horizon of the Arabian Sea, he was reminded of picturesque drives along the Florida coast. Rachel’s guidebook had said that half of the population of the city lived in slums, some that sprawled on for miles, but on this one stretch of road in this one corner of town, Mumbai was a beautiful city.
On a lush, tree-filled lane on Malabar Hill, an electronic gate opened at the side of the road. The driver gave the horn a discreet toot. Silhouetted by a bank of blue monitors, a uniformed and armed security guard waved back from his air-conditioned sentry box. The house was hidden behind banks of trees and shrubs, but through the branches Jason could see portions of white stucco walls and red-tiled roofs that jutted out from the core of the building. With a slight nod of his head the driver passed his charges off to a smiling house servant in a tailor-made black suit.
Inside, the main hall reminded Jason of the lobbies of the five-star hotels in New York that he frequented, pretending to be a guest but just looking for the men’s room. The floors were tiled in multicolored marble and above, chrome and glass chandeliers seemed to float below the vaulted ceiling, dating the room from sometime in the near future. Paintings of abstract landscapes hung on the walls while on an oriental rug, antique chairs with wispy-thin legs formed a sitting area around a matching table. A pair of small fountains bracketed a glass elevator and door-less passageways led off to other sections of the home.
In their two-bedroom suite they found new bathing suits laid out on the bed along with a note inviting them to make themselves at home, signed with a flourish, Narvin Kumar .
Now, as he took another sip of his drink, the ice already half-melted in his glass, Jason stopped thinking about knife-wielding attackers and kleptomaniacal monkeys, murdered friends, and a sari wadded up in a backpack. It allowed him to focus on thinking about the half-naked woman at his side. The distant sound of a man laughing broke into his fantasy before it went too far.
“I think our host has arrived,” Jason said, tilting down his sunglasses to see into the shadows near the sliding glass doors. The man walked slowly, still laughing as he held a tiny cell phone to his ear, giving Jason and Rachel time to watch his approach.
What with his fellow passengers, the mobs at the train stations, and the endless streams of pedestrians, Jason felt as if he’d seen every male in India. But as he watched the man pause to listen intently to his phone, one arm resting against the open doorframe, Jason knew he had hadn’t seen a man like this before.
It wasn’t just his height, several inches over six feet, or his olympian physique, his hundred-dollar haircut, or the way his smile outshone his blindingly white shirt. Maybe it was the way he ruffled his thick black hair, confident it would fall back in place, or the way he gave a wink to the barman, who grinned back and started mixing the man a martini. It could have been his voice, strong and deep, or the honesty in his laugh or how, when he flicked the phone shut and crossed the patio to their chairs, hand outstretched and smiling, his attention made them feel like they were the most important people in the world.
“Oh. My. God.” Rachel said and fumbled her bikini straps back in place.
“Hi, I’m Narvin Kumar. You must be Jason Talley.”
“That’s me,” Jason said, standing, wiping his palm dry on his swim trunks before shaking the man’s hand. “And this is my….”
“Sister,” Rachel said, cutting him off and leaning forward as she reached out for his hand. “I’m his sister. Rachel.” Narvin took her hand, his smile wider as he held the handshake an extra beat.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you at the station,” Narvin said, lifting Rachel’s daiquiri off the barman’s tray and handing it to her, waiting until she took a sip before taking up his martini. “I’m in the middle of doing four
On a lush, tree-filled lane on Malabar Hill, an electronic gate opened at the side of the road. The driver gave the horn a discreet toot. Silhouetted by a bank of blue monitors, a uniformed and armed security guard waved back from his air-conditioned sentry box. The house was hidden behind banks of trees and shrubs, but through the branches Jason could see portions of white stucco walls and red-tiled roofs that jutted out from the core of the building. With a slight nod of his head the driver passed his charges off to a smiling house servant in a tailor-made black suit.
Inside, the main hall reminded Jason of the lobbies of the five-star hotels in New York that he frequented, pretending to be a guest but just looking for the men’s room. The floors were tiled in multicolored marble and above, chrome and glass chandeliers seemed to float below the vaulted ceiling, dating the room from sometime in the near future. Paintings of abstract landscapes hung on the walls while on an oriental rug, antique chairs with wispy-thin legs formed a sitting area around a matching table. A pair of small fountains bracketed a glass elevator and door-less passageways led off to other sections of the home.
In their two-bedroom suite they found new bathing suits laid out on the bed along with a note inviting them to make themselves at home, signed with a flourish, Narvin Kumar .
Now, as he took another sip of his drink, the ice already half-melted in his glass, Jason stopped thinking about knife-wielding attackers and kleptomaniacal monkeys, murdered friends, and a sari wadded up in a backpack. It allowed him to focus on thinking about the half-naked woman at his side. The distant sound of a man laughing broke into his fantasy before it went too far.
“I think our host has arrived,” Jason said, tilting down his sunglasses to see into the shadows near the sliding glass doors. The man walked slowly, still laughing as he held a tiny cell phone to his ear, giving Jason and Rachel time to watch his approach.
What with his fellow passengers, the mobs at the train stations, and the endless streams of pedestrians, Jason felt as if he’d seen every male in India. But as he watched the man pause to listen intently to his phone, one arm resting against the open doorframe, Jason knew he had hadn’t seen a man like this before.
It wasn’t just his height, several inches over six feet, or his olympian physique, his hundred-dollar haircut, or the way his smile outshone his blindingly white shirt. Maybe it was the way he ruffled his thick black hair, confident it would fall back in place, or the way he gave a wink to the barman, who grinned back and started mixing the man a martini. It could have been his voice, strong and deep, or the honesty in his laugh or how, when he flicked the phone shut and crossed the patio to their chairs, hand outstretched and smiling, his attention made them feel like they were the most important people in the world.
“Oh. My. God.” Rachel said and fumbled her bikini straps back in place.
“Hi, I’m Narvin Kumar. You must be Jason Talley.”
“That’s me,” Jason said, standing, wiping his palm dry on his swim trunks before shaking the man’s hand. “And this is my….”
“Sister,” Rachel said, cutting him off and leaning forward as she reached out for his hand. “I’m his sister. Rachel.” Narvin took her hand, his smile wider as he held the handshake an extra beat.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you at the station,” Narvin said, lifting Rachel’s daiquiri off the barman’s tray and handing it to her, waiting until she took a sip before taking up his martini. “I’m in the middle of doing four
Similar Books
