magnificent sheer turquoise cashmere shawl. He offered no explanation as to whom he was buying it for, but he asked that it be gift-wrapped. ‘They don’t have the exact green I was after. But this is lovely.’
Kate nodded. ‘It sure is,’ she said as he tucked the gift into his camera bag.
They kept walking, Marcus with his camera in hand, discreetly taking photos as they walked among the crowds. He was so respectful of the people around him, never training his lens on someone’s face, instead taking a detail of a painted tile, the line of a copper pot or a plate of grilled lamb kebabs steaming with coriander, cumin and garlic.
They stopped to watch a spice merchant pull trays of spices from an old brick oven at the back of his stall and then grind them up to make garam masala. Kate bought a bag for Molly, who loved curry perhaps more than any other food.
‘I’ll have a bag too, please,’ said Marcus. ‘Though I’m not sure I could replicate any of the dishes we just had. Still, I might try my hand at that biryani. You could come and taste it for me, tell me if I get it right.’
‘Where’s home for you when you’re not travelling?’ Kate realised she’d never asked. They’d been acquaintances and occasional colleagues for years but she had no idea where he was based.
‘Sydney, mostly. Plus I have a shoebox bedsit and studio in New York. Paris for the shows.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Right, then it should be easy for me to make it from Boston for dinner …’ As soon as she said it, Kate had a yearning to be curled up with a hot chocolate and a good book on her velvet sofa at home in Louisburg Square. She touched Essie’s sapphires at her ears as if they were Dorothy’s red shoes and could transport her home. She’d landed in a supersized Oz and it was both exhilarating and baffling.
Marcus checked his watch. ‘We have a bit of time before the first appointment Aarav has arranged. He’ll meet us at the diamond dealer—over on the far alley where you can see the Charminar. Very discreet. Eighth-generation dealer.’
‘Should have some interesting stories from the past.’
‘Definitely! I’m also really glad that you scheduled a trip to see some mining in Sri Lanka. The mines up near Ratnapura are something else. I think we can do something amazing with the pics—and your article—linking in this bazaar, then the mines, to give people a sense of the journey of a gemstone.’
‘Hope so,’ Kate grinned.
Marcus went still. ‘After Golconda Fort tomorrow, I’m going to Galle for five days for a beach break before I meet you up in the mountains. You should come. I know you planned to stay at the hotel here and do some writing, but who doesn’t love a few days by the sea?’
‘Marcus …’ Kate felt flustered as they stepped out of the shop and warm bodies bumped into her, pressing silk and sweaty cotton against her sticky skin. ‘Aren’t you . . meeting someone? I heard you on the phone …’ Kate ducked her head. She didn’t want Marcus to see how embarrassed she was at being caught eavesdropping on his phone call to AAA OLIVIA.
‘Yes, I plan on having a few days break with Liv.’ Marcus hesitated for a moment. ‘She’s my daughter.’
Later that afternoon, as the light faded and the call to prayer rang out across the city, they walked among the surging crowds. Kate’s shoulders were knocked and she was almost forced against the wall as the street heaved with bodies. Never had she seen so many people. Marcus stopped at a shop selling vintage framed photos. Kate pulled out her notebook and wrote about the line of jewellers opposite, each with flashing lights in the windows, and sample of gold chains and pastel gems arranged on velvet pedestals in the windows. Hawkers were out the front, each louder than the last.
A man with no teeth grabbed Kate’s arm and tugged her inside to where Marcus stood. ‘Come see.’
The hunched shop owner pulled out a black and white photo of a striking Miss World winner from 1966. Her poise, long glossy hair and liquorice eyes suited the diamond crown and sceptre. But it was a reproduction painting that caught Kate’s eye—it could have been a scene straight out of Bollywood, with a white man lounging on a red velvet seat dressed as a Hyderabadi businessman in a burgundy-and-gold