Sleepless Nights

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.’

‘No problem. Rich locals and the world-tour crowd dress up, but climbers and serious trekkers don’t. They’re not into competitive dressing. Whatever you wear, you’ll look great.’

‘OK...if you say so. See you later. Goodbye.’ As she replaced the receiver, she felt a resurgence of the excitement she had expected to feel every day, every moment. But dinner and breakfast conversations with some of the others, and a night in a room with Beatrice, had quenched that expectation.

She was in the lobby, watching the comings and goings, when Neal strode through the entrance and went to the desk. She knew they would direct him to where she was sitting so she watched him for the few moments he had to wait for one of the desk clerks to be free.

He was wearing the same trousers he had travelled in but with a different shirt. Over his arm he had one of the warm light garments known as a fleece. Naomi had lent Sarah a canary-yellow fleece. Neal’s was dark blue with a coral-coloured collar.

He looked strikingly different from all the people in her trekking group. An almost tangible aura of vitality and virility emanated from his tall, upright figure. When, on the clerk’s instructions, he swung round and headed for where she was sitting, she felt the force of it even more strongly.

She was on her feet by the time he reached her. ‘Ready and waiting,’ he said approvingly. ‘I hate kicking my heels for half an hour. Let’s go, shall we?’

Preceding him out of the door, Sarah smiled at and thanked the saluting doorman.

‘Our transport’s outside the gate,’ said Neal. ‘These upmarket hotels don’t like cycle rickshaws lowering the tone of their entrances. What do you think of this place?’

‘I wouldn’t have chosen it. A guest house is more my style.’

That morning, on Sandy’s guided tour of the city, Sarah had seen many pedal-driven rickshaws weaving their way in and out of the chaotic traffic. The driver of the one waiting for them was a small thin man with grey hair who didn’t look as if he had the strength to pedal two large Europeans. She smiled at him. ‘Namaste.’

‘Namaste, madam.’ Beaming and bowing, he indicated a metal bar she could use as a step.

The rickshaw’s seat was quite high off the ground and designed for people of smaller proportions than Westerners. When Neal swung up beside her the whole vehicle swayed. It swayed even more alarmingly when, after pedalling a short distance, the driver changed traffic lanes to negotiate a busy roundabout. Glancing down, Sarah saw the wheel on her side wobbling as if at any moment it might fly off and send the rickshaw crashing under the wheels of the cars all around them. Perched on little more than a padded ledge, she had never felt more at risk.

Suddenly Neal shifted his position to put an arm round her shoulders and draw her against him. ‘Scary, isn’t it? The traffic gets worse every year.’

Leaning into the solid wall of his chest, with his hand firmly spread round her upper arm, she felt a lot more secure. Not exactly relaxed, but no longer unsafe. She liked him for pretending that holding her close made him feel better too. She felt it would take a lot more than Kathmandu traffic to scare him.

Presently the driver turned off the main road down a tree-shadowed side street. Soon this passed through a small shopping centre before arriving at the imposing entrance to the Yak and Yeti.

It was many times larger than the hotel where she was staying, with a palatial foyer giving glimpses of an arcade of elegant shops to the left, a restaurant on a mezzanine level and, to the right, a large bar.

His fingers light on her elbow, Neal steered her past the pianist playing background music to a table close to the windows overlooking the garden, its darkness illumined by lights outlining the shape of a temple-style pavilion and a free-form swimming pool.

‘What would you like to drink?’ he asked, handing her the drinks menu.

The bar offered various specialities ranging from an Everest Ice Fall to a Yak’s Tail and a Yeti’s Smile, but Sarah was wary of cocktails which might pack a lethal punch.

‘May I have a Campari and soda?’ she asked as a waiter approached.

Neal repeated her request and ordered a beer for himself.

‘So what have you been doing on your first day?’

‘This morning we had a tour, led by our guide, and this afternoon we were free to do our own thing. I think most of the group had naps. The average age has to be sixty...maybe sixty-five because two couples who’ve come together are in their seventies.’

‘Are they in good shape for their age?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m amazed they’ve all chosen this type of holiday. The rest of them are paying customers. I’m the only one who’s on a freebie. When Sandy announced at dinner last night that I’d won the trip as a prize there were a few beady looks...especially as the prize was given by Stars and Celebs magazine which specialises in scandals.’

‘How did that come about?’ Neal asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Someone who likes doing competitions thought the prize would appeal to me and filled in my name on the form. Actually the winner had a choice of three activity holidays. I could have gone snorkelling in the Cayman islands or skiing at Aspen, Colorado.’

‘Are you wishing you’d opted for one of those?’ he asked.

‘I don’t ski and I’m not very good in the water. This was the trip I wanted. The group may turn out to be more fun as I get to know them better.’

‘I shouldn’t bank on it,’ said Neal. ‘I’ve always found my first impressions are pretty near the mark. Is Sandy a man or a woman?’

‘A mannish woman.’

He frowned. ‘Has she put you in her tent?’