The Monsoon Rain (2 page)

His parents and little Rohit had created a lovely and cozy niche for themselves to which he was an outsider and did not belong. Derek found it difficult to control his moods when he was there. It was not his home, and the complexity of the situation at home stifled him. His dark moods caused him to lash out at his mother and Rohit. Especially Rohit, the young and vulnerable child.

Why did Derek even come to England? Why did he visit his parents? It was a matter of duty, and besides his parents, there was Rohit to consider. That relationship was complex. His unwillingness to see this boy, even to set eyes on him, was very distasteful to him. Still he went, as if drawn to the place, his so-called home.

The thought of Rohit always brought on a bitter feeling, an extremely bitter memory.

He invariably tried to push the thought of Rohit to the back of his mind, but as usual it had a way of rearing its ugly head. Like a snake hiding in the deep recesses of the mind, hiding, waiting, waiting patiently to pounce.

At the beginning Derek had resorted to alcohol to numb his anger. Time healed all, though, as the saying went—thanks to Radhu chacha, whose kind ministering and talks had helped to curb his dark and gloomy thoughts. There were days in the garden Derek had spent drinking and mulling over the past and Radhu chacha, the old man, his faithful companion, his servant, had always been there to hold his hand.

Derek had shed tears of remorse, of anger, but Radhu had been there to calm him, cajoling him to eat, hiding his bottle. At last he had been able to live a decent life and over the last few years been able to be more amiable to his parents.

But Rohit, that was another story. He could not look the boy straight in the eye. Derek found it so difficult to be civil to the little fellow. He’d even asked his parents not to let Rohit into his presence. Consequently, the few times he had visited England he avoided the boy and did not have to see him. He was glad of that.

His mother kept him from seeing Rohit, and the little fellow knew. He ran whenever he heard Derek approaching and went to the assured safety of Derek’s mother. Derek had not set eyes on him the few times he had been there.

“Come to West End often?” he asked Miranda, looking straight ahead, trying to negotiate the car in the evening rush-hour traffic.

Miranda mumbled something. Why did he have such an effect on her? She was usually very cool. After all, this was the first meeting—and maybe the last! She thought she was cool and confident. She looked good in her sleeveless crimson dress, and her hair, which was tied in a ponytail, also looked good. Miranda had discussed with her mum many a time cutting her hair, which was the latest craze in London. And Miranda wanted to follow the fashion: very short dresses and short hair. But living in the suburbs rather cramped her style; mum being provincial and
from the suburbs was rather against Miranda wearing short dresses and cutting her hair!

They were lucky to get a parking space on one of the side streets before making their way toward Leicester Square and Soho. It was a unanimous decision to go for a Chinese meal.

Leicester Square itself was very crowded, which was the norm. Four abreast was not possible to walk, so Charu and Charles led the way with Mira and Derek following close behind. Charu, as usual, was chatting away and trying to include the other two in whatever she was saying to Charles. She looked awfully good that evening in a long ankle-length yellow dress and loose black hair flying in the wind. Almost nymph like, Miranda thought to herself. She had such bright twinkling black eyes that they were the first thing one noticed looking at Charu. Charles was so very protective of her. Miranda envied them!

Derek’s hand briefly brushed hers accidentally as they walked, and Miranda felt a sort of funny feeling creep all over her. She suddenly became very flushed and could feel her heart beating very fast. She stumbled and nearly fell. Derek had to put his arm round her to steady her and gently hold her elbow as they walked. That was the second time she had stumbled this evening! What was the matter with her?

He was dressed casually; with his brown corduroy trousers and brown corduroy jacket hooked over his left shoulder, he ambled along easily beside Mira. His hair was partly bleached and he had that wonderful tan, which he’d acquired in the tropics.

Choosing a restaurant became a major issue. The problem was solved when Derek suggested they all go for dim sum.

The dinner was delicious, although Miranda could not eat a thing. She pretended to eat, knowing full well that once she got home she would make a dash for the kitchen, she was too nervous!

“Oh my God,” Derek said, standing to excuse himself. “I have to call home.”

“You guys seemed to hit it off!” Charu quipped. Both she and Charles exchanged an all-knowing look, and Miranda looked down, blushing.

“Have you known Derek a long time, Charles?” she asked, still looking down.

“I have known him for many years. In fact, we were at school together.”

Charles got a rather faraway look in his eyes. “We sort of lost touch after school. Both of us went our separate ways,” he carried on. “He is the only son of a very rich and wealthy family. The tea garden he is based at now is family owned.” He glanced toward Miranda. “The family owns a number of gardens, and Derek has to go and visit them to see that all is in working order. For instance, he has to go and see that the gardens are producing the quantity of tea they are supposed to produce for export. They have been in the tea business for generations. And especially now as the British companies are leaving India and selling the gardens off to the Indian planters—” Charles stopped suddenly as he spotted Derek making his way toward their table.

“Mother,” Derek announced, smiling. “She is complaining that she has not seen much of me this time.” He laughed out loud. He looked almost boyish, laughing with his head thrown back, sitting down and stretching lazily in his chair, his long legs crossed at the ankles.

He and Charles exchanged a look that spoke volumes. Derek’s laughter did not reach his eyes, which were cold. The hazel eyes did not smile even as the sound fooled all of them except Charles.

Miranda had the sudden urge to give him a big hug and slap a big sloppy kiss on his cheek, but the urge passed as quickly as it had surfaced. Thank God for that!

Derek picked up the bill and would not hear of anybody else paying. The evening had passed too quickly for Miranda; she was home in no time.

She wanted to spend some more time with Derek, and she wished that the evening would last longer. But with only a peck on her cheek and a pleasant good night and good-bye they were off.

Miranda was in love! And she was usually one to be very blasé at the mere thought of love at first sight. She had never met anyone quite like Derek before. He was so foreign and exotic. He lived somewhere
Miranda had never even heard of. She felt as if she had truly been swept off her feet.

Sleep that night was impossible. She tossed and turned in bed, a restless night. The entire evening was being played in her mind over and over again like an old record. She could think no more—it was too much. She had analyzed, digested, and regurgitated the night over and over again. What, when, and how until she cried, “Stop it!” out in the dark. She tried ever so hard to sleep but sleep was eluding her. When had he touched her, how did he touch her, and so forth. Derek’s every action, his every word, every gesture. She decided to call Charu the next morning and then finally fell into a fitful asleep. By the time Miranda woke up it was already late.

Charu was the one who phoned first. “Guess what?” She could hardly contain herself. “Derek asked me for your number.”

Miranda’s heart gave a lurch.

“He liked you, you know, Mira—the way he looked at you. And what about you? I know you liked him. Anyway, expect a call from him. Have to go. Meeting Charles for lunch!” And with that she was off.

Work and studies awaited her—and the latter was the farthest from Miranda’s mind.

She could hear her mother calling her from downstairs. “You will be late, darling. Breakfast is ready.”

Hot tea and toast. The thought of tea made her suddenly laugh out loud. “Coming, Ma!”

She had the day off, she remembered. She decided to have a lie in, with not much to do, a lazy day.

Molly again called her for breakfast.

“Not going to work, today, Ma. I’m off today,” she called in a lazy, half-asleep drawl.

Her mind wandered yet again back to the previous evening. How foolish she’d felt when she asked Charu, albeit very discreetly, if Derek had hired the Jag.

“Charles!” Charu squealed. “Mira thinks Derek has hired the Jag!”

Couldn’t Charu ever keep a secret?

During the brief interval that Derek was calling his mother, Charles said, “Derek’s Dad. The car is his,” in a very serious tone as if
he felt very privileged to know Derek and of course to know old man Chowdhury. “What do you expect?” he carried on, wiping his mouth at a nonexistent crumb.

Finally Miranda managed to somehow get out of bed and tumble into the bathroom.

It was summer, and, unusual for England, it was a sunny day. The flowers were blooming, and the world—or rather Miranda—felt that everything was bright and beautiful.

Mother and daughter decided to make a day of it, to lunch out and just enjoy the outing, maybe sit on the grass at Regent’s Park. Molly felt so very contented being out with her daughter, which rarely happened. Having a heart-to-heart, busking in the rare London sunshine—what bliss!

London was busy, and newspapers were full of the Profumo affair. Christine Keeler, Rice-Davies, and Stephen Ward had been unheard of until a few weeks ago but now you could not open a newspaper without the latest about the trio. Apparently Profumo had resigned and found himself in a precarious position.

Looking at the
Evening Standard
, Mollie commented on what a fool Profumo had been to get involved with Christine Keeler, and to deny that in Parliament too! They had a lot to discuss that evening and momentarily Miranda was able to shelve her thoughts of Derek. They made their way home after their sojourn into Central London as the afternoon was creeping into evening. It was turning slightly chilly, and the sky was painted with pink and orange hues of the evening.

Miranda went inside to have a bath before her supper; she was happy. It felt awfully good lying in the bath, invigorating and relaxing. It had been a hot day, rather too hot for London, and they had arrived home sweaty and happily tired.

“Phone’s ringing dear,” Molly said, quite loudly to make herself heard above the noise of the water.

“Blast,” Miranda said to herself. Then, “OK, Mum. Thanks.” She wondered who it could be. Her heart missed a beat as she hoped against hope it was Derek who was calling.

“Answer the phone, Mum, please!”

By the time Molly got to the phone, with her arthritic knees and hip stiffened by the trip into London, the phone had rung off.

Miranda was so disappointed. Why had she chosen to go for a bath right then? Couldn’t she have waited a little? Couldn’t he have rung a little later? Presuming it was Derek. She was sure it was Derek, as all of her other friends would wait for the telephone to be answered and would not call off after only three or four rings. It had to be him.

And she had missed the call.

She sauntered downstairs for her dinner with Mum, her ear listening for the phone.

For Molly this was the best part of the day, when she and her daughter had their meal together with Miranda filling her in about all the hospital gossip and stories. As they both chitchatted, Molly thought how she would not miss the evening meal with Miranda for the world. It was sheer bliss, the cozy chats with her daughter. And today had been an added bonus with the outing with her daughter—a very rare occurrence indeed. It had been a lovely day for her, and she felt so good.

Molly was quite possessive about her daughter and was very reluctant to share her with anybody. Evening supper was the quality time that she and her daughter spent together. This evening was no exception, except that her daughter was very preoccupied and was not very good company. Molly was rather disappointed. Dinner was a solemn affair that evening, and Miranda was not being very forthcoming.

“Sorry, Mum,” Miranda said. “Not feeling very well. Maybe I will go straight to bed.”

“Shall I bring you a cup of cocoa, dear?” Molly inquired in an endearing voice as if cocoa would soothe all.

But not this time around. When the heart was involved no amount of cocoa would soothe the yearning of a young heart—but how was Molly to know?

“Yes, please, Mum,” Miranda replied, running up the stairs to be left alone to think her own thoughts, to think about Derek. She knew in her heart of hearts that she would be going over and covering the same ground she had been thinking about for the past twenty-four hours.

She lay down and tried to read, but it was absolutely impossible. Where was her concentration? Exams loomed in front of her, and she knew she wouldn’t make the grades—not at this rate anyway. Her mind was straying almost uncontrollably.

The shrill sound of the telephone rang out and broke the silence of the house. She was out of her bed in a jiffy and bounced down the stairs in her bare feet, her night dress flying.

“Hello,” she said, breathless and excited. Oh God, let it be him! “Hello,” she repeated.

“Miranda?”

It was Derek. She could hardly contain herself; she was over the moon.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice becoming slightly husky. “Yes?” she repeated again. Why was she repeating herself? Her heart was beating very fast, and she started to blush; she was relieved that nobody could see her.

“Can you have dinner with me tomorrow?” he asked in his deep masculine voice that made her feel awfully flustered.

“Yes,” she replied without a second thought.

“Shall I pick you up at six?”

“Yes.” A very quick yes, as she was at a loss for words. All that advice about playing hard to get, saying no the first time asked, acting unsure for the second, and saying yes reluctantly the third time—all of that was out the window! She had so many things to say, but she was getting a bit tongue-tied.