The Sari Shop Widow (18 page)

“It is a long story, Usha,” answered Jeevan. “I owe that boy my life, you see. He was only fourteen years old when he saved my life. I can never forget it.”

Just then the phone rang, interrupting Jeevan-kaka’s story. The topic never came up again.

Rishi sipped his scotch and scanned a financial report on his laptop computer. It was hard to concentrate on work when his mind was on the emergency situation that was taking him to London. An associate from his flagship store in London had called him early that morning, frantic because the general manager, Balraj Singh, had collapsed from a massive paralytic stroke while working in the storeroom.

According to the employee, Shameem Rizvi, the medics had arrived in minutes and transported Balraj to a hospital. But the doctors had told her that Balraj was essentially brain-dead and hooked up to a life-support machine. He was hanging by a thread.

It was hard for Rishi to imagine the energetic man with the hearty laugh dying. Balraj had named Rishi the executor of his will, and it was now up to Rishi to allow the doctors to unplug the machine and let the older man die with dignity.

The only good thing was Balraj had no family. He was a bachelor, so no one other than his friends and coworkers would miss him. He had been with Rishi’s enterprise for nearly eighteen years, right from the beginning, the oldest employee and one of the most trusted.

Mostly Balraj was a friend. It would be hard to replace him. But Rishi would have to find a replacement right away.

Unfortunately the emergency had come at the worst possible time, just when the New Jersey project had reached a critical phase and needed Rishi to be there. But the Kapadias were very efficient people. Together they’d do what was necessary.

He shut off the laptop, put it back in its bag, and stowed it under his feet. Then he reclined the seat in the business-class cabin of the airplane, turned off the overhead light, and stretched out to get some sleep during the long flight.

The airline attendant had been fussing around him with food and drinks and he’d managed to get rid of her. He knew women seemed to find him attractive. But he was convinced it was his assets they found more appealing. Hadn’t he learned that about women a long time ago?

Laura was the first woman who’d taught him that lesson very quickly, and then there had been others. So now he had Samantha, a woman who was more than comfortable in her own right. She earned a healthy income from her business. She didn’t need his money. He’d talked to her on the phone that morning. She’d sounded thrilled that he was going to be in London soon.

But he wasn’t looking forward to seeing her. In the past, whenever he’d gone on long business trips, he’d missed her, or at least her lean, soft-skinned body lying next to him in his bed. Nonetheless his longing for her had dulled considerably in the past several months.

And in the recent weeks, his mind had been so occupied with the Kapadia business in New Jersey that he’d had no time to think about Samantha. If he was honest with himself, though, it wasn’t only the business that kept his mind occupied. It was something else.

His thoughts turned to Anjali, the enigmatic widow with the prickly personality. Although her attitude toward him had warmed appreciably since that first day when she’d made it clear she distrusted him, she was still very much on the defensive.

Perhaps because he was used to women flirting with him, befriending him, or mothering him, depending on their age, Anjali had taken him by surprise. She didn’t fit into any of those categories.

It was possible that, having no children, she had channeled all her attention and energy into the business. He suspected her affair with Rowling was more a way to combat loneliness rather than love or sex. He hoped she wasn’t in love with that rogue. God help her if she was. That playboy would break her heart.

Anjali wasn’t precisely beautiful or spectacular or glamorous, but she was appealing nevertheless. He couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but something about her aroused in him the need to find out more. At first, the interest wasn’t sexual, but a day or two later he’d found himself drawn to her. Or was it the challenge of dealing with an unreceptive woman?

That bastard Rowling was a lucky man.

Chapter 15

R
ishi glanced at his watch yet again and stifled a sigh. The starched collar on his shirt chafed his neck. The room felt crowded although only half the tables in the restaurant were occupied. Plus the old chap at the piano was playing something soulful and depressing.

He should have been at ease, eating a superbly cooked meal at his favorite eatery, but he wasn’t. The evening had barely begun and he was already getting restless. He’d been edgy all day, too. He wanted to go home to his townhouse, get out of his suit and into comfortable clothes, put his feet up, watch a little telly or work on his computer. Anything but this.

Samantha sat across from him. The establishment was just like Samantha—exclusive, elegant, extravagant. The ambience was pure seduction: candlelit tables, mellow wine, and distinctive French cuisine. Samantha was wearing a little silver dress with whisper-thin straps. She was at her most charming, too.

But none of it was working. Rishi’s thoughts wandered to Anjali. Was she back in Rowling’s bed? Not likely, but the mere thought was enough to set Rishi’s blood simmering. Bloody hell! Was she working too hard, or worrying too much over her financial situation? Most of all, was she thinking of him, perhaps even missing him a little?

Samantha noticed his preoccupation. “Something troubling you, Rich?” she asked, tossing her golden hair back from her face.

She’d always called him Rich instead of Rishi. It was perhaps her way of trying to lull herself into thinking he was a white man. She didn’t hold a high opinion of anyone who wasn’t the same color as she. However, she was color-blind when it came to money. Her clientele consisted of all kinds of businessmen and women—all prosperous and willing to pay the hefty prices she charged for her advertising services.

He shook his head at her question. “Jet lag.”

Samantha sipped her wine and gave a husky laugh. “You never suffer from jet lag. In fact, I always wonder how you manage to function so efficiently with all the time zones you travel through.”

“I’m not as young as I used to be.” Instead of meeting her curious gaze, he let his eyes wander around the room, wondering what the young couple at the next table was celebrating with a bottle of champagne, what serious matter the half dozen businessmen were earnestly discussing at the large round table, and what the two older men in the corner were laughing about over their calorie-laden dessert.

Meanwhile the waiters moved between the busy tables like silent but efficient ghosts in impeccable black uniforms. Rishi was having a difficult time concentrating on Samantha’s words. Nonetheless, with some effort he diverted his attention back to her.

“You could put a twenty-year-old boy to shame, darling.
I
should know that,” she said with a wink.

He merely brushed off her comment. He wished he could feel something for Samantha, but what surfaced was only the mild urge to get her out of his life, out of his home, and mainly out of his bed. For the past year he’d been feeling confined about the arrangement he had with her.

Dinner was long and wearisome. Samantha talked and he replied in monosyllables. She ate every morsel of her food and he toyed with his. He was grateful when it ended.

Later, when they returned home, Samantha tried her best to draw him out. “You’ve been too quiet. Are you going to tell me what’s ailing you?” She put her lips to his and lingered there for a beat.

“There’s nothing to tell,” he replied, ending the kiss by pulling back.

“Did you miss me, darling?” she crooned, smoothing her hands over his shoulders.

Samantha’s brand of enticement had always worked well in the past. She was a lovely woman. Yet she’d never looked less appealing than she did at that moment. What was wrong with him?

All he wanted to do was pick up his bags and get on the next plane to the States. Instead he shook his head at her. “I’m tired and I just want to go to bed. Alone.”

“Oh, come now,” she pouted. “This is our first night together in months.”

He gently removed her hands from his shoulders. “I’m tired, Samantha. And I don’t want to sleep with you.”

“Perhaps tomorrow, then?”

“I’m sorry, but I want this to end.”

“Want what to end?” Her brow creased delicately.

He deliberated for a moment, attempting to find a kinder way to express himself, but without success. “This arrangement that we have. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it for some time now. Our relationship is not progressing. It’s remained stagnant for so long.”

“But we both like the arrangement,” she said.

“You may like it, but I no longer do. All we do is cohabitate…like roommates. I don’t see a future for us together.” He paused. “I’d appreciate it if you’d find your own place.”

“What?” Samantha’s perplexed look gradually turned irate as his words sank in.

“It’s not an impulsive decision, Samantha. I’ve given this a lot of thought.” He raked his hand through his hair. “I’m really sorry.”

She merely stared at him.

“I realize it’s not easy to find a house quickly, so I’ll give you plenty of time to do it.”

“Plenty of time?”

“As much as you need. I’ll help you move. But please, we need to end this.”

“You’re tossing me out?”

“Not tossing, for heaven’s sake. I’m asking you in a most civil manner. I’ll give you whatever help you need.”

After a tense moment of silence her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You stayed in the U.S. all these months just to get away from me,” she accused.

“No. There was more work than I’d anticipated.”

“More work or more entertainment?” Her perfect eyebrow rose high in a scornful query.

“Don’t be silly.”

“Is that why you never invited me to join you there for a holiday, like you promised? You were busy with extracurricular activities?”

“I’ll not dignify that with an answer.” He was astonished at her reaction. She’d never questioned his business trips before, just like he’d never asked about hers. They’d never before made any demands on each other’s time or emotions.

“Aren’t we all self-righteous,” she sniffed.

“Call it what you like.” He was too tired to argue the finer points of their relationship—if it could even be called that. Theirs was more of a domestic arrangement, an extension of their business liaison. Roommates, like he’d said.

Then she stunned him further when her eyes filled with tears. “I suppose you’re ending our business relationship as well?”

“Of course not!” He’d never seen her weep before. He eyed her helplessly for an instant before taking her hands in his. “You’re the best advertising executive I know. Why would I want to change agencies?”

“Who knows what you’ll do next?” she said on a loud sniffle. “You’re no longer the man I knew some months ago.”

“People change; circumstances change. We need to look at this realistically, Samantha. We respect and like each other. But there haven’t been deep feelings on either side since the day we met. It’s been mostly physical.”

She reclaimed one hand and brushed away her tears with her knuckles. “But we’ve had a five-year relationship. We’ve shared a bed…a home.”

He sighed. What had he gotten himself into? He never should have allowed Samantha to move in with him. Stupid, that’s what it was.

In a fit of passion, when she’d said the lease on her flat was up for renewal and suggested that maybe she could move in with him since their love life was so mutually satisfying, he’d readily agreed. It wasn’t as if he was a naïve and starry-eyed young man at the time. He was thirty-seven when Samantha had set up housekeeping with him, and he’d had more experience in life than a lot of men twice his age. As a matter of fact, so had Samantha; she was a bit older than he.

Nevertheless he held firm. “I have difficulty believing that all of a sudden you’re in love with me, Samantha. You’ve never mentioned love…or even affection, and neither have I. We always knew this arrangement had to end, sooner or later.”

“That’s not the way I saw it.”

“Look, we’re both mature adults, so let’s keep this simple, shall we?” he suggested.

“I was hoping that someday we’d maybe…get married.”

Rishi couldn’t help but frown. “Marriage never entered into our conversations.” When and why had she dreamed up marriage?

“Women are different. We’ve been together so long. It’s only natural that we progress to the next level. After a while, a woman feels the need for a husband and home…and perhaps children.”

“Do you have any idea what having children involves?” he asked. “Children need attention. A child isn’t something you put in a box and ship off to a baby minder somewhere across town. A baby needs a mother, a warm, breast-feeding, nappy-changing mother.”

He saw her lips curl in disgust, but she recovered in an instant. “I can be all that,” she assured him, brushing off his arguments with remarkable confidence. “I could be a splendid mother.”

“Perhaps. But not to my child,” he said, shaking his head. “I can’t go on like this, Samantha. I can’t pretend to have feelings that don’t exist. I’ll give you plenty of time to find yourself another place.” An idea struck him. “I have a friend who owns an upscale residential building a mile from here. I’ll help you lease one of the best flats there. I’ll even get you a good deal on the lease.”

Samantha’s tears turned to wounded, narrow-eyed suspicion once again. “There’s someone else, isn’t it?” When he remained silent, she poked one sharp, manicured nail into his chest. “Isn’t it?”

“I just want to move on…get on with my life.” He stepped away from her, out of the bedroom and into the kitchen to pour himself a snifter of brandy. He disliked being put on the defensive.

She followed him to the kitchen, continuing to rage. “I can tell when you’re lying, Rich. I bet you found some cheap little tramp in New York or California or wherever it is that old barracuda Kapadia took you.”