Cometh the Hour: A Novel (16 page)

“To watch England thrash the Indians.”

“True, but I met this girl…”

“Ah, the fog is lifting,” said Victor.

“And you fancied her,” said Clive.

“Yes, and what’s more, I thought she quite liked me.”

“Then she must be dumb.”

“But when I called her the next day and asked her to dinner, she turned me down.”

“I like the sound of this woman.”

“So as we both work in the City, I suggested lunch.”

“And she still spurned you?”

“Out of hand,” said Seb. “So I asked her if she—”

“Would consider dispensing with the meals and—”

“No, if she’d like to see Laurence Olivier in
The Merchant of Venice
.”

“And she still turned you down?”

“She did.”

“But you can’t get tickets for that show even from touts,” said Victor.

“So I’ll ask you again. Am I ugly?”

“We’ve already established that,” said Clive, “so all that’s left to discuss is which one of us will be your date for
Merchant
.”

“Neither of you. I haven’t given up yet.”

*   *   *

“I thought you told me you liked Sebastian?”

“I did. He was wonderful company for a day I’d been dreading,” said Priya.

“So why did you turn him down?” asked her flatmate.

“It was just unfortunate that on all three days he asked me out, I already had something else on.”

“And you couldn’t rearrange any of them?” asked Jenny.

“No, my father had invited me to the ballet on Wednesday evening. Margot Fonteyn in
Swan Lake
.”

“OK, I’ll accept that one. Next?”

“On Thursday, my boss asked me to attend a lunch he was giving for an important client who was flying in from New Delhi.”

“Fair enough.”

“And on Friday I always do my hair.”

“Pathetic.”

“I know! But by the time I’d thought about it, he was no longer on the line.”

“Pathetic,” Jenny repeated.

“And worse, Dad rang the next day to say something had come up and he had to fly to Bombay, and would I like the tickets. Fonteyn in
Swan Lake
. Can I tempt you, Jenny?”

“You bet. But I’m not going with you, because you are going to call Sebastian, tell him your father can’t make it and ask him if he’d like to join you.”

“I can’t do that,” said Priya. “I couldn’t possibly phone a man and ask him out.”

“Priya, it’s 1971. It’s no longer frowned upon for a woman to ask a man out.”

“It is in India.”

“But we’re not in India, just in case you hadn’t noticed. And what’s more, you phone men all the time.”

“No, I do not.”

“Yes you do. It’s part of your job, and you’re rather good at it.”

“That’s different.”

“So it would be all right to call Sebastian and discuss the drop in interest rates, but not to invite him to the ballet.”

“Perhaps he’ll call me again.”

“And perhaps he won’t.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to see Fonteyn?”

“Of course I do. And if you give me the tickets I’ll phone Sebastian and ask him if he’d like to be my date.”

*   *   *

“There’s a Jenny Barton on line one, Mr. Clifton.”

“Jenny Barton, Jenny Barton … Doesn’t ring a bell. Did she say which company she’s from?”

“No, she said it was a personal matter.”

“I can’t place her, but I suppose you’d better put her through.”

“Good morning, Mr. Clifton. You don’t know me, but I share a flat with Priya Ghuman.” Seb nearly dropped the phone. “You rang Priya yesterday and invited her to dinner.”

“And lunch, and the theatre, all of which she turned down.”

“Which she now regrets, so if you were to call her again, I think you’ll find she might be free on Wednesday night after all.”

“Thank you, Miss Barton,” said Seb. “But why didn’t she call herself?”

“You may well ask. Because after what she told me about you, I certainly wouldn’t have turned you down.” The line went dead.

*   *   *

“I had no idea you were interested in the ballet, Sebastian. I always think of you as more of a theatre buff.”

“You’re quite right, Mother. In fact it will be my first visit to the Royal Opera House.”

“Then be warned, don’t bother to have lunch.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s all very civilized at Covent Garden. You have dinner throughout the evening. They serve the first course before the curtain goes up, the main course during the long interval, and coffee, cheese and biscuits after the curtain comes down. Who are you taking?”

“I’m not. I’m a guest.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Stop fishing, Mother.”

*   *   *

Sebastian arrived at the Royal Opera House a few minutes before seven, surprised by how nervous he felt. But then, as Clive had so helpfully reminded him, it was his first date for some time. He scanned the crowd streaming through the front doors, and then he saw her. Not that he could have missed her. Priya’s long dark hair and deep brown eyes were complemented by a striking red silk dress that made him feel she should be gracing the cover of
Vogue
rather than hidden away analyzing profits and losses in the deep recesses of a bank. Her face lit up the moment she spotted him.

“Wow,” he said. “You look stunning.”

“Thank you,” Priya replied, as Seb kissed her on the cheek as if she were his aunt Grace.

“I’m sure you’ve been to the House many times before,” she said, “so you’ll be familiar with the routine.”

“No, it’s my first visit,” admitted Seb. “In fact, I’ve never been to the ballet before.”

“Lucky you!”

“What do you mean?” asked Seb as they entered the restaurant on the ground floor.

“You’ll either be hooked for life, or you won’t ever want to come again.”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” said Seb.

Priya stopped at the entrance. “We have a booking in the name of Ghuman.”

“Please follow me, madam,” said the maître d’, who led them to their table and, once they were seated, handed each of them a menu.

“They serve the first course before the curtain goes up, and we have to order the main course at the same time so they can have it ready for us at the interval.”

“Are you always this organized?”

“I’m so sorry,” said Priya. “I was only trying to help.”

“And I was only teasing,” said Seb. “But then, when you’ve got a mother like mine, it goes with the territory.”

“Your mother is a remarkable lady, Seb. I wonder if she knows just how many women look upon her as a role model?”

A waiter appeared at their side, his order pad open.

“I’ll have the asparagus, and Dover sole,” said Priya.

“And I’ll have the duck pâté, and a lamb chop,” said Seb, “and I’d like to order a bottle of wine.”

“I don’t drink,” said Priya.

“I’m sorry. What would you like?”

“Water will be fine, thank you. But don’t let me stop you.”

Seb checked the wine list. “I’ll have a glass of Merlot,” he said.

“As a banker,” said Priya, “you’d approve of how well this place is run. Most of the courses are simple and easy to prepare, so when you return to your table at the end of each act, they can serve you quickly.”

“I can see why you’re an analyst.”

“And you head up the property division of Farthings, which must be quite a responsibility for someone—”

“—of my age? As you well know, banking is a young man’s game. Most of my colleagues are burnt out by forty.”

“Some at thirty.”

“And it still can’t be easy for a woman to make headway in the City.”

“One or two of the banks are slowly coming around to accepting that it’s just possible a woman might be as bright as a man. However, most of the older establishments are still living in the dark ages. Which school you went to, or who your father is, often outranks ability or qualifications. Hambros is less Neanderthal than most, but they still don’t have a woman on the board, which is also true of every other major bank in the City, including Farthings.”

Three bells rang.

“Does that mean the players are about to come out onto the pitch?”

“As you’re a regular theatregoer, you’ll know that’s the three-minute bell.”

Seb followed her out of the restaurant and into the auditorium as she seemed to know exactly where she was going. He wasn’t surprised when they were shown to the best seats in the house.

From the moment the curtain rose and the little swans fluttered out onto the stage, Seb was transported into another world. He was captivated by the dancers’ skills and artistry, and just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, the prima ballerina made her entrance, and he knew he would be returning again and again. When the curtain fell at the end of the second act and the applause had died down, Priya led him back to the restaurant.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked as they sat down.

“I was spellbound,” he said, looking directly at her. “And I enjoyed Margot Fonteyn’s performance as well.”

Priya laughed. “My father first took me to the ballet when I was seven years old. Like all little girls, I left the theatre wanting to be one of the four cygnets, and it’s been an unbroken love affair ever since.”

“I had the same feeling when my father first took me to Stratford to see Paul Robeson in
Othello,
” Seb said as a lamb chop was placed in front of him.

“How fortunate you are.” Seb looked puzzled. “You’ll now be able to see all the great ballets for the first time. Mind you, starting with Fonteyn won’t make it easy for those who follow her.”

“My father once told me,” said Seb, “that he wished he’d never read a word of Shakespeare until he was thirty. Then he could have seen all thirty-seven plays without knowing the endings. I now realize exactly what he meant.”

“I just don’t get to the theatre enough.”

“I did invite you to
The Merchant of Venice,
but—”

“I had something on that night. But I can now get out of it, so I’d love to go with you. Assuming you haven’t offered the ticket to someone else.”

“I’m sorry, but two of my friends were desperate to see Olivier, so…”

“I understand,” said Priya.

“But I turned them down.”

“Why?”

“They both have hairy legs.”

Priya burst out laughing.

“I know you—”

“Where do you—”

“No, you first,” said Priya.

“I just have so many questions I want to ask you.”

“Me too.”

“I know you went to St. Paul’s and then Girton, but why banking?”

“I’ve always been fascinated by figures and the patterns they create, especially when you have to explain their significance to men, who so often are only interested in a short-term gain.”

“Like me, perhaps?”

“I hope not, Seb.”

It could have been Samantha speaking. He wouldn’t make the same mistake a second time. “How long have you been with Hambros?”

“Just over three years.”

“So you must be thinking about your next move?”

“So like a man,” said Priya. “No, I’m very happy where I am, although I do get depressed when inadequate men are promoted to positions above their actual ability. I wish banking was like the ballet. If it was, Margot Fonteyn would be governor of the Bank of England.”

“I don’t think Sir Leslie O’Brien would make a very good black swan,” said Seb as the three-minute bell rang. He quickly drained his glass of wine.

Priya was right, because Seb couldn’t take his eyes off the black swan, who mesmerized the entire audience with her brilliance, and when the curtain fell at the end of act three, he was desperate to find out what would happen in the final act.

“Don’t tell me, don’t tell me,” he said as they returned to their table.

“I won’t,” said Priya. “But savor the moment, because sadly you can only have this unique experience once.”

“Perhaps you’ll have the same experience when I take you to
The Merchant of Venice
.”

“How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!

Here will we sit and let the sounds of music

Creep in our ears. Soft stillness and the night

Become the touches of sweet harmony.

Sit, Jessica, look how—”

Sebastian bowed his head.

“I’m so sorry,” said Priya. “What did I say?”

“Nothing, nothing. You just reminded me of something.”

“Or someone?”

Seb was rescued by the P.A. “Ladies and gentlemen, would you please take your seats, the final act is about to begin.”

The final act was so moving, and Fonteyn so captivating, that when Seb turned to see if it was having the same effect on Priya, he thought he saw a tear trickling down her cheek. He took her hand.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I’m making a fool of myself.”

“That wouldn’t be possible.”

When the curtain finally fell, Seb joined in the ten-minute standing ovation, and Margot Fonteyn received so many curtain calls and bouquets she could have opened a flower shop. As they left the auditorium, he took Priya’s hand as they strolled back to the restaurant, but she seemed nervous and didn’t speak. Once coffee had been served, Priya said, “Thank you for a wonderful evening. Being with you was like seeing
Swan Lake
for the first time. I haven’t enjoyed a performance so much in a long time.” She hesitated.

“But something is worrying you.”

“I’m a Hindu.”

Seb burst out laughing. “And I’m a Somerset yokel, but it’s never worried me.”

She didn’t laugh. “I don’t think I can come to the theatre with you, Seb.”

“But why not?”

“I’m frightened of what might happen if we see each other again.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I told you my father had to return to India.”

“Yes, I assumed on business.”

“Of a kind. My mother has spent the past few months selecting the man I will be expected to marry, and I think she’s made her final choice.”

“No,” said Seb, “that can’t be possible.”

“All that’s needed now is my father’s approval.”

“You have no choice, no say in the matter?”