‘Sorry!’ she exclaimed, looking towards the door. It was Omar Khan’s manager.
She was a woman in her late forties, smartly dressed but very offhand. She huffed and looked disapprovingly at Rani and the picture.
‘Don’t be. I don’t know why he keeps the scrappy little thing, anyway,’ she said. Rani hobbled around trying to find something to collect the broken pieces of glass in. George entered the room from the bedroom at the back of the trailer.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked. The manager looked at Rani and pointed.
‘This clumsy girl’s smashed Sahib’s treasured picture, poking her nose into his things. That’s reporters for you,’ she said in a gleeful tone.
Rani looked at George for support.
‘It really wasn’t like that. It caught my eye, that’s true, and I was wondering who the photograph was of. Then I was startled and it slipped from my hand. I’ll repair it or replace it, of course,’ she insisted.
‘Come on, I’ll give you a hand tidying up and then we’d better get you out of here before you do any more damage,’ George said, smiling kindly at Rani. She was pleased to be believed and her relief showed across her face.
‘They’re about to start the day’s filming, miss, so I’ll find you somewhere you can sit without getting in the way,’ George said.
The manager made a very loud sulky sound so she was sure they had heard her and stormed out of the trailer.
‘Watch her, miss, she’s a right one. I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her, and I don’t think that’s very far, judging by the size of her! ‘
Rani began to laugh but felt unsure if she should.
‘Oh, don’t you worry, she knows how I feel about her, but you’d do well not to let on too much. She’s a dragon. Thinks it’s her job to stop attractive women like you getting too close to Mr Khan, if you don’t mind me saying how attractive you are,’ George added. He began to blush.
Rani smiled.
‘Not at all, George. That’s very kind of you. It’s nice to be appreciated and thank you for the warning about her,’ Rani said, standing up with the pieces of the frame and the old photograph in her hand. ‘Who is it?’ she asked.
‘It’s his mother,’ George said. ‘Come on, I’ll show you to your seat.’ And with that he opened the door to the trailer and helped Rani down the few steps.
The set was busy and noisy. From where Rani was sitting it looked like a headless chicken convention. There were people rushing in all directions and saying all sorts of things but not much seemed to be actually happening. Suddenly the noise stopped and the set fell totally silent. Omar walked in, his head bowed, listening to the man walking with him. They both stopped, smiled at each other and then the man walked away, leaving Omar standing alone at the bottom of a wide staircase.
‘Lights, camera, action,’ the other man bellowed. He’s obviously the director, thought Rani as she stared at the scene. A pretty girl wearing a sari ran onto the set and rushed past Omar. She was in floods of tears. He held out a hand to grab her by the arm as she tried to climb the stairs, pulling her back towards him. The girl struggled for a moment and then melted into his arms as he pulled her to his chest. Their lips were just about to meet when the director yelled.
‘Cut!’
Rani felt her heart rise as she saw the girl about to kiss the screen legend and she felt it fall as she realised their lips were not actually going to touch. There was a round of applause from the cast and crew who were watching the filming.
‘We’ll print that,’ shouted the director. ‘Set up for the next scene, make-up, do something about her hair!’ he screamed at no one in particular. George came back to stand behind Rani’s chair.
‘And that’s how it goes, all day long! Mr Khan stands about looking handsome, the girls faint into his arms and then they have a song and a dance.’
Rani began to laugh. ‘You really know your Bollywood movies, don’t you, George?’ she said.
‘Well, they do seem a bit formulaic, if you don’t mind me saying, miss.’
‘That’s the way we like them.’ It was Omar Khan. He’d made his way behind the camera and had crept up on them both without them noticing. Both George and Rani were startled.
‘No offence, sir,’ said George apologetically. ‘I didn’t mean your films,’ he stuttered as he tried to climb out of the hole he’d dug for himself.
‘Mine are the worst offenders, George, you know that!’ Omar laughed and patted the burly minder across the back. George looked relieved.
‘Do you really think that, Mr Khan?’ Rani asked.
‘I thought I told you to call me Omar,’ he said, crouching down so he was level with Rani.
‘Close your eyes,’ he ordered.
Rani was a little nervous and unsure if she should do as he commanded.
‘Go on, close your eyes. It won’t hurt, I promise,’ he urged again with a smile that showed all of his trademark teeth and his penetrating eyes. Rather sheepishly Rani closed her eyes, scrunching them up tight in anticipation of what was going to happen. Perhaps he’s going to kiss me, she thought. She felt the pounding of her heart again. And then the shock of something burning her ankle. She opened her eyes immediately and looked down.
‘For you,’ Omar said. ‘They should help reduce the swelling.’ Rani looked down to where her leg was supported by a small table and saw a bag of frozen peas sitting across her ankle.
‘Peas!’ she exclaimed with disappointment.
‘Just so, peas—I said they’d help,’ Omar said. ‘I have to go now. George will take you back to town.’ He turned to walk back to the set. ‘I look forward to reading your interview, Miss de Silver,’ he continued, and before Rani could think of a suitable reply he was gone.
‘Peas,’ she muttered in disgust. ‘Peas, he gives me a bag of matar.’ Rani turned to George. ‘Can you take me home now, please? I think I’d like to go.’
Without saying anything George helped Rani up and carried her all the way back to the limousine. The journey back to London was a quiet one. Rani was in a contemplative mood. Since she was a teenager she had looked up to the man in the posters, the handsome hero in the films and had imagined herself falling in love with him. Now she’d actually met him and it was true his eyes were a stunning colour and his body was powerfully built and oozed sex appeal. But there was something nagging at her. She’d wanted him to sweep her off her feet and instead he’d joked about her twisted ankle with all the sophistication of the school show-off. He’d made fun of her in front of other people. Peas, for God’s sake—who was he trying to impress? Worse still, Rani felt stupid about her own feelings and told herself that she must stop daydreaming.
‘George, what do you know about his mother?’ She was thinking back to the photograph and the frame she’d broken.
‘Nothing, miss.’ George was happy to talk; he didn’t like the silence.
‘Have you ever met her?’
‘No, miss. I’m not even sure she’s still alive, to tell you the truth. He’s, Mr Khan’s, never mentioned her. I just know he likes