he was booked for years in advance, then his cover for the National Geographic she’d spotted at Heathrow.
‘Don’t look so surprised. You think I just do fashion and jewellery? I enjoy the fashion—it’s edgy and the people are fun. But it’s the people, not the fashion, that I find fascinating …’
‘I didn’t mean …’ Her ears started to burn.
‘I know.’ He waved his hand and smiled. ‘I like to explore, to try to capture what makes this world tick. Do you know how many war photographers do weddings?’
‘Really?’
‘True! Light and shade, Kate. You can’t just focus on the dark stuff; it’ll tear you apart.’ Marcus paused, his jaw tensed, and Kate caught a glimpse again of the shadows that had crept across his face in the museum. He opened his mouth, about to say something else, when a parade of green plastic plates arrived piled with food.
‘Heaven!’
Marcus talked her through the dishes. ‘Start with the buttermilk vada.’ He pointed. ‘The fritters are made with fennel and spices, and the sauce is buttermilk with curry leaves, finished with a scoop of yoghurt and some coriander leaves on top.’
Kate obediently scooped some onto her plate and began to eat.
‘I’ve never tasted Indian food like this,’ she said.
‘These days people come to Hyderabad for the food, just like people in past centuries came for the diamonds and gemstones.’
‘You’re not taking any pictures?’
Marcus shrugged. ‘Not of my food. Not my thing. I like to just … eat, you know? Enjoy the moment, savour the company.’
Kate lifted a serviette to her lips to hide the blush she felt creeping onto her cheeks. What was wrong with her? Maybe the heat and jetlag were catching up with her.
Next up was a lentil dahl made zestier with tamarind; kebabs marinated in chilli and coriander (so tender they melted in her mouth); and a creamy malai korma with potato and paneer dumplings. Kate’s favourite, though, was the dum biryani—basmati rice cooked with turmeric and other spices, then piled high with marinated meats, served with green chillies mixed in a peanut masala.
As she tore a piece of roti and dipped it in the leftover masala sauce, Kate studied the curves of the Charminar just visible at the end of the alley. Beside them was a stall dripping with strands of pearls. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine a similar scene centuries ago as diamond dealers and silk merchants loaded up oxen and braved narrow tracks on mountain passes as they travelled the silk route between here and Persia. She pulled out her notebook and recorded her impressions before tucking it away again to eat.
When they’d finished eating, the old woman cleared their plates and poured them cups of chai, which was accompanied by crescent-shaped biscuits that tasted of coconut and saffron.
As Kate bit into her second biscuit, she said, ‘There’re millions of stalls here. How’d you know to come to this one?’
‘My guide introduced me last time. Aarav. You’ll meet him this afternoon when he takes us to meet a couple of gem dealers.’
Marcus smiled at the old woman and raised his hands together in thanks. ‘That was incredible.’
It struck Kate how easy-going Marcus was with women. When she’d first met him she’d expected him to be what Sophie would call ‘a bit of a lad’, but he’d always been a polite and attentive colleague. They’d worked well together in London, as always. He’d solicited opinions from Saanvi and Gayle and peppered them with questions about each piece as he shot. It wasn’t so much that he was charming—for he certainly was—but that he was genuinely interested in the curators’ expertise. Kate was ashamed to think that she’d dismissed his rugged good looks and charm as part of a standard playboy fashion photographer package.
Marcus paid the old woman for lunch and she beamed. ‘Thank you, sir. You come back. India is in your heart.’
Kate and Marcus wandered back out into the bazaar. She didn’t mind the dusty kids swarming about her, or peddlers poking at her shoulders and shouting at her to buy beautiful emeralds, beautiful gold bracelets, a golden sari. Women grabbed her hands and promised to make her beautiful with henna tattoos, others draped strands of pearls down their swanlike necks and swayed to Hindi pop music.
Kate stopped and bought a beautiful blue cashmere shawl for Molly and a burgundy one for Jessica. She also bought a handful of green glass bangles.
‘For Emma—my niece.’
‘Who needs an emerald watch?’ he chuckled as he handed over money for a