He nodded, oddly touched at her excitement. He’d been to scores of restaurants, with scores of women, but none of them had been so genuinely pleased with so little. She went through the wine list carefully, but shook her head when he asked her what she’d like to drink.
‘Just a Coke please,’ she said. ‘I don’t drink. I was just looking at the names of the wines.’
Even the waiter smiled indulgently as he wrote her order down. Vikram had been about to order a Chilean wine that he was rather fond of, but he changed his mind and ordered a mocktail instead.
‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ he said after the waiter left. ‘Are you really serious about marrying me to get to Bengaluru and do your PhD?’
She nodded. ‘I’m sorry about yesterday,’ she said awkwardly. ‘You must have thought I was crazy, accosting you like that. But your parents happened to mention that you didn’t want them meeting your train, and I thought that was the only opportunity I’d get to speak to you alone.’
‘I’m glad you came,’ he said. ‘It just took me a little while to understand what you wanted. Your father’s still absolutely against your studying further, is he?’
Tara nodded. ‘You saw him today,’ she said. ‘Getting me married off to a good South Indian man is currently topmost on his priority list. If he isn’t able to manage that, he’s OK with me taking up a teaching job while he continues with the manhunt.’ She looked straight into his eyes. ‘Look, I don’t want to put you on the spot,’ she said. ‘If you don’t want to marry me that’s perfectly OK. I understand.’
Vikram glanced away for a second. His motives for wanting to get married were complex, but his requirements were extremely simple. Pretty much any nice-looking, reasonably well-educated girl would do—Tara fitted the description, and he genuinely liked her.
‘I think marriage will work for us if we’re both clear about what the other person wants,’ he said finally. ‘I’m the first one to admit that I’m going about this in a rather cold-blooded way. At your age you probably expect romance and candlelit dinners and a fairytale wedding.’
Tara smiled, her face taking on an uncommonly wise expression. ‘People have been getting married in India for centuries without even meeting each other before the ceremony. I guess we’re lucky we’ve been born into a generation that has some choice. Or at least you do—I don’t think my dad has quite realised which century he’s living in.’ She took in the look on Vikram’s face and grinned. ‘The short answer is no, I’m not looking for romance. Though I wouldn’t mind a candlelit dinner now and then.’
‘You haven’t considered leaving home and striking out on your own?’ Vikram asked. He found it a little difficult to believe that a girl as confident as Tara was so closely controlled by her father. Her body language when her father was around didn’t suggest that she found him intimidating in the least.
‘Oh, I have,’ Tara said. ‘Until you appeared on the scene it seemed to be my only option. But my dad would have cut me off from the family completely—and though he’s a pain I wouldn’t like that to happen. My mum would be lost without me.’
The last bit was believable, Vikram thought. Her mother was definitely under her father’s thumb, and he could imagine Mr Sundaram making her life miserable if Tara left home against his wishes.
The waiter came up with their drinks, and Tara’s eyes lit up as she saw the mocktail. ‘Ooh, that looks cute,’ she said, pointing at the little umbrella perched on top of the bright blue drink.
Vikram winced. ‘You can have it if you want,’ he said. ‘I’m quite happy with a Coke.’
Tara exchanged the drinks and sipped at the blue mocktail. ‘It’s good,’ she pronounced. ‘It looks a bit like window-cleaning fluid, but it tastes nice.’ She plucked the umbrella off the drink and tried opening and shutting it a few times, before looking up. ‘You can ask questions now,’ she prompted politely.
Vikram gave her a puzzled look. ‘What questions?’
‘Marriage interview questions,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you supposed to quiz me on my hobbies, whether I can cook, how many children I’d like to have—that kind of thing?’
He laughed, and Tara found herself laughing with him.
‘OK, here goes,’ he said, entering into the spirit of the thing. ‘We’ll begin with a rapidfire round. What’s your favourite book?’
‘To Kill a Mockingbird. Yours?’
Vikram shook his head, his eyes dancing. ‘No, I get to ask the questions. Movie?’
‘Three Idiots. Except the bit where the guitarist guy hangs himself.’
‘Music?’
‘Classical Karnatic.’ He looked surprised, and she laughed. ‘My parents spent a bomb on lessons. It’s kind of expected. Though, to be honest, it’s grown on me.’
‘Right. Food?’
‘Rasam and rice.’
‘Hmm, very traditional. Hobbies?’
‘Science, trekking and crochet.’
‘Crochet?’
He sounded incredulous, and Tara’s ears went a little pink. ‘Yes,’ she said, trying to sound as firm as she could.
‘Like Miss Marple? Fluffy wool and a little hooked needle?’
‘Yes,’ Tara said, her ears going pinker. But she stuck to her guns. ‘It’s creative and it’s easy to carry around. Don’t laugh.’
‘I’m not,’ Vikram said, looking so serious that Tara almost burst into giggles herself. ‘I have immense respect for crochet. And trekking. But—if I may ask—crocheting what? And trekking where?’
‘Crocheting purses for my mum and aunts, mainly.’ Tara said. ‘And trekking in the hills around the city—we had a group in college.’
‘OK,’ he said, consideringly. ‘Now, what else. Pet hates?’
‘Frogs. The city’s overrun with them in the monsoons. I hate the way they look at me, as if they’re expecting me to kiss them.’ She gazed solemnly at Vikram, and his mouth twitched.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I hope I don’t remind you of one?’
She put her head to one side. ‘No. Though you’re still a few kisses short of turning into Prince Charming.’
He raised his eyebrows, and Tara wondered if she’d gone too far. Talking of kisses had automatically drawn her eyes to his firm, uncompromising and perfectly shaped mouth, making her wonder what kissing him would be like. Quickly she looked away and continued, ‘I mean, you’re good-looking, but you’re all dark and brooding—like something in a Gothic romance. Except when you laugh.’
‘Thank you,’ Vikram said politely. ‘I don’t think anyone’s referred to me as Gothic before, but if that’s the impression I’ve given I’ll live with it.’
Tara flushed. She’d allowed her tongue to run away with her again, but what she’d said was true. When Vikram wasn’t actively making an effort to be pleasant there was something remote and rather forbidding about him. And his height and undeniably impressive looks contributed to the effect.
She began to fiddle with the cocktail umbrella that was still lying on the table and he reached out, his fingers briefly twining with hers as he rescued it.
‘Stop mangling the poor thing,’ he said, putting the umbrella aside.
Tara stayed silent. The feel of his strong, lean fingers on hers had set up a little chorus of longing inside her, and she didn’t know how to react.
‘So,