Dr Greene was sitting at his desk, his new partner opposite him. Dr Mohindra Meghani, known to his friends and colleagues as ‘Mo,’ had worked at the surgery for a year now, and had proved himself to be an excellent doctor. He was very popular with the patients, not only those from the Asian community, but just about everyone. He was kind and diligent, and gave time to those in need, whatever their circumstances. This meant an ever-increasing waiting list of those who wanted to see him, although his general good humour and modesty meant that this had not gone to his head. For Dr Greene, his popularity had been a huge relief, and the offer to become a partner at the practice had come from the heart.
‘I’m so thrilled that you accepted the partnership,’ he said. ‘You’re such an asset to us.’
‘I was thrilled to accept. It took very little thought on my part to do so. It is I who is grateful to you,’ Mo replied, his voice soft yet clear and his accent almost melodic. ‘You have no idea what this means to me. My family in India have been celebrating for two days!’ He laughed, momentarily wishing he was with them. He would go back after Christmas when he had some leave booked. There would be further celebrations then…
‘Then we’re all happy! How’s the house coming on?’ Dr Greene asked. He found his colleague’s accent mesmerising, rising and falling naturally, and turning ordinary language into something rather hypnotic that drew one in.
‘All I can say is that my local DIY store is making good profits,’ Mo replied. ‘There is much to do, but I am in no hurry.’ He shrugged his shoulders.
‘Where do you go? There’s a good place on the other side of the park, about half a mile further down the road.’
‘Maybe that is the one. Mr Gupta’s. Very friendly and they have all I need.’
‘That’s it. The assistant manager is a patient here. His wife died a while back, but I haven’t seen him recently which is a good thing, I suppose.’ As he said this, an image of Chandu’s wife, Babita, flashed into his mind, dressed in a peach sari, and looking good enough to eat. He shook his head. ‘Anyway, you’ll come to us for dinner this Saturday evening?’
‘Of course,’ replied Mo. ‘Nothing would keep me away…’ What he hadn’t told Dr Greene, was that there was another reason for his frequenting Mr Gupta’s Hardware Store. The last two times he’d been in there, he had been served by a very attractive young lady. She was perhaps about twenty, tall, and with a long, heavy plait that was twisted through with jasmine, the fragrance of which followed her around when she walked. She wore tight jeans and an equally tight satin top, bright yellow in colour and covered with embroidered flowers. She’d helped him to choose paint for his bathroom, and he had been spellbound.
‘I think this colour will suit, no? Blue is so cold for a bathroom, but turquoise, now that is different. This is what I would choose,’ she said, the colour conjuring up images of the Mediterranean on a hot sunny day. So far, she had only seen it in photos and brochures but had every intention of visiting Europe, backpacking around with friends, or maybe Harish? Either way, she would go.
‘I think you may be right,’ he replied, unable to avert his gaze from the girl’s striking face and large eyes, lined with kohl and sparkling with fun. ‘Turquoise it is then. I am Mo, by the way. I live near the park. Is there something funny? I have a fly on my nose?’ he asked, sure that it would be something like that. It would be just like him to look a fool in front of someone so lovely.
Delilah turned to look at him. ‘Oh, no, no fly on your nose. I was just remembering when Uncle Chandu threw paint all over a customer by mistake. It was a long time ago, but now and then it comes back to me.’
That weekend, as Mo painted his small bathroom he recalled the conversation, going over each word for possible hidden meanings or any other sign that she might like him, well, more than perhaps any other customer, anyway. Apart from the amusement as she described her uncle’s paint-throwing antics, he supposed there were none, and he sighed with frustration. He had gone in again the next day though, unable to resist the possibility that she might be there again. She hadn’t been, but her uncle, Mr Gupta, had been quick to talk about her when Mo told him how helpful she’d been in choosing paint for his new home.
‘Ah, yes, Delilah, my wife’s niece. She is a student here in London and works in the store when she can. Her father gives her an allowance, but in comparison to Delhi everything here is so expensive… Really, she loves the store,’ he continued, ‘and I tell her that if her studies fail then she can work full-time.’ He laughed at the thought of the bright and driven Delilah failing at anything.
‘Oh, what is she studying?’ Mo asked, desperate to glean more information about her.
‘Archaeology!’ replied Mr Gupta, dropping some brushes into a brown paper bag. ‘She wants to dig holes and pull history from the ground! At her father’s house the garden became full of her holes. She once found an ancient ring… Ask her next time she is here, and she will show it to you. She wears it most of the time.’ He winked at the pleasant man in front of him who had clearly taken to the lovely Delilah.
‘And you, Sir, what is your line of work?’ he asked, thinking that he had become like Meera, always needing to know things about others, and store the information for future use.
‘A doctor. At a practice on the other side of the park.’
‘Excellent! You are always welcome in the store. And your father’s house? Where is this?’ he continued, inwardly cringing.
‘Delhi. North of the city. Thank you, Mr Gupta, I shall be back!’