Sexy in the City
Page 9
“I didn’t want to call and say we were coming when I didn’t know if I was going to be able to knock on their door.” Even now, standing in front of the house she didn’t know if she should go through with it. What if everyone was right and it was better to leave things alone. It wasn’t as if she was unhappy with her life. Jeremy’s solid presence reminded her of all she had to gain. She needed to know.
He took her shaking hand in his, seeming to understand her dilemma.
“You’ll regret it if you don’t take this opportunity now.”
“I know.” Lalita took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing.” She approached the gate, still clinging to Jeremy’s hand. Glancing down at her burgundy salwar kameez, she wished she’d worn a more elegant sari. But the last time she’d worn one to meet a potential mother, it hadn’t turned out very successful.
She wasn’t here to find a mother. This was just an information gathering mission, she reminded herself. Ask about the opening of the office and find out if her parents were close to anyone else in India. The more people she talked to, the more likely she’d find some thread to trace that might lead to the truth behind her birth.
Bracing herself, Lalita raised her hand to knock on the door. Before her hand made contact with the wood, she turned again to Jeremy. He squeezed the hand that he still held and pulled her closer to him. She leaned into him for a moment and breathed in the spicy scent of his cologne. His power and strength gave her the courage to knock.
Light footsteps approached the door and the security bolt was drawn back with a loud click. The heavy door creaked open. A tall middle-aged woman glanced first at Jeremy, a hint of a welcoming smile about her lips. Then she caught sight of Lalita. All the color drained from the woman’s face. She gasped.
“Lalita?” The anguished exclamation left the older woman’s lips before she swayed. She grabbed for the doorframe but it was too late.
Jeremy released Lalita’s hand and managed to catch the woman’s upper body before she hit the floor. He lifted her effortlessly and carried her over to an ornately carved sofa upholstered in cream fabric. Lalita put a cushion under the woman’s head as Jeremy placed her gently on the divan.
At the commotion an elderly man entered the room, alarmed to see two strangers in the front room and the lady of the house prostrate on the sofa. Lalita explained their presence, hoping he understood the local language. He stared at her face for a long time before rushing out of the room. Had he gone to call the police?
Lalita’s brain was still trying to comprehend how the woman knew her name when he returned a minute later with a glass of water and a damp cloth.
Jeremy moved aside as the man dabbed at the lady’s forehead with the wet flannel. Lalita found herself inching toward the door, ready to flee. From what, she wasn’t sure. The woman’s eyes opened. They searched the room and came to rest on Lalita.
“Lalita? Lalita Evans? Is it really you?” the woman whispered. She pushed the man’s hand away and sat up on the sofa. He turned again, his eyes darting between the woman on the sofa and the one standing by the door. Jeremy’s eyes flicked between the two women as well, surprise all over his face.
“Yes, I’m Lalita.” She stared at the woman on the sofa who returned the unwavering regard. The homeowner had long black hair, worn in a long braid down her back. Her almond-colored eyes and nose were identical to Lalita’s. They could pass for sisters — or mother and daughter.
The woman regained her composure and spoke in a low voice to the man. He scurried from the room.
“Please, come sit down,” she motioned to both Jeremy and Lalita.
Jeremy closed the outside door but rather than sitting took up a position behind Lalita’s chair. Lalita was grateful, as she worried she might be the next one to lose consciousness.
“You know me?”
“Yes, I am Aisha, your mother.”
“My mother?” Lalita‘s brain had trouble comprehending the statement. If it hadn’t come in English she’d think she’d mistranslated.
“I see you’ve had as much a shock as I have,” the woman said kindly. “We will have some tea. You can tell me how you came to be standing at my door. Then I will tell you my story.”
Lalita raised confused eyes to Jeremy. She didn’t trust her brain to make logical conversation at the moment. It was still trying to process the word mother. As always, Jeremy came to her rescue.
“Lalita became convinced that John and Julia Evans were not her biological parents, so she began to search for her birth mother. After a … false start … we looked into the files at the office and came across your and your husband’s names as some of the first employees at Evans International here in Mumbai. We decided to come and ask you for information to see if you could point us in the right direction,” Jeremy explained.
Lalita nodded as if to confirm in her own mind why she was there.
“You are Lalita’s husband? Julia didn’t tell me Lalita was married.” The pain that crossed the woman’s face was genuine, as though she’d missed an important milestone in her daughter’s life.
“Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I am Jeremy Lakewood, a friend and colleague of Lalita’s.”
Aisha glanced at Jeremy’s hand still resting on Lalita’s shoulder and smiled. The house servant returned with a tray laden with tea and biscuits. He placed the tray on the coffee table, his gaze flicking between Lalita and Aisha all the while.
“Thank you, Deepak. Will you please call Mohan and ask him to come home. Tell him nothing is wrong, he’s not to worry, but that we have guests.” The older man shuffled out of the room, glancing at Lalita after every three feet.
“Mohan has gone to watch the cricket. He would never forgive me though if he missed your visit.” Aisha picked up the tea pot and poured three cups. “Milk and sugar?” she asked.
“Just milk for me. Lalita has no milk and one sugar,” Jeremy replied as Lalita still stared in shock at her mother. Lalita peered up at him, surprised that he knew such a detail as how she liked her tea.
“Thank you,” Lalita said when Aisha handed her the delicate cup. She gave herself a mental shake. Her mother must think she was mentally challenged. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit stunned. I have been rehearsing all night how to broach the subject to you about my parents.”
“I understand, dear. I have known for twenty-eight years that you are my child. I don’t expect you to assimilate the information in two minutes. Drink your tea and I’ll tell you my story. I, too, have been rehearsing how to tell you. For me, however it has been many years and I was never certain that I would have the opportunity.”
• • •
Jeremy moved to the chair next to Lalita’s as Aisha handed him his tea.
Both women stirred their tea three times before moving the spoon to the saucer, adjusting the handle to the correct spot and taking a sip. The synchronicity of the movements couldn’t have been more perfect if they’d practiced. Jeremy, for one, needed no further evidence that they were mother and daughter.
Aisha waited until Lalita looked up at her.
“When I was twenty years old, two things happened to me. First, I got a job as a translator and secretary for John Evans. Second, my father arranged my marriage to a man named Harminder Gill. Harminder was more than twice my age, fat and bald, and his breath smelled. I hated him on sight. I tried to talk my father around but he insisted that I marry Harminder; the dowry had already been exchanged. I had six months to get used to the idea, the wedding date was set for my twenty-first birthday.
“I also knew Harminder would not let me continue working after the wedding and I loved my job. John and I worked long hours together as he tried to come to grips with the way business is done here in India. He missed Julia terribly and spoke of her all the time. John tried to convince his wife to come to India but your sister, J
ane, was very young and Julia worried that she would catch some dreadful illness.”
Aisha took a sip of her tea before putting the cup down on the table. She folded her hands in her lap and stared at them.
“As the date for my wedding approached, I became more and more distressed. I even contemplated killing myself; I was so desperate to avoid the marriage. One evening, John and I were working late, preparing a submission for the government. When we were eating some dinner at the office, I spilled my drink down the front of my sari. I burst into tears.” Even twenty-eight years later her voice was still filled with desperation, her eyes remained on her hands, now twisting in her lap.
“John realized that I was upset at more than the stained clothing. He put his arm around me and took my other hand in his. I remember looking at his fingers entwined in mine. They were long and strong, the opposite of Harminder’s fat, pudgy ones. I broke down and told him the whole story of my engagement and that I’d rather die than marry.
“He let me cry on his shoulder and never once told me that I was a silly girl and that it was my duty to do as my father told me. John, too, was struggling with loneliness. One thing led to another and we made love, there in the office. It wasn’t premeditated, just two lonely people seeking comfort.”
Aisha glanced at her daughter, as if to gauge Lalita’s reaction to the story. Lalita couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes and stared into her teacup.
“Afterward, your father was distraught, blaming himself. He made sure I was okay and got home all right. Then he flew straight to London to tell your mother. When he returned to India a week later, he met with my father and offered to repay the dowry money. Harminder wouldn’t marry me knowing I was no longer a virgin. I was relieved. Even disgrace was preferable to marriage to that man. But I recognized I had destroyed not only my life but John’s as well. I didn’t deserve to live.”
Aisha gazed into the distance as if reliving the moment when her life seemed bleakest.
“My father took John’s money then kicked me out of the house, saying I was no longer his daughter. John found me a place to stay and paid all the expenses. He felt guilty for the consequences of our actions as he’d seen what becomes of abandoned, unwed women in my country.”
She took a deep breath and once again stared at her hands, twiddling with the wedding ring on her finger. “Then I discovered I was pregnant. I cannot describe to you the look on your father’s face when I told him. It was like his whole world had crashed down. I felt so terrible that once again I wanted to kill myself.” She closed her eyes, a tear escaping out of the corner.
Lalita’s eyes flew up at that admission. Sympathy clouded her eyes for the young Aisha and her predicament.
The Indian woman took a deep breath and continued, “I didn’t go to work for two days. The next thing I knew, Julia Evans was pounding on my door, demanding that I open up to her. I thought that maybe she had come to hurt me for what I did to her family. Instead, I found the most understanding, caring, loving woman I have ever met.”
“She was angry and upset but not at me. She knew her husband was a passionate man and to live apart from his wife and daughter for those many months had been hard on him. Although what John and I had done was wrong, there was no changing what happened. She then went on to say that it didn’t matter whose fault it was; there was now a new life to consider. She put her hand on my stomach so tenderly that I started to cry. I think I must have cried for hours. The whole time she sat next to me and held me. When the tears stopped, she made me a cup of tea and told me her plan.
“I was to continue to work for your father, disguising my pregnancy, not telling anyone that I was carrying a baby. When I could no longer hide my belly then she would come back to India with your sister, Jane. I would then come to live at the house with them. When the baby was born, she would raise it as her own.”
“I didn’t want to give you up but it was the best solution for you, the baby. I was a disgraced single mother with no family. John and Julia Evans could give you a wonderful life. And I knew Julia would love you like her own daughter. Julia promised that she would write to me and send me pictures of you as you grew up.
“So we followed Julia’s plan. Two months before you were born, Mohan started to work for your father. His wife had recently died of complications from childbirth, leaving him with a ten-day-old baby daughter to raise on his own. John asked if I wanted to meet him. I did, and the rest, as they say, is history. Mohan was kind and gentle, and sad. We married five days after you were born and his little girl became mine, easing some of the pain of handing you over to John and Julia. Our mutual affection grew into love and I couldn’t be happier with my husband.
“True to her word, Julia has written to me on every one of your birthdays, every holiday, every special event. I have copies of all your school reports and pictures of you at every momentous occasion. I have been very proud of you, Lalita. With every letter, I knew the decision I had made was the right one, even though I loved you and missed you in my life.”
“So John Evans is my real father?”
“Yes.”
• • •
Lalita’s head was fuzzy, like she’d just woken from a deep sleep and had no idea what day it was. She’d never even considered the possibility that her father had been unfaithful. Julia had always been a force to be reckoned with; Lalita’d just never considered that Julia would separate a mother from her child. If she hadn’t, would Lalita have grown up on the streets of Mumbai, begging or worse?
Whatever else Aisha was about to add was forgotten when Mohan entered the house. He stopped dead in his tracks as he caught sight of Lalita, his eyes flicked to his wife. He recovered and extended a hand in greeting.
“Welcome to our home, Miss Evans,” Mohan said.
Lalita shook hands with the older man. He had kind eyes and a warm smile. She felt more at ease. “Please, call me Lalita. And this is my friend, Jeremy Lakewood.”
The two men shook hands. Mohan moved to sit beside his wife.
“We have often dreamed of welcoming you into our home,” Mohan advised. He took Aisha’s hand in his and gazed into her eyes. Lalita had often seen her father look the same way at her mother — no, not her mother, at Julia, his wife.
“You will stay for something to eat,” Aisha declared. “You have a younger half-brother, Arun. He will be home in a few hours; he’s gone out with a few of his friends. Our oldest daughter, Mohan’s baby girl by his first wife, is married. She has two children and lives in Delhi now. Maybe next time you visit you can meet her also.”
Lalita started to feel overwhelmed. She needed time to think. To sort out the new information she’d learned. “Jeremy has a flight to the UK in a few hours and I have to get home to Singapore.”
“You can at least stay a few more minutes. I want to show you something.” Aisha didn’t give them a chance to object. She stood up and strode out of the room.
Mohan watched his wife leave then turned back to Lalita. “She has thought and prayed about you every day; she never forgot you. I would have married her and cared for you both but Julia insisted. And I am sure you are aware that once Julia Evans gets an idea in her mind, there is no changing it.”
“Yes, we call it her ‘resistance is futile’ voice. Even Daddy stops what he’s doing and listens when she uses it.”
Lalita returned to the room with a large box. On top was an ornate album with what appeared to be gold leaf writing.
“Mohan, move over, please. Lalita, come sit beside me,” Aisha directed.
Mohan stood and changed places with Lalita. “You should come and see also, Jeremy.” Aisha patted the sofa beside her.
Jeremy and Lalita sat either side of the Indian woman as she opened the album. The first page was a copy of Lalita’s birth certificate, showing Julia Evans as her mother.
“
When I went to the hospital, I used your mother’s identification. I am sure the doctors and nurses knew I wasn’t Julia Evans. However, money bought a lot of silence in those days,” Aisha explained. “Julia wanted to name you Jennifer, but I insisted you be called Lalita. It was the one thing of your Indian heritage that I wanted you to have.”
The next page was full of pictures of a newborn baby, held by Aisha, held by Julia and by John Evans. The following photos Lalita had seen before. Pictures of her sitting up, walking, feeding herself, first days at school, etc. Each page also held an envelope with a letter from Julia detailing Lalita’s adventures and mishaps.
“I can’t believe she sent all this to you,” Lalita said some time later. Jeremy was engrossed in the file, often asking Aisha for clarification on some of the photos.
“Julia Evans is your mother in every way but one, Lalita. I don’t want your finding out about me to change the way you think of her. She is your mother, I am Aisha.”
Lalita stared at the woman next to her. She was so generous, so understanding of other people. Lalita wished she’d inherited some of those qualities in addition to her Indian name.
“And now we will have something to eat,” Aisha declared.
Chapter 9
Lalita stood in the hotel lobby as if unsure as to how she had arrived there. The two-hour taxi ride from Aisha and Mohan’s house had been conducted in near silence. Jeremy had put his arms around her, letting her rest her head on his shoulder.
“I think you need a drink,” Jeremy said, steering her toward the hotel bar.
The rich mahogany furniture glowed in the dim light. Candles flickered on the tables, the flames danced when they passed. Jeremy chose a loveseat in the corner, where he could keep holding Lalita. By now it had nothing to do with offering her comfort or support; he wanted her in his arms.
The waitress approached and he ordered two brandies. Lalita rested her head on his shoulder and Jeremy took a deep breath, letting her scent invade his body. A few minutes later, their drinks arrived.