by Zee Monodee
“Oh, I get it,” she said. “It’s where you work, right? Silly of me, I never made the connection, even when I phoned in to say you were sick.”
He merely nodded.
“So, what do you think of it?” Her voice thrummed with excitement.
He thought her work amazing, and the best piece of design he’d seen around any airline office. “It’s good.”
A crestfallen expression came onto her face. “Oh.”
“You’re very talented,” he added.
The smile she gave him could brighten up a whole week.
Until she took a peek at her watch, and her face scrunched in a frown.
“I need to rush to the dojo. Got to pick up the boys.” She shot up and started on the way to the door, before she stopped and turned to him. “You’re gonna manage? It’s only for half an hour or so.”
She was leaving. He didn’t want her to leave. But he didn’t have any other choice.
“Of course, don’t worry about me,” he said. “You’ve already done more than your fair share around here.”
She seemed to ponder his words before she nodded. Seconds later, she had left.
Trent sagged in his chair. He’d loved their conversation. She was easy to talk to. Yet, he wondered what direction their talk would’ve taken if she’d stayed. Would she have asked why he hadn’t gotten married again? He wondered what he’d have replied.
Probably that he hadn’t found the right woman. One who’d be a good mother to his children. A person full of life, and whose heart gave instead of took. A woman who could bring light into his gloomy world.
He didn’t want to admit it, but he faced no escape.
He might finally have found her.
Chapter Ten
Peace at breakfast time. Trent couldn’t believe it. He leaned back in his chair as he watched his sons at the table. Matthew ate his cereal—without milk—silently, and Josh took bites of toast between licks of the jam spoon.
Thanks to Diya, he dealt with children now, and not little monsters. In the few weeks she’d been a part of their lives, she’d taught them how to make their beds, tidy their room, and eat like decent people. Must’ve been her feminine touch, because he’d never been able to achieve her feat.
He took a sip of the hazelnut-marshmallow-whatever cappuccino she had left in his cupboard. He’d never been one to venture towards new tastes, since familiar Earl Grey suited him fine, but he had to admit the frothy coffee drink tasted good, almost soothing. Who knows? Maybe he should open himself to new perspectives more often.
The children stood and carried their mugs to the sink. Another miracle. He’d never wanted to admit it, but maybe they did need a mother. Someone like Diya, who’d make a wonderful mother.
He chuckled. Absurd to even venture there. For that to happen, she’d have to be his partner. His wife. She’d never taken a second glance at him, and she’d said herself she was ‘seeing’ someone. Yet, if he could only get her to look at him properly—
Then what? She’d see him for the super stud he wasn’t, and fall in his arms as if he were Fabio on the cover of one of those steamy romances his mother read by the dozen? Silly of him. He also had more than a decade on her—a youngling like her would never take any notice of an old fart like him.
He, however, couldn’t deny the chemistry between them, for she did respond to his touch. Didn’t her eyes grow wide with dilated pupils when he drew close to her? But he didn’t have much else to build a relationship on, other than her affection for his children.
The boys went to stand in the hall with their schoolbags, and he got up. Time to take them to school. The task had reverted to him since Diya wasn’t available this morning. She was busy with a major project her company needed to submit.
A small pang dropped into his heart, and he closed his eyes. He missed her. He’d grown used to her being there with them, and this morning rang hollow without her bubbly presence. He craved the sound of her voice and her laughter. What if he called her?
Not a good idea. She had stayed over at her friend’s place, to work as much as possible on the project. He couldn’t call her at eight-thirty.
“Daddy, are we leaving?”
The voice brought him back to the present. Trent nodded at his son as he picked up his car keys and his briefcase. His cell phone on the counter rang as he was about to grab it.
The screen displayed Diya’s name. Joy welled up in him, and he smiled as he answered.
However, her voice hit him in a rush, frantic and overwrought.
“Have you seen my graphic tablet anywhere at your place? I can’t find it, must’ve forgotten it yesterday after I had dinner with the boys.”
He chuckled softly, so she wouldn’t hear him. She was always forgetting her tablet, though she claimed the device was her most vital possession. “You have any idea where you might have left it?”
“I remember using it in the kitchen. Can you see it on the counter?”
He searched around, on the tables lining the walls, on the counter, even in the cupboards, but he didn’t find anything. “Sorry, Diya. It’s not here.”
“I’m doomed. All my notes are on it. Didn’t want to call last night in case I woke up the boys.”
“Don’t you have a backup anywhere?”
The silence at her end said she didn’t. He snickered. How did the girl exist in such an age without doing backups? His first instinct screamed to tell her so, but laughter also thrummed in his throat, and he pressed his lips together to keep from making any sound. Though they got on well now, Diya still boasted a temper to be reckoned with, and she hated to lose face.
“I’ll let you know if I find it. I need to take the boys to school.”
She mumbled a reply, before saying goodbye and cutting the call.
He felt sorry for her, but only a little. How could she not do a backup? Even he knew the cloud existed.
In the hall, Matthew and Josh were shuffling with nervous energy, waiting for him. Not a good omen. They were morphing into his little monsters again.
“Off we go, lads. Time to hit the road.”
He closed the door behind him, and the three of them stepped into the lift. After crossing the parking lot, he secured them in the back seat of the car and got behind the wheel.
The gates of the complex opened on a side road bisecting the newly established residential area. The asphalted path led onto the main thoroughfare that ran the length of the whole Western coast. Royal Road, as the locals called the long street. There existed a Royal Road in every town and village, as far as he’d seen.
Trent started to steer right, north towards Port Louis and his office, when he realised he had to go to the school first, left and south towards Rivière Noire. As they passed by the wide expanse of what had formerly been salt beds, he settled back to enjoy the scenery. At least here, too, they drove on the left. Yet, how different from England, the sights and sounds of Mauritius being—
Josh let out a blood-curdling scream.
He hit the brake with a lunge of his right foot and stopped the car in a screech of tyres. “What’s wrong?”
“You drove patht the cathle!” the little boy said.
“What?” He furrowed his brow while staring at his son.
First the scream, now a castle? This is it. They’d landed in the Twilight Zone again.
“Diya takes us to see the castle every day. It’s down the lane we just passed,” Matthew replied in a calm voice.
Trent hung on to his dwindling patience with both hands. “Josh, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”
“Daddy, we have to go thee the cathle.”
Exactly what he needed. What had that girl, lovely as she’d turned out to be, put into their heads? Next, he’d hear stories of princes and frogs. He had to remind himself she was one sandwich short of a full picnic.
“No. We’re late as it is.”
Silence settled like a heavy blanket in the car, broken by a small hiccup.
> He turned. Josh’s eyes glistened with tears, and his lower lip trembled. Blimey, why were four-year-olds so touchy? His shoulders sagged with defeat when he realized he had no way out of a crying bout unless he acquiesced. He’d fumble for some excuse over their lateness once at the school.
“Okay,” he said. “Where is this lane?”
“Back there, between the big trees,” Matthew replied.
He peeked in the rear-view mirror. No traffic, so he set the car in reverse until they reached the path to the ‘castle.’ Trust Diya to have such absurd tales to weave. A castle in Tamarin.
The gate that used to bar the entrance of the property had fallen in a heap of rotted flat timber on one side of the road. Climbing leaves and colourful wild daisies grew in clumps on the gutted planks, adding a romantic air to the dark, tree-shaded setting.
Trent eased the car along the rough, rock-strewn path. Enormous trees bordered its sides, forming a natural arch. In places, sunlight peeked through the canopy of leaves, sending eerie rays down the lane. Bushy thickets grew between the tree barks, and the branches and leaves concealed any glimpse of the property. From time to time, he could make out a sprawling lawn to the left, but he couldn’t be sure. Where were his children taking him?
They finally emerged onto a gravelled courtyard, and his mouth fell open at the sight of the house before him. He’d been a fool—castles did exist in Tamarin. The sprawling Creole mansion, reminiscent of residences of the old American South, bore the typical French colonial architecture of former colonies like Mauritius.
Rolling English gardens spread in the front half of the domain, across the lawn he’d guessed at along the path. Solid and wide, black basalt-rock steps led up to the house, onto a wide, open veranda. The house walls were made of rock and wood, etched in white paint, with the gabled roof covered in dark slate tiles.
Trent could easily picture the splendour of such a mansion, back in a time where men wore powdered wigs and women splendid dresses worthy of a ball at Hampton Court. He could imagine why Diya had dubbed it a castle ...
If only it weren’t for the decrepit state of the roof. Or the chipped paint on the walls. The house was falling into a derelict state, with no one to bring back its magnificence.
“I told you there’th a cathle here.” Josh’s voice rang in the back.
“Yes, you were right,” Trent replied in an awed whisper.
“Diya loves this place,” Matthew said. “But she’s sad it will be lost. She says she’d buy it on the spot if she had the money.”
He faced his sons. “This house is for sale?”
Both nodded.
As he stared at the manor again, a pang of grief sliced through him. Grief at letting such a beautiful house go to ruin, or worse, be bulldozed down to make room for blocks of concrete. Sad, indeed.
He blinked out of the poignant spell. What was he thinking? He needed to take the children to school. How would he explain they were late because they’d been entranced by a castle?
He drove back to the main road. As he stopped to watch the traffic before pulling out of the lane, he saw the realtor’s ‘For Sale’ board. The logo was the same as that of the company that had rented him the flat. The sign must’ve been there for quite a while, since dust covered most of the letters, and climbing vines had already started to wrap around the post. Maybe they weren’t getting any buyers. A shame.
They reached the school as the first bell rang. He hustled the boys out of the car and set Matthew on his way to the primary section. Josh held his hand while they walked towards the preschool building. After a hug and a kiss, Josh went in his class, and he started out of the yard, only to see Matthew running in his direction.
The boy placed a flat grey case in his hand. Trent opened the zipper to find Diya’s graphic tablet inside.
“This was in my bag. I didn’t take it, and I don’t know how it got there,” Matthew said in a breathless rush.
He scowled. His eldest was getting better at evading his questions before he’d even asked them. As if the lad had prepared his defence well ahead of time. Was he losing all authority on his children? He, however, shook off the disconcerting feeling. At least, they’d found the missing device.
“It’s okay, Matt. I know you didn’t take it.”
He ruffled the boy’s hair and smiled when Matthew moved out of his reach. Twelve-year-olds could also be touchy on some matters.
He walked back to the car and considered what to do with the tablet. Diya needed it, and he didn’t have to go to the office in Port Louis yet since he had a late-morning meeting with the cabin crew at the airport in the southeast.
From his wallet, he retrieved the business card she’d given him and stared at the site map on the back of the cream-coloured rectangle. ALIDA’s office wasn’t far from the school, so he could head there and drop the tablet off.
He’d also have a very good excuse to see her.
The thought stayed with him all the way to her office. He had no trouble finding the place. The directions had been spot-on, and there weren’t many Victorian houses standing at the foot of the mountain bordering the bay.
The Laroche property struck him as a sight to behold, in all its grandeur and majesty. The east wing bore a discreet sign with the name of their company on it, though it seemed like the only entrance happened to be the main door.
A middle-aged housekeeper answered after he’d knocked using the heavy brass ring, and she led him along a few corridors once he’d announced the purpose of his visit.
As he neared the open doorway at the far end of the hall, he heard voices coming from the room behind. In a cacophony of feminine sounds and laughter, the pitch rose and fell as they veered between flows of English and French, with an occasional inflection of Creole, the native Mauritian dialect.
Diya’s tinkling laughter rang along the walls, and he stopped at the door to watch her. She and a tall, beautiful brunette stood before an enormous white board. Scraps of coloured fabric dangled from where they’d been taped to the board, and paint chips of every colour littered the floor. Bold, black-and-white sketches of rooms and furniture fluttered next to the fabrics. The layout reminded him of utter chaos, and yet, the women were adding more fabrics and colour charts to the scheme.
They hadn’t heard him arrive, busy and absorbed in their creative process.
Until Diya froze and slowly turned towards him.
*
The air around her had thickened, as if charged with some heavy energy, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The chill of awareness danced along her spine, and as she spun to face the entrance, her heart already acknowledged who she’d see there.
Trent.
He stood in the doorway, a tall, broad figure of masculine presence and strength. The dark blue suit on his big figure brought out his lightly tanned skin. His features, freshly shaved, looked sharp and well-defined. Intensity dappled his grey eyes, the gaze dark and penetrating as he stared at her.
Diya’s mouth went dry, and she parted her lips. Goodness gracious, but he could skewer her with his great, silent force, render her speechless, and scatter her wits to the wind. What was he doing here? She hadn’t expected to see him.
“May we help you?” Angélique asked.
Trent nodded and gave them a slow, lazy smile that lifted one corner of his mouth more than the other. The image he portrayed hit her as absolutely devastating, all-male charm and virility seeping out of his whole well-built body.
Why does he have to be so handsome?
“You must be Angélique. Diya’s told me a lot about you.”
Ange turned to her, her eyebrows raised in question.
Shoot, why couldn’t she speak? She bit the inside of her lip in annoyance, and the coppery tang of blood on her taste buds triggered her out of her stupor. She heaved a sigh of relief when control seeped back into her languid-like-putty muscles.
“Ange, this is Trent Garrison. Trent, this is Angélique Marivaux-L
aroche.”
A wide grin spread across Angélique’s face as she shook his outstretched hand. He returned the smile, and a pang sliced through Diya’s heart.
Why couldn’t Trent smile at her like that?
She shoved the notion aside and realized with alarm that Angélique still hadn’t released him. And the glazed look coming into her bestie’s eyes worried her more. Time to bring some levity to this incongruous situation.
“Is something wrong, Trent?”
He returned his attention to her, and Angélique reluctantly let go of his hand, a pout on her beautiful features.
She’d need to have a talk with her friend; Ange was a married woman, for goodness’ sake. Such behaviour definitely wasn’t the way she was supposed to greet other men.
“Actually, no,” he said. “But Matthew found this in his backpack. I thought you’d like to have it.”
He handed her a grey case, with her graphic tablet inside. How had it ended up in Matthew’s bag?
When the realisation struck, she slapped her hand to her forehead. “In my haste, I must’ve confused it with his games tab. How could I have been so stupid?”
Trent drew closer to her, and her heart skipped a beat when he stopped inches from her.
“It can happen to anyone.”
His voice thrummed low and husky and brought to mind hushed whispers exchanged in an intimate setting—
What was she thinking? He was just being polite, so as not to tell her she’d been a real idiot.
“Won’t you be late for work?” she asked after gulping back.
His intense eyes held hers, and she lost herself in the dark-lashed depths.
“I have a meeting at the airport, which isn’t for the next two hours.”
“Oh.”
No other word or sound deigned come out. She sent silent thanks out, for the word had emerged with a normal ring and not like a moan of pleasure. Or like a cat being strangled.
A small smile touched his lips, but the subtle movement proved enough to bring out the dimple in his cheek.
“I better leave. You probably have a lot of work left.”
Now that she’d seen him, she didn’t want him to go. Yet, what else could she do other than nod? She had no right or claim on him or his time.
