“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.”
“Please don’t bring Jeevan Kapadia into this,” he said quietly, keeping a firm lid on his annoyance. “I don’t appreciate you denigrating him in that fashion.”
“He’s an ill-mannered, doddering old fool. And yet every time he snaps his arthritic fingers, you run. I bet he’s introduced you to some strumpet in his family and you’re beginning to fall into his well-laid trap. The old man will ruin you, Rich.”
That’s when Rishi’s temper sparked. “Please don’t call anyone in Jeevan-kaka’s family a strumpet. The Kapadias are respectable, hardworking people.”
“Respectable?” she scoffed, with a dubious tilt of her mouth. “They’re backward people with probably no manners—and no scruples.”
“That’s enough!” He put his snifter down with a thud and crossed his arms across his chest. The brandy sloshed over the side of the snifter and spilled onto the granite counter. “I don’t want to hear any comments about the Kapadias, especially my uncle,” he warned her. He’d been prepared to be generous and understanding with her, but he refused to tolerate her attacks on Jeevan-kaka and his family. “When I return to London in a few weeks, I would appreciate it if you’ve made plans to move into a place of your own.”
“Just like that?” she snapped.
“I apologize for springing this on you,” he repeated. “But you can stay here until you find a suitable house. I won’t rush you.”
She stared at her own toes for a long while. Rishi observed her flushed skin, her quick breathing. He’d seen her temper tantrums often enough to anticipate what would come next. She had a tendency to turn violent, use foul language, and fling things around. He quickly moved an antique porcelain sculpture out of her reach.
“You’re a first-class bastard!” she finally spat out and turned on her heel, looking regal and superior, even in bare feet and nothing more than a see-through robe. At least she hadn’t hurled anything breakable—yet.
He grabbed the bottle of brandy and the snifter and strode into the guest bedroom. He lay down on the bedspread and stared at the ceiling. His mind was swirling, making him dizzy. Guilt wasn’t a pretty emotion.
And damn it all, Samantha was right to some extent. They’d had five years together. But on the other hand, he couldn’t live a lie—sharing a home with Samantha when his mind and heart belonged somewhere else. He couldn’t feign feelings he didn’t have. And dissolving the relationship in phases wasn’t exactly his nature either. It was all or nothing with him.
When he thought about it, he’d been more than generous with Samantha. Her entire wardrobe, including her expensive accessories and toiletries, came free of charge from his boutiques. She had stayed in this house rent-free all these years, and he’d paid for the food, entertainment, joint vacations, and everything else.
Samantha had literally saved her entire earnings while she’d been with him. All his advertising needs were handled by her firm—for a standard fee. He’d referred a number of his friends and acquaintances to her as well.
She was a wealthier woman to some degree because of him. She’d never offered to pay her share for anything and he’d never asked. In fact, he couldn’t remember a single occasion when she’d even thanked him for any of it. She’d always treated it as an entitlement.
And that thought made him feel a little better about his present decision. If she felt he’d somehow used her, she’d used him more—far, far more.
It wasn’t a good idea to drink brandy on top of the two glasses of wine he’d had with dinner. But he sat up and reached for the snifter anyway, took another swallow large enough to make him choke and sputter.
He drank himself into a stupor and remained in the guest room that night, behind locked doors. Then he slept.
The next morning, battling the inevitable hangover, he wandered into the master bedroom and came to a dead stop when he noticed Samantha was gone. Astonished, he surveyed the room. The two matching antique mahogany armoires that housed her clothes and accessories were open and empty—and so were the drawers of the Queen Anne chest she’d taken possession of. Her suitcases and toiletries were missing. He found nothing left that belonged to her, just a faint trace of the perfume she favored.
Opening the two other armoires that held his own wardrobe, he blew a sigh of relief. He’d expected to see all his things slashed and smashed. But as far as he could see nothing had been touched.
He looked at the bedside clock. It was nearly noon. Where had she gone? To a hotel? To a friend’s house? He really hadn’t meant for her to leave so abruptly. He’d given her plenty of time to come to terms with his decision, to do it at her own pace. And yet it looked like she’d been packing most of the night. He hadn’t even heard any noises emerging from the room. But then he’d been in an alcohol-induced coma until a few minutes ago.
He stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. Instead of feeling liberated, he felt a cold prickle of unease. The pounding in his head and the acid churning in his stomach went up a notch. After years of living with someone, he was alone, and yet the freedom didn’t feel as good as it should have. If there had been even a sliver of a chance of making a life with Samantha, he would have. He respected her clever mind, but there was nothing else he could give her.
He shut the doors of the armoires and pushed in the open drawers. The place didn’t seem like his anymore. Maybe he could sell the townhouse and get another one—and while he was at it, buy all new furnishings, too. What little essence of Samantha was left needed to be erased.
But for the moment all he wanted was to banish the hangover. A foul wave of nausea drove him into the master bathroom. Reaching the toilet just in time, he threw up. Then he brushed his teeth, went back to the guest room, and plopped back onto the bed.
The sense of physical relief was immense. He slept once again.
Chapter 16
Anjali inspected the new windows installed in Tejmal’s store, or rather their new store. She’d been on her feet most of the day. They’d had several customers—hard on her feet but always good for business.
Only about half of them had bought anything of real value, while the others had been curious about the renovations next door and the “Clearance Sale” sign in the window. But still, the more interest customers showed, the better the chances of luring them back to the store when the expansion was completed. So she’d served everyone with a smile and a welcoming word.
Because of Jeevan-kaka’s unusual needs, her mother spent more time at home cooking and cleaning lately, and her father had completely taken over th
e financial end of the business. So the floor work was mostly hers.
With Rishi in London, Jeevan-kaka was handling the contractors by himself. He was a slave driver. A couple of times she’d heard the workmen grumbling about “that crabby old fart.” But he did a good job of keeping a strict eye on them.
She often wondered how Rishi was dealing with his emergency. He’d been gone nearly a week. She couldn’t help speculating if Samantha was the reason he was still lingering there.
Lately Rishi and Anjali had been getting along well, though. That night, when they’d had a private conversation after everyone else had gone to bed, things had changed between them. Mainly she had begun to trust him.
At the moment, everyone else had gone home and she was alone in the store, checking on the progress of the restoration work. Every night, before she left for home, she made it a point to take a final look around.
The new display windows facing the street looked beautiful—wide and tall, with the sill made of brilliant, polished oak. Soon the dinginess of Tejmal’s store would be gone and the building, with skylights and creamy walls and chandeliers, would be unrecognizable. The outside of the structure was getting a facelift, too. It would stand out like a jewel amidst the ordinary dookaans or shops.
A mild thrill of excitement zipped through her. Maybe this could work. Rishi and Jeevan-kaka were so darned optimistic that it had started to rub off on her. She could only pray they were right and it would all turn out well. For her part, she was willing to work any amount to make the store a success.
In fact, she’d been working so hard that she hadn’t found the time to visit Kip since that night when she’d run into Rishi at the Rowling Rok. That was…when? About two months ago? She was too tired to see Kip these days anyway. And he was a busy man himself. He didn’t have time for her until late at night and she couldn’t afford to keep late nights anymore.
Besides, the way Rishi had reacted to seeing her with Kip had bothered her. She tried to tell herself his opinion didn’t matter, but it did. She could bet those keen eyes had summed up her relationship with Kip in an instant. And they’d left her feeling cheap and uncomfortable. Rishi disturbed her more than she cared to be disturbed.
The puzzling thing was she hadn’t missed seeing Kip all that much. But tonight the loneliness was nipping at her. She was feeling the familiar restlessness, the desire to get away from her family for a while and spend some time with Kip. Checking her watch, she noted it was well after 8:00 P.M.
On an impulse, she pulled out her cell phone from her pocket and called her mother. “Mom, you mind if I join my friends for dinner?”
“Dinner’s ready and we’re waiting for you, Anju,” said Usha, sounding irritated. “Why don’t you have a quick bite with us and join your friends for coffee later?”
“Please, Mom, I need some time to myself. I haven’t seen them since the expansion started.”
She heard her mother exhale a loud sigh. “Okay. Don’t stay out too late.”
“I won’t,” she promised and hung up. Lies and more lies. This was getting tiring. But how else was she going to do this without upsetting her parents? Sometimes she wished she was born in a liberal family where having an affair, especially at her age, was considered harmless, an intrinsic part of being a woman. Instead, here she was, sleeping with some guy in secret and feeling ashamed about it afterward, like she’d betrayed her family, her late husband, and her heritage.
It being a weeknight, Rowling Rok’s parking lot had few cars. Maybe Kip could make some time for her. Since she’d made up her mind to go discreetly through the back door from now on, she went around the building and through the kitchen. Billy was nowhere in sight, so she opened the door that led into the bar area and stuck her head in. She saw Billy at the counter, his broad back to her while he served some customers. Like she’d guessed, there weren’t too many patrons tonight.
She went back into the kitchen and up the stairs to Kip’s apartment. He was likely to be doing his paperwork. Wanting to surprise him, she tiptoed furtively and tried the door to his apartment. It was unlocked, so she very carefully let herself in. Finding the living room in semidarkness, she stopped for a moment, undecided.
Everything was quiet and the bedroom door was closed. Had Kip gone out? Or maybe not. She wondered if she should knock. But it would be fun to sneak up on him. She’d done it once before and he’d been delighted to see her unexpectedly.
Grabbing the doorknob, she pushed open the door. “Surprise!”
In the next instant the breath was swept out of her. Oh God! She stood on the threshold, the shock so potent she couldn’t move a muscle. Even blinking seemed impossible as her gaze fixed itself on the bed.
The bedside light was on, and Kip in all his naked glory was making vigorous love to a blond woman. On hearing her voice they both turned their heads toward the door.
Kip’s face registered the same kind of shock she felt. He froze, his body still attached to the woman lying under him. “Damn!” The familiar sheen of perspiration glistened on his smooth skin. A damp lock of hair had fallen over his forehead. His breath, too, was coming out in hard gasps, the kind that comes with unrestrained sex.
Finally finding the strength to move, Anjali managed to turn around. Without another word she ran through the darkened living room and down the stairs. She heard Kip calling her name, but she didn’t stop until she crossed the empty restaurant kitchen, opened the back door, and stepped outside.
Damn it! Damn it! Why hadn’t she knocked before barging in?
On the other side of the door, she stopped only for an instant to suck in a breath of fresh, cool air, then continued to run along the side of the building, the same path she’d taken coming in. She was panting by the time she’d covered the length of the concrete walkway.
She wasn’t sure whom she was more disgusted with, Kip or herself. What he was doing came as no surprise, but the fact that she’d walked in on him with another woman bordered on sickening. She couldn’t get the revolting image out of her mind. How many times had she herself been the woman in that exact same position in his bed?
She managed to reach the parking lot.
As she raced toward her car she stumbled on something, then slammed into a solid wall—of hard muscle. She let out a scream, but what emerged from her throat was a high-pitched squeal. Even that was muffled as her face got smothered by someone’s chest. “Anjali!” the man said.
Assuming it was Kip who’d somehow managed to catch up with her, she pummeled his chest with both fists. “G-get away from me. I don’t…want to…see you again.”
The man was big and strong and he grabbed both her wrists. “It’s Rishi, not Kip,” he said. When she continued to struggle, he grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides. “Anjali, did you hear me? I’m Rishi.”
That’s when she recognized his voice. Still fighting for breath, she raised her face to his. “Rishi?” After staring at him for an instant, she crumpled against him in relief.
He gathered her in his arms. “Are you all right?” he asked, stroking her back with one hand. “You’re shaking.”
It took her a minute before she regained her poise and pulled away from him to step back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“That’s okay. I’m glad I was here to catch you before you fell on your face.” He inclined his head to indicate the empty Chinese takeout food container on the ground, over which she’d stumbled.
She scowled at him in the jaundiced glow of the parking lot light. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in London.”
“I flew in a couple of hours ago.”
“Oh…so you’re back.” Her mind was still in a tangle. Unfortunately her breath was still wheezy, too.
“I happened to be at your house when you called your mother earlier,” he said. “About meeting your friends for supper,” he added, maybe because she wore a blank look.
She lowered her eyes to the ground. “And
naturally you assumed I was here.”
“Naturally.”
That one word brought home the realization that Rishi was mocking her—fool that she was. That Oxford-educated brain of his had likely figured out what had made her run like a lunatic, too. “Well, now that you’ve found me, why don’t you go your own way and I’ll go mine,” she said and fished her car keys out of her pocketbook. Her hands were shaking so much the keys rattled.
“No, you won’t.” He caught her wrist before she could unlock the car door.
She glanced up at him. His face was chiseled in stone. He wasn’t kidding. “I need to go home, Rishi.”
His expression relaxed a bit but his grip on her wrist didn’t. “Look, you seem to be upset over something. I don’t think you should drive home yet. Let’s go someplace where we can talk.” He must have seen the wariness in her eyes, because he added, “I’m only trying to help. Obviously something happened here tonight and you’re shaken.”
She turned away from his penetrating gaze. How could she tell him, a man she’d known only a short time, what she’d witnessed? How humiliating was it to tell someone she’d caught her lover in bed with another woman?
“Did Rowling hurt you?” His voice was soft and measured, but she could sense the undercurrent of fury, something primitive and male. Her instinct told her Rishi was ready to have Kip hanged from the nearest tree.
“No.” She drew a long breath and willed her rigid shoulders to relax a little.
His grip on her wrist eased. “Then what is it that had you running?”
She closed her eyes and took another calming breath. He wasn’t going to let it go. “Oh, what the heck. You really want to know? I’ll tell you,” she said. “The whole tawdry story.”
“Good. But not here.” He shifted his hand to her elbow and led her to his vehicle, settled her in the passenger seat, then got into the driver’s side. “Is there a place nearby where we can talk?”
The Sari Shop Widow Page 15
