An almost inaudible murmur. 'Forgive me.'
'Look, young fellow, it's late now and you're probably tired. I've had enough for one day. Go home and sleep. If you change your mind, come to me in the morning and tell me what you've found out. Okay?' Chand didn't respond. He stared at Karmel with sad eyes, then started to back away.
When he knew that Karmel could no longer hear him over the splashing of the rain, the boy wailed, 'Be careful sir. May God protect you! My brother has warned me, there will be another death.'
32
Through the plush offices of Antonio Sinbari's domain the news spread: boss upset; get out of the way. Mrs Annie Pillai, his secretary, who by the very nature of her job was unable to flee Sinbari's presence, felt her stomach churn. She had almost never seen him this unstable.
Sinbari's irritation had commenced the previous evening when, contrary to his expectations, the investors had proved less enthusiastic and more cautious about his Himalayan idyll than he'd anticipated. They had asked probing questions, wanted to scrutinise the plans, asked to see estimates for future rather than present costs. Even after his confident responses, they had not seemed satisfied.
It was not a normal sensation for Sinbari – to have a dozen rich Indians refusing to eat out of the palm of his hand: something had made them edgy and he wasn't sure what it was. As the director and prime shareholder of a prestigious multinational chain he was used to absolute and immediate deference. The kind of covert chitchat taking place during his pitch was unnerving and threw him off key. Without Sadrettin to smooth ruffled feathers, he became even more restless. The evening ended without any firm commitments although there were pledges of support from a few members of the gathering.
But the real blow had come at eleven this morning: he was sipping iced tea and making notes on his copy of Business World when he received a phone-call from his consul. Would he make himself available on the morrow to contribute to a bilateral investigation by the British and Indian police? It was a matter of importance for the Italians to resolve before any further tensions built. Yes they were aware that he was a very busy man and that his private assistant was out of town but this matter had to be dealt with; it wouldn't be held off any longer. Of course it was the prissy Brits who were pushing it. They were always uptight when a Briton's life was at stake in a foreign country.
The Italian ambassador, Daniello Frasca, had sounded as affable as always; however, once Sinbari had agreed to the meeting he cut the connection without farewell.
Now Sinbari sat at his desk, his eyes closed and his fingertips steepled together. He had called his financial consultants and Marcel Suri, the head of his high-powered legal team. Suri had warned him that clauses in the contracts already sent out regarding the Konali project gave right of refusal to all those who'd bought into the scheme. Even now he was using some flunkey in reception to field enquiries from Ravindran and Powar about getting their capital back.
Before he went into any meeting with the British cops, he had to be sure of two things: first, that his backside was legally covered and second, that under no circumstances would the bullish Hàrélal be able to unsettle him. It had been fun tormenting the man and using him to obfuscate matters, but perhaps he had pushed him too far. Of course he could outwit the dupe, but it might prove complicated; and he wanted his mind free to work on the investors' confidence.
Annie Pillai was getting late and she squirmed in her seat, unwilling to interrupt the boss's thoughts but equally unwilling to delay her husband's dinner.
She had worked for Sinbari for six years and all through that time she had been grateful for Sadrettin's quiet presence, his willingness to deal with issues that she could not understand, the hundred little ways in which he had made her life easier by mediating between the boss and herself. She was not qualified to be an assistant. She was good at shorthand, could easily transcribe things the boss wished written up, could connect his conference calls and respond to routine enquiries. But she was no good with people. She had an inkling that the boss didn't always play things straight – but then, she'd always assumed this was just the nature of business. Annie knew for a fact that Sinbari rarely paid a rupee for the land he built his resorts on – at least not if he could get it for free …. But jobs such as hers were hard to find in Delhi, especially now she was nearing forty.
At last Antonio looked up and she forced herself to meet his cold eyes.
'Annie.'
'Sir?'
'Have we had any news from our team in the hills?'
'No, sir.'
'Calls from Goa? Emails or faxes from any of my hotels?' She shook her head. 'Not a word from my assistant?' His voice was almost a whisper, the anger palpable in every breath.
Mrs Pillai felt sick. 'Shall I check for you sir, e-mail an' all?'
'No!' He narrowed his eyes at her, the muscles of his tanned cheeks working, wondering why she had mentioned e-mail. Then, calming himself he shrugged. 'No. It's okay, you carry on, Annie.' She leapt up and was out of the room in a few seconds.
Sinbari slammed a drawer shut and swung himself round in his chair. He looked out of his gigantic picture window as rain spat itself into the dust of a Delhi sidewalk. The phone at Annie's desk began to ring and the answer machine clicked in. An oily uneducated voice began to run through a business proposition. Something to do with supplying linen to his company at a very de-lec-terous price. He ignored it. He wasn't rattled. He was cool. But where was Sadrettin's team and why in hell hadn't Adam or Sara called from Goa to thank him?
*
In Goa too, it had started to rain. Feathery drops, from a sky still humid at eight pm. Her day at the local hospital had left Sara even more bedraggled and shaky than she had been in the morning. An over-worked trainee doctor in a dirty white coat had taken her pulse and then drawn blood, Sara secretly heaving a sigh of relief when she saw that he would use a disposable needle rather than one of the steamed metal implements in the jar beside her chair. The results wouldn't be back for a week, but hearing her speak of her symptoms, he told her she'd probably had a virus and was well enough to fly home. If she so desired.
Bleakly she opened her suite door, noting that the maid had been in, hoping that Adam was out, or sleeping, or dead drunk; anything to prevent a scene in front of this bright young detective from the New Delhi cops.
Sara thought of Tanya as young. While she herself was only twenty-four, she felt like a forty year old. The grief and anxiety of the past few weeks had traced their path down her face and written themselves onto her skin, especially beneath the eyes: bereft of Cameron by unknown circumstance and now of Adam by a tormenting suspicion, she had been interrogated, ill and grief-stricken.
Removing the threadbare barette from her hair, she flung herself onto her bed.
Her mind was wheezing, barely functional, living a murky half-life in which one part was devoted entirely to thoughts about the past.
She'd been so astounded when Cameron accepted her proposal; he hadn't seemed the marrying kind, all his flirtatious energy directed towards others and the emotional bond he shared with her more of a haven than a wellspring of passion or lust. Not wanting to question her luck, she'd allowed herself to become complacent, had accepted his decisions with passive warmth, had let him make all the choices, content that her slow-burning love was what he craved. He was playful, ambitious and scathing of others; she was content to sleep against the curve of his back once a week.
The resort had been his idea, dreamed up when they were camping in the Highlands, put to her first with one of those tempting 'What if ….' openings and making her think 'How exciting! How clever!'
'Come on Sara, what would you say to this, my clever wee girl … a whole village, idyllic, and untouched, at least on the outside, and inside … perfection, indolence, sumptuousness – a total contrast to the lives of them locals! Indigenous materials used; foreign guests invited. West kisses East.' Syllable after syllable had rolled off his tongue.
; The notion of getting Antonio Sinbari to finance Cameron's scheme had appealed to her sense of irony: get a tycoon to fork out to support an environmentally friendly model village. Ha ha ha. Back from holiday, they'd combed through Edinburgh's libraries to find the sort of Indian location they'd dreamed of: stunning lakes, picturesque villages, mountains accessible, at least to some. Why not, she'd thought then, why not accept a separation of a few months, if it means that we'll be well off for the rest of our lives?
Shrugging off these thoughts, she wondered how much she should reveal to this new Indian detective about Cameron's plans. What had she really known about them anyway? So little, in truth. And who could have foretold that it would all go so tragically, fatally wrong?
Shaking off her memories, Sara showered and changed into a skirt. Her mother rang and they exchanged inanities for a couple of minutes; when her mother started begging her to come home, she made an excuse and put the phone down. The door to the bedroom was ajar and Adam's clothes were scattered all over the floor, suggesting that he'd been back to the hotel during the day and left again, perhaps in a rush. Her mother had asked after him and she had lied; lying was becoming second nature these days. Perhaps Adam really was down at the beach waiting for her to join him; perhaps she wasn't on the verge of confessing her deepest fears to an enigmatic Indian detective.
There was a knock on her door.
Later that evening, they'd finished two bottles of local wine, though Tanya was trying to drink as little as possible for the sake of her baby. She'd told Sara about Lal Bahuba and had been surprised by the thoughtful sympathy she received; when Sara asked if she'd ever really been in love, she couldn't bring herself to speak of Karmel.
'So you've never been in love, huh? Maybe you're waiting for the right one … or maybe you'll marry the man your parents choose for you. It's like that here, isn't it? Either way, I don't guess you'll understand me and Cameron.'
Tanya fought down her irritation. 'Try me.'
'Arright. I will.'
'Mind if I tape you?'
'Go ahead, I've been taped by the police already.' Sara took a deep breath.
She described her romance and Adam's predilection; she described the way they both doted on Cameron; yet again, she recounted how Vincent had shaken up their lives and how Cameron had wanted to get rich.
'So he e-mailed Antonio Sinbari in India. And when the guy wrote straight back with a request … it was like Christmas had come early. How often do we get to meet people like that? Huh? What are the odds of that happening? Have you ever spoken to Mr. Cadbury? I bet you haven't. It was a once in a lifetime chance. 'Course I was uncertain about it being the Himalayan meadows, conservation and all that, and I wasn't sure if Cameron really understood what he was being asked to do.'
'You're certain he was given a contract, though. A written contract?'
'Oh, yes. He received it by courier just a day later. This is just one bit of it. The story. The other bit is … well, kind of more tricky.' She drank long and swiftly from an open bottle, belching silently into her open palm. When she finished and looked back at Tanya, her lips were wet.
'The other bit …?' Tanya prompted her.
'See, Adam thought Cameron was his man. He'd got that impression …because they knew each other from way back. And Adam's a sweet guy – we loved him of course, well, I did – I don't really know how Cameron felt.' Tanya noted the slight coolness and her use of Croft's full name. Jealousy had been a constant torture, she guessed.
'So, we didn't know how to break it to him that we were getting hitched and Cameron said not to worry, we should both just come visit him out in India and he'd hook up with Adam a few days before he hooked up with me and he'd tell him then, after spending some "quality time" together.' She sketched quotation marks with her fingers in the air. Then let her hands fall limply into her lap. 'He'd tell him we were getting married. I thought …well. I wasn't sure.'
'Were you worried?' Tanya was sitting up and trying to keep her eyes open. Her head throbbed. She imagined what Adam might have felt, discovering their double betrayal: to some people such a rejection might seem far worse than murder. A long-drawn-out, persistent ache where taking a life was merely the work of a moment, the swing of a wrist. Sara was leaning back on the sofa, eyes closed, head tilted back.
'I was anxious. I suppose.' Tanya suddenly heard a new emotion in Sara's voice. Anger. So, she had doubted her lover too.
'You thought that Cameron was playing both of you? You thought he might not tell Adam?' Sara's eyes sprung open.
'No. Well. Not really, not like you said it. I had faith in him.'
Like hell you did! Tanya kept the thought to herself. There were several reasons why Sara might lie about her suspicion and pain. After all, tragic as they were, weren’t those very feelings a motive for murder? Then Tanya asked mildly, 'May I see a picture of your fiancé?' and Sara rose unsteadily to search her luggage for one.
When she returned with the picture, Tanya took it from her and gazed at it in silent admiration. Here was one of the best looking men she had ever seen. Everything about him was perfect, from his teeth to his clothes. He must have had a good brain too, to have become an architect. Despite this knowledge, his image left her cold. Nothing in the picture moved her the way Lal Bahuba's fingers had, or the way a single smile from Kailash could. But then, no photograph, however splendid, did justice to someone's true character.
The tape clicked off, interrupting her reverie. Sara's cheeks were wet; ambushed by compassion, Tanya embraced her and listened to her whisper about how much she missed her man, his tenderness and caresses, his devilish smile.
Shaking with emotion Sara murmured, 'He was my soul-mate. I am nothing without him. But oh ….if only he had felt the same way about me!' For no particular reason the image of Karmel as he'd looked a few years ago rushed through Tanya's mind.
Why yes, I've been in love, she thought fiercely. Been too much in love to show it. And now the man whom I've craved more than anything in this life is somewhere in those mountains – the same sinister mountains that claimed the life of Sara's lover.
33
When Chand left, the darkness around Karmel was complete. He guessed that he was close to Thahéra's cabin. The idea of going in, eating with her and watching her work by the fire was so appealing that for a moment it even repelled his fear. But memories of the sinister figure on the path, of his near confrontation with Thahéra's dour stepson, of the pain from the wound to his head, soon returned to sever all thoughts about seeking shelter in that household. Tense with nerves, he resumed his cautious walk.
Once inside his 'own' cabin, he opened his pack and removed some of the food he'd been saving for the return trek. He cooked it swiftly and ate it in gigantic gulps, barely chewing, watching water seep under his door and the floor become a muddy soup. The walls began to glisten. Thunder rolled over the village, followed by the clacking of hailstones. It was a mighty storm.
At seven, the rain had not abated; he settled himself on the cot feeling angry and wretched; he had determined to stop thinking about the case, at least for a few hours. Sleep seemed the only option; but sleep would not come, so he lay wrapped in several layers of clothing, staring at the glistening walls.
His lamp was low on oil and Thahéra had not filled it; he had only the light of the fire to see by. Every now and then a gust would smash the rain against his abode and everything would tremble, once, as if swayed by a divine force. All the bits of paper and the charts, which he had brought to fool the villagers into thinking him a soil analyst and which he'd tacked to the wall several days previously, were now bedraggled and limp with moisture. When the waterworld around him became too oppressive, Karmel allowed visions of Thahéra to float towards him and into his arms.
*
That morning, when Karmel did not visit her, Thahéra had not been prepared for the anguish that oozed steadily through her veins. They had parted on such bad terms the previous day that she did not
risk going to his cabin. She had hoped that he would come in search of food, or in search of her, but he had not. He was seen leaving the village with Sahusingh and, despite her curiosity to know where he was going, she could not bring herself to send anyone after them. Instead news had come that her father was approaching the village. Her sister stood outside the door and shouted to her in a voice taut with anxiety to make the place presentable. She would not set foot inside. The old man would be with them by nightfall.
As she dragged bedding around the confines of her cabin, spread fresh soil over the damp floor, milked the goats and built up the fire, she thought only of Karmel. Where was he? What was Sahusingh telling him? Could he be trusted with the truth? She was on her knees before the stove when her father stepped through the door.
She did not glance up or greet him and so only felt the splash as he shook his dripping cap out over her freshly brushed floor and heard the thwack when he threw it against a wall. His stick followed, flung from him and crashing into a corner. A neighbour poked her head through the doorway, saw the old man and fled, biting her lip as she went.
Their meal was consumed in grim quiet. The children ate nothing but flour chapathis, as was their wont when food was scarce, and passed each dish to their grandfather. He spooned food into his mouth without looking at them and chewed loudly. The children knew his disposition too well to attempt conversation. Each was thinking of all the meals that had been swallowed in a similar manner. When, after an extended repast, he called for his pipe and his stick, both children started to shake. When Thahéra told them to go study with their cousins, they left reluctantly, looking back at their mother framed in the doorway until rain and darkness hid her from their eyes.
*
The same watery darkness masked Sadrettin's expression from his colleagues. Their day had passed in a blur of disappointment and recrimination. Rimi had started to cry when Taylor accused her of having planted the stupid idea of this mountain hideaway in the boss's head. No one, he asserted, would be brain-dead enough to believe that this would make a good location for a resort. There was nothing to look at and nothing to do. The weather was foul – by any standards – and the facilities were abominable. If this place Malundi was merely a day's walk from Saahitaal and Saahitaal was the model village in their plans then this was an absurd mission, doomed to failure. He would hand in his notice rather than sign his name to a proposal for a hotel at such a site. Narayan urged him to go easy on the woman and earned a hiss from Rimi.
Truth Lake Page 22
