by Anne Weale
Less than an hour ago she had been determined to steer clear of any more encounters with Neal. But now she had changed her mind. If, as it turned out, she was going to be stuck with Sandy, Beatrice and the rest, an evening with Neal would at least be an interesting send-off. In fact she could hardly wait for tomorrow morning to call him and fix it.
Soon after eight, while Beatrice was downstairs having breakfast, she rang him from the hotel bedroom.
‘Putting you through,’ said the operator.
‘Neal Kennedy.’ His voice sounded even deeper and more resonant on the telephone.
‘It’s Sarah. Good morning.’
‘Good morning. Had a good night?’
‘Fine,’ she said untruthfully. ‘And you?’
‘I woke up at four and read. It takes a couple of days for my body clock to adjust. Can we have dinner tonight?’
‘That would be lovely.’
‘I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. We’ll go for a drink at the Yak and Yeti beforehand.’
Sarah knew from her guide book that it was Kathmandu’s largest and smartest hotel. She said doubtfully, ‘I didn’t bring my little black dress.’
‘No problem. Rich locals and the world-tour crowd dress up, but climbers and serious trekkers don’t. They’re not into competitive dressing. Whatever you wear, you’ll look great.’
‘OK...if you say so. See you later. Goodbye.’ As she replaced the receiver, she felt a resurgence of the excitement she had expected to feel every day, every moment. But dinner and breakfast conversations with some of the others, and a night in a room with Beatrice, had quenched that expectation.
She was in the lobby, watching the comings and goings, when Neal strode through the entrance and went to the desk. She knew they would direct him to where she was sitting so she watched him for the few moments he had to wait for one of the desk clerks to be free.
He was wearing the same trousers he had travelled in but with a different shirt. Over his arm he had one of the warm light garments known as a fleece. Naomi had lent Sarah a canary-yellow fleece. Neal’s was dark blue with a coral-coloured collar.
He looked strikingly different from all the people in her trekking group. An almost tangible aura of vitality and virility emanated from his tall, upright figure. When, on the clerk’s instructions, he swung round and headed for where she was sitting, she felt the force of it even more strongly.
She was on her feet by the time he reached her. ‘Ready and waiting,’ he said approvingly. ‘I hate kicking my heels for half an hour. Let’s go, shall we?’
Preceding him out of the door, Sarah smiled at and thanked the saluting doorman.
‘Our transport’s outside the gate,’ said Neal. ‘These upmarket hotels don’t like cycle rickshaws lowering the tone of their entrances. What do you think of this place?’
‘I wouldn’t have chosen it. A guest house is more my style.’
That morning, on Sandy’s guided tour of the city, Sarah had seen many pedal-driven rickshaws weaving their way in and out of the chaotic traffic. The driver of the one waiting for them was a small thin man with grey hair who didn’t look as if he had the strength to pedal two large Europeans. She smiled at him. ‘Namaste.’
‘Namaste, madam.’ Beaming and bowing, he indicated a metal bar she could use as a step.
The rickshaw’s seat was quite high off the ground and designed for people of smaller proportions than Westerners. When Neal swung up beside her the whole vehicle swayed. It swayed even more alarmingly when, after pedalling a short distance, the driver changed traffic lanes to negotiate a busy roundabout. Glancing down, Sarah saw the wheel on her side wobbling as if at any moment it might fly off and send the rickshaw crashing under the wheels of the cars all around them. Perched on little more than a padded ledge, she had never felt more at risk.
Suddenly Neal shifted his position to put an arm round her shoulders and draw her against him. ‘Scary, isn’t it? The traffic gets worse every year.’
Leaning into the solid wall of his chest, with his hand firmly spread round her upper arm, she felt a lot more secure. Not exactly relaxed, but no longer unsafe. She liked him for pretending that holding her close made him feel better too. She felt it would take a lot more than Kathmandu traffic to scare him.
Presently the driver turned off the main road down a tree-shadowed side street. Soon this passed through a small shopping centre before arriving at the imposing entrance to the Yak and Yeti.
It was many times larger than the hotel where she was staying, with a palatial foyer giving glimpses of an arcade of elegant shops to the left, a restaurant on a mezzanine level and, to the right, a large bar.
His fingers light on her elbow, Neal steered her past the pianist playing background music to a table close to the windows overlooking the garden, its darkness illumined by lights outlining the shape of a temple-style pavilion and a free-form swimming pool.
‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked, handing her the drinks menu.
The bar offered various specialities ranging from an Everest Ice Fall to a Yak’s Tail and a Yeti’s Smile, but Sarah was wary of cocktails which might pack a lethal punch.
‘May I have a Campari and soda?’ she asked as a waiter approached.
Neal repeated her request and ordered a beer for himself.
‘So what have you been doing on your first day?’
‘This morning we had a tour, led by our guide, and this afternoon we were free to do our own thing. I think most of the group had naps. The average age has to be sixty...maybe sixty-five because two couples who’ve come together are in their seventies.’
‘Are they in good shape for their age?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m amazed they’ve all chosen this type of holiday. The rest of them are paying customers. I’m the only one who’s on a freebie. When Sandy announced at dinner last night that I’d won the trip as a prize there were a few beady looks...especially as the prize was given by Stars and Celebs magazine which specialises in scandals.’
‘How did that come about?’ Neal asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Someone who likes doing competitions thought the prize would appeal to me and filled in my name on the form. Actually the winner had a choice of three activity holidays. I could have gone snorkelling in the Cayman islands or skiing at Aspen, Colorado.’
‘Are you wishing you’d opted for one of those?’ he asked.
‘I don’t ski and I’m not very good in the water. This was the trip I wanted. The group may turn out to be more fun as I get to know them better.’
‘I shouldn’t bank on it,’ said Neal. ‘I’ve always found my first impressions are pretty near the mark. Is Sandy a man or a woman?’
‘A mannish woman.’
He frowned. ‘Has she put you in her tent?’
‘No, I’m sharing with Beatrice who seems to suspect me of being a radical feminist and who snores all night long. I don’t suppose it will keep me awake once we’re spending long, strenuous days out of doors, but it did last night.’
‘But she’s not likely to make a pass at you?’
‘Definitely not! I don’t think Sandy would either. She might put me on a charge for insubordination,’ Sarah said, smiling.
He was asking about the other members of the group when a woman’s voice exclaimed, ‘Neal...I didn’t know you were in town!’
He rose to his feet ‘Hello, Julia. How are you?’
‘Great...and you?’ As she asked, she offered her cheek.
She was almost as tall as he was, model-thin, with a cloud of red hair framing her angular face. Her brilliant blue-green eyes were her only claim to beauty, but she exuded personality.
Neal put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I’m fine...flew in yesterday. This is Sarah. We met on the plane.’
‘Hello.’ Julia offered her hand. Her grip was unexpectedly strong.
‘Will you join us?’ Neal asked.
‘Thanks, but I can’
t. I’m just back from Lukla and still on duty. Tonight’s the end-of-trek booze-up. My lot will be down in a minute.’ She looked in the direction of the lobby. ‘I can see one of them now. How long are you here for?’
‘Till the start of the Everest Marathon.’
‘Oh, great...we can get together later. Bye for now.’ Her smile included Sarah. She strode away, booted and jeaned but with a clingy mohair sweater on her top half, its softness outlining a bosom as surprising as her handshake. Those voluptuous curves above the waist didn’t match the boyish hips and greyhound legs.
‘Julia’s an outdoor pursuits instructor and a trekking guide,’ said Neal. ‘A very tough lady indeed.’ His tone was admiring. ‘We met on a course about five or six years ago.’
‘What sort of course?’ Sarah asked.
‘We were learning how to handle four-wheel-drive vehicles in wilderness terrain. She was the only woman and by far the best driver. That didn’t go down too well with some of the guys,’ he added, with reminiscent amusement.
‘But it didn’t bother you?’
‘I have hang-ups like everyone else...but that isn’t one of them. If a woman handles a car better than I do, it doesn’t hurt my ego. When my parents go out together, it’s always my mother who drives. She enjoys it. My father doesn’t. The traditional demarcation lines have always been flexible in our family.’
How different from mine, Sarah thought, before shifting the conversation into a safer zone by asking if the course had been a preparation for an expedition.
‘In Julia’s case, yes. Not in mine. It just seemed a skill that might come in useful some time.’
When they left the bar, about half an hour later, they passed Julia and her group. They looked a much livelier lot than Sandy’s charges. Although she was talking as they passed, Julia appeared to sense that Neal was nearby. Without breaking off what she was saying, she looked round and waved to him.
The gesture left Sarah feeling that, although it might not apply now, at some stage in their acquaintance they had been close...very close.
‘Shall we walk to the restaurant? It’s not far if we take some short-cuts,’ Neal suggested.
He appeared to know the city like the back of his hand, steering her down dark alleys she would have avoided had she been on her own.
The restaurant was in one of the busy thoroughfares. A signboard Simply Shutters indicated its presence but, on her own, she might not have found the entrance which was through a shadowy passage and up a flight of stairs.
The interior of the place was in marked contrast to the somewhat seedy way in. Inside it was immaculate, the tables decorated with fresh flowers, the young waiters informally dressed in Lacoste shirts with long white aprons.
Neal and Sarah were welcomed by the proprietor, a good-looking Nepalese who spoke perfect English and made pleasant conversation while seeing them settled at their table.
His restaurant was small but stylish and the people already there, although foreigners, did not appear to be tourists but residents of Kathmandu, perhaps working at the various embassies or with foreign aid organisations.
The menu was written on a blackboard and Sarah chose the walnut and mushroom roast. Neal ordered Spanish pork.
‘How long have you been a vegetarian?’ he asked her.
‘I’m not...I just feel in the mood for walnuts and mushrooms.’
‘You had a vegetarian meal on the plane.’
‘How observant of you to notice. But I suppose that’s an essential qualification for a journalist. I ordered vegetarian meals when I booked my flight because somebody told me they’re usually more interesting than ordinary airline food.’ She wondered if this revealed she wasn’t as experienced a traveller as he assumed her to be.
‘Some people think the kosher meals are the best,’ he said. ‘A colleague of mine did a behind-the-scenes feature on the food preparation at Heathrow. The logistics are mind-bending. British Airways alone needs around twenty-five thousand meals for its long-haul flights.’
The reminder that he came from the world of newspapers, a far more exciting milieu than her own humdrum background, made Sarah wonder how long it would take him to suss out that she wasn’t the kind of sophisticated career woman he was used to.
Racking her brains to contribute something amusing to the conversation, she thanked her stars that she had a friend like Naomi who was good at telling jokes and anecdotes. Her own forte—if it could be called that—was listening rather than talking. But by borrowing from Naomi’s repertoire, she managed to make him laugh a couple of times.
Towards the end of the meal, when they had both eaten generous helpings of ginger and apple pudding and were finishing the white wine, he said, ‘Instead of spending another night listening to Beatrice’s snores, why not come back to my place? I don’t snore and the room I’ve been given is a double with a vast bed and its own roof garden where I had breakfast this morning.’
The suggestion took Sarah’s breath away. She had been propositioned before, but never so soon or so openly. The others had done it obliquely, testing the ground before they came to the point which, with two exceptions, had never actually been reached because she had made it clear she wasn’t interested.
This time she was interested, but it was too soon...much too soon. Some women might jump into bed with a man within thirty-six hours of meeting him. Some might do it even sooner. But sex to her could never be something trivial...a fleeting pleasure to be enjoyed and forgotten.
‘I’m sorry...no,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I wouldn’t have come if I’d realised that was what you expected.’ To her chagrin, she found herself blushing.
‘I didn’t expect it,’ he said easily. ‘It just seems a good idea. If you don’t agree, that’s OK. I wasn’t sure that you would. Women usually take longer to make up their mind about these things. Maybe you’re already spoken for.’
‘If I were, I wouldn’t be here, having dinner with you.’ After a pause, she added, ‘If that sounds very old-fashioned, that’s the way we are where I come from. Small-town, provincial England is several light years behind what goes on in London.’
‘Slightly behind...not that far,’ Neal answered dryly. ‘In big cities there are fewer people watching and gossiping. Small-town people tend to be more discreet, but they’re still human beings. My grandfather’s favourite axiom is “Love, lust and heartache are part of the human condition. Always have been, always will be.” He should know. He’s been around a long time.’
‘But it wasn’t the way it is now when he was a young man,’ said Sarah, remembering her father’s attitudes. And he had been decades younger than Neal’s grandfather.
Neal said, ‘Grandpa likes life the way it is now. There’s less hypocrisy. The whole set-up is less rigid.’
She was tempted to say, ‘My father thought it was too slack, that morals had gone down the drain.’ But that was an area of her life she didn’t want to expose to him.
The uncomfortable truth of the matter was that she would prefer to keep almost everything about herself under wraps, knowing that, if she laid all the facts on the line, he would disappear...fast.
Instead of coffee, she was having jasmine tea. Neal had asked for hot chocolate. Her tea was set before her with ceremonious precision by the waiter. She smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’
A few moments later Neal said quietly, ‘I like the way you relate to people...not treating them like robots.’ Before she could answer, he added, ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’
‘We’re being taken to see a couple of temples.’
‘Are you free in the evening? We could do this again...at a different restaurant.’
‘I have to stay with the group. There’s a slide show and final briefing.’
‘You’d have more fun at Rumdoodles.’
‘What’s Rumdoodles?’
He lifted a mobile black eyebrow. ‘You haven’t been there? It’s a bar-cum-restaurant where climbers go to celebrate... the home of The Sum
miteers’ Club. The ceiling and walls are covered with cardboard cutouts of yetis’ feet signed by climbers and trekkers who’ve done expeditions together. The most famous signatures are Tenzing Norgay’s and Sir Edmund Hillary’s. I wonder who was the first to set foot on the summit of Everest...the Sherpa or the New Zealander? Not that it matters. It was a fantastic achievement.’
It occurred to her that, as well as being a well-known journalist, he might be an outstanding climber. He certainly had the physique for it.
‘Have you done it?’ she asked. ‘Climbed Everest, I mean?’
The planes of his face seemed to harden. His mouth became a grim line. For a moment he looked close to anger. ‘I’m not a mountaineer.’ The answer was clipped and curt. ‘There are too many people going up there, paying huge sums of money and putting others at risk in order to boast that they did it. The mountain is being degraded.’
She could see that although it was he who had brought up the subject, somehow her innocent question had touched him on a raw spot.
Or was it that, despite his seemingly amiable acceptance of her refusal to sleep with him, he was piqued that she wasn’t going to give him another chance to persuade her into bed with him?
Neal signalled to their waiter that he wished for the bill.
‘Please let me pay my share,’ said Sarah, before it arrived.
‘Certainly not You’re my guest,’ he said firmly, the reply accompanied by a smile that made her feel foolish for suggesting it.
Outside the restaurant a hopeful rickshaw driver was eager to be hired but Neal declined his inviting gestures.
‘We’ll walk back, if that’s all right with you,’ he said to Sarah.
‘It’s fine with me. Some exercise would be good after all that delicious food.’
Although it wasn’t late, already the streets were quieter with many shops closed or closing, giving the impression that before long everyone local would have retired for the night.
The byways through which he led her were even quieter. Suddenly, in a poorly lit lane with the brighter lights of a main road about fifty yards ahead, he put a hand on her arm and drew her to a halt.
