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Shefali laughed. ‘Come on—you made that up! You’re the outdoorsy kind. There’s no way you’d be scared of a dog.’
Neil shook his head solemnly. ‘When I was about two years old I was playing in a sandpit and this massive Alsatian came along and knocked me over and put its paws on my chest. I was lying there for some five minutes before someone noticed me and called the dog off.’
Shefali’s eyes softened. ‘That must have been awful!’ she exclaimed. ‘Poor you! No wonder you don’t like dogs—that experience must have traumatised you for life.’
‘Actually, it didn’t,’ he said, his grey eyes dancing with amusement. ‘My mum was the one who was traumatised—I dusted myself off and went away to play on the slides.’
Shefali gave him a playful punch in the 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 décor.
Sighing, she got out of bed. It was the first day of actual school, and she needed to be on time. She’d spent Sunday moving her things from the hotel to the flat, and buying essentials like groceries and buckets and mops. In spite of the amount of work she’d done she’d kept thinking of Neil. That kiss had been pretty amazing. In retrospect it was probably the best kiss of her life, and she couldn’t help fantasising a little.
The rest of the morning was so busy she didn’t have time to think of anything other than learning the ropes at the school. Mrs Dubey was obviously a competent administrator, but her management style resembled that of an Army drill sergeant—most of the younger teachers looked relieved at the thought that she’d be leaving soon.
‘I think you’ll be settled by the end of the week,’ Mrs Dubey said as she stood next to Shefali, watching the children filing out. Each child had been given a note to carry home that explained that Mrs Dubey was leaving and introduced Shefali as the new centre manager. ‘I’m around for the next couple of days in any case, if you need anything.’
Shefali gave her a smile that she hoped looked grateful enough. She was exhausted and, truth be told, beginning to wonder if moving here had been such a good idea after all. Unlike the Delhi playschool she’d worked at, this one was fully self-contained—she’d have to manage the billing and all the financials in addition to supervising the teaching, and it looked like a lot of work. The kids were rather sweet, though, and a lot less smart-alecky than the Delhi brats she was used to.
‘Nina, stop—you need to take this letter and give it to your mum,’ Mrs Dubey said, holding back a bright-eyed little moppet who was rushing past.
‘Can I give the letter to my dad instead?’ Nina piped up. ‘My mum isn’t here, and he’s always around.’
Mrs Dubey looked mildly scandalised, but Shefali smiled at the child. ‘Why not?’ she said. ‘Does he come to pick you up?’
‘Yes,’ she said and pointed towards the school gate. ‘Look—there he is!’
Shefali turned. There was only one man in the crowd of parents thronging near the gate—tall, with rumpled chestnut hair and familiar mocking eyes. Maybe Nina’s father was standing further back—but what was Neil doing here? She’d not told him where she worked, though he could have probably found out from the hotel.
She gave him a wary look as he walked up to them, but his attention wasn’t on her.
‘Hi, pumpkin,’ he said, ruffling Nina’s hair and inclining his head ironically at Shefali.
‘Daddy!’ Nina squealed happily, and clung on to his hand.
Neil Mitra—married with a kid. Something he’d neglected to mention even after he’d kissed her. No wonder he’d been in such a hurry to get away. It still seemed incomprehensible, though. For one thing he looked so young—she’d assumed that he was around the same age as she was. But he couldn’t be. Nina was one of the bigger kids at the playschool, and had to be at least four years old.
‘You’re her father?’ Shefali asked finally, looking him up and down.
‘So I’ve been told,’ Neil drawled. ‘I’ve been thinking of getting a DNA test done, but you know how things keep getting put off.’
Shefali was about to snap at him when she realised that Nina was right next to them, listening intently.
‘He is my dad,’ Nina said, her voice firm, but Shefali saw her chin wobble slightly. ‘What’s a DNA test, Daddy?’
‘A piece of paper that says you’re all mine,’ Neil replied, his voice rough as he swung Nina up into his arms. For a few seconds he’d been so intent on getting under Shefali’s skin that he’d forgotten his daughter was within earshot. ‘But we already know that, so we don’t need one. Bad joke. Sorry.’
‘Well, now that I see you together I can tell you’re father and daughter,’ Shefali said, trying to lighten things up a little. She’d have a lot to say to him if she saw him alone, but now was most definitely not the time. ‘Your ears are identical.’
Nina chuckled happily. ‘Everybody says my eyes are like Papa’s,’ she said.
‘Don’t believe, them. Yours are much prettier. Your ears, on the other hand...’
‘I can’t believe it—a schoolmarm with an ear fetish,’ Neil murmured as Nina slipped down from his arms.
‘I read it in a Sherlock Holmes story,’ Shefali said, blushing hotly. ‘Ears are supposed to show a family resemblance the most.’
‘The Adventure of the Cardboard Box,’ he said, and he smiled suddenly, his eyes lighting up in the way that made Shefali’s heartbeat quicken. ‘It’s years since I read Conan Doyle.’
‘Same here,’ Shefali, said, and there was a little pause broken by Nina’s cheerful little voice.
‘Teacher, I love the patterns on your hands,’ she said. ‘They’re like a dulhan’s hands. Did you just get married?’
The henna again. Shefali wished there was a way of getting it off—nail polish remover? Acid, maybe? Anything to get rid of the orange designs snaking over her hands, a constant reminder of her stupidity.
For the moment, though, she was done with lies and evasions. Neil could think what he liked.
‘I almost did,’ she said. ‘But it didn’t work out.’
Neil’s brow furrowed. ‘Get into the car, sweetheart,’ he said to Nina. ‘Look—Bela Mashi’s waiting for you by the gate.’
Nina gave Shefali a cheery wave and ran off. Neil’s amazing eyes were troubled as he turned back to Shefali.
‘Look, I’m sorry,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I didn’t realise...’
Shefali cut him off. ‘It’s OK,’ she said quickly. ‘I didn’t realise you were married for that matter. Maybe you’d forgotten it for a while as well? Look, I need to go—I’ve got some people to meet.’
She turned and almost ran up the steps. It was perfectly true—she did have a meeting with the man who did the accounts for the school. Only she didn’t go straight to the office. Instead she headed quickly for the back stairs and went up to her flat. Once inside, she held her hands up to her flaming cheeks. God, how stupid she was. It hadn’t even occurred to her that Neil could be married. He definitely hadn’t acted married. But then Pranav hadn’t acted madly-in-love-with-another-woman either. Maybe it was something wrong with her that made her the automatic choice for every man with a secret? And she’d spent the entire weekend thinking about Neil—she’d even daydreamed about him in class today, for heaven’s sake. It all went to show that she didn’t have the first clue about men, and the less she tangled with them the better.
Downstairs, Neil stood in the playground for a bit, hoping Shefali would reappear so that he could explain himself. When it became apparent that she wouldn’t, he turned and walked back to his car. Inside, Nina was bouncing up and down excitedly, telling her nanny about her day. Neil’s grim expression softened as he looked at the two of them. Bela Mashi had been his nanny when he was young, and she’d come out of retirement when Nina was born. He didn’t know what he’d have done without her—especially after Reema had left.
‘Daddy, isn’t the new teacher pretty?’ Nina asked.
Neil smiled at her reflection in the rearview mirror. ‘Very,’ he agreed. ‘Is she teaching your class?’
Bela Mashi shook her head before Nina could say anything. ‘Centre manager is what she is. Going to run the school after that Dubey lady retires. Young girl like that—what does she know about running a school? Anyway, we’re leaving in a couple of months. Doesn’t matter to us. It’s the others who’ll be stuck with her. And she’s from Delhi too. God knows why she’s come to work in this little village.’
‘Little village’ was how Bela Mashi described all the cities Neil had chosen for his latest show, but she followed him loyally wherever he went. Starting the car, Neil wondered what he’d have done without her. Probably buckled under family pressure and let his sister bring up Nina. Not that he hadn’t been tempted by the offer—bringing up a baby alone wasn’t the way he’d imagined spending the best years of his life. But that was the point, he mused, glancing at Nina as she tugged open her bag to show Bela Mashi something she’d made in class. The last four years with Nina had turned out to be best years of his life, though not quite in the way he’d dreamed of in his teens.
THREE
It was all the fault of the stepladder she’d found tucked away in the storeroom, Shefali decided. The second she’d seen it she’d been reminded of all those paint ads in which glamorous models and actors transformed a room with a few strokes of a brush. Reality wasn’t quite so much fun. For one, the ads never showed the hours you needed to put in, first scraping the old paint off and then smoothing the walls with messy Plaster of Paris. Or that ceilings were unreachable even after she’d tied the brush onto the end of a broomstick.
She’d been at it for almost the entire day now, trying to transform her pistachio-green walls to a more cheerful pale yellow. So far she’d done exactly one third of one wall of the living room, having given up on the ceiling. In any case the ceiling was white—it didn’t matter if it looked slightly dingy. The colour on the walls would brighten everything up.
She was just dipping the brush into the paint when the door bell rang. Who could it be? She put the brush on its side and covered the paint tin exactly as they’d shown in the video on house painting she was using as her reference material. Then she pulled off the old dupatta she’d tied around her head and went to open the door.
Neil Mitra.
She felt the breath catch in her throat at the sight of him leaning against the door. The sun was setting somewhere in the distance and his brown hair glittered golden. While his face was in shadow, his eyes sparkled as he broke into a disarming smile.
Realising that she was still staring at him like a dork, Shefali cleared her throat. ‘Yes?’ she said, putting on her best dealing-with-irritating-parents expression—neutral, but completely in charge of the situation. It probably didn’t go very well with her paint-splattered T-shirt and jeans, but she could hardly run in to change.
‘Is this a bad time?’ Neil asked, his grin broadening as he peeked around her into the living room.
The furniture was swathed in the lace curtains that she was planning to get rid of anyway, and the stepladder stood perfectly aligned with the wall. OK, the room wasn’t exactly ready to be featured in a home décor magazine, but she couldn’t see what there was to grin about either.
‘It’s fine,’ Shefali said, not budging from the doorway. ‘If you’re not going to take too long?’
