys in the preparation of what looked like a chicken curry.

‘I have to help them. They are not good at European-style cooking, you see,' she said, beaming.

The aromas emanating from the pot did not smell particularly European to either of the two girls. ‘Oh don't bother if it's for us,' Estella said. ‘We both adore Indian food, don't we, Sonya?'

Sonya nodded obediently, even though very spicy Indian food sometimes upset her stomach. Mum had asked her not to overdo it on the first day but she had to take the plunge at some point.

Mrs Mahajan looked pleased. ‘If you like Indian food, I will make Indian food, no problem. Today I am already making chicken roast and pasta bake but tomorrow I will do butter chicken, okay?'

Estella peered into the pot, examining with doubt Mrs Mahajan's version of roast chicken which was bubbling away in a creamy brown gravy but Sonya – aware that food was one of Estella's favourite subjects – hastily put paid to any further culinary discourse by saying, ‘Mrs Mahajan, we need your advice, please. What's the public transport like to get around Delhi? Buses?'

Mrs Mahajan handed the ladle to one of her many minions with instructions in Hindi before turning to Sonya. ‘There is no such thing as good public transport in Delhi,' she said, shaking her head gloomily. ‘There is a metro now in most parts of Delhi but there is no stop that is very close to this side yet. And the buses are not good for girls like you. Too crowded and with too many dirty men. But I can do something for you …' The two girls looked at Mrs Mahajan expectantly as she glanced at her watch. ‘
Oho
, he will still be in his classes now.' She looked up. ‘I am talking about Keshav. I will ask Keshav who never says no to me. He is the son of my driver and
I have looked after him like my own son. We paid for his schooling and now he is studying history in Sri Ram College. Very bright boy. He can drive also so we will ask him to take you around for your sightseeing and shopping. He is a good boy, always calls me
Didi
– you know, “sister”. Today he may be busy but the weekend is coming and he will definitely be free then.'

Sonya and Estella smiled at each other in delight. This was a major problem solved. ‘We're getting good at this adventure lark, ain't we, girl?' Estella said before turning to their landlady to say, ‘Oh yes please, Mrs Mahajan. Keshav sounds just the perfect escort, thank you!'

‘When do you want to go out? Now?' Mrs Mahajan asked.

Estella looked at Sonya and nodded. ‘Yeah, I guess,' Sonya said doubtfully.

‘Well, Keshav will be in college now but, depending on where you are going, I could arrange a taxi or an auto-rickshaw just for this afternoon. Where would you like to go? If it is for sightseeing, I suggest you wait till tomorrow when Keshav does not have classes,' Mrs Mahajan said.

‘Sightseeing can wait till tomorrow for sure. This is just a visit,' Estella said. She turned to Sonya, ‘Do you remember the address of the place we need to get to?'

Sonya knew it well. ‘Prithviraj Road,' she replied, stumbling a bit on the pronunciation.

‘Oh very nice area – friends of yours?' Mrs Mahajan asked, looking impressed and a bit curious. Sonya nodded, careful not to give anything away with her expression. Luckily, Mrs Mahajan took the hint. ‘Prithviraj Road is in central Delhi,' she continued, ‘No problem getting there at all. Leave it with me until you freshen up. Would you
like some lunch before going? Maybe have some lunch first, rest a little bit and then, when the sun has cooled down, you can go, yes?'

‘Oh yes please, lunch sounds fab,' Estella said brightly, although Sonya's stomach was roiling with nervousness, not helped by the smell of Mrs Mahajan's gravy.

Sonya made an excuse and escaped to their room while Estella stayed helping Mrs Mahajan to lay the table. She ran up the stairs, feeling breathless. It was incredible to think that the moment had come upon her so soon. All those weeks of planning what she would say to her birth mother when she saw her were finally culminating in the visit they would make this evening. In just a couple of hours' time. Would she have the courage? Would she lose her tongue? Sonya stumbled into the room and stood near her bed, trying to calm her breathing. But her head was spinning so fast she had to sit down. She had wanted to take things slowly but events had sort of run away with her back there in the kitchen. Dear Estella meant well and had probably assumed that she was in a hurry to get going with the real reason for which they had come to Delhi but Sonya was suddenly very unsure of the wisdom of this move. She was now so close – the moment she had dreamt of for days now – she almost couldn't bear the thought. It was too late to turn around. Not after having dragged Estella all this way out to India anyway. And she still hadn't told her about the letter she had sent! Sonya took a few deep breaths, sternly instructing herself to remain composed, before returning to the main house for lunch.

 

Lunch done, the girls retired to their room, suddenly exhausted by the strange and slightly greasy ‘roast' and
Mrs Mahajan's endless chatter. But, at five o'clock, the Mahajans' gardener interrupted the girls' afternoon slumber by appearing at their door to tell them that he had summoned an auto-rickshaw for them as requested. ‘It is waiting. Waiting charge one hour hundred rupee,' he said.

‘Better get our skates on,' Estella said blearily, getting out of bed. She had worked off her flight fatigue by falling into a deep slumber while Sonya had lain awake, listening to the unfamiliar sound of the air conditioner hum at their window. It effectively blanked out all the sounds that Sonya generally associated with warm afternoons back home: bird-song and lawnmowers and the screams of children playing in the park across the road. Here there was only this low throbbing hum which should have soothed her to sleep as it had done Estella. Instead the sound had permeated Sonya's head, going around and around in her brain, setting her already chaotic thoughts off on a crazy merry-go-round.

They got ready hastily, Sonya changing her shorts and tee-shirt for a pair of jeans and a cotton shirt which she felt made her look older, more in charge. She certainly didn't want to turn up looking like a ditzy teenager, she thought, looking soberly at herself in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her hair and fastened it back with a white butterfly clip.

At the gates, they clambered into the waiting auto-rickshaw with Mrs Mahajan looking on in concern. ‘Hold tight, don't fall out, sometimes the bumps can be quite bad,' she instructed, adding, ‘I thought it would be fun for you girls to try travelling in one of our auto-rickshaws but now suddenly I am not so sure!' She was still talking as the driver started up his engine noisily and took off down the road.

They weaved their way through what was presumably Delhi's commuter traffic, making slow progress down choked and potholed streets. The noise around them was at an incredible level: car horns and cycle bells and the blare of buses. And no windows that could be rolled up to cocoon them as, except for a thin canvas roof, the auto-rickshaw was completely open to the elements. The stench too was unbearable; Sonya had never ‘smelt' traffic before – a most unpalatable mix of diesel and petrol and smoke and rubber. Mrs Mahajan had been right about the bumps as well but Estella seemed to be enjoying herself, looking out at all the unfamiliar sights with shining eyes. Sonya, however, felt sicker and sicker as they went along, clutching in her hand the slip of paper on which she had scribbled the name and address:
Neha Chaturvedi. 54 Prithviraj Road, New Delhi 110001.