Jeffrey Archer - Cometh the Hour

“I’d like to buy a single rose.”

“Of course, sir,” she said, gesturing toward a selection of different-colored roses. “Would you like to choose one?”

Seb took his time picking a red one that was just starting to bloom. “Can I have it delivered?”

“Yes, sir. Would you like to add a message?” she asked, handing him a pen.

Seb took a card from the counter, turned it over and wrote:

To Priya Ghuman,

Congratulations on your forthcoming marriage.

From all your admirers at the Taj Hotel.

He gave the florist Priya’s address and said, “Please charge it to room 808. When will it be delivered?”

She looked at the address. “Some time between ten and eleven, depending on the traffic.”

“Will you be here for the rest of the morning?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, looking puzzled.

“If anyone calls and asks who sent the rose, tell them it was the guest who’s staying in room 808.”

“Certainly, sir,” said the florist, as he handed her a fifty-rupee note.

Seb ran back upstairs, aware that he had only a couple of hours to spare, three at the most. When he walked out of the hotel he was pleased to see that the receptionist had carried out his instructions and replaced the Ambassador with a motorbike.

“Good morning, sir. Where would you like to go today?” asked Vijay, displaying the same irrepressible smile.

“Santacruz airport. The domestic terminal. And I’m not in a hurry,” he emphasized as he climbed onto the back of the bike.

He carefully observed the route that Vijay took, noting the occasional blue and white airport signs dotted along the way. Forty-two minutes later Vijay screeched to a halt outside the domestic terminal. Seb jumped off, saying, “Hang around, I’ll only be a few minutes.” He walked inside and checked the departures board. The flight he required was leaving from Gate 14B, and the word “Boarding” was flashing next to the words “New Delhi.” He followed the signs, but when he arrived at the gate, he didn’t join the queue of passengers waiting to board the plane. He checked his watch. It had taken forty-nine minutes from the moment he’d left the hotel to reach the gate. He retraced his steps to find Vijay waiting patiently for him.

“I’ll take us back,” said Seb, grabbing the handlebars.

“But you don’t have a license, sir.”

“I don’t think anyone will notice.” Seb flicked on the ignition, revved up and waited for Vijay to climb on behind him before he joined the traffic heading into Bombay.

They were back outside the hotel forty-one minutes later. Seb checked his watch. The rose should be delivered any time now.

“I’ll be back, Vijay, but I can’t be sure when,” he said before walking quickly up the steps and into the hotel. He took the lift to the eighth floor, went straight to his room, poured himself a cold Cobra and sat down next to the phone. So many jumbled thoughts flooded through his mind. Had the rose been delivered? If it had, would Priya even see it? If she did see it, would she realize who’d sent it? At least he felt confident about that. She would recognize his handwriting, and with one call to the florist she would discover which room he was in. It was clear that her family weren’t letting her out of the house unaccompanied, possibly not even out of their sight. Checking his watch every few minutes he paced up and down the room, occasionally stopping to take a sip of his beer. He glanced at the front page of the Times of India, but didn’t get beyond the headlines. He thought about ringing his uncle Giles, and bringing him up to date, but decided he couldn’t risk the line being busy when she called.

When the phone made a loud metallic sound, Seb grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Is that you, Seb?” Priya whispered.

“Yes it is, black swan. Can you talk?”

“Only for a minute. What are you doing in Bombay?”

“I’ve come to take you back to England.” He paused. “But only if that’s what you want.”

“Of course it’s what I want. Just tell me how.”

Seb quickly explained exactly what he had planned, and although she remained silent, he felt confident she was listening intently. Suddenly she spoke, her voice formal. “Thank you, yes. You can expect my mother and me around eleven—” A pause. “I’m also looking forward to seeing you.”

“Don’t forget to bring your passport,” said Seb, just before she put the phone down.

“Who was that?” Priya’s mother asked.

“Brides of Bombay,” said Priya, casually, not wanting her mother to become suspicious. “Just confirming our appointment for tomorrow,” she added, trying to conceal her excitement. “They suggested I wear something casual, as I’ll be trying on several outfits.”

Seb made no attempt to disguise how euphoric he felt. He punched the air and shouted “Hallelujah!” as if he’d just scored the winning goal in the cup final. Once he’d recovered, he sat down and thought about what needed to be done next. After a few moments, he left his room and went downstairs to the front desk.

“Did you find what you were looking for at the florist, Mr. Clifton?”

“She couldn’t have been more helpful, thank you. Now I’d like to book two first-class tickets on Air India’s flight to New Delhi at two twenty tomorrow afternoon.”

“Certainly, sir. I’ll ask our travel desk to send the tickets up to your room as soon as they’re confirmed.”

Seb sat alone in the hotel restaurant, picking at a curry as he went over his plan again and again, trying to eradicate any possible flaws. After lunch he left the hotel to find Vijay sitting on the bike. He could have given a lapdog lessons in loyalty.

“Where to now, sir?”

“Back to the airport,” said Seb, as he grabbed the handlebars and climbed on.

“Do you require me, sir?”

“Oh yes. I need someone sitting behind me.”

Seb knocked three minutes off their previous time to the airport, and once again walked across to Gate 14B, where he double-checked the departure board. On the return trip to the hotel, he knocked another minute off his time, without ever breaking the speed limit.

“See you at ten tomorrow morning, Vijay,” said Seb, knowing he was talking to someone who didn’t need to be reminded to be on time.

Vijay gave a mock salute as Sebastian entered the hotel and returned to his room. He ordered a light supper and tried to relax by watching Above Us the Waves on television. He finally climbed into bed just after eleven, but didn’t sleep.

Despite a sleepless night, Sebastian wasn’t tired when he pulled open the curtains the following morning, letting the first rays of the sun flood into his room. He now knew what an athlete must feel like the morning before an Olympic final.

He took a long cold shower, put on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a pair of trainers. He ordered breakfast in his room, but only to kill time. He would have called his uncle Giles to bring him up to date if it hadn’t been the middle of the night in London. He went down to the front desk just after ten and asked for his bill.

“I hope you enjoyed your stay with us, Mr. Clifton,” said the concierge, “and will be returning soon.”

“I hope so too,” said Seb as he handed over his credit card, although he couldn’t imagine what circumstances would make it possible for him ever to return. When the receptionist handed him back his credit card, he asked, “Shall I send someone up to collect your luggage, Mr. Clifton?”

Seb was momentarily thrown. “No, I’ll pick it up later,” he stammered.

“As you wish, sir.”

When Seb stepped out of the hotel, he was pleased, though not surprised, to see Vijay leaning on the motorbike.