The Perfect Girlfriend(39)

I read an email from my manager. My place on the airline’s promotions team will be definite by September, which means that I need to reunite with Nate sooner rather than later. My one major advantage is the element of surprise, and I must not jeopardize that.

I check my spy app. There is silence as regards Katie, so far. Nate has been rostered a Vegas in three weeks. This could be the perfect opportunity to engineer myself on to his flight, because Las Vegas is an unpopular trip: crammed flights and overexcited, heavy-drinking stags and hens. I check the swap notices. Damn. No one has requested to exchange that particular destination. I will keep checking over the coming week before adding a request of my own. Ideally, I’d like to leave no online trace that it is anything other than chance scheduling that we operate the same flight.

I have run out of things to do, so I switch on the TV and watch a Wimbledon tennis match. It will give me something to chat to Barbara about as I imagine she’s in front of the telly now, Pimm’s in one hand, a bowl of strawberries and cream within close reach. It’s an annual ritual of hers. But it’s difficult to concentrate, as I keep checking for messages from Katie to Nate or vice versa, until the spy app freezes and I can’t get it to work. It’s annoying, like having my psychic powers turned off. I need to be more cautious as I’ve read that it can drain Nate’s battery, and if that occurs too frequently, he could either try to get it fixed or push for an upgrade.

It works again after a few hours, probably after Nate has rebooted his phone. I force myself to check only once every couple of hours. I discover that he has employed a cleaner to come in twice a week. This, I suspect, is good news; in the event I ever make an error, then the cleaner will be blamed.

The other good thing is that, by the time I leave for my next trip to Delhi a couple of days later, there has been very little contact between Katie and Nate.

As the crew bus bumps along, badly hung window curtains brush my face each time we hit a pothole. I try to tie back the flimsy material with a hairband so I can see outside. This is my first time in Delhi and it’s beguiling. Rickshaws, bicycles and cows all fight for personal space on the road, oblivious to the hooting and loud engines of the garishly decorated trucks and buses as they play chicken. Heat, due to the poor air conditioning, intermingles with the pungent smell of fruit and drains, which clashes with the strong scent of the white plastic air fresheners attached to the dashboard.

I’m excited. I’ve found out from a passenger that there is a locally respected fortune teller who works in our hotel and, seeing as it’s my birthday, it will make a good present to myself. Especially as I keep checking for messages from Nate, even though I know it’s futile – he would never remember without a prompt – but like so many things, I just can’t help myself.

I ask a receptionist about making an appointment whilst we are checking in.

‘I will see what I can do, madam,’ she promises.

Less than an hour later, my room phone rings.

‘Madam. This is Reyansh. You would like to see me, I understand?’

I am momentarily thrown. I expected a female.

I find my voice. ‘Yes, please.’

‘You’re very lucky today. I have a spare hour if you can come downstairs now.’

The cynic in me suspects that I’ve not been particularly lucky, but nonetheless, I am curious and feel drawn to do this, so I agree. In the basement area, among the carpet and jewellery shops with displays of yellow gold, sapphires and emeralds, I politely decline various shopkeepers’ offers of tea – chai – as I’m beckoned by a short, old man towards a curtained-off area at the end of the wide corridor. Behind the curtain, I’m offered a seat, which I accept as Reyansh sits opposite, on the other side of a large wooden desk.

‘Please. Can you let me borrow a piece of jewellery or something that means a lot to you?’

I hand over an eternity ring. It is worthless, but I like it because it is a replica of the kind of ring I’d like Nate to give me one day. Reyansh spends time studying it in his palm, then speaks with such great speed that it is hard to keep up with everything.

However, by the time I leave – an hour later – the gist of what he has relayed slowly sinks in. I’ve been waiting for someone for a long time and the man in question does love me. A part of me doesn’t care if it’s what he genuinely ‘saw’ or ‘felt’ or not, it gives me a strong sense of renewed hope and optimism. Everyone needs a boost now and then, and I’m no different, so I don’t begrudge the 5,000 rupees I paid Reyansh.

Later, I meet up with the rest of my crew in a local vegetarian restaurant and try out a roast cauliflower curry. After the meal, we’re invited back to the captain’s room for drinks, seeing as the restaurant was dry.

Several beers later, an argument breaks out between two stewards who realize they are dating the same person after sharing photos of their boyfriends. Both huddle in the corner of the suite and make angry calls to the man in question – Sebastian – who is in Dubai with his phone switched off. I imagine he’s going to keep it that way for some time once he picks up his venomous voicemails.

The woman sitting next to me makes a face. ‘Everyone thinks that their Sebastian, Tim, Dave, Jane, whoever, is different,’ she says.

The sick feeling that almost permanently inhabits my stomach, like a ball of mixed poisons, kneads my insides. I always knew that Nate faced temptation every time that he went to work, but I tried never to let my mind go there.