Wild Jasmine

by Yvonne Whittal

  When she arrived home that evening she went straight up to her room to bath and change. She did not see Sean, and the only time she saw Ayah was when she went downstairs to wait for Michael. Sarika had a vague suspicion that Ayah was upset about something, but Michael arrived a short while later, and that left Sarika with no time to ponder the thought.

  Dining out with Michael was rather pleasant and relaxing except for the fact that her mind was occupied with the meeting she had arranged for the following day. Michael was attentive all the same, and he made no effort to hide how he felt about her. She tried to warn him that she had no interest in a serious relationship with a man, but Michael was not dissuaded when she proffered a tentative friendship.

  'We'll take it from there,' he said confidently and, at her request, he took her home early.

  The living-room light was on when she entered the house, and she crossed the hall towards the door which stood slightly ajar. She pushed it open, and was surprised to see Sean sprawled in a chair with a glass of whisky in the one hand and a cheroot in the other. Dressed in jeans, white canvas shoes and a blue striped shirt, he did not look as if he had left the house that evening. What had happened to his dinner date? An uncomfortable thought leapt into her mind. Was it possible that he had wanted to invite her out to dinner, and that Michael had beaten him to it? It would explain Ayah's confusion on the telephone, and it would also explain why his visit to her office that afternoon had suddenly lost its importance.

  'I trust you enjoyed your evening?' his derisive remark cut into her thoughts, and she stood there staring at him for several disquieting seconds before she spoke.

  'Have you been waiting up for me?' she counter-questioned, trying not to look at his sun-browned chest where his shirt had been unbuttoned almost to the waist.

  'I should imagine you're past the age where someone would wait up to make sure you arrive home safely,' he replied cuttingly, and Sarika had the extraordinary feeling that she was being chastised for something she had done.

  'I understood from Ayah that you would be dining out this evening.'

  The ice tinkled in his glass as he swallowed down a mouthful of whisky. 'It was cancelled.'

  'Why?'

  'Mind your own business!'

  'Did the cancellation of your dinner appointment annoy you, or are you usually bad-tempered at this time of night?' she probed, ignoring his rudeness.

  'Go to bed, Sarika!' he ordered harshly, swallowing down the last of his drink and getting up to pour himself another. 'We're leaving for the airport at seven-thirty in the morning, and I don't want to be kept waiting.'

  Sarika hesitated. She was almost convinced now that he had intended taking her out to dinner, and she could not suppress a stab of disappointment. She considered confronting him with her suspicions, but something warned her not to prolong the conversation. He was quite obviously in a foul mood, and she had no desire to involve herself in a verbal battle with him at that late hour. She said good-night and went up to her room as he had instructed, but for some reason she did not go to sleep until she heard him walk past her door to his suite.

  They left the house early the following morning in Sean's Land Rover. There was no sign of the mood he had laboured under the previous evening, but Sarika remained cautious during the long drive out to the airport. It was only when they got into the eight-seater aircraft belonging to Apex that the corners of her mouth lifted in an impish smile.

  'Are you feeling better this morning?' she asked, slanting a glance at him when they were seated across the narrow aisle from each other.

  He studied her for a moment, his rugged features expressionless, then he reached out a hand and slid his fingers beneath the heavy roll of hair which she had coiled into the nape of her neck. His touch seemed to burn her, then she was pulled roughly towards him, and she was kissed long and hard on the mouth before she was released.

  'I feel much better now,' he smiled at her mockingly while his hands sought the seat-belt and fastened it about him.

  Sarika was flushed and breathless while the pilot taxied the aircraft towards the runway, and her hands were trembling to the extent that it took her longer than usual to snap her seat-belt into position. No matter how much she tried she could not obliterate the feel of his hard mouth against hers, and his prolonged, mocking stare almost totally unnerved her. She glanced at Sean when the aircraft's engines began to rev in preparation for take-off, and quite suddenly the situation seemed so ridiculous that her clear laughter rang out above the noise of the engines.

  'That was a mean thing to do,' she accused him as the aircraft sped along the runway and finally soared into the air.

  'Yes, wasn't it,' Sean agreed, his smile deepening for a brief moment, then he opened his briefcase and took out a small pile of documents.

  Sarika was ignored after that, and she could not decide whether she was relieved or annoyed. She was positive that it was unintentional, but he had certainly succeeded in arousing her interest these past weeks. She was intrigued as she had never been before, but she had to remember that soon he would be gone, and then he would be no more than a voice on the telephone, or a signature at the bottom of a business letter. It was a thought that hurt, and she refused to dwell on it for the moment.

  Agra was a commercial and industrial city situated on the banks of the Jumna river, and Sarika pointed out the barley, wheat and cotton fields to Sean when they came in low to land. Sean had arranged for a car to be placed at their disposal, and he drove her from the airport into the city.

  'I'll pick you up here at one,' he instructed when they arrived at the building which housed the offices of the consortium, and a mocking smile curved his mouth when she got out of the car. 'Good luck!'

  He drove away and left Sarika standing there with the feeling that she was going to need all the luck she could get.

  Clutching her briefcase in one hand and the plans in the other, she turned and entered the air-conditioned building with a feeling of trepidation. Mr Ramdhuni's office was on the second floor, and he was expecting her, the young Indian girl at reception told Sarika. The lift carried her soundlessly up to the required level, and a few minutes later she was shown into the office of a lean Indian gentleman with a hint of grey in the dark hair slicked back so severely from his broad forehead.

  'Ah, Miss Maynesfield!' He rose to welcome her and, gesturing towards the tray on his desk, asked, 'Shall we have tea before we get down to business?'

  'Thank you,' Sarika smiled. 'Tea would be most welcome.'

  'I would like to offer my sympathies with the unfortunate demise of your parents,' he said when they sat drinking their tea. 'When I first discussed the plans for this housing scheme it was with your father, and it seems strange that I should now continue those discussions with his daughter.'

  Sarika felt herself stiffen automatically in defence. 'Do you object to that, Mr Ramdhuni?'

  'Not at all,' he assured her hastily, putting aside his empty cup. 'I shall be very interested to hear what suggestions you have to make.'

  She drained her own cup of tea, and the pleasantries were over as they got down to business. She spread out the draft of the plans which had been drawn up to his specification, and produced her own rough draft of what she had in mind.

  If Sarika had imagined that it would be easy convincing Mr Ramdhuni that his plans were impractical, then she was mistaken. He put up an argument which almost had her floored during the ensuing hours, and when she glanced up at the wall clock to see the hands shifting rapidly towards one o'clock, it was out of sheer desperation that she asked: 'Mr Ramdhuni, do you have children?'

  'I have two sons and a daughter.'

  He looked a little puzzled that their meeting had suddenly veered towards the personal, but Sarika could see that she had touched on a subject which afforded him a great deal of pride and pleasure.

  'Do they have a place where they can play?' she shot the question at him.

  'Oh, yes, there is a public par
k just around the corner from our home,' he replied at once, and her triumphant smile made him realise that he had walked neatly into the trap she had set for him. 'That was a clever move, Miss Maynesfield, I credit you that,' he laughed in a faintly embarrassed way.

  'What about it, Mr Ramdhuni?' she pressed home her point. 'Don't you think that the children who will be living in these houses are entitled to the same privileges your children enjoy?'

  He leaned back in his chair, his fingers laced across his chest and a thoughtful smile on his lips, then he sat up and nodded abruptly. 'You have convinced me. Make the alterations you have suggested, and let me know as soon as the plans are ready.'

  Victory was a sweet sensation Sarika had never experienced before. It raced along her bloodstream to create an excitement all its own, and she hastily rolled up the plans and returned the rest of her papers to her briefcase.

  'Thank you for your time, Mr Ramdhuni,' she smiled, and they shook hands across his desk.

  'It's been a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Maynesfield,' he assured her, coming round his desk to see her to the door.

  It was a minute to one when she stepped out of the building, and a few seconds later Sean pulled up beside her in his hired Mercedes. They drove to a small restaurant Sarika had discovered on a previous visit, and it was only when they sat facing each other across the small circular table that Sean broached the subject of her meeting with Mr Ramdhuni.

  'Was your meeting fruitful?'

  'Mr Ramdhuni didn't like my ideas at first,' she grimaced. 'You can't westernise the East, Miss Maynesfield,' she mimicked Mr Ramdhuni's mannerisms and accent to perfection, and Sean shook with silent laughter.

  'What made him agree to it in the end?'

  'I more or less tricked him into it,' she confessed, explaining what had occurred. 'It was sheer luck for me, of course, that there happened to be a park near his home.'

  Their conversation was interrupted when the waiter brought them the menu and they both ordered a light lunch.

  'Did you have much success with the client you had to meet?' Sarika questioned Sean the moment they were alone again.

  'I clinched a deal for a new school that has to be erected here in Agra,' he explained the reason for his visit to the city.

  'We ought to celebrate, considering that we've both had a successful morning,' she suggested lightly, and his dark eyes glittered with devilish laughter when he leaned towards her across the table.

  'Dare we order a bottle of wine?'

  'Let's,' she agreed with a hint of conspiracy in her soft, triumphant laughter.

  Sean beckoned the steward and ordered a bottle of their best wine. It was brought to their table some minutes later, and they toasted each other on their success.

  Sarika felt herself relaxing with Sean for the first time since they had met. Sean, too, seemed more at ease, and she could understand now why Jaishree and her family had found him such pleasant and interesting company. The wine also set the mood, and after one glass she had lowered her guard considerably.

  'Am I right in thinking it was me you wanted to take out to dinner last night?' she asked before she could stop herself, and Sean smiled twistedly.

  'That was a clever guess, honey.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'It worked out for the best,' he said in a clipped voice. 'It doesn't always pay to become too friendly with one's associates in business, and the way things are between you and me we might have ended the evening with a flaming row.'

  'You're probably right,' she laughed, but inside she felt oddly like crying.

  'Shall we take that drive out to the Taj Mahal?' Sean queried when they had finished off their meal with a cup of coffee.

  'If you want to,' she agreed, 'and if there's still time.'

  'We have enough time,' he assured her, glancing at his watch. 'Let's go.'

  He settled the bill and they drove out to the Taj Mahal on the south bank of the Jumna river. Sarika had been there several times before, but each visit was like a new experience. The white marble mausoleum, with its balloon-shaped dome, minarets and corner pavilions, seemed to float majestically above the tree-lined reflecting pools. It dazzled Sarika's eyes in the sunlight as they walked towards it along the edge of the pool.

  Sarika did not speak, and neither did Sean. His hand brushed against hers, and somehow their fingers clung as they walked on in silence. The building dwarfed them at close proximity, and Sarika stared up at it in awe and renewed fascination as she studied the walls which were decorated with inlaid flowers in semi-precious stones. Sean was also impressed, but Sarika could not gauge whether his interest was of an architectural or personal nature. When they walked away from it a half hour later, she glanced back across the deserted gardens to see the magnificent building etched against the clear blue sky.

  'Isn't it beautiful and peaceful here?' she whispered, and Sean nodded without speaking.

  'The mausoleum was built during the years 1632 to 1649 by the Mughal emperor Shah Jahan,' she quietly related the history of the Taj Mahal to Sean. 'The Shah had it built in memory of his wife he had loved so much. Mumtaz Mahal had unfortunately died in childbirth after being his inseparable companion for nineteen years.' Her eyes filled with tears as she felt the pain of that lost love as if it were her own. 'Did you know,' she added in a choked voice, 'that he had her coffin placed in such a way in the mausoleum that the rays of the full moon would always penetrate the opening in the roof to bathe her coffin in its heavenly light?' She felt Sean turn towards her curiously, and she averted her eyes hastily to hide her tears, but… too late. He drew her towards a bench and pulled her down beside him, offering her his handkerchief. 'It's so terribly sad, and it always makes me cry,' she explained with an embarrassed laugh.

  'You're an incredible mixture,' he chuckled, sliding an arm about her shoulders so that she was forced to lean her head against him. 'What happened to the Shah?' he prompted.

  'He was imprisoned by his power-hungry son in Agra's Red Fort, and when Shah Jahan lay dying he had a mirror placed on the ceiling so that he could still see the magnificent monument he had had built for his wife.' She sniffed into the fine linen to control her tears. 'Isn't that beautiful?'

  'My God, you're as soft as a kitten really, but I've also seen you with your claws unsheathed like a wildcat. Right now you smell like the fragile petals of the wild jasmine, and I wonder what surprises you still have in store for me.'

  'Don't mock me,' she begged, giving him back his handkerchief and intensely aware of that strong arm clamped about her shoulders.

  'Would I mock you on such a lovely day, and in such a beautiful place?' he asked, tilting her face up to his with his strong fingers.

  She had expected to see that familiar glint of mockery in his eyes despite his denial, but there was none. There was, however, something in the way he looked at her that made that tell-tale pulse at the base of her throat beat fast and erratically. His chiselled, often stern mouth curved in a sensuous smile, then his features blurred, and she closed her eyes as his mouth touched hers. It could have been the two glasses of wine she had consumed with her lunch, or it could be that she was being affected by the strange enchantment of the Taj Mahal and its history. Sarika could not decide which, but her lips parted invitingly beneath Sean's, and her hand slid up across his chest until her fingers came to rest at the nape of his strong neck where his hair touched the collar of his jacket.

  Sean's arm tightened about her shoulders, and she felt his hand slide inside the short-sleeved jacket of her pale blue suit. His touch was warm against her waist through the cotton of her blouse, and it was then that something incredible and wonderful began to stir inside her. At any other time she might have suppressed that feeling, but her resistance was low at that moment, and that incredible feeling persisted until she could not ignore the inevitable truth. She was in love with Sean.

  He raised his head the next instant and, as their arms fell away from each other, she wondered a little ne
rvously whether he had sensed the change in her, but his expression was shuttered as he got to his feet and pulled her up with him.

  'It's time to go,' he said abruptly, and they walked back to where he had parked the car without touching each other.

  He was suddenly so distant that it felt as if she had been thrust out into the cold, and resentment stormed through her. How dared he behave as if nothing had happened, while she… oh, God, she had been a fool! She had fallen in love with a man who had no need of her; a man who would soon be leaving Bombay to pursue his business and personal activities elsewhere, and she would be forgotten until circumstances might force him to favour them at some future date with his presence at the Apex company.

  Sarika's anger rose, but it was an anger directed at herself, and she lapsed into a silence which Sean did not attempt to break. He also did not question it, and Sarika was left with the humiliating belief that he had guessed her feelings. His cold and aloof manner was apparently his way of telling her that she had overstepped the mark. He was a free agent; he came and went as he pleased and, knowing his reconceived opinion of her, she was left with the despairing knowledge that she would never stand a chance.

  Jaishree's wedding created a welcome diversion at the end of two weeks which had been mentally and emotionally trying for Sarika. Dressed for the occasion that Saturday evening in a wine-red sari, Sarika stepped up to the full-length mirror to study herself critically. A fine gold thread had been hand-woven in an elaborate pattern into the six yards of fine silk, and it was draped about her tall, slender body in true Hindu style. Her hair was brushed away from her face to hang in a heavy plait down her back, and behind her Ayah stood nodding approvingly.

  'You have never looked more beautiful, pyaari,' Ayah smiled at her warmly, 'and I am proud of you.'