Love & Motorcars

By Puja Miri Yajnik

Miss Manorma Guhathakurta always found her life remarkably easy. After all, she had a doting father, an abundance of wealth and a high-end education abroad. Everything thus seemed set for her, until a new acquaintance entered her life, quickly becoming something far more to her. As if this wasn’t enough unfamiliar territory to traverse, a friend of hers mysteriously vanishes in a motorcar one night. This turn of events perplexes her greatly, and eventually leads to her meeting a brand new someone who captures her attention in an altogether new way. Between her heart being pulled in two different directions and a potentially sinister crime afoot, Manorma finds herself overwhelmed with confusion. Can she discover the secret behind the disappearance as well as sort out the affairs of her heart? Well, she most certainly can try, although the results may lead to unexpected outcomes. In the words of her father, she was “always a little reckless”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781728374956

Puja Miri Yajnik

Puja Miri Yajnik is a fiction writer. Her previous work includes: ‘The Curse of the Winwoods’, ‘My Strange Duke’, ‘Rose Cottage: Shimla, 1802’ and ‘Bandra Tales’, as well as ‘Love & Motorcars’, the first in a series. This is the sequel to the same.

Book preview

Love &

Motorcars

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PUJA MIRI YAJNIK

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AuthorHouse™ UK

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Bloomington, IN 47403 USA

www.authorhouse.co.uk

Phone: UK TFN: 0800 0148641 (Toll Free inside the UK)

UK Local: (02) 0369 56322 ([phone] from outside the UK)

© 2022 Puja Miri Yajnik. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 08/24/2022

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7496-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-7495-6 (e)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the author’s own imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons either living or dead, or actual events or locales, or organizations, is purely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Cover design & illustrations by Garima Yajnik

Synopsis & technical assistance provided by Divvij Yajnik

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Introduction

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

INTRODUCTION

So, this is it! Our last night in Adelaide Academy for Young Ladies, Manorma spoke purposefully, dramatically. She was standing in the middle of a small room in her stockinged feet; her friend sat on a small wooden chair by the window. She had been sharing this rather basic room with another Indian student for the past two years. Will you miss Switzerland? she asked, picking up a hairbrush from the small wooden dresser and starting to vociferously brush her short, wavy hair.

Oh yes! answered the other girl, still sitting by the open window in her blue silk pyjamas. She had dark eyes and thick, black hair which was worn in a tight braid.

Besides Uday Singh? asked Manorma mischievously, a twinkle in her large, dark brown eyes. Will you not be able to meet once in India? she asked, her eyes softening.

No question of that… I am never left alone there, answered her rather serious-minded roommate.

Shantidevi… soon to be crowned sole ruler of Avantipur! Manorma bowed exaggeratedly in Shanti’s direction. Shanti, quite used to her ways, made a face at her.

I have been so happy in this place. No crowds, no duties, no boring dinners, she sighed.

And Uday Singh ji thrown in, Manorma finished her sentence. How on earth did you two meet, anyway? she asked, perching herself on the edge of her narrow, wooden bed, precariously.

It was at a state dinner in Avantipur. His father, Dheeraj Rao ji, is one of our ministers, answered Shanti. But we really met in London at a friend’s house. I knew that nothing could come of it, of course… but I could not help myself. You will see one day.

Love? Not for me… ever! declared the bright, tiny girl, resting her chin in her hands.

Shanti made a face at Manorma. I shall miss you a lot, too, she said. Manorma looked at her; she was in an uncharacteristically communicative mood. Dear, dear Belle… what a bright star you are.

Manorma jumped up and hugged her friend. And you… dear Shanti, Queen of Avantipur. They both laughed, but their eyes were misty.

It was two weeks later, in Shanti’s plush London apartment, that Belle received a telegram:

Dear Belle,

Do not be sad to leave finishing school behind you. Your father awaits!

It was signed ‘Merlin’. Manorma laughed out loud as she lounged on a large, square-shaped seat in the living room. Shanti looked up from a book she was reading.

Who’s that from… a secret admirer? she asked.

My father. He sensed I would not be happy to leave Europe, answered Manorma. Her father, Raghu Veer Singh, was the younger brother of the king of Rajgarh. His brother, the Raja, believed him capable of solving every problem, and so did his chums at school. He was everyone’s favourite ‘magician’ advisor, hence the nickname ‘Merlin’.

Shanti smiled. You are so very lucky to have such an unusual father, so handsome too! I heard all the women in Rajgarh are crazy about him… and he has devoted his life to caring for you. You lost your mother when you were very young, isn’t that right? Do you remember her at all?

Well… yes and no. Actually, I don’t remember her at all, and have never met her. I do wonder about her sometimes, or if I am honest… more what it would have been like to have a mother. In truth, my father is enough for me, Belle mumbled.

There was a knock on the living room door and a butler walked in. He was a tall, thin Hindustani, who spoke faultless English. Your Highness, it is Uday Singh ji, with two other gentlemen. He requests an audience, he paused, his manner stiff and formal.

Belle and Shanti exchanged a look. Shanti answered a little too vaguely, almost indifferently. Well, alright. You may send them in. As soon as the butler left the room, she jumped up and straightened her tweed skirt and tried to fix her hair. Oh dear, I should have worn my pink shirt. This is so very dull! she said, looking at herself in the large, gold-framed mirror that hung over the fireplace. Belle did not reply, she was standing up herself and looking into the same mirror critically. She was wearing grey, loose trousers and a white shirt that was tucked into her waistband with a black belt. She ran her fingers through her hair and fluffed it up as the door opened.

The butler announced insipidly, Lord Dunham, Lord Gaywood, and Uday Singh ji. In strode three rather noisy young gentlemen.

Good afternoon, and how are you both today? greeted one of the visitors: a large, friendly Englishman, dressed a little untidily, with an infectious smile. Belle liked him a lot and had known him since they were children, as his grandmama and her father were chums from when they were at school.

We are well, Andrew, she said, walking up to him.

Missing Switzerland, I hazard a guess? he asked, winking at her. She smiled back.

Not really, I have to admit. Been shopping, sort of preparing for our return to India.

Ah, yes… the shops… of course! Andrew turned towards Uday Singh and glanced at Shanti; they were both standing silently, looking rather uncomfortable. Uday Singh was a pleasant looking young man of about twenty-five, with a tanned complexion, broad shoulders and average height. He looked like an athlete and was, in actual fact, a polo enthusiast. He was clean shaven and had rather short hair. He turned towards the third man, who till now had been standing rather apart.

Oh, forgive me… may I introduce Lord Charles Gaywood, he paused.

Shanti smiled politely and held out her hand. Lord Gaywood came forward, bowed and then turned towards Belle. He too looked like a sportsman, with broad shoulders and thick blonde hair.

Miss Manorma Guhathakurta, Uday Singh was saying.

My Lord, said Manorma, acknowledging the introduction and looking up into the young, attractive lord’s deep blue eyes.

They all met for dinner that night at the Russian club. The evening was being hosted by Count Statousky, a childhood friend of Andrew’s, who was himself not present. There were not too many people in the dining hall, just one rather loud party of fashionably dressed young people.

It will feel a little strange at first, but then you will get used to the formalities, Uday Singh was saying to Shantidevi.

I suppose so… I do not have any choice in the matter anyway, she sighed, looking thoughtful from across the candlelit table. The large fireplace was ablaze, casting a warm glow into the otherwise old-fashioned and severe looking room.

So, Andrew, how is your house doing? Manorma teased Lord Dunham, who grinned back at her good-naturedly. Andrew’s family seat, a great historic house somewhere in Warwickshire, was constantly in need of repair. Somewhere or the other, he would make a joke of it.

Oh lord… don’t even get me started… I have just left Lady G to supervise the revamping of the left wing by herself! Needless to say, she is not pleased! he said wickedly.

That’s rather unkind! Leaving your grandmama on her own with all that massive work! Manorma reprimanded him.

Oh, she loves it! Orders people about… screams at everyone… you know how boring it is down there, said Lord Dunham.

Manorma smiled back at him. She’s quite lovely, she said, having a great fondness for Andrew’s redoubtable, rather young grandmother.

You are from Rajasthan? Lord Gaywood spoke for the first time. He had been lounging on the head of the table, a glass of whiskey in his hand, appearing to be deep in thought. Manorma turned towards him, her big, dark eyes resting somewhere at his throat. For some reason she felt a sense of great shyness and could not bring herself to look into his eyes.

Manorma? Andrew prompted after an awkward silence.

Well… no… I mean, I am from India… but not Rajasthan precisely. Somewhere in the north, quite near Delhi as a matter of fact, she said. It sounded very awkward, even to her own ears.

And your family? They live there… near Delhi? asked Lord Gaywood. Somehow, Manorma wanted to appear in control and dignified, but she felt distinctly like a schoolgirl talking to some heroic person.

Andrew got up from his chair, mumbling something about getting a drink. Shanti and Uday Singh rose at the same time, and walked towards the balcony. Manorma had no choice but to remain in her seat. The charming lord was looking at her, an interested look in his eyes. She felt as though he was well aware of the effect he was having on her.

Manorma… and your family… they are in India? he asked again. Can I call you Manorma?

Yes… everyone does… I mean… there is just my father, she said, a little loudly, sounding more like herself.

Oh… I see, he said, lapsing into silence. After about five minutes, Manorma turned towards him. He was looking at her, thoughtfully.

And you? Where are you from? she asked politely.

Warwickshire. Andrew and I are neighbours, he said. "We have grown