The Forbidden Daughter

by Shobhan Bantwal

  “Oh, no!” Sheila’s eyebrows plunged. “What was he doing here?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he was here to visit Ayee. But he had the audacity to behave like nothing had changed between us.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Pretended to be all friendly and sympathetic.”

  “Of all the nerve!” exclaimed Sheila, trying to keep Diya’s inquisitive fingers from pulling her earring.

  “I gave him a piece of my mind,” Isha informed her. That’s when reality started to sink in. Oh God! What had she said to him? She recalled her bitter tirade—every word of it. Had she completely lost her mind? How could she?

  Suddenly realizing the enormity of her actions, she burst into tears.

  Sheila bit her lip. “You didn’t threaten him or anything, did you?”

  Priya, noticing her mother crying, threw her arms around her neck and buried her face in her shoulder. Then she began to wail. Isha’s arms instinctively went around her child.

  Sheila, noticing Diya’s lower lip trembling in response, rose to her feet. “Isha, you have to stop this! You’re upsetting the kids.”

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  Isha continued to shed tears. “I can’t help it. I saw Karnik and . . . I went berserk.”

  The two men were still standing in the same spot, still staring curiously.

  Harish looked pointedly at Sheila. “Can you take the children home to Sundari? I’ll take care of Isha.”

  “But . . .” Sheila looked in helpless misery at Isha and the children for a second before she nodded. “All right, I’ll take the girls home. What should I tell Sundari?”

  “Tell her to feed them and put them to bed. And she shouldn’t worry if Isha’s late in getting home.” He eyed the sniffling Isha.

  “It might take her a while to calm down.”

  “What exactly happened here?” Sheila asked him.

  “I’ll explain later. I think it’s a case of stress building up over an extended period of time. Karnik’s unexpected arrival was merely the trigger.”

  “You may be right,” Sheila said. “Call me later, all right?”

  Harish nodded, and Sheila pried a reluctant Priya away from Isha and went, taking the tearful children down the corridor and out the building.

  Chapter 25

  Harish pressed a steaming cup of tea in Isha’s hand. “Drink this.” He had driven her to his house and made her sit on the sofa in his drawing room while he brewed the tea. He had brought her to his home because he didn’t know where else to take her. She obviously needed some privacy to recover from the episode.

  He watched her hold the cup in both hands. They shook as she took a few careful sips. “Thank you,” she said and put the cup on the table beside her.

  Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from crying. Her hair was mussed, and even though the tears had stopped, her sniffling continued. She kept her arms folded, hugging herself. She looked so hopeless, so lost, so young.

  He was tempted to go to her, hold her close, and comfort her.

  But he stifled the urge. She was likely to take it the wrong way.

  Besides, at the moment, verging on hysteria like she was, there was no knowing how she’d react. He knew enough about psy-chiatry to recognize a woman teetering on the edge of an emotional breakdown.

  A single wrong word or move could send her over the edge.

  The moment he had spied Karnik approaching, he’d known there was trouble ahead, but he had never expected Isha to react quite like that. It had stunned him to the point of immobilizing him for a minute. Isha wasn’t the type to lose her self-control easily. One minute she was sitting down, with her small, elegant 212 Shobhan Bantwal

  hands in her lap, talking to him, and in the next she was saying the most bizarre things to Karnik.

  Watching Karnik lose his composure a little, Harish had experienced a moment of perverse satisfaction. But that had vanished the second Isha had started to allude to certain odd things.

  That’s when Harish had realized she was doing something very self-destructive. If indeed it was Karnik who had arranged to have Nikhil killed (and Harish was sure it was), then Isha could be setting herself up for a similar fate as her late husband.

  Letting Karnik know she had knowledge about the murder, and even evidence, was foolish. She could have been bluffing, but it was still risky, considering someone had killed her husband in cold blood.

  But then again, more than a year’s worth of strain, combined with the tension surrounding the children’s visit with their grandmother, had stretched her nerves to the limit.

  Now it was time for some damage control. So he went to sit beside her on the sofa. “Feeling a little better?” He noticed most of her tea was still in the cup.

  She nodded. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you. I don’t know what got into me.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I just sort of . . . snapped. I couldn’t help myself.”

  He nodded. “I understand. You’ve had a lot to deal with.”

  “But still, it was stupid to explode like that.” She turned to face him. “I’m usually not an impulsive type.”

  “I realize that.” He patted her hand. “But you had good reason this time.”

  “No matter how good the excuse, I had no business saying nasty things to someone in a public place and upsetting my children and embarrassing you and Sheila on top of that.”

  “Children are resilient. They’ll forget it by tomorrow. Besides, they didn’t witness it, so don’t worry.”

  “But I am worried,” she insisted, blowing her nose into a handkerchief. “I’ve just realized that I’m not as docile as I thought I was. I have a temper, just like Nikhil’s, and almost as fiery as Baba’s.”

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  “Every human being has one,” he said with infinite patience.

  “It’s perfectly normal.”

  “But I’ve never seen you losing your cool.”

  “I have my moments. I’m no saint.” He cracked an amused laugh. “Besides, Karnik deserved it. You should have seen his stunned expression when you started talking.”

  “I noticed that look on his face,” she said. “I must admit I got some kind of odd satisfaction from that.”

  “Now that it’s out of your system, you’ll feel better. Would you like something to eat?”

  “I guess so.” She leaned her head back and shut her eyes, looking like she had no strength left to do anything but brood over the evening’s debacle. “Thank you.”

  “I have some leftovers in my fridge. I’ll heat them up.” He headed toward the kitchen.

  Thanks to Mamma’s leftovers, inside ten minutes he had chapatis, sprouted moong-bean—mung-bean—curry, dal, and rice on the dining table.

  He noticed Isha ate very little. She seemed preoccupied.

  When she offered to help him wash the dishes, he accepted, just to keep her busy.

  After they cleaned up the kitchen, they once again settled on the sofa. “Now that you’ve calmed down a little,” he said, “I want to make you aware of the negative part of what happened at the hospital.”

  “You mean there was a positive part?” she asked with cutting sarcasm.

  He kept his mouth shut. She needed to vent.

  “I realize I did something entirely stupid,” she conceded a moment later. “Everyone around me will be humiliated again, including you. I’m sorry.”

  He shook his head. “That’s minor. What worries me is what you said to Karnik about some sort of documents.”

  “Oh my God!” Isha’s eyes went wide with comprehension. “I did say that, didn’t I? I told him everything!”

  Harish drew in a tight breath. “You mean you really have proof?”

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  “I had it all along, but I didn’t know it. I discovered it recently, when I was going through some papers Nikhil had put into our safe deposit box. I took them out of t
he vault the day I moved into the convent.”

  “But you didn’t say anything to anyone?”

  She shook her head. “I decided to leave it alone, unless I needed to do something with it.”

  “I see.” The situation was a lot worse than Harish had imagined.

  The despair was clear in her voice. “Now I’ve gone and ruined it. What am I going to do?”

  Harish winced inwardly. “What exactly did you find, Isha?”

  He was almost afraid to ask.

  She turned to face him. “You’ll never believe it.”

  Isha didn’t know how much she should tell Harish. Just by knowing what she knew, his life could be in jeopardy. It was bad enough that she’d probably placed herself in peril, but she had no business endangering other people’s lives.

  Now that the earlier shock had worn off, she rubbed her cold arms and looked about her for the first time since she’d stepped in-to Harish’s house.

  It was simple—a small, basic one-story bungalow. The drawing room had a black leather sofa, which they were occupying at the moment, and two matching chairs. A plain teakwood coffee table and two end tables along with a couple of lamps completed the seating arrangement. There were no paintings, rugs, decorator pillows, or photographs anywhere. It was a bachelor’s house—a busy bachelor with not much time for a personal life.

  But the very simplicity of the room spelled security. It was a reflection of the man—genuine, honest, solid, and reliable. No fussy trimmings, but a comfort to have around.

  Despite the day’s heat and humidity, she was surprised to find herself chilled. “I don’t want to put you in danger,” she told him.

  “I’m not in any danger.” He must have recognized she was THE

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  cold, because he took her hands in his and massaged them.

  “Now tell me everything.”

  He looked so earnest, and his hands—slightly rough from all the handwashing and preop scrubbing—felt warm and soothing as they stroked hers. She felt the need to confide in him despite her misgivings. “I found a computer disk and three printouts in an envelope.”

  “What do they contain?”

  “The printed spreadsheets have names, dates, and monies paid.”

  “And the disk?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t have a computer.”

  “I forgot about that. We could insert it into my computer and see what it is. Does it have a label?”

  “The label’s blank, but I’m guessing the disk has similar information as the printouts.” An involuntary shiver ran through her and he noticed it.

  “You’re cold.” He got up, disappeared for a minute, and returned with a thick gray cardigan. “Here, put this on.”

  “I don’t know why I’m freezing. The temperature is downright hot today.”

  “Your chill comes from shock. It happens when a person experiences a trauma of any kind. This is a delayed reaction.”

  “Oh.” She gratefully slipped into the cardigan. It was soft and hand-knitted in a complicated cable design. Someone, maybe his mother, had lovingly made it for him. She glanced at him as he came to sit beside her again. “What do you think I should do? Go to the police?”

  “That’s probably best . . . but not before we make a few copies and store them in different locations.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this may be the only evidence that exists. Do you know if they found anything similar when Nikhil’s body was discovered?”

  She had to think about it, recall what the police had said back then. “If they did, they didn’t tell me.” She mulled over it some 216 Shobhan Bantwal

  more. “Besides, if they had, they would have acted on it. I’m sure the killer found what he was looking for and disappeared with it. Otherwise, he’d have come after me or Nikhil’s parents, wouldn’t he?”

  “Maybe. But what if the killer didn’t find it because Nikhil had already hidden all the evidence in the safe deposit box?

  What you’re hiding may be the only copy Nikhil had.”

  “Oh, Lord!” The chill zipped through her once again. She pulled the cardigan tighter around herself. “So Nikhil died for nothing?” All at once Isha was overcome by hopelessness. “I can’t believe Nikhil kept so many secrets from me. It’s been fifteen months since he died and I’m still discovering things he kept from me.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I wonder what other nasty surprises await me.”

  “Don’t cry, Isha. I hate seeing you cry. Come here.” He shifted and put an arm around her, drawing her closer. “Hopefully there won’t be any more unpleasant surprises.”

  She leaned into him, grateful for the strength and solace he offered. He smelled clean and wholesome—nothing but soap and man—a wonderful male scent she’d almost forgotten. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “We’ll never know. What we need to do now is to go forward with what we have and hope for the best.”

  “There’s no we in this,” she said. “This is my problem, not yours.”

  “Don’t be silly,” he chided. “I want to be part of it.”

  “Why?”

  He took a deep breath. She could feel his chest expand and contract, hear his heart thumping. “Because I’m your friend, and I care about you and the children.”

  “That’s very generous of you. But does friendship extend to putting your life in danger?”

  He took her hand and rubbed his thumb over the knuckles.

  “Maybe not an ordinary friendship, but my . . . feelings for you go beyond that.”

  At last, there it was—an admission of his feelings. She’d known it in her heart, seen it in his face, and felt it in her bones, THE

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  that he cared about her, but now he was expressing his sentiments—in a certain fashion.

  Lifting her head, she studied his face for a long minute. At one time she had thought of it as a plain, homely sort of face.

  But she’d come to appreciate the mouth that so easily curved into a smile, the slightly blunt nose, the scholarly glasses, the thick brows that nearly met in the center to form a single line, the dark, intelligent eyes that seemed to see way beyond what most people saw.

  And the heart that beat under that sensible blue-and-white striped shirt? Surely it was much too generous and much too large to fit into that average-sized chest?

  She had yet to come across a more selfless, more caring man.

  He was extraordinarily brave, too, from what he’d done for her so far, and was offering to do for her in the future.

  Right now, he was practically devouring her with his warm, reverent expression. The familiar tingle was traveling through her veins, making her aware of him as more than just a friend.

  “I’m not sure if I want to know what those feelings are, Harish,” she replied, feeling the regret settle inside her chest. Most women would give anything to have a man like him interested in them. If only things weren’t so complicated . . .

  He brought her hand to his lips. “You have no idea why I want to be involved in your life, do you?”

  Oh, yes, she did! She’d have to be blind, deaf, and denser than a brick not to notice the adoration on his face whenever he looked at her, the amount of time he took out of his hectic schedule to devote to her and the children, the thoughtful things he did for her. He did far more than Nikhil had ever done for Priya and her.

  But while she’d gladly welcomed Harish into her life as doctor, advisor, friend, and confidant, she’d deliberately ignored his obvious interest in her as a woman. She’d disregarded her own awakening emotions for him as well, and shut herself off from the possibilities surrounding a young single man. A widow wasn’t even supposed to think about such things, let alone act on them.

  However, despite her attempts at insulating herself from emo-218 Shobhan Bantwal

  tional attachment, her feelings for him had undergone a vast change in
the past few weeks. She wasn’t sure exactly what they were at this point. They were far too complex. And she had deliberately not taken the time to examine them under a micro-scope.

  Besides, in the traditional sense she was still Nikhil’s wife.

  Her official name was Isha Nikhil Tilak. And at the moment she was a threat to Harish’s safety. Two excellent reasons not to get involved with him. She turned her gaze away from his. “I think I do.”

  “I realize you don’t return my feelings, but I’m willing to wait.” He tightened his arm around her shoulders. “However long it takes.”

  “Don’t punish yourself so, Harish. I know you want a family, so go marry a nice girl your parents pick for you. Someday you’ll have children. And you’ll make a fabulous husband and father.” It tore her up to say that. But she had to do it—for his sake.

  He gave a chuckle. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

  “As if you haven’t devoted every hour of your free time to me and my girls! You’d make a great family man. My kids and Sheila’s boys think you can walk on water.” She looked down at the square brown hand that held hers. There was so much skill and strength in it. “I have lots of fond regard for you, Harish.

  But I’m afraid I can’t give you more. I think a part of me died when Nikhil died, and it’s not likely to be resurrected anytime soon.”

  “Fond regard is a good start,” he said. “Most arranged marriages start with no emotions on the part of either partner. A majority of them still work out well.”

  She turned to him with a gasp. “Marriage!”

  “Why do you look so stunned? I’d never offer you anything less than marriage, Isha. Just because you’re a widow it doesn’t mean all you’re fit to be is someone’s mistress. You deserve better than that. Besides, I don’t believe in pointless love affairs—

  and I don’t do things piecemeal, either.”

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  “No. You wouldn’t.” She should have known that an honorable man with high moral standards would never proposition a woman—widow or not. He’d offer only the complete package—the sanctity and security of marriage with a lifetime’s commitment.