Chapter 18
Kalpana sat at the desk in her hotel room and tried to make notes, but the mental image of Sampath looking at her kept distracting her.
What was wrong with her? He had been kind and professional the whole time.
She must have imagined the look in his eyes.
Maybe she was projecting how she was feeling onto him.
She put down her pen and buried her head in her hands. That was a whole other problem. How could she be attracted to someone else? It was stupid. She liked Sampath. He was her friend, for heaven’s sake.
She glanced out of the window. It was fully dark outside now.
She hadn’t bothered drawing the curtains, because, well, who would see in?
Her room looked out to the ocean. She turned off the light above the desk, plunging the room into darkness and stood by the window, looking out.
Once her eyes adjusted, she could see the water, glinting in the meagre light of a cloud-shrouded moon.
Far in the distance, ships were points of light that moved slowly along the horizon.
The sky was dotted with more stars than she was used to.
She was so far from home right now. Everything felt a little surreal.
Her phone ringing made her jump. It was Marcus. He must be nearby. He was supposed to be back by around six, but it was now past seven. She had been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed.
‘Marcus. Are you almost here?’
There was a slight pause. ‘I’m … er. Listen, babe, I don’t think I’m going to be able to get back tonight.’
For a second, she didn’t know how to respond. Marcus waited patiently for her reply. She could hear music in the background. It sounded like jazz.
‘Kalpana?’ Marcus said, finally. ‘I’m sorry.
I was really hoping to finish on time and get back, but you know how things are around here …
we finished late and now we’re going out to get some food.
I think, by the time we finish it’s going to be quite late.
So I may as well stay overnight and come back tomorrow. ’
‘Stay … overnight?’ she said.
‘Yes, I’ve booked myself into a hotel for the night. Nothing too exciting, but it’s closest to the place we’re going for dinner.’
‘Right.’ That meant she had to eat alone tonight. There was nothing stopping her from going downstairs to one of the restaurants, but … realistically, she was going to end up getting room service, wasn’t she? ‘Where are you going for dinner?’
‘I don’t know. Some restaurant.’
‘Who’s going? Anyone interesting?’
‘Some journalists, Nirmala and me.’
‘Would these journalists be interested in an interview with me as well? Or us as a couple?’
There was a pause and a hint of a sigh.
‘I don’t think that’s the done thing, Kalpana,’ he said, his voice tight. ‘Nirmala is doing me a favour and introducing me to people on the literary scene in Sri Lanka. I can’t push for too much, too soon. You know.’
Did he just put a tiny bit of stress on the word ‘literary’? She knew that tone of voice. She could almost picture his irritation. It was never anything so vulgar as a scowl, but she knew Marcus well enough to spot the slight crease between the eyebrows, the subtle narrowing of the eyes.
She didn’t want to get into an argument right now, so she said, ‘Oh, okay. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.’ Then, feeling bad for being sulky, she added, ‘Have a nice time.’
‘I’ll try,’ he said. ‘It’s mostly a networking thing.’
‘Goodnight, then.’
‘Goodnight, babe. Love you.’ He was gone before she had a chance to say it back.
She let her arm drop to her side and stared out at the darkness while she tried to work out how she was feeling. Marcus wasn’t coming back tonight. Why was the first feeling one of relief?
Carefully, she felt her way to the light switch and turned on the bedside light.
Surely, the first thing she should feel was disappointment?
Her fiancé wasn’t coming back from his trip.
While they were on holiday, he was leaving her all alone in a hotel room.
Anger would be more understandable. She sat heavily on the bed.
The anger was there too. More anger than she normally allowed herself to feel.
It was so inconsiderate. How dare he? How dare he?
Did he even care about her at all? What kind of a husband-to-be just swans off to a networking thing like that? He hadn’t even wanted her to come along. She was a writer too. Surely it made a lot more sense for them to present themselves as a couple – a love story forged in words.
He had dragged her around the country, making her look at things for a wedding according to his grand plan and now, when they finally had a few days to spend together and enjoy their holiday, he had abandoned her.
Okay, she could go downstairs and mingle with strangers, but how awkward and pathetic was that?
It would be different if she’d come here on a solo holiday, but she hadn’t.
She had come with her bloody fiancé. She closed her eyes and growled.
She didn’t even want to marry him in the first place.
Her eyes flew open. Wait, what? She scooted back and drew her legs onto the bed so that she could sit cross-legged. Where had that thought come from? Okay, she wasn’t sure about the details of the wedding. But she still wanted to marry Marcus, didn’t she? Didn’t she?
She already knew the answer. She had known it for a few days now, but she’d been too frightened to look directly at it.
There was always the possibility that she was wrong, until the moment that afternoon when Sampath had looked into her eyes and she’d experienced a longing so strong that it felt like an illness.
When Marcus had first crossed a room to talk to her, she had been starstruck; delighted and giggly because the famous Marcus Lloyd-Howell had noticed her.
She knew a lot of successful romance writers, some of them Sunday Times and New York Times bestsellers, but they weren’t everyday famous like Marcus was.
He was on panel shows and chat shows, being handsome and erudite on TV.
He spoke at huge festivals and people hung on his every word.
His Substack had tens of thousands of followers.
He was in a whole other league of famous.
She had been attracted to him, but more than that, she’d been excited and flattered by his attention.
Even now, she sometimes got a thrill that she was the one who got to be with him.
But the man himself … he was nice enough, but … did she still love him? Had she ever?
When the initial buzz of dating someone famous had worn off, she had accepted that as a natural part of being in a relationship.
It was always like that. The fizz wore off, and then the real relationship began.
She didn’t exactly have a lot of experience herself, but she read and watched and studied love, so she had some knowledge.
Marcus was an attractive man. It wasn’t hard to be with him.
He liked her, clearly. Her parents loved him, which helped.
Was that the main reason she was still with him? The fact that her parents approved of him? She pulled her knees up and hugged them. That thought made her feel pathetic.
She thought of Sampath, a few days ago, asking her what she wanted for her wedding and not accepting her usual deflections.
He had made her think about it. He’d made her say it and then he’d listened.
He didn’t say, ‘for goodness’ sake’ and brush her insecurities aside, like her family did.
Nor did he laugh or take over like Marcus did.
It was funny how few people listened to her in her life.
Sampath listened and he remembered what she said.
Her favourite times on this holiday had been ones she’d spent with him.
Of course, he was around a lot because he was organising things for them, but there were also moments that had meant something.
Him calmly telling her she didn’t have to cosplay being of Sri Lankan heritage.
Him defending her books. Him, with his eyes full of tears, telling her how her books had brought joy to a dying woman.
Playing carrom. Walking on the sand. He saw her more clearly than anyone she’d ever met.
He certainly saw her more clearly than Marcus ever had.
And he was hot. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed at first, because now it was all she could see. When she closed her eyes, she could still see the contours of his back, the sinew of his forearms, the dark brown of his smiling eyes.
With Marcus it was a conscious thing. This man is nice to look at, he’s famous and charismatic and he is interested in me, therefore he is attractive to me.
With Sampath, the attraction was bypassing her brain entirely and coming from somewhere deep inside her.
Like his body called out to hers. It was strange and frightening and exhilarating, all at once.
It helped that she liked him, but she had a horrible feeling she’d still fancy him just as much, even if she didn’t like him, and that felt shameful.
She ordered herself pizza from room service and, on a whim, a half bottle of wine. Then she called Nyssa.
***
Back in Colombo, Sampath sat at an outdoor table in Park Street Mews and felt like he was in a different world.
The place had been lively in a bohemian kind of way when he’d seen it during the day.
In the evening, it was even better. Strings of lights hung above the ‘street’, zigzagging between the pubs and restaurants.
People, music and the smell of food spilled out into the warm night.
The crowd was a cosmopolitan mix of locals and tourists.
It was full of light and chatter and laughter, just like any good night spot should be.