Calcutta Exile by Bunny Suraiya

Author:Bunny Suraiya
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

24

MORNING AFTER

IT WAS JUST about dawn when Paddy awoke, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep again, there were just too many thoughts crowding each other inside her head. Leaning back against her pillow, she picked up the book she was in the middle of reading and tried to read a page or two, but today, Elizabeth Goodge’s Green Dolphin Country, which she normally found riveting, failed to hold her interest. She just couldn’t concentrate on it. So she just sat there, hugging her knees and staring at Shirley sleeping beside her, willing her to wake up. She had so much to tell her about yesterday.

Yesterday had been the most topsy-turvy day in Paddy’s life. It had started so badly, with Paddy feeling wretched all day about having to tell Karam about the DI and its terrible, insulting rules. And the misery that followed after she told him; she would never forget that as long as she lived. His strained, white face, her fear that she would lose him – she shivered at the remembered thought. And then her brainwave about going with him to his flat – that had changed everything, and the day that had started so terribly had turned out to be the happiest day in her life.

They had driven to Humayun Court in silence, with Paddy sitting right up close to Karam, their fingers interlaced on her lap, Karam letting go only to change gears before bringing his hand back to find hers again. Every now and then, he turned to look at her and found her always looking at him. There was no need for words; they both knew that this was a turning point in their relationship, one from which there would be no going back for either of them.

Karam let them both into the flat which was silent and slightly dusty. Paddy knew that Karam’s cook-cum-bearer-cum-valet, Abdul, whom he referred to as ‘my Jeeves’, had been given the week off to go home and celebrate Independence Day with his family in Lucknow.

‘Mater wanted to foist one of our old retainers from Bikaner on me,’ he had told Paddy, months ago, laughing at the thought. ‘But I virtually grew up with Abdul – his father was one of our gardeners in Nawabgunj – and we used to play together as children. Actually, he was probably my best friend before I went off to school. Besides, I can depend on him to cook me a decent steak every now and then, which no Hindu would do – and he won’t go carrying tales to Mater, either.’

‘Drink?’ he asked Paddy, pouring himself a whisky from a bottle that stood on the sideboard. ‘There’s beer and lemonade in the fridge. I could make you a light shandy if you like.’

‘Just lemonade, thank you,’ Paddy said, walking over to the radiogram to take a look at the collection of family photographs grouped on its top. ‘Who’s this?’ she asked Karam when he returned from the little kitchen carrying a glass of chilled lemonade for her.

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