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Chapter Two

Mumbai, India.

‘You’re a skank, you know that?’

Eighteen-year-old Jhumpa Mukherjee looked up from her iPhone and gave a death stare. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard me!’ Katrina Kapoor, the biggest slut in Mumbai, stood there, hands on skinny hips. Jhumpa wanted to laugh in her face. If anyone knew about being a skank, it was Katrina.

‘What’s so funny?’ Katrina demanded.

‘You,’ drawled Jhumpa. ‘If you weren’t so tragic. Was there anything in particular?’

‘Don’t act Little Miss Innocent! My man has just tagged you in some photos on Facebook and you’re all over him.’

The music was pounding through hot new members club Eden. The beautiful crowd stood round sucking on lurid coloured drinks, six massive TV screens over the bar beaming down MTV. Jhumpa tossed her curtain of silky black hair over her shoulders, the very same hair that had won her the star role in the new L’Oreal India advert. ‘Your man?’ she enquired, looking Katrina up and down. ‘And who might that be?’

‘You know! Bhanu.’

‘Bhanu? Bhanu Mallik?’ Jhumpa snorted derisively. ‘As if.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Katrina demanded. Her badly applied eyeliner made her look like a rabid baby panda. ‘You totally know I’m seeing him.’

Jhumpa raised a perfectly threaded eyebrow. ‘As amazing as it might seem, keeping up with your sad little love life isn’t one of my priorities.’ She looked round the bar and saw Katrina’s equally ugly friends giving her death stares. ‘You know, if he is your man I would have words after the things he was saying to me.’

Katrina’s expression faltered. ‘Like what?’

Jhumpa went back to her text message. ‘He’s your boyfriend, darling, why don’t you ask him?’

The phone was ripped out of her hands. Jhumpa narrowed her eyes. ‘You’ve got precisely five seconds to give that back or I’ll have you thrown out.’

Katrina hung on to the phone, then thought better of it and slapped it back into Jhumpa’s hand. ‘You think you’re big time now, because of one lousy L’Oreal advert,’ she hissed. ‘I heard you practically begged them to let you do it for, like, free.’

Jhumpa considered her words for a moment and smiled. ‘You know Katrina, you’re completely right.’

She watched Katrina’s stupid mouth hang open with surprise. ‘I am?’

‘It was only the million dollars,’ Jhumpa said casually. ‘As you say, practically nothing. I’ll have to get my agent to negotiate harder next time.’

As Katrina’s face filled with jealous rage, an advert suddenly flashed up on the televisions behind the bar. It was Jhumpa’s new L’Oreal commercial, her walking along a beach looking stunning in a full-length dress. As she watched herself stop and smile effortlessly into the camera, Jhumpa turned back to Katrina and gave her the same smile, live and direct.

‘Come and talk to me when you’re up on that screen, hey?’ Grabbing her Hermes clutch bag off the bar, she sashayed out.

Strictly speaking her contract wasn’t a million dollars. It was more like $1,100,060 US dollars.

Give or take.

Not that she felt the need to show off to stringy-haired types like Katrina Kapoor. Jhumpa knew the precise amount because she’d done the deal herself. Her agent Bez got her the gigs, but he was hopeless with money (she thought so anyway), and Jhumpa always did the negotiating side of things. She’d already invested most of the L’Oreal money into stocks and shares and some canny real estate, including her luxury apartment in the fashionable suburb of Bandra West.

It was in the luxury apartment that Jhumpa was getting ready the next morning. The orange wraparound Donna Karan dress she’d worn last night was already hanging neatly in the wardrobe again. Jhumpa couldn’t stand mess: a slobby house meant a slobby mind. Every item of her clothing was colour coordinated, down to the nail polish, handbag and matching jewellery.

Jhumpa scrutinised herself in the full-length mirror. Glossy skin, almond-shaped eyes and audacious curves, she caused a traffic pile up every time she stepped outside. No wonder L’Oreal had chosen her over the hundreds of others. She had charisma. Star quality. This wasn’t just Jhumpa blowing her own trumpet (although she wasn’t averse to that) - enough people had told her, so she knew it was true.

Her hair was extra shiny today, which was a good omen. The commercial was great exposure and set her up financially, but today was The Big One. She was this close to breaking Bollywood. That afternoon she was down to the final three for the part of Serving Girl 2 in the new Bollywood film Emerald Summer. OK, so it was only a few lines but it was her big break. In just a few weeks time she would be starring opposite the Brad Pitt of India, Imran Khalili. Who knew where that would lead? OMG!

It didn’t even occur to Jhumpa she wouldn’t get the part. She’d been paying for her own acting lessons since she was sixteen, and it was just a natural progression of her talents. She was more than a pretty face. There wasn’t a thing the teachers at her old school could teach her about maths or logic. She’d even been offered a scholarship to study advanced physics at the prestigious MIT university in America. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, her father kept telling her, something she couldn’t possibility turn down.

Pity Jhumpa found it all so boring.

It wasn’t using her brain that bothered her: Jhumpa could sail through advanced maths challenges with all the ease of reading a restaurant menu. She’d done the MIT entrance exam while trading stocks and shares on her iPhone under the table. She liked numbers, but the ones she liked were the ones you used in the real world, the ones that got you something: money. Not just things you learned in a stuffy classroom. It was only her head for financial dealings that had persuaded her dad to let her move out of home and into the apartment in the first place.

Jhumpa loved her dad, but he just didn’t get her. Her mum had died when she was four and he didn’t seem to know what to do with this precocious little girl who loved singing and dancing. For as long as she could remember, Jhumpa had been entranced by the glamour and excitement of the film industry. In India, Bollywood stars were treated like royalty: a role Jhumpa could see herself in very well. Famous actress and president of her multi-million dollar company, Jhumpa Inc.

It was all planned out.

With happy visions of worldwide domination, Jhumpa started to get dressed. As usual, she had meticulously planned her outfit. Black J Brand jeans - tight enough without being slutty - a crisp white shirt and her black Louboutins. Taking one last satisfied look in the mirror, Jhumpa picked up her (black) Chanel handbag and left.

As she stepped into the marbled lift, she realised she hadn’t called her father back. Professor of Early Indian History at the university in Mumbai, he was on some dull field trip in Bhutan. She’d had a missed call from him in the bar last night. He probably wanted her to go round and water his plants or something. She’d call him back later; she was too busy now. Wait until he heard she’d got the part!

Sliding on her Dior sunglasses, Jhumpa walked out into the dry Mumbai heat. Not yet 11 a.m. and it was already scorching hot, the sun a bright yellow ball overhead. Sprinklers were watering the emerald-coloured lawns as a team of gardeners worked the immaculate flowerbeds. Jhumpa noticed the youngest one stop and watch as she walked past. Lifting the Diors, she gave him her best film star look and was pleased to see him blush. She’d have to use that one in the audition later. Her iPhone beeped: the driver was waiting right outside for her. Pushing open the security gate, Jhumpa stepped into another world.

The dusty streets were manic. Rickety old buses fought for space with gleaming 4x4s, a whole family wobbled by, piled precariously on the back of a scooter. Car horns blared, stray dogs sniffed piles of rubbish and a lone cow nearly caused a major pile up by meandering down the middle of the road. In the middle of the mayhem, women of all ages walked like butterflies in their rainbow-bright saris. It was hot, smelly, overwhelming and hectic, and Jhumpa absolutely loved it. There was a buzz about this city like nowhere else on earth. Where else could you have designer shops on one street with their fleets of luxury cars and the colourful squalor of the slums on the next? Her father had been raised in one of those corrugated iron shacks and had worked hard to get out. Her dad might annoy her most of the time, but Jhumpa majorly respected him for that.

Across the road was a huge billboard advertising the new Aishwarya Rai film. The hottest actress in India right now. As Jhumpa stared up at it, she felt a thrill of excitement. That will be me next.

Her waiting carriage, a gleaming black Mercedes with its own chauffeur, was already attracting quite a lot of attention from bystanders. Jhumpa had one more thing to do. The usual line of stalls stood down the street, selling hot takeaway snacks. Jhumpa went to the best one - third on the right and run by the old man with the hennaed hair - and got her rupees out. She came back a few moments later. There was a beggar sitting propped up against the wall. With bandaged stumps for legs, and filthy rags for clothes, even the rest of the down-and-outs would give him a wide berth, but Jhumpa went straight up with her biggest smile.

‘Morning Suni. How are you?’

The beggar smiled back, showing toothless black gums. ‘I am having a very fine day! Where are you going, all dressed up?’

Jhumpa winked. ‘I’ve got an audition.’ She bent down and handed over the greasy brown paper bag. ‘Here, I got you a little something. Puri puri, your favourite.’

‘Miss Jhumpa, what would I do without you?’ he called after her.

She laughed. ‘Not eat so much puri puri!’

Suni the beggar had been there ever since she moved in and she always took time to talk to him. One of the rules she tried to live by - along with always matching your handbag and shoes - was to treat others less fortunate than you with kindness. Unless that person happened to be a total wretch like Katrina Kapoor.

Her chauffeur was waiting with the door open. Jhumpa climbed in the car’s cool leather interior and sat back. It was show time.

‘You nailed it.’

Jhumpa glanced at the assistant. ‘Did I?’ She tried to sound nonchalant but her heart was racing. The audition had gone really well. The film director had loved her and said she looked great on camera. Jhumpa knew that of course - she’d spent enough time practising.

‘Yeah, you looked amazing. A real star.’ They were in a little sitting area away from the set and the director’s assistant was hanging round like a bad smell. He couldn’t make it any more obvious he fancied her. ‘So what are you up to tonight?’

‘Lots of things.’ Jhumpa looked at the door again. Bez had gone out to talk to the director. He’d been gone at least ten minutes; why didn’t they just come in and say she’d got it?

‘You know, I could always put in a good word for you.’ The assistant leaned in and Jhumpa tried not to wince. Someone had overdone the garlic last night. Shifting down the sofa she gave him a look. Back off. ‘I don’t need your help, thanks.’

The boy - who was all of twenty and covered in acne - leered at her. ‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before? Your face looks familiar.’

‘Probably.’ Jhumpa checked her iPhone again. What was Bez doing? Why didn’t he come back and save her? They must be talking money.

‘Come on, be friendly,’ the boy wheedled. ‘We can have a good time together.’

His breath was disgusting. Jhumpa was about to ask if he’d heard about the new brand of electric toothbrushes Phillips had bought out when the door finally opened. Bez came through, looking every inch the hotshot in his new D&G glasses.

She jumped up, relieved. ‘There you are!’

‘Jhumpa.’ Bez glanced at the boy. ‘Can we have a word in private?’

He didn’t look very happy. Jhumpa felt a jolt in her stomach. This wasn’t part of the plan. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ the assistant said smugly, as if he knew something was going on. As soon as they were alone Bez turned to her.

‘Jhumpa, when did you last hear from your father?’

Her agent could be random, but this was a new one for him. ‘What are you talking about?’ she said. ‘Have I got the part or not?’

‘What?’ For once Bez’s mind wasn’t on the job. ‘I just spoke to the director, we won’t know for a few days yet.’

‘Oh, great.’ She sighed, trying to ignore her disappointment. ‘What’s the hold up? I thought he liked me.’

‘He does,’ Bez said vaguely. ‘Look, I don’t know how to tell you this. It’s about your father.’

Jhumpa stared. ‘Why do you keep going on about my dad?’

Bez sounded really serious. ‘I’ve just had the police on the phone. Trying to get hold of you.’

‘The police? Why?’ Now she was getting worried.

‘You should sit down.’ He started steering her back to the sofa, but Jhumpa pulled free. ‘Bez, what’s going on? Is my dad OK?’

Her agent looked scared. ‘There’s no easy way to say this. Your dad’s been kidnapped. On the Kashmiri border.’

‘Kidnapped?’ Jhumpa said stupidly. ‘Bez, is this your idea of a sick joke?’

‘No!’

As it slowly dawned on her that he was being serious, Jhumpa felt like she was starring in her own horror movie. ‘By who?’

‘Rebels…’ He trailed off. ‘They think your dad was mistaken for a spy.’

‘A what?’ This didn’t make sense, her dad was meant to be in Bhutan! As her legs buckled, Jhumpa sat down heavily on the sofa.

‘The police are on their way,’ Bez told her. He stood there awkwardly. ‘Jhumpa, I’m really sorry.’

She didn’t hear him. All she could think were two words. Kashmiri rebels. Only last month they’d been all over the news, for the kidnapping and brutal murder of five American tourists. The Kashmir region was a province in north India and a hotbed for terrorists and religious conflict. Basically one of the most dangerous places on earth. What was her dad doing there?

‘He’s not dead yet,’ Bez said unhelpfully.

Jhumpa looked up, face shock-white. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But for how long?’