Page 47 of Six Days in Bombay

“Timothy isn’t my blood cousin. We grew up together. Our mothers were friends. We’re more like brothers. He’s a few years younger. You should have seen what we got up to when we were younger. Father would take us to Pushkar for the camel fair and pay one of the herders to let us ride the smaller camels. Timmy and I would race each other. We’d be flying across the desert, nary a care about whether we might fall off and hurt ourselves. And Pater would be in bits, watching us bouncing along on those magnificent creatures.” The image of that got me laughing as well.

“Did your mother accompany you on those trips?”

Edward’s laugh trickled to a small smile. “She died when I was eight.”

“Oh, I am sorry, Mr. Stoddard.”

“Please. Call me Edward. She was lovely. Father more than made up for it though. He became both father and mother. Taught me about corsages and how to dance properly. I can do both parts, you know. Here, I’ll show you.”

Before I knew it, he’d placed his arm around my back and lifted one of my arms and we were gliding down the aisle. He was so confident in his steps that he easily steered us around the other shoppers. Vendors came out from their stalls to watch us. I’d never been a graceful dancer, but Edward made me feel as if I were. I caught a reflection of the two of us in a tall mirror outside one of the stalls as he twirled me.Was that really me?Mira would have whooped and clapped if she’d been here. Edward wound us back to the Turkish delight stall where Dr. Stoddard was waiting for us in his wheelchair.

“You’re a natural,” Edward said. He seemed reluctant to let go of my hand. And I found myself not wanting to let go either.

“I was hoping you’d come back sometime today,” Dr. Stoddard said. His smile was full of mischief.

Edward bowed to me as if we’d been dancing at a cotillion. As reticent as I’d always been, I couldn’t hide my pleasure at being courted like that. I reached up and kissed Edward on the cheek. It was his turn to blush.

“You must try this, my dear. It’s like inhaling a rose.” The doctor handed me a pink delight, and I took a bite. It was too sweet and sticky for me, but he was right. It was like inhaling a rose.

The doctor and Edward treated me to lunch at a café just outside the bazaar, a place Edward frequented. He ordered for us. Steaming platters of lambköftearrived, bringing with them the aroma of sautéed garlic, onions, cumin and cinnamon. A salad of tomatoes, cucumbers, olives and green peppers seasoned with lemon and vinegar and a platter of tomato and lentil pilaf accompanied the meal. We ate as Indians, sharing food from the platters. Edward laughed when I swooned after tasting the lamb. Perfectly seasoned, it was a little like Indiankofta.

Two men at the next table were playing what looked like backgammon on a rosewood board inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

Edward noticed me watching them. “It’s calledtavla. The player who loses must tuck the board under his arm to show everyone that he’s taking it home because he needs the practice.”

The doctor leaned toward me. “You, my dear, would never need to take it home.” That was high praise coming from him.

Taking a bite of hisköfte, Edward said to me, “He’s never said that to me. You must have won a tidy sum off Pater.”

Edward’s mahogany eyes lingered on mine a moment longer than necessary, and I had to look away. I’d never been a tease. I wouldn’t have known how, not having had much practice. It made me long for a different personality, like Mira’s. She and Dev Singh had traded witty quips with ease. I loved Amit’s dry humor too but couldn’t match it. I’d lived in a world that included my mother, nurses at the hospital and the occasional encounter with neighbors, like Fatima across the landing from ourold flat. Sheltered. Wasn’t that why my mother had wanted me to go abroad?

I tried hard to think of something to say to Edward. Suddenly, I remembered the sweater the doctor had been knitting. “How old is your daughter?”

Edward frowned. “Daughter? I’m not married.”

My cheeks felt warm. I looked at the doctor. “The sweater—you said—was for a granddaughter—”

Dr. Stoddard laughed lightly. From under his lap blanket, he brought out a pale blue mohair sweater. “You must have misheard me, my dear. This is for you. You’re going to colder places than you’ve ever been, and I think you’ll need it.”

“Oh,” was all I could say. He’d been knitting the sweater for me? The only other person who had ever made things for me was my mother. I unfolded it. It was a long-sleeved cardigan with ivory buttons. I ran my hand over the silky mohair.

When I looked at the doctor, he said, “You’re welcome.”

I was at a loss for words. I rose from my chair to kiss his cheek.

He chuckled. “Goodness. A simple thank you will do.”

“Well done, Father,” Edward said. “Where’s mine?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Edward. Now, tell me…don’t you do something with diplomats?”

The waiter brought our Turkish coffees. The coffee was thicker and more bitter than anything I’d ever tasted. I decided one sip was enough.

Edward dropped two sugar cubes in his tiny cup and took a sip. He arched an eyebrow. “You know very well I work for the British Embassy, Pater.”

“Ah, yes. Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving Nurse Falstaff a hand with an inquiry or two she needs for Europe?”

“Where do you go from here?” Edward asked me.

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