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The prayer service was something she could do. There might be media there—she’d seen articles in the past following disasters on Everest about how the New York Sherpa responded to the tragedy. If the press were on hand, she could give an interview if she felt up to it. Speak for herself and her team, keep the awareness of their expedition in the news.
That was a plan. Rosemary felt better for having one, and when she returned to the bedroom she sent a quick text to Indira to keep her informed.
Nothing from Beatrice.
In the bedroom closet, she found a tidy row of blouses and trousers, skirt suits, and a high-necked dress, all in shades of drab and proper. Allie had equipped her with English-lady clothes. Rosemary selected a St. John suit in cream check and a black blouse, laid it out on the bed and slid her legs into pantyhose, slithered into the outfit with a conservative pair of heels.
The clothes fit.
Still. Rosemary felt like a snake trying to slip into discarded skin—everything tight in the wrong places, the fabric making it impossible for her to draw breath all the way into her lungs as she tried to wrestle her hair into a French twist.
She gave up and left it hanging loose.
Kal sat on a stool in the e
fficiency kitchen when she emerged. His gaze lingered on her legs and at her throat, making her uncomfortable in an entirely different—and not unwelcome—way. He handed her an enormous coffee.
“Thank you so much. Four shots?”
“I give the girls what they want.” He winked at her. “You look very nice.”
“It’s not my suit.”
“Could’ve fooled me. You all ready to go?”
“Yes.”
He gestured toward the door. “Ladies first.”
“That’s very chivalrous of you.” Rosemary took a sip of her coffee. It was strong and dark and very sweet—exactly what she needed.
“I just want to watch you walk in that thing.”
She laughed, surprised. Then she put a wiggle in her step, because he’d given her a reason to. It was a gift she knew better than to turn down.
—
The cab dropped them off in front of a brick church with bright red front doors surrounded by elaborate, colorful carving.
“It’s very attractive,” Rosemary said.
“Yeah, it’s nice. There’s a group, the United Sherpa Association, that does ceremonies and cultural stuff here. They have sports teams for kids, classes, the works.”
“Do you worship here?”
“When my mom makes me.”
He held the door open for her, and she followed him through a knot of people into a large wood-floored room facing an altar of the Buddha. Rosemary’s first impression was of gold and red, the royal palette accented with arrangements of flags in blue, green, and white. Some people kneeled on the floor, chanting; others spoke quietly in small groups along the exterior walls. High-up windows had been thrown open to the sunlight. Butter lamps burned on the altar, the rich scent of their oil mingling with a cool spring breeze.
“What are we meant to do?” she asked in a whisper.
“You can chant if you want, or say your own prayer. Or you can hang out. There’s a monk who will lead a ceremony later on.”
Rosemary felt out of place, but in a familiar way she recognized from her travels. She’d been to a number of religious sites, participated in blessing ceremonies, learning what she could about the cultures of the places her travel as a climber took her. “I think I’ll join them, at least for a bit.”
“Sounds good. I’ve got to say hi to some people and then I’ll be over.”
Rosemary found a spot slightly behind the chanting group and knelt on the floor in her tight borrowed suit. She bowed her head. She couldn’t hear where the chant began and ended to pick up the litany, but her body relaxed into the sound of it.
