Chapter 5 #2
‘What are you doing?’ Marcus asked.
‘I’m joining you for a drink,’ she said, surprised it wasn’t obvious. ‘I can meet your friend.’
‘It’ll be very boring,’ Marcus said. ‘We’ll be discussing possible interviews and PR and things. Not very exciting.’
Sampath glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll stay to say hello and exchange numbers,’ he said. He pulled out his ever-present tablet. ‘So, guys, what did we think about today? I reckon we can cross any other big city hotels off the list, right?’
‘I think so,’ said Kalpana. ‘Nothing too corporate.’
‘And what did you think of the Dutch Hospital site for photos?’
‘A bit colonial, I thought,’ said Kalpana.
‘But a lot of the old buildings are,’ said Marcus. ‘Just having our photo taken isn’t endorsing colonialism.’
Which was a reasonable point. And she did like the setting. She said as much.
‘Okay, and Park Street Mews?’ Sampath said.
They were both more enthusiastic about that.
‘I really liked the vibe,’ said Marcus. ‘I’d like to go back and see what it’s like at night.’
‘I’ll see if we can fit that in, maybe at the end of the holiday.’ Sampath made notes. ‘Can I ask, what was it that you particularly liked?’
‘The feeling of being inside while outside,’ Kalpana said, at once. ‘On the actual street.’
Sampath wrote that down. ‘What else?’
‘I like the structured space,’ said Marcus. ‘And the splashes of colour from the shops.’
‘I liked that, too,’ said Kalpana. ‘If the shop holders don’t mind, it would be nice to have some of the artwork in the background of the photos.’
‘I’m sure we can arrange something,’ said Sampath, scribbling furiously. ‘And how do you feel about—’
‘Ah! Here she is,’ Marcus said.
Kalpana looked up, while sucking juice up through her straw.
A woman in jeans, a fluttering white blouse and sunglasses was walking towards them.
No, walking was the wrong word. She was sashaying.
Wow. She was tall, for a Sri Lankan, although the wedge heels probably helped.
‘Marcus,’ she said, going on tiptoe to drop an air kiss by his cheek. ‘It’s been too long.’
She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head, wavy black hair cascading over one shoulder, and looked at Kalpana.
‘Oh. This is … um … Kalpana. My fiancée,’ Marcus said. ‘This is Nirmala.’
She looked Kalpana up and down in a similar way to how Marcus’s literary groupies did. Oookay. Kalpana smiled her most pleasant smile. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘You too.’ Nirmala’s smile didn’t make it to her eyes. Interesting.
‘And this is the wedding planner.’ Marcus gestured towards Sampath.
‘Sampath,’ the wedding planner said, holding out his hand. ‘I was hoping we could swap numbers so I can send you the planned itineraries. If you tell me when you need Marcus for PR things, I can move things around to fit.’
‘You’re planning this trip, then?’ she said, looking him up and down too. She had, Kalpana noticed, an American accent.
‘Sort of.’ He smiled. ‘It’s a reconnaissance trip to work out what really hits the spot for Kalpana and Marcus’s wedding.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Nirmala. ‘The wedding. How nice that you want to get married in Sri Lanka.’ Her eyes returned to Marcus.
‘Well, it is part of Kalpana’s heritage.’ Marcus put his arm around Kalpana’s waist.
Nirmala made eye contact with Kalpana. This time the smile did reach her eyes.
Marcus’s enthusiasm for all things Sri Lankan was sweet.
He was more into it than she was, even. It seemed Nirmala understood that.
This made Kalpana uncomfortable. It felt like the other woman knew Marcus better than she’d originally assumed.
There was a moment of silence.
Marcus said, ‘Can I get you a drink?’
Sampath spoke at the same time and said, ‘I’d best head off. It was nice to meet you, Nirmala. Here’s my card. Can I have your details? Just so we can make sure that Marcus is free and in Colombo when you need him to be.’
There was a beat where Kalpana watched the other woman assess Sampath’s intentions. She took in the neat hair, the ridiculously cheerful shirt and the way he seemed unruffled, despite Kalpana and Marcus melting from their brief time in the sun.
‘Sure.’ Reaching into her purse, she took out a card case. ‘Here’s my card too. So that you can get hold of me if I’m looking after Marcus.’
Sampath tucked the card into his shirt pocket. ‘Right. Well, I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow for more exploring.’
‘Bye, Sampath,’ Kalpana said. ‘Ask Lal to take you back to your lodgings.’
‘If you don’t mind, that would be great.’
‘It’s fine. We’re not going anywhere for a while.’
He was already walking away, but he turned to give her another smile and wave.
She watched him leave and turned back to the bar, where Marcus was now ordering his friend a drink.
She noticed the way the other woman leaned towards Marcus when she spoke.
Yes, she definitely seemed like one of his literary groupies.
Kalpana got back onto her bar stool and took a long sip of her drink.
‘So,’ she said, as cheerfully as she could, ‘how do you guys know each other?’
‘I told you, we met at college,’ said Marcus. ‘I was a grad student. She was interning at a local newspaper and did an interview.’
Nirmala laughed. ‘That was a long, long time ago. How about you? How did you two meet?’
‘We’re both repped by the same agency. We met at an agency drinks thing,’ said Marcus, giving Kalpana a fond smile.
‘Oh, you’re a writer too? Should I have heard of you?’
There was only one answer to that ridiculous question. ‘Yes,’ Kalpana said. ‘Definitely. I write as Kalpana Jay.’
She could tell from the woman’s face that she’d never heard of her. So she carried on. ‘I write romance novels. Although, in the US you’d probably call them romantic women’s fiction. We’re less tied to genre in the UK.’
‘Oh, how interesting,’ Nirmala said in a voice that suggested it was anything but.
‘Do you read romance?’ Kalpana asked, sweetly.
‘Not … not really my thing,’ said Nirmala.
‘What genre do you read then?’ She put her straw in her mouth and took another draw.
‘I … uh … I don’t have much time to read, really. But I like crime.’
‘Oh, me too,’ said Kalpana. ‘I usually read crime or lit fic when I’m writing.’
‘Babe, you’re always writing,’ said Marcus.
Kalpana shrugged. ‘Not always, but most of the time.’
‘She writes so fast,’ said Marcus. ‘I don’t know how she does it.’
Nirmala said, ‘Ah,’ in a distracted way. She pulled a notebook out of her bag. ‘If it’s okay, I’d like to get to what we were meant to be discussing … I put feelers out to a few places …’