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Sarah scored high. She had read every travel book he mentioned and some he had missed. It turned out they had both recently re-read James Hilton’s Lost Horizon, a big best-seller in the Thirties and one of the few novels to put a new word, Shangri-la, into the language.
‘My grandfather gave it to me for my twelfth birthday,’ said Neal. ‘When did you first read it?’
Her lovely smile lit up her face. ‘The Christmas before my fifteenth birthday. I used to spend my pocket money in a second-hand bookshop. Mr King, the old man who owned it, gave me Lost Horizon as a present because I was the youngest of his “regulars”.’ Her smile faded, replaced by a look of remembered anguish. “He died of bronchitis that winter and the shop never reopened. I missed him terribly.’
After a pause, she added, ‘When I discussed the book with him, Mr King said there might really be a place like Shangri-la...a secret valley in the mountains where people lived to great ages and were fulfilled and contented. For a while I believed him. But if such a place had existed, it would have been seen by now on a satellite photograph. Still, it’s a lovely idea.’
‘My grandfather says that Shangri-la does exist,’ said Neal. ‘But not as it is in the book...a mysterious, inaccessible place somewhere on the great plateau of central Asia. According to him Shangri-la’s in the mind. It’s possible for everyone to find it, but not many do.’
‘How old is your grandfather?’
‘Ninety next year, but still amazingly active and up to date... spends a lot of his time surfing the Web and e-mailing other old men whose minds are still in good shape.’
She laughed. ‘Good for him.’
But she didn’t volunteer any information about her family, he noticed. Given the smallest encouragement, most people talked non-stop about themselves. A recent example had been the elderly woman who had sat next to him on the Underground from central London to the airport. Starting from a comment about the size of his pack, she had gone on to tell him the medical details of her husband’s last illness followed by a detailed character assassination of her only son’s second wife.
In contrast to that woman’s garrulity, Sarah was telling him nothing about her family background. There had to be a reason for her unusual reserve.
After lunch, the Nepalese woman turned to Sarah and murmured, ‘Penny.’
It wasn’t hard to guess what she meant. Sarah turned to Neal. ‘My neighbour wants to go to the washroom.’
He rose, stepping into the aisle, and she followed. While the Nepalese woman went to the nearest bathroom, they stayed on their feet, glad to stand up for a while.
‘I wonder if that’s the limit of her English vocabulary... Pepsi and penny?’ said Sarah, remembering the woman’s response when the stewardess had asked if she wanted a drink before lunch. ‘My grasp of Nepali isn’t much better...only about ten words.’
‘Nowadays not many tourists bother to mug up any,’ Neal said dryly. ‘I always try to learn a smattering of the language before I go somewhere new.’
Looming over her in the narrow space between the rows of seats, he seemed even taller and broader than he’d looked when she first saw him. It was unusual, she thought, to find physical power allied to an intellectual turn of mind. It turned out the book she had seen him reading was a collection of essays by Edmund Burke.
Shortly after they resumed their seats, a small child, aged about three and of indeterminate sex, started running up and down the aisle. After a while it suddenly lost its bearings and began to howl, ‘Dadee...Dadee...’
Perhaps the toddler’s father was catching up on some lost sleep and wasn’t aware that his offspring was in a panic. Daddy failed to materialise and all the cabin crew seemed to be taking a break.
As Sarah heard the wails coming closer to where she was sitting, she was about to leap up when Neal forestalled her. Scooping the little thing up and holding it under its armpits, he started to walk down the aisle, saying something quietly reassuring and holding it aloft.
Sarah moved into his seat to watch him. thinking inconsequentially that he looked very good from the rear, wide shoulders tapering down to narrow male hips and a taut and sexy backside.
Then, far down near the front of the cabin, she saw him restoring the child to its parent. Quickly she returned to her own seat, faintly surprised that he alone, of all the people in the nearby aisle seats, had taken action to stop the frightened bawling. For the first time it struck her that he might be married with children of his own.
‘You dealt with that very expertly,’ she said, when he came back.
‘I have a nephew that size.’ After a pause he added, ‘My preference is for children you can hand back to their parents when you’ve had enough of them. Journalism and domesticity don’t go well together.’
‘I suppose not,’ she agreed, wondering if that was a warning. If so, it was bordering on arrogance to consider one necessary at this stage of their acquaintance.
On the other hand he was definitely as close to Naomi’s mythical ten-out-of-ten gorgeous male as she was ever likely to meet. Maybe experience had taught him to make it plain from the outset that anything he had to offer would be strictly short term and no strings.
The movie was followed by afternoon tea. Sarah’s first intimation that they were approaching Nepal was when the woman beside her leant forward to peer out of the window. This meant that Sarah could see very little which was terribly disappointing. Had she had the window seat herself, she would have made a point of keeping well back to allow her neighbours to share the first sight of the famous mountains. Still, it was the little woman’s country they were approaching, she reminded herself, and who had more right to gaze on those amazing summits than a returning Nepalese?
Perhaps Neal sensed her frustration. He touched the woman’s arm, speaking to her in a way that sounded far more fluent than the polite noises he had claimed were his limit. After that she pulled back and they were all able to see the Abode of Snows, which was what Himalaya meant, gleaming like white cake icing in the late afternoon sunlight.
When that distant view of the great peaks changed to a close-up view of the green hills surrounding the Kathmandu valley, Sarah knew the excitement she would have felt at being close to the point of meeting her trekking companions was tempered by reluctance to say goodbye to her present travelling companion.
Neal, aware of the fact that she hadn’t slept between London and Doha, said suddenly, ‘Tonight you’ll be tired before you’re halfway through dinner, but how about meeting tomorrow night?’
‘I’d like to...but it could be difficult. Could I call you in the morning?’
‘Sure...I’ll give you my number.’ He produced a pad of Post-it notes from one of his many pockets and a pen from another. After scribbling some details, he peeled off a note and handed it to her. ‘Make it before nine, will you? I have a lot to do tomorrow.’
Sarah decided to say, ‘I hope I can make it. I’d like to.’ ‘I’d like it too...very much. I’ve enjoyed talking to you.’
The subtext implied by the smile that accompanied this statement made her insides turn over. But was she mad even to think of taking this further? It was all very well for Naomi to lecture her about not backing off, but Sarah’s every instinct told her that, in this instance, her friend’s advice could be dangerous.
They were inside the airport when he touched her for the first time.
Naomi had told Sarah that everyone on incoming flights had to join one of two line-ups. Sarah had obtained her visa before coming but would still need to have it checked. Neal had told her he preferred to buy his visa on arrival. After that everyone had to buy some Nepalese money from an exchange desk because it was not obtainable outside the kingdom.
When they came to the parting of the ways, Neal held out his hand, taking her smaller fingers in a firm but not crushing grip. The contact sent an electric reaction right up to her armpit.
‘Until tomorrow night.’ He obviously took it for granted that nothing was going to stand in the way of their date.
His assurance irked her a little, but she let it pass. ‘Goodbye, Neal.’ Turning away, she knew that, if she had any sense, in the morning she would ring him and tell him she couldn’t make it.
She needed a man in her life, had needed one for a long time. But for all kinds of reasons, she didn’t need a man like Neal Kennedy.
From what she had already learned about him—not to mention all he didn’t yet know about her—they were wrong for each other in every possible way.
CHAPTER TWO
SITTING at the back of the mini-bus, with a garland of fresh marigolds round her neck, Sarah studied the guide who had come to meet the thirteen trekkers and shepherd them through the chaos of touts and taxi-drivers waiting outside the airport building.
The guide had introduced herself as Sandy, a suitably androgynous name for someone who had a few female characteristics but whose general appearance and manner was more masculine than feminine. Sarah, who didn’t usually dislike people on sight, had felt an instinctive aversion to the woman who now was standing next to the driver and lecturing them with the aid of a microphone. Lecturing was the operative word.
Did she really expect them to take in all this stuff before they had caught up on their sleep? Sarah wondered. It would have made more sense to hand out a printed supplement to the bumph they’d already received. But perhaps Sandy liked the sound of her own voice and believed in making it clear from the outset that she was the boss of this outfit and they had better remember it.
Surreptitiously checking out her fellow-trekkers, Sarah felt her spirits sinking. She had expected a lively group of fit, mixed-age and mixed-sex adventurers. But even allowing for the fact that they’d just come off a thirteen-hour flight and were not at their best, without exception this lot were older, more out of condition and, to be blunt, duller than she had anticipated. Suburban was the label that sprang to mind when, in ones and twos, they had assembled round Sandy after reclaiming their baggage.
As provincial suburbia was where Sarah had spent her entire life, the last thing she wanted was to spend the next two weeks with people from the same unexciting background. Which of the other single women, she wondered, was to be her room-mate and tent-mate?
She found out half an hour later when the mini-bus entered the forecourt of a large hotel and numerous uniformed porters began unloading the baggage.
As each trekker stepped off the bus, Sandy re-checked who they were, gave them a name badge and, except in the case of the couples, told them who was their ‘Partner’. Sarah’s partner was Beatrice, a thin woman in her sixties whose pursed-lips smile was more like the grimace of someone who had just swallowed a spoonful of disgusting medicine.
The view from the window of their room made Sarah feel more cheerful. Beyond the rooftops of the city was part of the ring of mountains enclosing the Kathmandu valley, with glimpses of higher peaks in the background.
‘I can’t believe I’m really here at last,’ she said dreamily, leaning on the sill, enraptured.
When Beatrice didn’t respond, she looked over her shoulder. Her room-mate had started unpacking. Looking up for a moment, the older woman said, ‘I hope you’re a tidy person, Miss Anderson...or do you prefer to be called Ms?’ Her tone held a thread of sarcasm.
How to make friends and influence people! Sarah thought incredulously. Aloud, she said pleasantly, ‘I prefer to be called Sarah. I’m going to go down and order myself a stiff pick-me-up, leaving you to arrange your things in peace. As we seem to have only one key, perhaps when you’ve finished up here you’ll come and find me. See you later.’
Although the daylight was waning and it wouldn’t be long to sunset, she had her drink in the hotel’s well-kept garden. Even the five-star hotel was a bit disappointing, being international rather than Nepalese in style. She had hoped for somewhere with more character.
Wondering where Neal was staying, she remembered the note she’d attached to the inside cover of the notebook she’d bought for a travel diary. He had written his name, the name of his hotel and the telephone number, all in the neat capital letters of someone for whom accuracy was essential and facts were sacred... or should be, she thought.
Less than an hour ago she had been determined to steer clear of any more encounters with Neal. But now she had changed her mind. If, as it turned out, she was going to be stuck with Sandy, Beatrice and the rest, an evening with Neal would at least be an interesting send-off. In fact she could hardly wait for tomorrow morning to call him and fix it.
Soon after eight, while Beatrice was downstairs having breakfast, she rang him from the hotel bedroom.
‘Putting you through,’ said the operator.
‘Neal Kennedy.’ His voice sounded even deeper and more resonant on the telephone.
‘It’s Sarah. Good morning.’
‘Good morning. Had a good night?’
‘Fine,’ she said untruthfully. ‘And you?’
‘I woke up at four and read. It takes a couple of days for my body clock to adjust. Can we have dinner tonight?’
‘That would be lovely.’
‘I’ll pick you up at six-thirty. We’ll go for a drink at the Yak and Yeti beforehand.’
Sarah knew from her guide book that it was Kathmandu’s largest and smartest hotel. She said doubtfully, ‘I didn’t bring my little black dress.’
‘No problem. Rich locals and the world-tour crowd dress up, but climbers and serious trekkers don’t. They’re not into competitive dressing. Whatever you wear, you’ll look great.’
‘OK...if you say so. See you later. Goodbye.’ As she replaced the receiver, she felt a resurgence of the excitement she had expected to feel every day, every moment. But dinner and breakfast conversations with some of the others, and a night in a room with Beatrice, had quenched that expectation.
She was in the lobby, watching the comings and goings, when Neal strode through the entrance and went to the desk. She knew they would direct him to where she was sitting so she watched him for the few moments he had to wait for one of the desk clerks to be free.
He was wearing the same trousers he had travelled in but with a different shirt. Over his arm he had one of the warm light garments known as a fleece. Naomi had lent Sarah a canary-yellow fleece. Neal’s was dark blue with a coral-coloured collar.
He looked strikingly different from all the people in her trekking group. An almost tangible aura of vitality and virility emanated from his tall, upright figure. When, on the clerk’s instructions, he swung round and headed for where she was sitting, she felt the force of it even more strongly.
She was on her feet by the time he reached her. ‘Ready and waiting,’ he said approvingly. ‘I hate kicking my heels for half an hour. Let’s go, shall we?’
Preceding him out of the door, Sarah smiled at and thanked the saluting doorman.
‘Our transport’s outside the gate,’ said Neal. ‘These upmarket hotels don’t like cycle rickshaws lowering the tone of their entrances. What do you think of this place?’
‘I wouldn’t have chosen it. A guest house is more my style.’
That morning, on Sandy’s guided tour of the city, Sarah had seen many pedal-driven rickshaws weaving their way in and out of the chaotic traffic. The driver of the one waiting for them was a small thin man with grey hair who didn’t look as if he had the strength to pedal two large Europeans. She smiled at him. ‘Namaste.’
‘Namaste, madam.’ Beaming and bowing, he indicated a metal bar she could use as a step.
The rickshaw’s seat was quite high off the ground and designed for people of smaller proportions than Westerners. When Neal swung up beside her the whole vehicle swayed. It swayed even more alarmingly when, after pedalling a short distance, the driver changed traffic lanes to negotiate a busy roundabout. Glancing down, Sarah saw the wheel on her side wobbling as if at any moment it might fly off and send the rickshaw crashing under the wheels of the cars all around them. Perched on little more than a padded ledge, she had never felt more at risk.
Suddenly Neal shifted his position to put an arm round her shoulders and draw her against him. ‘Scary, isn’t it? The traffic gets worse every year.’
Leaning into the solid wall of his chest, with his hand firmly spread round her upper arm, she felt a lot more secure. Not exactly relaxed, but no longer unsafe. She liked him for pretending that holding her close made him feel better too. She felt it would take a lot more than Kathmandu traffic to scare him.
Presently the driver turned off the main road down a tree-shadowed side street. Soon this passed through a small shopping centre before arriving at the imposing entrance to the Yak and Yeti.
It was many times larger than the hotel where she was staying, with a palatial foyer giving glimpses of an arcade of elegant shops to the left, a restaurant on a mezzanine level and, to the right, a large bar.
His fingers light on her elbow, Neal steered her past the pianist playing background music to a table close to the windows overlooking the garden, its darkness illumined by lights outlining the shape of a temple-style pavilion and a free-form swimming pool.
‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked, handing her the drinks menu.
The bar offered various specialities ranging from an Everest Ice Fall to a Yak’s Tail and a Yeti’s Smile, but Sarah was wary of cocktails which might pack a lethal punch.
‘May I have a Campari and soda?’ she asked as a waiter approached.
Neal repeated her request and ordered a beer for himself.
‘So what have you been doing on your first day?’
‘This morning we had a tour, led by our guide, and this afternoon we were free to do our own thing. I think most of the group had naps. The average age has to be sixty...maybe sixty-five because two couples who’ve come together are in their seventies.’
‘Are they in good shape for their age?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m amazed they’ve all chosen this type of holiday. The rest of them are paying customers. I’m the only one who’s on a freebie. When Sandy announced at dinner last night that I’d won the trip as a prize there were a few beady looks...especially as the prize was given by Stars and Celebs magazine which specialises in scandals.’
‘How did that come about?’ Neal asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Someone who likes doing competitions thought the prize would appeal to me and filled in my name on the form. Actually the winner had a choice of three activity holidays. I could have gone snorkelling in the Cayman islands or skiing at Aspen, Colorado.’
‘Are you wishing you’d opted for one of those?’ he asked.
‘I don’t ski and I’m not very good in the water. This was the trip I wanted. The group may turn out to be more fun as I get to know them better.’
‘I shouldn’t bank on it,’ said Neal. ‘I’ve always found my first impressions are pretty near the mark. Is Sandy a man or a woman?’
‘A mannish woman.’
He frowned. ‘Has she put you in her tent?’
‘No, I’m sharing with Beatrice who seems to suspect me of being a radical feminist and who snores all night long. I don’t suppose it will keep me awake once we’re spending long, strenuous days out of doors, but it did last night.’
‘But she’s not likely to make a pass at you?’
‘Definitely not! I don’t think Sandy would either. She might put me on a charge for insubordination,’ Sarah said, smiling.
He was asking about the other members of the group when a woman’s voice exclaimed, ‘Neal...I didn’t know you were in town!’
He rose to his feet ‘Hello, Julia. How are you?’
‘Great...and you?’ As she asked, she offered her cheek.
She was almost as tall as he was, model-thin, with a cloud of red hair framing her angular face. Her brilliant blue-green eyes were her only claim to beauty, but she exuded personality.
Neal put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I’m fine...flew in yesterday. This is Sarah. We met on the plane.’
‘Hello.’ Julia offered her hand. Her grip was unexpectedly strong.
‘Will you join us?’ Neal asked.
‘Thanks, but I can’t. I’m just back from Lukla and still on duty. Tonight’s the end-of-trek booze-up. My lot will be down in a minute.’ She looked in the direction of the lobby. ‘I can see one of them now. How long are you here for?’
‘Till the start of the Everest Marathon.’
‘Oh, great...we can get together later. Bye for now.’ Her smile included Sarah. She strode away, booted and jeaned but with a clingy mohair sweater on her top half, its softness outlining a bosom as surprising as her handshake. Those voluptuous curves above the waist didn’t match the boyish hips and greyhound legs.
‘Julia’s an outdoor pursuits instructor and a trekking guide,’ said Neal. ‘A very tough lady indeed.’ His tone was admiring. ‘We met on a course about five or six years ago.’
‘What sort of course?’ Sarah asked.
‘We were learning how to handle four-wheel-drive vehicles in wilderness terrain. She was the only woman and by far the best driver. That didn’t go down too well with some of the guys,’ he added, with reminiscent amusement.
‘But it didn’t bother you?’
‘I have hang-ups like everyone else...but that isn’t one of them. If a woman handles a car better than I do, it doesn’t hurt my ego. When my parents go out together, it’s always my mother who drives. She enjoys it. My father doesn’t. The traditional demarcation lines have always been flexible in our family.’
How different from mine, Sarah thought, before shifting the conversation into a safer zone by asking if the course had been a preparation for an expedition.
‘In Julia’s case, yes. Not in mine. It just seemed a skill that might come in useful some time.’
When they left the bar, about half an hour later, they passed Julia and her group. They looked a much livelier lot than Sandy’s charges. Although she was talking as they passed, Julia appeared to sense that Neal was nearby. Without breaking off what she was saying, she looked round and waved to him.
The gesture left Sarah feeling that, although it might not apply now, at some stage in their acquaintance they had been close...very close.
‘Shall we walk to the restaurant? It’s not far if we take some short-cuts,’ Neal suggested.
He appeared to know the city like the back of his hand, steering her down dark alleys she would have avoided had she been on her own.
The restaurant was in one of the busy thoroughfares. A signboard Simply Shutters indicated its presence but, on her own, she might not have found the entrance which was through a shadowy passage and up a flight of stairs.
The interior of the place was in marked contrast to the somewhat seedy way in. Inside it was immaculate, the tables decorated with fresh flowers, the young waiters informally dressed in Lacoste shirts with long white aprons.
Neal and Sarah were welcomed by the proprietor, a good-looking Nepalese who spoke perfect English and made pleasant conversation while seeing them settled at their table.
His restaurant was small but stylish and the people already there, although foreigners, did not appear to be tourists but residents of Kathmandu, perhaps working at the various embassies or with foreign aid organisations.
The menu was written on a blackboard and Sarah chose the walnut and mushroom roast. Neal ordered Spanish pork.
‘How long have you been a vegetarian?’ he asked her.
‘I’m not...I just feel in the mood for walnuts and mushrooms.’
‘You had a vegetarian meal on the plane.’
‘How observant of you to notice. But I suppose that’s an essential qualification for a journalist. I ordered vegetarian meals when I booked my flight because somebody told me they’re usually more interesting than ordinary airline food.’ She wondered if this revealed she wasn’t as experienced a traveller as he assumed her to be.