A Scandalous Secret (17 page)

Sonya looked up at the towering Qutb Minar, the tip of which was glowing angry red in the sun. Keshav, the driver and guide that Mrs Mahajan had arranged for them, had just said that the minaret had been built in the twelfth century, which made it as old as the Tower of London. Sonya had to admit that the stonework was in pristine condition and very well maintained, without all the scaffolding and plastic sheeting that invariably surrounded the Tower. So not everything in India was a total mess, apparently.

Estella crouched down and pointed her camera upwards to try and fit the tall structure into her viewfinder. ‘I think I've got the whole thing,' she said excitedly as she caught up with Sonya. ‘Look,' she said, showing them the digital image on her screen. Sonya caught a whiff of Keshav's perfumed hair gel as he came a bit too close and hastily stepped back. She had struggled much more than Estella had with the male gaze in India and, like Mrs Mahajan, Keshav too seemed curious about where Sonya was from, asking whether she was Italian or Turkish, insisting that she was not as English as Estella. This could have been funny, given that it was Estella who was half Italian, but Sonya had felt strangely insulted. She had also caught
Keshav looking at her intently on a few occasions with a touch of insolence, a sort of open sizing-up, even though he was curiously subservient around the Mahajans, folding his hands in greeting and slipping off his trainers before entering the house. She noticed too that Mr Mahajan had ordered him rather peremptorily to fetch his slippers from indoors and, although he had swiftly complied, his face had flushed slightly at being made to perform such a menial task in front of the foreign visitors.

He wasn't a typical guide, of course. As Mrs Mahajan had repeated again at breakfast, Keshav was the son of their driver and, having had his schooling paid for by the Mahajans, he was now studying history at Delhi University. ‘Keshav will be much better at showing you the sights properly than all these guide types who pretend to be history experts but are talking nonsense half the time. He can drive and his English is very good also,' Mrs Mahajan had declared with an air of deep satisfaction at being able to offer such a rare and wonderful resource to her guests. Keshav had looked on as she said this, a remote stand-off expression on his face.

Mrs Mahajan's intentions were no doubt noble but, as far as Sonya could see, both Keshav's skills of driving and English left much to be desired. He drove as maniacally as everyone else in Delhi and used peculiar words like ‘prepone'. Only a timely glare from Estella had prevented Sonya from dissolving into giggles when Keshav had given his email address as Keshav-at-the-rate-of-gmail.com. Estella was, typically, managing some friendly banter, toning her English expressions down to accommodate him, but Sonya was damned if she was going to take such trouble over one of the million Indian guys who thought nothing of staring at her as though he were mentally
undressing her. She had already decided that this was going to be her one and only trip to India. The men stared even more than Italian men did. It was too hot, too crowded and, worst of all, as predicted, the food had given her the runs on their very first day here. Her stomach still hurt slightly but she had recovered enough to make this tentative trip out at Mrs Mahajan's insistence.

Worse than all else, Neha appeared to have given her the slip very effectively, there being no response at all from the mobile number they had collected at the house yesterday. So now, despite the importance of the mission she had set out with, Sonya had been reduced to becoming a gawping tourist! What a laughing stock she would be to people like Chelsea back at home to whom she'd so excitedly announced her intentions of tracing her birth mother in India. Perhaps she should have listened to Mum and been more discreet.

‘If you come this way, I will show you the world-famous Ashoka pillar,' Keshav said to the two girls.

Sonya wondered why she had never heard of it if it was world-famous and reluctantly followed Keshav and Estella into a second courtyard. Keshav pointed proudly to a squat metal structure around which tourists were milling and taking photographs. Estella was quick to join them, clicking picture after picture, turning her digital camera this way and that as though she were on assignment with the
National Geographic
. Sonya was sure Estella would end up deleting most of the pictures at the rate at which she was going, but who was she to throw a dampener on her friend's enthusiasm?

When she had finally tired of playing ace photographer, Estella returned to Sonya's side to exclaim once again at how wonderful everything was. Partially to bring some
reality to the situation, Sonya found herself saying, ‘For Chrissake, it's only a tichy little pillar, Stel. I expected a second minaret when Keshav said “famous”.' She was aware of how peevish her voice sounded but both Estella and Keshav ignored her which only made her feel worse. She didn't mean to be tetchy, it was just that this whole trip was turning out to be nothing like she had imagined, and she couldn't contain her frustration any more.

‘The belief is that you can make a wish if your arms can stretch all the way around the pillar,' Keshav said, looping his arms in a circle and interlocking his fingers to illustrate his point. ‘But they have now blocked it off because it was getting … how do you say … eroded?'

‘Yes, that's right, “eroded”,' Estella smiled. ‘Hey, I think I want to see if I can wriggle through the cordon to make a wish. I
like
hugging pillars.'

‘Whatever,' Sonya responded sourly. ‘As long as you don't go and get yourself arrested. I'm happy to admire from afar.'

‘You can wait here and I'll go with Estella, no issues,' Keshav responded, using another strange Indian turn of phrase.

Sonya seated herself wearily on a stone parapet as Estella followed Keshav across the paved quadrangle that was thronging with mostly Indian tourists. She knew she was being unnecessarily prickly but she hadn't exactly been in the most positive frame of mind ever since coming to Delhi and finding that Neha Chaturvedi had gone underground. Despite telling Estella that she wasn't going to, Sonya had been sneaking calls off and on on the mobile number they had been given. She had no intention of
speaking
, of course – she merely wanted to hear what Neha sounded like. But it was as if the phone had been disabled
completely. All Sonya got, every time she called, was an automated message about being out of range. It was frustrating and annoying and, even though she had solemnly promised Estella yesterday that she would not storm into the Chaturvedi house to reveal all, there were moments when she felt tempted to take matters into her own hands again. It would be interesting to see how the suave businessman, smug in his silver Mercedes, responded to suddenly acquiring a stepdaughter!

From a distance, Sonya watched Keshav point to the top of the pillar while Estella obligingly raised her camera and took a few shots. She grinned and said something that made Keshav laugh. Sonya envied Estella's easy ability to fit in and get on with whoever she was thrown together with but, as the pair walked back in her direction and Sonya saw Keshav give her another one of his piercing looks, she turned her face away again. She didn't know what it was but there was something ominous about him, her gut feeling was telling her he wasn't to be trusted.

Or maybe she had imagined his look, because surprisingly, Keshav and Estella walked right past her, still talking animatedly. Sonya quelled the impulse to call after Estella and remind her whose friend she was – that would be churlish. After a short pause, she got up and trailed reluctantly after the pair. Listening with barely suppressed annoyance to Estella, Sonya noted how intently her friend was taking in everything Keshav said, even asking earnest questions like, ‘So Hindu temples were razed to build this?' Fucking hell, such excessive eagerness, the man would think Estella was panting for him. They seemed to be headed back to the car park and Sonya felt another flash of irritation that they were not even consulting her in their plans.
Why,
she
might have wanted to hang around the Qutb Minar for a bit, for all they cared!

When Keshav left them at the gates to fetch the car, Sonya questioned Estella in a voice that was dry and sarcastic. ‘So, am I imagining it or are you starting to fancy Keshav a bit?'

Estella giggled. ‘You've got to admit he's quite a dish!'

‘Dish!? This guy? You've gotta be kidding, Stel! I don't trust him one bit.'

‘Oh come on, Sonya. He's like a younger version of Robert Pattinson!'

‘Chalk and cheese! This guy's all moony eyes and overgrown eyelashes. Wimpy looks – yuck,' Sonya dismissed.

‘Come now, there's nothing wimpy about Keshav and I'm sure you can see that. He may have the longest lashes but, cor, he's definitely something of a hunk.'

Sonya saved her retort for later as ‘the hunk' had arrived in Mrs Mahajan's Ambassador car, taking the corner as though he were a Formula One driver and pulling up before them in an impressive cloud of dust. The girls got in, Sonya content to let Estella have the front seat as Keshav was obviously trying to impress.

‘You can also sit here, if you want,' Keshav said, pointing to the bench seat in front. ‘There's space for three people very easily.'

‘Keshav's right. You'll be able to hear him better from here too,' Estella said, losing no time in moving right up against Keshav. Sonya wanted to puke at the sight of Estella virtually sitting in Keshav's lap, but she pursed her lips and shook her head.

‘It's all right. I don't need to hear everything,' she said primly as she deliberately climbed into the back seat. She saw Keshav give her one of his dark intense looks
in the rear-view mirror and, so that she wouldn't keep catching his stares, she pulled out the
Lonely Planet
guide and pretended to be reading it. Perhaps that would help him concentrate on the road, else it was very likely they would plough straight into the back of a bus.

They made their way down Delhi's crowded roads to the old city. Mrs Mahajan had suggested a few places for them to explore, giving instructions to Keshav in the morning to take them for lunch to a street that specialized in stuffed parathas. Sonya already knew what parathas were as Mr Mahajan, who worked long hours in an advertising agency, took two to work every morning wrapped in tin foil with a bit of pickle. She hoped her stomach was not going to revolt again at the fried food.

Old Delhi was a sea of humanity and the crowds had what Sonya could only describe as a ‘crowd-smell', a whiff of musty clothes and unwashed bodies that was masked only by the reek of the open drains that were running along the edges of the road, giving off an overwhelming stench. She felt quite faint as she reluctantly got out of the car and felt the crowd jostle her straightaway. ‘You must be careful about your bags here. Many thieves and pickpockets,' Keshav said, pointing at Sonya's small rucksack. ‘Do you want me to carry it for you?' he asked but Sonya shook her head, hitching it onto her front and clutching at it with both hands. She followed Keshav, with Estella bringing up the rear, as they pushed their way past thousands of people who all seemed to be going in the opposite direction to them. They made slow progress towards a huge sandstone structure at the end of the street.

‘This is the famous Red Fort,' Keshav said with pride as they reached the forecourt. He made it sound almost
as though he had constructed the fort himself, brick by brick, Sonya thought ungraciously. At least they had come away from the crowds and so she breathed easier as they walked down to the ticket office. Keshav kept looking at Sonya with an odd expression that she didn't know how to read. The sun was beating fiercely down on their heads and Sonya was grateful she had remembered to pack a floppy hat. She suddenly felt faintly weepy and nostalgic as the image of her quaint little girlie-goth room back in Orpington popped unbidden into her head, followed by the thought of the large jug of home-made lemonade Mum always had in the fridge on hot summer days.

‘When the Indians rose against the British in 1857, this is where they camped out,' Keshav was saying to Estella, waving one hand at the fort.

‘Really? I had no idea that the Indians wanted to get rid of the Brits,' Estella said, adding hastily, ‘Well, until Gandhi and all that … that was in the forties or fifties, wasn't it?'

Sonya stifled a smile. History had never been dear old Estella's best subject, but Sonya had to admit that even she knew nothing about the Indians rising against the British in the nineteenth century.

‘It was not all Indians, some actually fought beside the British in 1857. But nobody really likes foreign rule, so the feeling of wanting to get rid of it grew over the years,' Keshav explained.

‘But we were always taught that Indians were really happy with the Brits bringing in the railways and the legal system? Isn't that right, Son?' Estella turned to Sonya for affirmation, adding by way of explanation to Keshav, ‘Sonya was the history whizzo at school, not me!'

Sonya tried to look modest as Keshav turned the full
glare of his attention on her again. ‘I must say I don't know much about this war against the British. Wasn't it more like a mutiny within the army?' she asked.

Keshav looked indignant. ‘It was major,' he asserted. ‘We call it our First War of Independence. Many people on both sides died. They say that, when the British finally broke into the Red Fort, their anger was so major, these streets were like rivers of blood. Even innocent shopkeepers, like these you see here today, were put to death.'

Sonya suppressed a shudder as she looked around her. By now they had reached a small bazaar area inside the fort where traders were selling kitschy gift items like miniature marble Taj Mahals and caparisoned wooden elephants and horses. A couple of little girls in grubby Indian clothes had run up to wave a clutch of painted wooden flutes. ‘Buy, buy! Cheap, cheap!' they said like a pair of sparrows. She felt suddenly terribly and inexplicably saddened by the thought of those poor shopkeepers and children being murdered so ruthlessly by their British rulers. Despite being half Indian, Sonya had always felt relatively untouched by such stories from India. Even Richard Attenborough's
Gandhi
, which she had gone to see with her parents in the Bromley Odeon, had not moved her to feel any kinship with the country and its people. So it was curious how big a difference was made by being physically present in India. Quite unexpectedly, Sonya felt very close to the soil she was standing on and touched to tears by the suffering of its people. Perhaps it was just the heat doing strange things to her head!