The Monsoon Rain Read Free Page A

and exotic. He lived somewhereMiranda 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 ifhe 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