Page 146 of The Love Position

‘You found her, love. You did it.’

26

From: Isaac Hayward

To: Sophia Hunter-Savage

Subject: Re: Witness statement

Dear Sophia,

Thank you for taking the time to write this. I can only imagine how hard it was to relive what happened. I’ve forwarded it, along with the witness statement Jessica sent me, to Swami Saraswati, who is overseeing the investigation within the organisation and liaising with the police here in India.

I’m thinking of you all the time and hope all is well.

Isaac xxx

From: Sophia Hunter-Savage

To: Isaac Hayward

Subject: Re: Witness statement

Dear Isaac,

I admit I’m still finding it hard to process everything that happened at the ashram. Do you know how long you might be in India for?

Sophia x

Isaac stared at the screen, fixating on the small x after Sophia’s name, hope blooming like a flower inside his chest. He clung to that one letter like a life raft, keeping the faith that one day it might bring her back to him.

‘We’re here,’ the taxi driver called over his shoulder.

Handing over a wad of dirty bills, Isaac got out and stood in front of the smart residential house.

His heart beating faster in his chest, he pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck. The humid Indian summer made his clothes cling to him in a way that was as familiar as it was unpleasant, but he refused to let it bother him. It was penance for what Sophia and many other women had endured, thanks both to his blindness, and that of others who’d put their devotion in the wrong man.

Sophia’s witness statement, then the one from Jessica, had made Isaac’s blood run cold and his stomach turn over. He couldn’t get the images out of his head, and at night they made every dream a nightmare.

He was desperate to return to the UK, to see Sophia in person, to know if there was still a chance they could be together. But that could only come when he’d done everything in his power to right the wrong he’d unwittingly been a part of.

And part of that journey had led here.

Isaac pressed the doorbell, then stood back, straightening his shirt.

A small, older woman answered the door and glanced at him suspiciously.

Putting his hands in a prayer position, Isaac bowed his head. ‘Namaste. Is Mr Sharma in?’

She moved her head in the gesture Isaac knew to mean ‘yes’, then beckoned him in.

Slipping off his shoes, he padded through the house after her to a living room with brown leather-effect sofas adorned with colourful embroidered cushions.

A thin, older man stubbed out his cigarette as Isaac entered, then stood and shook his hand.

‘Mr Sharma, I’m Isaac Hayward. We spoke on the phone.’

The man gestured to the sofa. ‘Please sit. Can I get you some tea?’

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