Wild Jasmine

by Yvonne Whittal

  'Perhaps we'll meet again some day,' Bruce Watson said to her when they walked towards the terminal. 'It's a small world sometimes.'

  Sarika did not answer him; she merely smiled aloofly and walked on without slackening her pace. There was a brief delay while she waited to collect her suitcases. Bruce appeared again at her side to lift them off the moving belt on to the trolley she had found. She wished silently that he would go away, but thanked him politely and walked on ahead. Going through Customs created no problem for her, and within a few minutes she was in the main arrival hall of the airport building.

  The colourful and rowdy scene that met her eyes made her pulse quicken. She had always admired the Indian women for the dignity with which they wore their saris, and after so many months in England, it was a sight that warmed her heart. Her eyes searched the sea of dark-skinned faces. Someone would be there to meet her. She hoped it would be her father, but it would not surprise her if he had sent one of the junior members of his staff. She stood around, seconds lengthening into minutes, and sighed impatiently. How much longer would she still have to wait?

  Perhaps she should take a taxi. The idea was beginning to appeal to her, but a little shiver raced up her spine before she could put her thoughts into action. She had the strangest feeling that someone was watching her, and the sensation was so strong that she found herself turning slowly as if some force beyond her control had taken charge of her body. A man in a blue open-necked shirt, white cotton slacks and canvas shoes was standing some distance from her. He was so tall that one would have difficulty ignoring him in a crowd, and the cotton of his shirt seemed to stretch too tightly across his powerful chest and wide shoulders. Her glance collided with his as he started walking towards her, and she found herself looking into eyes so dark they were almost black. They burned their way into her with a fierceness that held her immobile with something close to shock, and her pulse began to jerk in a totally unpredictable manner. Who was this man, and why was he walking towards her with those long, purposeful strides?

  'Miss Maynesfield?' His voice was deep and gravelly, like the ominous roll of thunder, and his penetrating glance held hers compellingly despite her attempt to look away. His hair was as dark as his eyes, she noticed absently, and his deeply tanned features were rugged rather than handsome. She stared up at him in confusion, and his heavy eyebrows rose in a vaguely mocking manner. 'You are Sarika Maynesfield, aren't you?'

  There was an almost animal maleness about this man that rocked her composure, and that aura of sexual vitality and strength that emanated from him made her intensely aware of her own femininity. No man had ever succeeded in doing that before, and the sensation was so disquieting that she had to make a near-physical attempt to pull herself together.

  'Yes, I'm Sarika Maynesfield.' She hoped he had not heard the nervous tremor in her voice.

  'Sean O'Connor,' he introduced himself abruptly, his assessing glance sending that little shiver racing up her spine once again. 'I was asked to collect you.'

  Collect? Her status dropped at once from woman to bothersome package, and she could not decide whether she ought to be amused or annoyed.

  'Do you work for my father?' she questioned him cautiously, her eyes on his strong, tanned forearms when he lifted her suitcases off the trolley, and she almost had to run to keep up with him when he strode towards the exit.

  'In a manner of speaking.'

  'What sort of answer is that?' she demanded confusedly.

  'It's the only answer you're going to get at the moment.' He looked at her as if she was a spoiled, troublesome child instead of a woman of twenty-three. 'Now, if you don't mind, I'm in a hurry, and we're wasting valuable time.'

  No one had ever spoken to her quite like that before and, fuming inwardly, she followed him out of the cool, air-conditioned building and into the hot, blazing sunshine. A second shock awaited her. Parked close to the entrance was the red Mercedes sports her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday, and Sean O'Connor was unlocking the boot and dumping her suitcases into it as if the car belonged to him. Her expression must have conveyed her annoyance when he glanced at her, and he raised his heavy eyebrows in sardonic amusement.

  'I hope you don't mind,' he said smoothly, 'but I've commandeered your car while mine is being repaired.'

  Sarika could not have answered him even if she had wanted to. Her usually calm and serene temperament had suddenly deserted her, and she was speechless with an uncommon fury. She stood there rigidly while he slammed the boot shut and walked round to open the door on the passenger side. She wanted to tell him to go to the devil, that this was her car, and that she would drive, it, but one glance up into that rugged face made her realise that she would have to have all her wits about her if she wanted to involve herself in an argument with Sean O'Connor. There was something indefinable about him that warned her he was a man who was accustomed to getting what he wanted, and she was suddenly too tired to voice her resentment.

  His hand touched her arm, making her aware of his impatience. It was a brief touch, but it was sufficient to send a charge of electricity through her that made her nerves tingle in response. Alarmed and disconcerted, she hastily got into the car to avoid a repetition, and moments later he was easing his long, muscular body into the driver's seat. The spacious interior shrank to a size that made her feel as if they had become closeted together in a cabin trunk, and the suggested intimacy of the situation made her sit stiffly in her seat when they drove away from the busy airport grounds towards the city.

  Vendors were making their arduous way into the centre of Bombay at that early hour of the morning, and their carts were being pulled by lean-looking cattle with bells tied about their necks. Stalls were being erected in the quiet streets, but soon the city would become a hive of noisy activity.

  Sarika had always enjoyed the drive from the airport to her home in Malabar Hills. She would feast her eyes on familiar sights and drink it all in like someone who had acquired a dreadful thirst, but Sean O'Connor's forceful and disturbing presence was much too distracting. She turned slightly in her seat, attempting to look calm and relaxed, and her glance was drawn irrevocably towards the man beside her. The straight nose and square, jutting jaw added a touch of ruthlessness to his rugged profile, but she was somehow not surprised by the hint of sensuality she glimpsed in the shape of his stern mouth. His big, well-shaped hands rested lightly on the wheel, but she knew without doubt that he was in perfect control of the vehicle. Her gaze dropped lower to his lean hips and muscled thighs encased in the tight-fitting cotton slacks, and there was a stirring inside her that was primitive and frightening. Her glance swept upwards again to his face, and for one electrifying second she found herself looking straight into his dark, mocking eyes.

  Embarrassed at the knowledge that he had caught her staring, she twisted her head away before he could see the warm colour flooding her cheeks. She battled to regain her composure, and only when she had succeeded did she break the strained, awkward silence between them. 'My parents never told me that a new member had joined the Apex staff.'

  'The past few months have been rather hectic for your father. Perhaps that's why he never got around to telling you.'

  She recognised for the first time that slight American drawl in the way he spoke, and her curiosity deepened. 'How long have you been working for my father?'

  'Long enough.'

  'Do you always answer questions in that evasive manner?' she asked, suddenly angry, and his mocking gaze once again stabbed at her briefly.

  'How long I've been with Apex is really none of your business. I'm here to drive you home, and not for the purpose of answering personal questions about myself.'

  Sarika felt chastised, like a child who had been rapped over the knuckles for an offence, and she squirmed inwardly. 'I was merely attempting to make polite conversation.'

  'Well, don't,' he said abruptly and rather rudely, Sarika thought, but it had the desired effect, and she lapsed into
a silence that lasted the length of the hour and a half drive to her home.

  Tense, and fuming inwardly, she sighed inaudibly with relief when the car shot up the long drive towards the pillared mansion which had been no more than a base, at times, which she returned to for her holidays. At first it had been boarding school, and later she had gone to university in England. The holidays had always seemed too brief for her to actually settle down, but Ayah had always been there, and it was Ayah who had succeeded most in making this palatial mansion feel like a home to Sarika.

  She straightened her skirt when she got out of the car, and excitement made her hands flutter towards her hair to smooth the heavy weight of it away from her face and neck. Sean O'Connor witnessed this action when he lifted her suitcases and hand luggage out of the boot, and a cynical smile curved his mouth.

  'You look ravishing enough despite your long, tiring flight,' he mocked her when she glanced at him questioningly, 'but I'm sure you know that without being told.'

  Sarika glared at him with a rising sense of mutiny. 'Do you dislike women in general, Mr O'Connor, or is there something about me personally that you happen to dislike?'

  'I dislike spoiled little girls who think they can get away with murder by simply fluttering their long eyelashes in the right direction.'

  He spoke with such a savagery that she actually backed a pace away from him. A spoiled little girl, was she? Bitterness surged like gall into her mouth, and she was still trying to formulate a reply when Ayah's ample figure emerged from the house. She was wearing her customary white sari to signify that she was a woman in mourning, and it wafted about her legs as she hurried down the steps towards Sarika.

  Her anger and irritation forgotten for the moment, Sarika almost fell into Ayah's outstretched arms, and that faint and familiar smell of incense which clung to this woman was an added welcome home. They hugged each other profusely, laughing and crying at the same time.

  'Oh, Ayah,' Sarika smiled through her tears when they finally held each other at arm's length. 'I really missed you, and it's so good to be home at last!'

  'Pyaari!' Darling. The endearment spilled naturally from Ayah's lips, and there was a loving warmth in her beautiful dark eyes when she studied Sarika critically. 'You must be exhausted after your long flight, and you have lost weight.'

  'I haven't really,' Sarika protested uncomfortably while she was aware of Sean O'Connor's black eyes observing them with a mixture of amused and cynical interest.

  'I'll fatten you up in a week,' promised Ayah, then she turned and smiled at the man standing a few paces away from them. 'I know you are in a hurry to get back to the office, Sean, so if you will leave Sarika's suitcases in the hall I will instruct one of the servants to take further care of them.'

  Sean? Ayah's familiar use of this man's name made Sarika glance at the older woman enquiringly, but Ayah seemed not to notice as she ushered Sarika into the house. Sean O'Connor followed close behind, and Sarika felt again that strange little shiver racing up her spine as if his eyes were burning holes into her back. Her suitcases were dumped unceremoniously on the black and white marble-tiled floor of the hall and, raising his hand in a brief salute to Ayah, he strode out of the house and down the steps to get into the Mercedes as if he owned it.

  The man was infuriating, and incredibly disturbing. He was also something of a mystery. She would question Ayah about him later, but first she wanted to see her parents. 'Where are Mum and Dad, Ayah? They did remember that I'd be arriving today, didn't they?'

  'They are not here, pyaari.'

  'What do you mean, they're not here?'

  'Later, Sarika,' the older woman brushed aside her anxious query. 'Go upstairs, take a shower, and change into something comfortable. I will bring up a pot of tea, and then we will talk.'

  Sarika knew that tone of voice, and she knew also the futility of pressing this woman for an answer when she was not ready to give it. Sighing inwardly, she did as she was told and went upstairs to her room.

  A pleasant surprise awaited her there. The room was not as she had left it eight months ago. The furnishings were a cool blue instead of rose-pink, the slatted doors of the wooden wall-cupboard had been painted white, and a matching dressing table replaced the old-fashioned teak dresser. The two comfortable chairs in front of the large window had also been covered in a soft blue material to give the room a new sophisticated and modern appearance, and everything which could possibly have reminded her of her unfortunate experience with Gary had been removed. Everything else was temporarily swept from her mind as she stood there taking in the delightful appearance of her old room with tears in her eyes. This was Ayah's contribution in helping her to forget the unpleasant past, and Sarika loved her all the more for it.

  Aware suddenly that she was hot and sticky, Sarika went into the adjacent bathroom and stripped down to her skin. She stepped into the shower cubicle, and the cool jet of water against her body was soothing and refreshing. She stood like that for some time before she soaped herself and washed her hair, and she felt considerably better when she had dried herself and put on clean undies. With a small towel wrapped about her head, she slipped her arms into a green silk robe and returned to her bedroom to find her suitcases standing at the foot of the bed with the polished brass bars at the head.

  Sarika had dried her hair and was brushing it vigorously when Ayah walked into the room with a tray of tea. Their eyes met in the mirror and they smiled at each other fondly. 'I like the new furnishings, Ayah. It was kind of you to go to all the trouble.'

  'I didn't do it all on my own,' Ayah protested modestly, placing the tray on the low table between the two chairs at the window. 'Cara bhenji chose the curtains and the fine silk bedspread, and Dave bhaiji ordered the dressing table to be made to match the wall-cupboard.'

  Sister Cara and brother Dave—that had always been Ayah's respectful way of addressing Sarika's parents. Sarika studied the older woman closely and decided that, in all the years she had known her, she had not changed very much. She had never seen Ayah's nicely rounded body dressed in anything other than her white cotton saris, and she had always generated a warm and tender motherly affection which had made Sarika feel wanted and cherished. Her hair was a little greyer, but oiled as usual, and combed back into a neat bun in the nape of her neck.

  'Tell me about Mum and Dad, Ayah?' Sarika repeated her query with a little more urgency on this occasion. 'Where are they, and why aren't they here this morning to welcome me home?'

  'Beti …' Ayah always called Sarika daughter when she was deeply concerned, or when she had unpleasant news to pass on to her, and Sarika steeled herself against whatever blow was to follow. 'I'm sorry, but your parents left yesterday morning to join the Parkers on their yacht for a three-week cruise along the coast towards Karachi. It was something they could not cancel, and they asked me to tell you that they would look forward to seeing you on their return.'

  For Sarika it was the final disappointment in a long list of disappointments, and this time she could not simply sit back and accept it as calmly as she had always done in the past. 'They could have waited, Ayah!' she cried out, leaping to her feet in a burst of anger. 'They could have waited one more day, but this yacht trip was obviously more important to them than my return home. Oh, how I hate them for always thinking only of themselves!'

  'Now, now, Sarika!' Ayah rebuked her gently as she came to Sarika and gripped her arms. 'You know you don't really hate your parents, and the three weeks will pass so quickly that you will wonder why you made such a fuss about them not being here.'

  Sarika drew a deep, calming breath. She did not cry this time; she had shed enough tears in the past in which to drown herself. Her childhood years had been lonely years, and she had cried herself to sleep most nights. Ayah had showered her with love and attention, but it never quite eased that terrible pain deep down inside her, nor did it fill that void left by her parents' lack of concern.

  'You're right as usual, Ayah,' she sighed,
letting the tension flow from her as she allowed herself to be led to a chair. 'They'll be home before I know it.'

  Ayah poured their tea, and they drank it in silence until Ayah left her alone to rest. Sarika drew the curtains to darken her room, and realised that, in her disappointment at not finding her parents at home, she had forgotten to question Ayah about Sean O'Connor. His mocking eyes and cynical smile taunted her, and she felt certain that she would not sleep—but, surprisingly, she did.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The sun was setting over the city which lay in the distance, and Sarika stood looking out of her bedroom window until the lengthening shadows had deepened into darkness in the spacious, well-kept garden below. It was time to go down to dinner, but the thought of dining alone did not appeal to her. Ayah would, of course, dine with her, but Sarika had imagined her first evening at home quite differently, only to discover that it would be no different from any of the others. She had hoped that her parents would be proud of her achievement, that their inability to attend her graduation would have made them feel duty bound, at least, to spend this one evening with her, but Sarika should have known that nothing like that would ever happen. They had always been too busy chasing after life's pleasures to care about her. Ayah, after all, was here to look after her, and with that they exonerated themselves of all responsibility.

  The garden below was now in total darkness, and Sarika drew the curtains across the window, standing for a moment with her head bowed and her hands clutching at the material before she turned away with a sigh to switch on the bedside light. She felt lonely and depressed, but the feeling was not new to her, and she knew she dared not dwell on it. Self-pity was a crippling emotion that distorted one's outlook on life, and she would not become a slave to it.

  Her mind conjured up Sean O'Connor's image. Sarika did not want to think about him, but he was not a man one could meet one moment and forget the next. He had, most annoyingly, intruded on her waking thoughts most of that day, and this time she could not banish him from her mind. He had called her a spoiled little girl, and it was as if he had taken a delight in striking her where it hurt most. A little girl she was not, and spoiled she never had been. She had been given everything that money could buy, but she had never asked for it, and neither had she revelled in it. Since her eighteenth birthday there had been men who had considered her appearance and her father's wealth as two of her best assets, but Sean O'Connor seemed to actually despise her for it. When Sarika allowed herself time to pause for consideration, she found that she had to admit his manner was refreshing, and somewhat intriguing. She must remember to find out more about him from Ayah, she decided as she left her room and went downstairs.