As good hosts, Mohan and Usha welcomed Rishi Shah and Jeevan into their home and ushered them into the living room. As Anjali followed them she happened to notice the younger man’s gait. He seemed to favor his right leg a little—an almost imperceptible limp.
Jeevan-kaka cast a glance around the room before settling on the old blue couch. “You need new paint on the walls, Mohan.”
Anjali exchanged another look with her mother. He’d been here all of two minutes and already he was voicing criticisms. But he was right. The walls did need a coat of paint. Nothing escaped those coyote eyes.
“How about some hot chai, Jeevan-bhai?” asked Usha, obviously trying to steer his attention away from the walls.
“No, Usha, chai does not agree with me these days. You can make me a hot cup of masala doodh—nonfat milk with saffron, cardamom, a little bit clove, and almond paste.”
Her mom’s brow settled into a troubled frown. Anjali could almost see the thoughts churning in her mind. Almonds, saffron, cardamom, and a hint of clove to be ground fine and added to boiling skim milk. Jeevan’s crazy demands had already begun. Thank goodness they happened to have skim milk in the house because of her mother’s strict diet.
“What would you like to drink, Rishi?” Mohan smiled at the stranger, clearly trying to be an attentive host. Maybe Mohan could feel the negative vibes emanating from his wife and daughter and felt he had to do something to intercept them, stop them from reaching their guest.
Rishi Shah was busy checking out the house, his gaze wandering over every painting, photograph, pillow, and carpet fiber. He looked up when addressed. “Something cold would be welcome, if you don’t mind, sir.”
Then she recognized the accent. British, very clipped and proper—the Queen’s English. How interesting was that? And he’d addressed her father as sir.
“Cola is okay?” her father asked, and the man nodded, looking as serious as ever.
While her parents escaped into the kitchen to fill the drink orders, Anjali sat stiffly in one of the chairs, preferring not to raise her eyes. Her uncle always had that effect on her.
Jeevan-kaka chuckled, sounding smug. “Rishi, what did I tell you, huh? Our Anju is lovely or what?”
Anjali slowly lifted her head to look at Rishi Shah and saw him nod silently at Jeevan-kaka’s comment. Her uncle telling a stranger to agree with his biased opinion about her looks was embarrassing. Then the man looked across the room at her, his assessing eyes intense beams of gray that rattled her a little.
He would’ve been a good-looking man but for the unsmiling mouth that made him seem cold and remote, like a monolith standing alone, distant, watchful. Intimidating. She wondered what his real opinion of her was. From his expression she could tell nothing.
Perhaps to keep the conversation going, Jeevan-kaka asked her about her work and where she had traveled in recent months. That was easy. She loved her work and her travels and she told him about all she’d been doing. Only after she’d finished talking about her latest trips to India and Bangkok did she realize she was babbling and using her hands to carry on an animated dialogue. Suddenly sensing Rishi Shah’s solemn gaze on her, she lapsed into silence.
“So, when are you getting married again, beta?” asked Jeevan-kaka.
She cleared her throat. “Excuse me!”
“You need a good husband. You are now what, thirty-five?”
Discussing her age was outrageous enough, but to question her about remarriage was crass. Why was the older generation so hung up on marriage? However, when it came to her uncle, there was nothing she could do but give him a straightforward answer. “I’m thirty-seven, Jeevan-kaka. And I don’t plan on marrying anytime soon. I’m too busy.”
Jeevan’s bushy eyebrows rose high. “What does busy have to do with marriage? Every girl has to be married at a proper age, otherwise how will she have children?” He made a dismissive gesture with his hands. “Life is always busy, Anju. You should settle down, beta. Finding a good husband is the best cure for everything.”
“But I’m not ill. Widowhood is not a disease.” Anjali tried to keep her voice even, but her distress was beginning to rise. A stranger was sitting in the room, watching her, listening to her uncle’s discourse on marriage, and specifically her private life.
But a quick glance at the man sitting next to him surprised her. A hint of hilarity flashed in his eyes. He seemed amused by her response to her uncle’s opinionated remarks. So, he had a sense of humor hidden under that aloofness, did he? Her own lips twitched in response.
Her uncle wiggled his eyebrows and grinned. “I can find you a nice-nice Gujarati man. Our town has some rich men who are looking for a pretty wife like you.”
“Thanks, Jeevan-kaka, but I’m not interested. If I change my mind about marriage in the future, I’d like to find my own man.”
“You have modern ideas.” Jeevan barked out a patronizing laugh. “So when are you coming to the farm, beta? You are going all over India but you’re not coming to see me and Chandrika.”
Anjali took a cleansing breath and smiled at her uncle. At least he was off the subject of marriage. “Perhaps next time. You know how it is when most of my business is in Delhi and Mumbai.” Traveling to his remote farm near Gamdi, a few miles outside the city of Anand, wasn’t easy.
“Oh yes, I know all about business demands,” he said, rolling his eyes.
With another agreeable nod Anjali subsided into silence. All this time Rishi Shah had merely sat in his corner, not having said a single word, but she could feel the discomfort emanating from him. With his exclusive clothes, his fancy accent, and his cool reserve, he looked out of place in their small, suburban home with its well-worn furniture, the lingering odors of spicy food, and its ten-year-old carpeting and paint.
But if he didn’t want to be here, why had he bothered to accompany her uncle?
Thankfully her father arrived with a glass of soda for Shah, who accepted it with a word of thanks. The awkward silence was broken by her father and uncle starting a conversation. She made a convenient escape to the kitchen to help her mother.
Usha turned a troubled gaze toward her. “Not only does he come with enough clothes for an entire year, he brings a guest in the bargain,” she whispered.
“Hmm,” agreed Anjali. They both watched the milk in the pan come to a rolling boil while another pan brewed the strong tea with its aromatic mixture of spices. “Who is he? I mean, what’s he to Jeevan-kaka other than a business partner?”
Shrugging, Usha stirred the milk with a long-handled spoon. “How should I know? I just met him. Did you notice how fair he is?”
“And the eyes—they’re a rare shade of gray.” Those eyes were amazing. Anjali brought out cups and saucers and placed them on a tray. “And Jeevan-kaka treats him like family, not a business associate.”
“I noticed that. I hope that young man is not as difficult as your uncle, or I’ll have two big problems on my hands.” Usha strained the tea into three cups and poured the masala milk into another.
“Since he’s planning to stay with us, which room does he get?” Theirs wasn’t a big house and guests always created a bit of a problem.
“Nilesh’s room. Where else can I put him?”
Anjali stared at her mother. “What about Nilesh?”
“I’ll have to ask him to move to the basement, on the sofa