‘Mine too,’ replied Omar, looking straight at her.
Rani could sense his gaze upon her. She’d waited ten years to be this close to him and if the feelings growing in her body were anything to go by it was worth the wait.
‘Why?’
‘Because it was my big break. My chance to escape. Now what else do you want to know?’ he said, changing the subject. ‘How do I feel when I have to film my bedroom scenes? What’s it like being voted Steer with the Rear of the Year three times in a row? Did I really do my own stunts in Bombay Sweethearts? Who do I think is the better actor—me or Amitabh Bachchan?’ He stopped just long enough to take a breath and then proceeded to answer all the questions. ‘Nervous, embarrassing, yes and me!’ he said. ‘Is that the sort of thing you’re after?’
‘Actually I was wondering why you’ve never spoken publicly about your life here in England, you know, before you moved to Pakistan and India to became a big Bollywood star?’ There was silence. Eyes flitted around the confined space of the car but Rani held her ground. ‘Is there something you’re hiding?’
‘You’re good, Miss de Silver, and straight to the point. I like that,’ Omar said in a Lancashire accent, dropping any pretence of his subcontinent drawl. It was easy to slip back into his Mancunian dialect. Twenty-four hours in England and he was rolling his shoulders and dropping the façade that the world looked upon. There was a certain relief in being able to be himself with no pretentions. But he wasn’t going to let it all go just like that, not in front of a journalist. He’d come from the streets where you had to have a head on your shoulders. He could charm the birds from the trees and he wasn’t about to let a posh talking reporter under his skin, no matter how attractive she was. He stopped staring at her. Realising he’d been eyeing her up.
‘Thank you,’ she said politely in her crispest voice. The money her father had spent on her education wasn’t wasted. He was typically Asian like that.
‘Get a good education and then you can go anywhere,’ he was always telling her when she was growing up.
Chivingham School did exactly as it said in the prospectus: ‘We turn girls into young ladies.’
‘Perhaps we should start again. We seem to have got off on the wrong foot,’ she said, trying not to show the effect he was having on her.
‘Sadly for you, Miss de Silver, you’ve only the one foot to do anything with at the moment,’ he said, pointing at her uninjured leg. He couldn’t resist; that was the clown in him, always wanting to be the centre of attention. Always wanting to make people laugh. That was how he’d survived school, when he’d bothered to attend. It certainly wasn’t his academic achievements that had got him through.
The others laughed along with him. But as he saw Rani’s mortified reaction to his joke he stopped.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. You’re quite right—let’s start over,’ he said apologetically, slipping unconsciously back into his Bollywood accent. ‘As you can see we are both captives in the car until we reach the film set, so please ask what you like.’
Rani hoped he would be true to his word and, when he was answering the more general questions she knew she had to ask, he was. Gently she edged towards more personal ones trying to uncover something of his private life.
‘Tell me about your mother,’ she asked. He visibly baulked and gave a dismissive answer.
‘People don’t want to read about that,’ he said, smiling an unconvincing sort of smile. Rani tried again.
‘What about your father. He was from Lahore, wasn’t he?’ His eyes instantly contracted at the mention of his father.
‘Yes, he was,’ Omar answered coldly without offering anything more.
‘I understand he’s publishing a book about you.’
The car almost crashed off the road as George heard the words that had been forbidden to be spoken by anyone. The shocked reaction from all of the other people in the car was plain to see but it didn’t stop Rani from soldiering on.
‘Have I said something I shouldn’t have?’ she asked innocently, knowing full well she had.
Omar said nothing. George said nothing. The PA said nothing. In the end the manager squeezed a few words from between her thin pursed lips.
‘It’s not a subject Mr Khan is willing to discuss.’
Clearly he’s got issues, Rani said to herself. This is like pulling teeth, and I thought it would be fun! Who was I kidding? He’s just a working class wide boy with the manners to match! She began to despair that she would ever get beneath the guard he was putting up. He kept deflecting each of her advances with stock answers as if he were swatting at flies. More in desperation than in hope, she had one last go.
‘Have you ever said I love you and not meant it?’
There was silence. Not just the sort of silence you got when there were no sounds, but the sort of silence only possible in a vacuum. Rani felt as if all the air in the car had been sucked out and they were living the very last second of life. She scrunched up her eyes waiting for the response, whatever it would be. And then it came.
‘I’m an actor, of course I have.’ Rani felt the air rush back into the car and breathed again. Good answer, she thought. Perhaps we’re getting somewhere after all.
‘What about you, Miss de Silver?’ Omar asked with a tight smile.
Rani was a little taken aback as she wasn’t used to having the tables turned on her like this.
‘Call me Rani, please,’ she said, trying to buy a bit of thinking time. She could feel her face glowing with embarrassment.
‘Well, Rani, yes or no?’ Omar rephrased the question and pressed his advantage.
Rani squirmed.
‘No, but I’ve heard it,’ she replied rather coyly. She felt the blood pumping through her body.
Omar was intrigued but said nothing.
Rani was relieved when the car finally arrived at the film set and she could escape from the claustrophobia she felt. She needed to put some distance between herself and Omar Khan, demigod, movie star and, by all accounts, show-off. Her thoughts and feelings were confused and tangled with her need for professionalism and she required space to unravel the mess. After all, she’d waited years for this moment and now it was here she was unsure of how to proceed. As soon as the car door opened there was a swarm of assistants all queuing up to take orders and do his bidding. Rani couldn’t help but see many of them were young, pretty women. It felt quite alarming as she was caught up in the middle of them and washed away like a boat from the shore. As she disappeared from view she did manage to say goodbye.
‘Thank you for your time, Mr Khan. Good luck with the filming,’ she cried out. After all, whatever she felt about him she’d been brought up to be polite.
‘You’d best come this way, miss.’ It was George, the driver. He ushered her away, supporting her limping form with an arm the size of a large tree around her waist and leading her towards a long trailer.
‘I’ve never been on a movie set before; I’ve only ever seen these mobile home things, well, in the movies!’ Rani said with surprise. George laughed.
‘You get used to it, miss. They’re nothing special, not if you end up living in them week after week. Here, let me help you.’ And he gently lowered her into a chair and found a stool to prop her swollen leg on.
‘Thank you, George, really, I’m fine.’
She looked around her at the trailer. There were photographs of Omar Khan in frames dotted about the place and Rani realised she must have been shown into his trailer. There were pictures of him with various famous people and