ANNE WEALE - Sleepless Nights

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.’