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Chapter 6 "No wonder you're going to dump me, then."
"It'll be a relief, I can tell you."
The traffic was moving again. "By the way, you had mumps a few weeks ago," I went on. "Which is why you couldn't make it to my folks' anniversary do."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him wince. "If it had to be mumps, I hope it stayed north of the neck."
"I wasn't specific. And at Easter, when my mother thought it'd be nice if you came for a family dinner, you had an urgent meeting in Kazakhstan. I was going to invent a poor old granny with Alzheimer's and kidney failure, but thought that might be a bit of a cliche. And on the last occasion, which was nothing special, just Mum thinking it was high time you showed your face, you suddenly remembered a lunch date with an old friend. You'd completely forgotten about it, but the old friend phoned you in a terrible state because his wife had just left him and you couldn't possibly let him down."
"You have a very lively imagination."
"That's what you think. I'll have you know I racked my brain for those excuses. I'll have another wine gum, please."
He popped me a red one.
We were now hitting the Hanger Lane Gyratory. In case you're not familiar with this, it's a massive, multi-lane roundabout that gives nervous drivers heart failure.
I'm not nervous, but I hadn't been concentrating and was in the wrong lane. And as usual, no bugger would let me in. Eventually I nipped in front of a red BMW, whose driver was not pleased. He hooted long and hard behind me.
"Where exactly are we going?" Kabir asked. "I was told Lancashire, but""
"It's a little hotel, out in the sticks. Very pretty, apparently"they were very lucky to get a cancellation. They only got engaged a few months ago"it's all been a bit of a rush."
From nowhere, Preeti's wobbly voice came back to haunt me. What if she hadn't been working herself up over nothing? What if she really had sensed a chilling of feet?
The mere thought was enough to kick-start my worms. They were going forth and multiplying even faster than bacteria on the dirty dishes under Ace's bed. I had a hideous vision of rows of guests, all glancing over their shoulders and whispering, "Running a bit late, aren't they? What's going on?"
kabir glanced over his shoulder. "You evidently upset that idiot in the BMW"he's still right on your tail."
He was, too, practically providing a novel form of colonic massage. "For God's sake," I muttered, putting my panic lights on.
"I wouldn't do that. Might antagonize him even more."
"I always do it when some prat's right up my backside!"
"Ignore him. You don't want a case of road rage to cope with."
"That would be too much to hope for," I muttered. "If he rammed me off the road, beat me up, and I ended up in intensive care, at least I'd get out of this wedding."
The panic lights worked; the prat retreated to a safe distance. I thought about doing a V sign, but thought better of it.
After a moment Kabir said, "If you really can't face going through with this, say so."
Very nearly tempted, I dithered.
"Just make up your mind before we hit the Ml," he went on. "I draw the line at thumbing lifts."
No, I wouldn't chicken out. I'd already paid his fee, and if there's one thing that infuriates me more than anything, it's shelling out a load of money for nothing. "I'm not wimping out!" After a moment I added, "No, that's not true"I am. Too wimpy to turn up unmanned, as it were. So if you were hoping to slope off home, I'm sorry to disappoint you."
"I wasn't."
"I bet you were."
"I wasn't. Have another wine gum." He passed me an orange one. "Relax, will you? You're doing the white-knuckle bit again."
I did my best. And, after rethinking the Manav situation, I discarded the possibility as too ridiculous for words; my own panic was making me panic about everything else.
"If it's all been 'a bit of a rush,' does that mean she's only known him five minutes?" he asked.
I appreciated his polite interest, even if it was "polite" rather than "interested." "No, it started well before Christmas. October, I think."
She'd met him at a club, having been dragged there by a friend who'd known Marc and Melanie were almost certainly going to be there. "You've got to see them sometime," the friend had said. "Tart yourself up to the nines and pull the best-looking bloke right under bloody Marc's nose."
In the event, Manav had pulled her, right under bloody Marc's nose, and Preeti had still been floating three days later. "Can you believe he sent me a huge bunch of flowers the very next day?" she'd told me over the phone. "Mum hardly had enough vases to put them in."
There had been more flowers, expensive presents, and no sign of the cooling-off Preeti had constantly expected.
Kabir said, "What's your sister's name? And the groom's, while you're at it."
"Preeti and Manav. I've only met Manav a couple of times. He's very good-looking and Preeti's absolutely gorgeous, so they'll make a lovely couple." I thought I might as well tell him. "Poor Preeti was in a bit of a state a week or so ago"I'm sure she thought he was going to leave her at the altar, so to speak."
"Why would she think that?"
Where did you start? "Well, most of her relationships have ended in tears"her tears. Plus she's one of those sweet, unassertive types who always expect to get walked all over."
"And consequently often are."
"You said it. She always tends to expect the worst"I sometimes think it can turn into a self-fulfilling thing. And I'm afraid my mother's been fussing her to death with wedding this-and-that for weeks. So when you add all that together""
"You have the perfect basis for grade-A jitters?"
"A-plus, if you ask me."
After a moment he said, "Maybe he's thinking exactly the same about her. I've only been best man once, but I never want to go through that again"he'd convinced himself she wasn't going to turn up. It was like babysitting a fifteen-stone jellied rabbit."
Whoever was "baby-sitting" Manav, I doubted very much that he'd have that problem. I couldn't see him ever resembling a jellied anything.
"If you're really that wound up, I'll drive, if you like," he offered a moment later. "I'm covered by my own insurance."
"I'm not.Am I making you nervous?"
"No, I just thought you might be more relaxed as a passenger."
"I prefer to drive myself, thanks all the same."
God knows why I said that; I love being driven. Of all the company perks I'd really love, a chauffeur would even beat a business-wardrobe account at Harvey Nicks.
"If you told me exactly what you're worried about, we could prepare our defenses," he said in practical tones.
From the mass of premonitions in my head I extracted just one. "What if you bump into somebody you know?"
"That's a pretty remote possibility."
"Yes, but if?"
"I guess I'd just fire the first shot."
"How do you mean?"
Briefly he considered. "For the sake of argument let's say it was Mike, who currently does something in the property-management line. In that case I'd say, 'Good God, Freddie, me old son! How's the used-car trade treating you?' I think he'd catch on," he added dryly.
"As long as he didn't see you first."
"No chance"I've got eyes in my backside. Relax, will you? I can handle it."
Confidence is all very well, but I've often found that overconfidence, particularly when unjustified, is a peculiarly male trait. I'd had a boyfriend once who'd suggested taking his nice, new little yacht to Jersey for the weekend. Great, but I'd thought it only fair to point out that I barely knew one end of a boat from the other. "Oh, don't worry about that," he'd said breezily. "I've sailed single-handed before." It was only later that I'd found out that his sole experience consisted of a three-day course for idiots. He'd been acutely miffed when I'd cried off. "Relax, will you? I can handle it!"
At least Kabir wasn't planning to drown me in the Atlantic.
The traffic was getting heavy again; maybe there was a sale on at IKEA. As it slowed to a crawl he said, "If it's not a sexist question, wouldn't your self-important Varun expect to drive you himself?"
I'd already thought of that. "Somebody scraped your car. It's in the garage, having a panel-beat and a respray."
"What is it, in case anybody asks?"
"You choose. Nothing too flash or boy-racerish"no Ferrari-Testosterone stuff."
I was half expecting him to say, "Don't you mean 'Tes-tarossa'?" so I could reply, "No, I used the word advisedly," and feel smugly one-up.
But all he said was "A Saab convertible?" which made me feel unsmugly miffed. "That'll do."
Once we hit Staples corner and the Ml, I could put my foot down and begin to relax, if you can call absence of acute panic relaxing. The sun was following us north; lambs went hoppity-skip in the fields and the hedges were creamy with hawthorn blossoms. For the first fifty miles or so of motorway, I told him every lie I could remember. There hadn't been all that many; Mum hadn't actually asked the names of all his assorted relations or whether he'd ever had to sit on the Naughty Seat at school.
Together we worked out the things she might ask, siblings, for example. He only had a sister, so that was easy: just stick with her.
"I've forgotten what you do," he said as we passed Scratchwood Services. "Recruitment, was it?"
The sight of those services made me think of Alix's warnings and how patently un-nutter-ish he was. They also made me think of food. Despite being awake since five-thirty I'd been in far too much of a state to eat, which just goes to show how serious a state it was. My stomach was reminding me that it had been given nothing but a couple of wine gums since last night, and quite frankly, it was getting pretty browned off with the situation.
"I'm at the cutting edge of human-resource management," I said. "Atkins and Morley, just off the Strand. Their edge is on the blunt side at the moment, but I daresay it'll sharpen up."
Since Julia had volunteered nothing but the ex-Marine bit, this was the point at which I should have asked, "And what do you do, apart from escorting manless women?"
But since I already had a shrewd idea, I didn't ask. In my line of work I'd come across a few ex-servicemen, either slung out in Defense Cuts or feeling like a change, and finding the outside world tough. I didn't want to make him say, "The square root of sod-all, if you want to know."
I changed the subject, instead. "Kabir, would you get my bag off the backseat?"
He got it.
"If you'll look inside the front pocket, there's an envelope with some money"it'll save us having to work out your expenses later. You might have to pay for the odd drink, and my parents are old-fashioned enough to expect the man to put his hand in his pocket."
After a minute hesitation, he took it out and tucked it in his breast pocket. "It's Varun, remember? If you get in the habit of Kabiring me, you'll give the game away."
Something in his tone shattered my precarious cool. There was a definite hint of "This is strictly business, remember? So don't let's get too matey."
I cast him a sneaky, sideways glance. He was looking out of the side window, almost as if trying to avoid me.
I don't know how it is that at the age of thirty you can suddenly feel as awkward as a fourteen-year-old in the wrong clothes, but I did. What the hell had that agency told him? Had they given him a bonus for taking on a case of fat, neurotic desperation? Was he having visions of me suddenly making a dive for his zip? "Oh God oh God oh God"quick"please please please ..."
Suddenly he turned to me. "I'm about to start chewing the upholstery"I only threw down half a cup of coffee before leaving. Any chance of stopping for a sandwich?"
After the initial "phew" I made a mental note to get a grip, etc. At this rate I was well on the way to being sectioned for Dangerous Delusional Paranoia. "We're making pretty good time so far"we could stop for twenty minutes at the next services."
"I thought you'd never ask. I've been having quiet fantasies about an Uncle-Tom-Cobbleigh-and-all breakfast."
I wasn't quite with it. "Sorry?"
"The works," he said. "I haven't had one in months: bacon, sausage, hash browns..."
The mere thought of it practically made me shudder. And I'm sorry to disappoint you if you're the organic-muesli type, but it wasn't a disgusted, no-thanks shudder: more the multiple-orgasmic type.
It was ages since I'd indulged in anything so calculated to earn you a stiff reprimand from the Health Police; a low-fat Greek yogurt constituted a mega-breakfast nowadays. The fact that I frequently topped it up midmorning with half a packet of Hob-Nobs was entirely beside the point.
I would definitely have to watch my antennae; there's something rather attractive about a man who shares your secret vices. I thought about asking whether he ever bought Rowntrees Blackcurrant Jellies and devoured half the cubes before he even got to the checkout, but thought better of it."Any ongoing office dramas I should know about?" he asked. "Any cutthroat rows over whose turn it is to buy the coffee?"
"Only impending torture. I'll either have to die or leave to get out of it." I went on to explain about Sadists 'R' Us and how Neil, our IT whiz, had already been. He'd reveled in giving me and Jess every hair-raising detail, especially of the abseiling, and of the woman who'd wet herself from sheer terror. Since Neil was something of an arrogant little sod who delighted in winding the somewhat suggestible Jess up, I'd said, "And you didn't?" Of course he'd been insulted at the very idea, so I'd gone on kindly, "I expect you just poohed yourself instead," which hadn't gone down too well either. Not that it had made any difference to poor old Jess. Sentenced to go next month, she was now wetting herself at the mere thought and stocking up with Winged Things, just in case.
Not that I told Kabir this bit. Duly amused at such civilian lack of bottle, he said, "You never know, you might even enjoy it. How long have you worked for them?"
"Three years"before that I was working in Manchester."
"And living at home?"
"Are you kidding? I haven't lived at home since I was eighteen, not properly."
I sometimes wondered how Preeti didn't go mad still living at home, but Mum and Dad weren't half as bad as some parents and money was a factor, since she'd never earned very much.
The sun was getting almost hot. Making a mental note that my next car was going to have an air conditioner, I wound the window down and pushed in an old Queen CD, to drown out the noise. The wind played hell with my hair, but what the hell. The hairdresser might even still be there, if we were early enough. Mum had booked her for both of them. Since the inn was over an hour from home they were changing there, to save creases.
"Have I contributed toward the present?" he asked. "And what is it, just so I don't look blank if I get a thank-you for the lovely whatever-it-is?"
The list had all been very practical and tasteful, but since most of it would probably have worn out or got broken in the end, I'd opted for something more enduring. I'd dithered shamefully over the card, but had eventually written and Varun, and loathed myself for doing it. "I got her something beautiful and useless: a little antique Indian silver box, with little Hindu gods all over it. At least it'll still be there when all the dinner plates are broken."
"I hope you're not implying that they're going to be chucking plates at each other."
"I hope not. Not Minton ones, anyway, at twenty-five pounds a throw."
The thought of plate-chucking led my jittery thoughts back to that tiff. However, the honeymoon was all sorted. Since cancellations had obligingly appeared, they were off on that five-star safari after all. I told Kabir about it, adding Preeti's wiggly thing to give him a laugh, and he duly chuckled.
"So I hope Manav's got a sensitive attitude where wig-glies are concerned," I went on. "She always says 'but don't kill it"
"No crunching of cockroaches underfoot, then. Probably just as well"the big ones can make a hell of a mess."
Since all this wiggly talk was making me more conscious of my worms, I changed the subject. For the next few miles I filled him in on family and friends: who was good fun, who was most likely to ask awkward questions and therefore best avoided like the plague. All of which only made me more aware of possible perils and got my worms going again. By the time we pulled in at the next services I was more or less back to pristine-nervous-wreck condition.
As I switched the ignition off, he gave an exasperated "tut." "You've made a pig's ear of that, haven't you?"
I gaped at him. "What?"
"Just look how you've parked."
I'd driven in front first, and if it was half a degree off the parallel with the cars on either side, that was all. "Would you kindly keep your nitpicking to yourself? I can do without it"
"Darling, you never park straight." He added a noble, patient sigh. "How many times have I told you to reverse into a space?"
I was so desperate for light relief, I almost laughed. "Oh, I get it. Now we're playing games."
"Dress rehearsal." He added a little wink. "Like all good actors, I'm getting into my role well before the first performance."
"The only performance." I exited and locked the door. "And you're playing the wrong part. Varun doesn't backseat-park."
"Of course he does. He's a thrilled-with-himself, self-important prat who irritates the daylights out of you."
"Not today he isn't. He's a paragon. Practically perfect in every way, just like this wedding's going to be."
"I admire your optimism." As we strolled into the building, through a dither of the curly-perm-and-white-cardie brigade, he added, "In my limited experience, weddings are the worst sources of stress known to man. They cause divorces, if you ask me."
"I'm not asking you."
We followed that lovely, foody smell up the stairs to the restaurant. Since he was just behind me, I made sure my sweater was pulled down enough to cover my bottom. It was a loose-knit, cream cotton baggy one, bought specifically for camouflage purposes. It didn't make me look any thinner, but it hid the precise, ripe nature of the problem.
Now and then that fried-junk smell can turn my stomach, but just now, like our dog Benjy when he's hoping for a morsel of your toasted cheese sandwich, I was positively salivating.
To be perfectly frank, Benjy's tongue is not the only bit of him that hangs out on such occasions; his brain gets a trifle muddled between food lust and the other sort. My mother has been extremely embarrassed when she's just given some easily shocked guest a nice cup of tea and a piece of cake. "Poor Miss Peabody just didn't know where to look," she told me once. "She never even had a boyfriend, poor old thing."
As we arrived at Foodie Heaven, Kabir handed me a tray. "Everything but the egg, please," I told the girl. They always do them with jelly-white on top and it makes me heave.
"I'll have her egg," Kabir said. "Just give me two."
"They might charge extra for two eggs on one plate," the girl said.
"Then put it on her plate, and I'll transfer it."
Feeling it was time to get my own back for that parking slur, I assumed a put-out-girlfriend tone. "I don't want your horrible greasy egg on my plate. Besides, one egg's enough for anyone. Why do you always have to be such a pig?"
The girl gave me a hopeful glance, as if a good fight might liven up her morning.
"Let's not argue about it, darling." Playing along like a lamb, he slipped an arm around my waist. "Give me a smile and tell me how much you love me."
Seeing the girl's expression""We've got a right pair here," more or less"I tried not to laugh. "Stop trying to get round me, will you?" I nearly shook his arm off, but let's be honest, it felt nice and I thought I might as well enjoy it. He felt hunkily firm and a good deal larger than me, which is always a plus when you're feeling fat. "I'm going off you at the speed of light," I added.
"You loved me this morning." With this he contrived a wonderfully hurt expression. "When I brought you a nice cup of coffee in bed and ran your bath for you."
Since the girl was now following the exchange with unashamed interest, I couldn't resist a bit more. "I didn't want coffee. I wanted tea, only you never remember I like tea first thing."
"Everything, please," he told the girl. "I thought it very noble of me to bring you anything at all," he said to me, in hurt tones. "Especially since you had a 'headache' last night and made me sleep on the sofa."
The girl perked up even further. "D'you want two eggs or not?"
"Not," he replied. "I'm in enough trouble as it is."
"It was your own fault," I retorted. "For telling me I was putting weight on and making me feel like a fat cow."
His hurt look turned to cut-to-the-quick. "Darling, don't twist my words. What I actually said was that I prefer cuddly women who enjoy their food."
I barely needed to act anymore. "If you call me 'cuddly' again, you'll be sleeping on the sofa forever."
Torn between laughter and miffed-ness, I departed for the tea-and-coffee bit. I knew I shouldn't be miffed; if he continued to act like that we'd pull it off, no problem. On the other hand, weren't arm-and-a-leg escorts supposed to flatter you, lie through their teeth, and make you feel all warm and special?
As he joined me at a table I said, "If you want a tip at the end of this, don't call me 'cuddly' again," and regretted it instantly. It sounded patronizing, as if I were trying to put him in his place. I'd never have dreamed of offering a tip in any case.
Not that he seemed in the least put out. "Tipping's strictly against the rules," he said, pouring coffee from a dribbly pot. "They're very professional at Just for Tonight. Escorts shall not expect or accept gratuities, neither shall they drink to excess, belch at the table, or tell off-color jokes. The agency shall pay promptly, shall do its best not to pair escorts with grudge-bearing Bobbits, and shall furthermore undertake not to dish out addresses or phone numbers."
If that was a hint, I didn't need it, thank you very much. Still, I could see the necessity. I could imagine a client requesting someone a second time and a third, the agency finally saying tactfully that he wasn't available anymore...
With him sitting directly opposite, it wasn't so easy keeping my antennae firmly "off." Now and then they tapped me on the shoulder with comments like "Lovely eyes."
I was trying not to look, which was a bit difficult.
"And that crookedy little smile should come with a health warning."
"Give it a rest, will you?"
"In a tick. Have you noticed his hands?"
I was trying not to. I've got a thing about hands. Even if the rest of a chap's quite passable, damp, white crawly hands turn me right off.
"Nice, aren't they? Imagine one of them sliding a bra strap off your shoulder."
"For God's sake. Go back to sleep, will you?"
"Have I got time for that wet shave?" he asked, when we'd nearly finished.
"I'd rather get on; if you don't mind. There might be time when we get there, if you really feel the need."
Full of bacon, beans, and sausage, we diverted to the shop, where he bought shaving things and I bought a packet of Silk Cut, purely for insurance purposes. If I had some, there would be absolutely no disaster to make me think I'd kill for one.
With dodgy job questions particularly in mind, I thought I might ask, after all. "You don't happen to be employed in the financial sector, do you?" I said as we returned to the car. "It would make it easier."
"I'm afraid not, but I can bullshit, if necessary. I've practically got a degree in bullshitting."
Just as I was about to say, "/f it's not a nosy question, what do you do?" he said, "I gather you invented me in the wake of somebody else. Am I supposed to know, in case anybody mentions him?"
"His name was Abhi. And to save you asking, yes, he dumped me."
"Any other recent dramas? I don't want to look blank if somebody hopes you've quite recovered from your ordeal."
"No, nothing special." Apart from Varun, the worst I'd suffered lately was acute shock on finding that Ace had cleaned the bathroom. I'd needed a stiff vodka and a twenty-minute lie-down to get over it.
As the miles passed I filled him in on the odd aspect of my CV and his, in between chatting about inconsequential things. As men go he was a good chatter, able to talk amusing rubbish for hours, which was exactly what I needed.
It was only the last few miles where I needed directing. The industrial heartland was far behind us. Dry stone walls divided fields where lambs played by their mothers, just the odd stone farmhouse was dotted on a hillside. Teeming London might have been at the other end of eternity.
The inn was signposted from a little crossroads. We saw it long before we got there: an old stone building that looked as if it had grown out of the valley. A little stream sparkled close by, straddled by a little humpty-back bridge. The gardens around the inn were bright with flowers"and still the sun shone.
Despite all this perfection, I was jittering for England.
This was It.
Dad's elderly but beloved and polished-to-death Jag was in the car park. In about half a minute...
"Are you sure you're up to this?" I muttered, grabbing my things with d.t.-type hands. "Because I'm not sure I am. I feel sick."
"Relax," he soothed.
What is it about men telling you to "relax" that makes you want to thump them? I mean, I've known men who'd tell you to "relax" even if the Nine O'clock News had just stated categorically that a massive meteorite was going to wipe us all out during tomorrow morning's rush hour.
(if u hv'nt read ch 5 its on pg 10,without that u won't understand this chapter)
"It'll be a relief, I can tell you."
The traffic was moving again. "By the way, you had mumps a few weeks ago," I went on. "Which is why you couldn't make it to my folks' anniversary do."
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him wince. "If it had to be mumps, I hope it stayed north of the neck."
"I wasn't specific. And at Easter, when my mother thought it'd be nice if you came for a family dinner, you had an urgent meeting in Kazakhstan. I was going to invent a poor old granny with Alzheimer's and kidney failure, but thought that might be a bit of a cliche. And on the last occasion, which was nothing special, just Mum thinking it was high time you showed your face, you suddenly remembered a lunch date with an old friend. You'd completely forgotten about it, but the old friend phoned you in a terrible state because his wife had just left him and you couldn't possibly let him down."
"You have a very lively imagination."
"That's what you think. I'll have you know I racked my brain for those excuses. I'll have another wine gum, please."
He popped me a red one.
We were now hitting the Hanger Lane Gyratory. In case you're not familiar with this, it's a massive, multi-lane roundabout that gives nervous drivers heart failure.
I'm not nervous, but I hadn't been concentrating and was in the wrong lane. And as usual, no bugger would let me in. Eventually I nipped in front of a red BMW, whose driver was not pleased. He hooted long and hard behind me.
"Where exactly are we going?" Kabir asked. "I was told Lancashire, but""
"It's a little hotel, out in the sticks. Very pretty, apparently"they were very lucky to get a cancellation. They only got engaged a few months ago"it's all been a bit of a rush."
From nowhere, Preeti's wobbly voice came back to haunt me. What if she hadn't been working herself up over nothing? What if she really had sensed a chilling of feet?
The mere thought was enough to kick-start my worms. They were going forth and multiplying even faster than bacteria on the dirty dishes under Ace's bed. I had a hideous vision of rows of guests, all glancing over their shoulders and whispering, "Running a bit late, aren't they? What's going on?"
kabir glanced over his shoulder. "You evidently upset that idiot in the BMW"he's still right on your tail."
He was, too, practically providing a novel form of colonic massage. "For God's sake," I muttered, putting my panic lights on.
"I wouldn't do that. Might antagonize him even more."
"I always do it when some prat's right up my backside!"
"Ignore him. You don't want a case of road rage to cope with."
"That would be too much to hope for," I muttered. "If he rammed me off the road, beat me up, and I ended up in intensive care, at least I'd get out of this wedding."
The panic lights worked; the prat retreated to a safe distance. I thought about doing a V sign, but thought better of it.
After a moment Kabir said, "If you really can't face going through with this, say so."
Very nearly tempted, I dithered.
"Just make up your mind before we hit the Ml," he went on. "I draw the line at thumbing lifts."
No, I wouldn't chicken out. I'd already paid his fee, and if there's one thing that infuriates me more than anything, it's shelling out a load of money for nothing. "I'm not wimping out!" After a moment I added, "No, that's not true"I am. Too wimpy to turn up unmanned, as it were. So if you were hoping to slope off home, I'm sorry to disappoint you."
"I wasn't."
"I bet you were."
"I wasn't. Have another wine gum." He passed me an orange one. "Relax, will you? You're doing the white-knuckle bit again."
I did my best. And, after rethinking the Manav situation, I discarded the possibility as too ridiculous for words; my own panic was making me panic about everything else.
"If it's all been 'a bit of a rush,' does that mean she's only known him five minutes?" he asked.
I appreciated his polite interest, even if it was "polite" rather than "interested." "No, it started well before Christmas. October, I think."
She'd met him at a club, having been dragged there by a friend who'd known Marc and Melanie were almost certainly going to be there. "You've got to see them sometime," the friend had said. "Tart yourself up to the nines and pull the best-looking bloke right under bloody Marc's nose."
In the event, Manav had pulled her, right under bloody Marc's nose, and Preeti had still been floating three days later. "Can you believe he sent me a huge bunch of flowers the very next day?" she'd told me over the phone. "Mum hardly had enough vases to put them in."
There had been more flowers, expensive presents, and no sign of the cooling-off Preeti had constantly expected.
Kabir said, "What's your sister's name? And the groom's, while you're at it."
"Preeti and Manav. I've only met Manav a couple of times. He's very good-looking and Preeti's absolutely gorgeous, so they'll make a lovely couple." I thought I might as well tell him. "Poor Preeti was in a bit of a state a week or so ago"I'm sure she thought he was going to leave her at the altar, so to speak."
"Why would she think that?"
Where did you start? "Well, most of her relationships have ended in tears"her tears. Plus she's one of those sweet, unassertive types who always expect to get walked all over."
"And consequently often are."
"You said it. She always tends to expect the worst"I sometimes think it can turn into a self-fulfilling thing. And I'm afraid my mother's been fussing her to death with wedding this-and-that for weeks. So when you add all that together""
"You have the perfect basis for grade-A jitters?"
"A-plus, if you ask me."
After a moment he said, "Maybe he's thinking exactly the same about her. I've only been best man once, but I never want to go through that again"he'd convinced himself she wasn't going to turn up. It was like babysitting a fifteen-stone jellied rabbit."
Whoever was "baby-sitting" Manav, I doubted very much that he'd have that problem. I couldn't see him ever resembling a jellied anything.
"If you're really that wound up, I'll drive, if you like," he offered a moment later. "I'm covered by my own insurance."
"I'm not.Am I making you nervous?"
"No, I just thought you might be more relaxed as a passenger."
"I prefer to drive myself, thanks all the same."
God knows why I said that; I love being driven. Of all the company perks I'd really love, a chauffeur would even beat a business-wardrobe account at Harvey Nicks.
"If you told me exactly what you're worried about, we could prepare our defenses," he said in practical tones.
From the mass of premonitions in my head I extracted just one. "What if you bump into somebody you know?"
"That's a pretty remote possibility."
"Yes, but if?"
"I guess I'd just fire the first shot."
"How do you mean?"
Briefly he considered. "For the sake of argument let's say it was Mike, who currently does something in the property-management line. In that case I'd say, 'Good God, Freddie, me old son! How's the used-car trade treating you?' I think he'd catch on," he added dryly.
"As long as he didn't see you first."
"No chance"I've got eyes in my backside. Relax, will you? I can handle it."
Confidence is all very well, but I've often found that overconfidence, particularly when unjustified, is a peculiarly male trait. I'd had a boyfriend once who'd suggested taking his nice, new little yacht to Jersey for the weekend. Great, but I'd thought it only fair to point out that I barely knew one end of a boat from the other. "Oh, don't worry about that," he'd said breezily. "I've sailed single-handed before." It was only later that I'd found out that his sole experience consisted of a three-day course for idiots. He'd been acutely miffed when I'd cried off. "Relax, will you? I can handle it!"
At least Kabir wasn't planning to drown me in the Atlantic.
The traffic was getting heavy again; maybe there was a sale on at IKEA. As it slowed to a crawl he said, "If it's not a sexist question, wouldn't your self-important Varun expect to drive you himself?"
I'd already thought of that. "Somebody scraped your car. It's in the garage, having a panel-beat and a respray."
"What is it, in case anybody asks?"
"You choose. Nothing too flash or boy-racerish"no Ferrari-Testosterone stuff."
I was half expecting him to say, "Don't you mean 'Tes-tarossa'?" so I could reply, "No, I used the word advisedly," and feel smugly one-up.
But all he said was "A Saab convertible?" which made me feel unsmugly miffed. "That'll do."
Once we hit Staples corner and the Ml, I could put my foot down and begin to relax, if you can call absence of acute panic relaxing. The sun was following us north; lambs went hoppity-skip in the fields and the hedges were creamy with hawthorn blossoms. For the first fifty miles or so of motorway, I told him every lie I could remember. There hadn't been all that many; Mum hadn't actually asked the names of all his assorted relations or whether he'd ever had to sit on the Naughty Seat at school.
Together we worked out the things she might ask, siblings, for example. He only had a sister, so that was easy: just stick with her.
"I've forgotten what you do," he said as we passed Scratchwood Services. "Recruitment, was it?"
The sight of those services made me think of Alix's warnings and how patently un-nutter-ish he was. They also made me think of food. Despite being awake since five-thirty I'd been in far too much of a state to eat, which just goes to show how serious a state it was. My stomach was reminding me that it had been given nothing but a couple of wine gums since last night, and quite frankly, it was getting pretty browned off with the situation.
"I'm at the cutting edge of human-resource management," I said. "Atkins and Morley, just off the Strand. Their edge is on the blunt side at the moment, but I daresay it'll sharpen up."
Since Julia had volunteered nothing but the ex-Marine bit, this was the point at which I should have asked, "And what do you do, apart from escorting manless women?"
But since I already had a shrewd idea, I didn't ask. In my line of work I'd come across a few ex-servicemen, either slung out in Defense Cuts or feeling like a change, and finding the outside world tough. I didn't want to make him say, "The square root of sod-all, if you want to know."
I changed the subject, instead. "Kabir, would you get my bag off the backseat?"
He got it.
"If you'll look inside the front pocket, there's an envelope with some money"it'll save us having to work out your expenses later. You might have to pay for the odd drink, and my parents are old-fashioned enough to expect the man to put his hand in his pocket."
After a minute hesitation, he took it out and tucked it in his breast pocket. "It's Varun, remember? If you get in the habit of Kabiring me, you'll give the game away."
Something in his tone shattered my precarious cool. There was a definite hint of "This is strictly business, remember? So don't let's get too matey."
I cast him a sneaky, sideways glance. He was looking out of the side window, almost as if trying to avoid me.
I don't know how it is that at the age of thirty you can suddenly feel as awkward as a fourteen-year-old in the wrong clothes, but I did. What the hell had that agency told him? Had they given him a bonus for taking on a case of fat, neurotic desperation? Was he having visions of me suddenly making a dive for his zip? "Oh God oh God oh God"quick"please please please ..."
Suddenly he turned to me. "I'm about to start chewing the upholstery"I only threw down half a cup of coffee before leaving. Any chance of stopping for a sandwich?"
After the initial "phew" I made a mental note to get a grip, etc. At this rate I was well on the way to being sectioned for Dangerous Delusional Paranoia. "We're making pretty good time so far"we could stop for twenty minutes at the next services."
"I thought you'd never ask. I've been having quiet fantasies about an Uncle-Tom-Cobbleigh-and-all breakfast."
I wasn't quite with it. "Sorry?"
"The works," he said. "I haven't had one in months: bacon, sausage, hash browns..."
The mere thought of it practically made me shudder. And I'm sorry to disappoint you if you're the organic-muesli type, but it wasn't a disgusted, no-thanks shudder: more the multiple-orgasmic type.
It was ages since I'd indulged in anything so calculated to earn you a stiff reprimand from the Health Police; a low-fat Greek yogurt constituted a mega-breakfast nowadays. The fact that I frequently topped it up midmorning with half a packet of Hob-Nobs was entirely beside the point.
I would definitely have to watch my antennae; there's something rather attractive about a man who shares your secret vices. I thought about asking whether he ever bought Rowntrees Blackcurrant Jellies and devoured half the cubes before he even got to the checkout, but thought better of it."Any ongoing office dramas I should know about?" he asked. "Any cutthroat rows over whose turn it is to buy the coffee?"
"Only impending torture. I'll either have to die or leave to get out of it." I went on to explain about Sadists 'R' Us and how Neil, our IT whiz, had already been. He'd reveled in giving me and Jess every hair-raising detail, especially of the abseiling, and of the woman who'd wet herself from sheer terror. Since Neil was something of an arrogant little sod who delighted in winding the somewhat suggestible Jess up, I'd said, "And you didn't?" Of course he'd been insulted at the very idea, so I'd gone on kindly, "I expect you just poohed yourself instead," which hadn't gone down too well either. Not that it had made any difference to poor old Jess. Sentenced to go next month, she was now wetting herself at the mere thought and stocking up with Winged Things, just in case.
Not that I told Kabir this bit. Duly amused at such civilian lack of bottle, he said, "You never know, you might even enjoy it. How long have you worked for them?"
"Three years"before that I was working in Manchester."
"And living at home?"
"Are you kidding? I haven't lived at home since I was eighteen, not properly."
I sometimes wondered how Preeti didn't go mad still living at home, but Mum and Dad weren't half as bad as some parents and money was a factor, since she'd never earned very much.
The sun was getting almost hot. Making a mental note that my next car was going to have an air conditioner, I wound the window down and pushed in an old Queen CD, to drown out the noise. The wind played hell with my hair, but what the hell. The hairdresser might even still be there, if we were early enough. Mum had booked her for both of them. Since the inn was over an hour from home they were changing there, to save creases.
"Have I contributed toward the present?" he asked. "And what is it, just so I don't look blank if I get a thank-you for the lovely whatever-it-is?"
The list had all been very practical and tasteful, but since most of it would probably have worn out or got broken in the end, I'd opted for something more enduring. I'd dithered shamefully over the card, but had eventually written and Varun, and loathed myself for doing it. "I got her something beautiful and useless: a little antique Indian silver box, with little Hindu gods all over it. At least it'll still be there when all the dinner plates are broken."
"I hope you're not implying that they're going to be chucking plates at each other."
"I hope not. Not Minton ones, anyway, at twenty-five pounds a throw."
The thought of plate-chucking led my jittery thoughts back to that tiff. However, the honeymoon was all sorted. Since cancellations had obligingly appeared, they were off on that five-star safari after all. I told Kabir about it, adding Preeti's wiggly thing to give him a laugh, and he duly chuckled.
"So I hope Manav's got a sensitive attitude where wig-glies are concerned," I went on. "She always says 'but don't kill it"
"No crunching of cockroaches underfoot, then. Probably just as well"the big ones can make a hell of a mess."
Since all this wiggly talk was making me more conscious of my worms, I changed the subject. For the next few miles I filled him in on family and friends: who was good fun, who was most likely to ask awkward questions and therefore best avoided like the plague. All of which only made me more aware of possible perils and got my worms going again. By the time we pulled in at the next services I was more or less back to pristine-nervous-wreck condition.
As I switched the ignition off, he gave an exasperated "tut." "You've made a pig's ear of that, haven't you?"
I gaped at him. "What?"
"Just look how you've parked."
I'd driven in front first, and if it was half a degree off the parallel with the cars on either side, that was all. "Would you kindly keep your nitpicking to yourself? I can do without it"
"Darling, you never park straight." He added a noble, patient sigh. "How many times have I told you to reverse into a space?"
I was so desperate for light relief, I almost laughed. "Oh, I get it. Now we're playing games."
"Dress rehearsal." He added a little wink. "Like all good actors, I'm getting into my role well before the first performance."
"The only performance." I exited and locked the door. "And you're playing the wrong part. Varun doesn't backseat-park."
"Of course he does. He's a thrilled-with-himself, self-important prat who irritates the daylights out of you."
"Not today he isn't. He's a paragon. Practically perfect in every way, just like this wedding's going to be."
"I admire your optimism." As we strolled into the building, through a dither of the curly-perm-and-white-cardie brigade, he added, "In my limited experience, weddings are the worst sources of stress known to man. They cause divorces, if you ask me."
"I'm not asking you."
We followed that lovely, foody smell up the stairs to the restaurant. Since he was just behind me, I made sure my sweater was pulled down enough to cover my bottom. It was a loose-knit, cream cotton baggy one, bought specifically for camouflage purposes. It didn't make me look any thinner, but it hid the precise, ripe nature of the problem.
Now and then that fried-junk smell can turn my stomach, but just now, like our dog Benjy when he's hoping for a morsel of your toasted cheese sandwich, I was positively salivating.
To be perfectly frank, Benjy's tongue is not the only bit of him that hangs out on such occasions; his brain gets a trifle muddled between food lust and the other sort. My mother has been extremely embarrassed when she's just given some easily shocked guest a nice cup of tea and a piece of cake. "Poor Miss Peabody just didn't know where to look," she told me once. "She never even had a boyfriend, poor old thing."
As we arrived at Foodie Heaven, Kabir handed me a tray. "Everything but the egg, please," I told the girl. They always do them with jelly-white on top and it makes me heave.
"I'll have her egg," Kabir said. "Just give me two."
"They might charge extra for two eggs on one plate," the girl said.
"Then put it on her plate, and I'll transfer it."
Feeling it was time to get my own back for that parking slur, I assumed a put-out-girlfriend tone. "I don't want your horrible greasy egg on my plate. Besides, one egg's enough for anyone. Why do you always have to be such a pig?"
The girl gave me a hopeful glance, as if a good fight might liven up her morning.
"Let's not argue about it, darling." Playing along like a lamb, he slipped an arm around my waist. "Give me a smile and tell me how much you love me."
Seeing the girl's expression""We've got a right pair here," more or less"I tried not to laugh. "Stop trying to get round me, will you?" I nearly shook his arm off, but let's be honest, it felt nice and I thought I might as well enjoy it. He felt hunkily firm and a good deal larger than me, which is always a plus when you're feeling fat. "I'm going off you at the speed of light," I added.
"You loved me this morning." With this he contrived a wonderfully hurt expression. "When I brought you a nice cup of coffee in bed and ran your bath for you."
Since the girl was now following the exchange with unashamed interest, I couldn't resist a bit more. "I didn't want coffee. I wanted tea, only you never remember I like tea first thing."
"Everything, please," he told the girl. "I thought it very noble of me to bring you anything at all," he said to me, in hurt tones. "Especially since you had a 'headache' last night and made me sleep on the sofa."
The girl perked up even further. "D'you want two eggs or not?"
"Not," he replied. "I'm in enough trouble as it is."
"It was your own fault," I retorted. "For telling me I was putting weight on and making me feel like a fat cow."
His hurt look turned to cut-to-the-quick. "Darling, don't twist my words. What I actually said was that I prefer cuddly women who enjoy their food."
I barely needed to act anymore. "If you call me 'cuddly' again, you'll be sleeping on the sofa forever."
Torn between laughter and miffed-ness, I departed for the tea-and-coffee bit. I knew I shouldn't be miffed; if he continued to act like that we'd pull it off, no problem. On the other hand, weren't arm-and-a-leg escorts supposed to flatter you, lie through their teeth, and make you feel all warm and special?
As he joined me at a table I said, "If you want a tip at the end of this, don't call me 'cuddly' again," and regretted it instantly. It sounded patronizing, as if I were trying to put him in his place. I'd never have dreamed of offering a tip in any case.
Not that he seemed in the least put out. "Tipping's strictly against the rules," he said, pouring coffee from a dribbly pot. "They're very professional at Just for Tonight. Escorts shall not expect or accept gratuities, neither shall they drink to excess, belch at the table, or tell off-color jokes. The agency shall pay promptly, shall do its best not to pair escorts with grudge-bearing Bobbits, and shall furthermore undertake not to dish out addresses or phone numbers."
If that was a hint, I didn't need it, thank you very much. Still, I could see the necessity. I could imagine a client requesting someone a second time and a third, the agency finally saying tactfully that he wasn't available anymore...
With him sitting directly opposite, it wasn't so easy keeping my antennae firmly "off." Now and then they tapped me on the shoulder with comments like "Lovely eyes."
I was trying not to look, which was a bit difficult.
"And that crookedy little smile should come with a health warning."
"Give it a rest, will you?"
"In a tick. Have you noticed his hands?"
I was trying not to. I've got a thing about hands. Even if the rest of a chap's quite passable, damp, white crawly hands turn me right off.
"Nice, aren't they? Imagine one of them sliding a bra strap off your shoulder."
"For God's sake. Go back to sleep, will you?"
"Have I got time for that wet shave?" he asked, when we'd nearly finished.
"I'd rather get on; if you don't mind. There might be time when we get there, if you really feel the need."
Full of bacon, beans, and sausage, we diverted to the shop, where he bought shaving things and I bought a packet of Silk Cut, purely for insurance purposes. If I had some, there would be absolutely no disaster to make me think I'd kill for one.
With dodgy job questions particularly in mind, I thought I might ask, after all. "You don't happen to be employed in the financial sector, do you?" I said as we returned to the car. "It would make it easier."
"I'm afraid not, but I can bullshit, if necessary. I've practically got a degree in bullshitting."
Just as I was about to say, "/f it's not a nosy question, what do you do?" he said, "I gather you invented me in the wake of somebody else. Am I supposed to know, in case anybody mentions him?"
"His name was Abhi. And to save you asking, yes, he dumped me."
"Any other recent dramas? I don't want to look blank if somebody hopes you've quite recovered from your ordeal."
"No, nothing special." Apart from Varun, the worst I'd suffered lately was acute shock on finding that Ace had cleaned the bathroom. I'd needed a stiff vodka and a twenty-minute lie-down to get over it.
As the miles passed I filled him in on the odd aspect of my CV and his, in between chatting about inconsequential things. As men go he was a good chatter, able to talk amusing rubbish for hours, which was exactly what I needed.
It was only the last few miles where I needed directing. The industrial heartland was far behind us. Dry stone walls divided fields where lambs played by their mothers, just the odd stone farmhouse was dotted on a hillside. Teeming London might have been at the other end of eternity.
The inn was signposted from a little crossroads. We saw it long before we got there: an old stone building that looked as if it had grown out of the valley. A little stream sparkled close by, straddled by a little humpty-back bridge. The gardens around the inn were bright with flowers"and still the sun shone.
Despite all this perfection, I was jittering for England.
This was It.
Dad's elderly but beloved and polished-to-death Jag was in the car park. In about half a minute...
"Are you sure you're up to this?" I muttered, grabbing my things with d.t.-type hands. "Because I'm not sure I am. I feel sick."
"Relax," he soothed.
What is it about men telling you to "relax" that makes you want to thump them? I mean, I've known men who'd tell you to "relax" even if the Nine O'clock News had just stated categorically that a massive meteorite was going to wipe us all out during tomorrow morning's rush hour.
Bade Achhe Lagte Hain
CID
