The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel: A Novel by Deborah Moggach

Author:Deborah Moggach [Moggach, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Bangalore (India), Gerontology, Old Age Homes, Social Science, Humorous, British - India, British, General, Literary, Older People, Fiction, Media Tie-In
ISBN: 9780812982428
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2004-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

“Have you heard from your charming daughter?”

“She’s fine,” said Norman. “Absolutely fine.” He was having a drink with Sonny in the Gymkhana Club. “Got a phone call yesterday. She’s coming out for Christmas.”

“Excuse me!” Sonny jumped up and ran after a man who was crossing the bar. Norman watched him gesticulating. The fellow couldn’t sit still. Their conversation had been interrupted twice already by Sonny’s mobile phone.

Sonny returned to the table. “Please—carry on.”

“You should calm down, old chap,” said Norman. “We’re the ones who’re supposed to be having the heart attacks.”

“What can I do? There’s nobody I can trust; everything I’m having to do myself. These people I do business with, they cheat me, they do another deal behind my back …”

Sonny rattled on. Norman wondered when he could bring up the subject he had come to discuss. It was a matter of some delicacy. A tiger’s head was mounted on the wall nearby; it stared glassily ahead, avoiding Norman’s eye.

“Any problems at the hotel? You must tell me, Norman old boy.” Sonny twinkled. “You are my spy.”

“They’re all obsessed by that bloody doctor. Got them in a twitter. You’d think the sun shines out of his arse.”

“Women!” Sonny shrugged.

Norman took a breath. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about—”

“Please! A moment.”

Sonny jumped up and waylaid a group of men who were just leaving the bar. Norman subsided into his chair. The Gymkhana Club was a vast old building filled with potted palms and slaughtered animals. It was built for the British, of course, but now it was full of brown faces. Norman had been there a couple of times before, as Sonny’s guest—the only way a chap like him could get in nowadays. Relics of the Raj remained—photos of past presidents hanging in the lobby and a list of team members, inscribed in gold, fixed to the wall of the cavernous billiards room. Cockaded bearers, carrying trays of drinks, glided from table to table. From his sojourns in the tropics, Norman was familiar with clubs like this one. In the past he had found them reassuring. Now that he was older, however, a place like this made him feel as if he were already extinct.

Sonny returned to his seat. Norman lit a cigarette. “You’re a man of the world, old fruit,” he said. Almost family, in fact. The realization always gave him a jolt. “Must have knocked around a bit.” He knew Sonny had a wife, but the man never seemed to mention her. “Thing is, a chap can get lonely for a bit of female company. I’ve heard that the women in Bangalore can be very, well, accommodating. If you get my drift.”

Sonny was fidgeting. His eyes flickered around the room. Norman soldiered on.

“I was wondering if you could point me in the right direction. You know, make some sort of an introduction. Something of that kind. In the most discreet sense.”

“What?” asked Sonny.

“I’m looking for a friendly, experienced woman—”

“But you’re surrounded by women.” Sonny chuckled. “You could go bedroom-hopping, a different lady every night.

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