by Zee Monodee
A niggling doubt had settled in her heart ever since the first day she’d seen Logan. Somehow, her instincts always told her there had to be more to this man than what he showed, a plight he carried and bore without cutting himself some slack. Almost as if he inflicted some punishment on himself.
“You never smile, do you?”
Fuelled by the insight, the words had left her lips in a reverent whisper.
The frown deepened, his lips frozen in the half-formed curl he’d started to give her.
Tension lingered between them as they sat there watching each other, before he shook his head.
“Today, I have a reason to,” he replied, and grinned.
For the first time, an unbridled expression not dark or brooding coming from him. The effect on her was staggering, to say the least. This news had made him happy.
“How long since the results came in?”
“A couple of hours, around the noon news broadcast. I told Griff, and I wanted you to be the next to know. It’s why I waited until now, when you’d be less busy in the newsroom.”
“Thanks,” she said, at a loss for words.
He lowered his gaze, clenched his jaw, and looked at her again. “I should be thanking you.”
“Why? The whole staff brought us to where we are today.”
“True, but you’re the one responsible for the quality of the news broadcast.”
“I’m just doing my job,” she replied in a small voice. Uneasy under the unexpected praise, she fidgeted in her chair.
He chuckled. “I would never have had you down as such a shy one.”
The flush on her face burnt hotter. This last comment struck as personal as Logan had ever gotten with her, and it jerked her off-track to steer away from their brisk, business-like encounters. “Listen—”
The shrill, high-strung notes of her mobile phone’s chime—some inanity from the latest pop princess that Suzanne must have set as her ring tone—tore through the interior of the secluded office, cutting across the tension like a blunt axe striking an already unyielding surface. How she wished she could slap her hand to her forehead, but instead, she bit her lip in apprehension.
How could she have forgotten to put her phone on silent? Logan hated having calls interrupt his meetings. The cell rang and vibrated in the pocket of her blazer.
“You want to answer that?” he asked.
He didn’t sound annoyed. She sighed in relief, yet shook her head. “I’ll call back, whoever it is.”
However, the phone kept ringing.
“Go ahead,” Logan said. “Answer.”
Some of the steel had crept back into his tone, so without stopping to think twice, she took out the phone and stared at the screen. Unknown number. “Yes?”
One of Kunal’s teachers greeted her at the other end, telling her the boy had come down with racking chills after the midday break, yet had refused to be sent home earlier, preferring to wait for the school day to end. They’d kept an eye on him throughout the day.
Cutting the call, she pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Something wrong?”
Neha startled. She still sat in Logan’s office. Having heard her end of the conversation, he wouldn’t know if something was amiss. She didn’t want her boss to think she carried personal matters to work with her. As things stood, she was still trying to make the best impression on him. Though desperate to reach home immediately to see in how bad a shape Kunal had gotten, she couldn’t say this out loud. When in a job, one had to abide by the duties and responsibilities.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” she said.
“You sure?”
The hint of kindness had returned, and coming from someone as reserved as Logan, it couldn’t have affected her more than a compassionate hug. “My son is sick. His teacher just called, informing me he hasn’t been well throughout the day.”
“Where is he now?”
“On his way home.”
She peeked at her watch. She’d been here for the past fifteen minutes. “Do you mind if I get back to work? I still have a lot to do.”
He watched her intently, then nodded. “Go ahead.”
She acquiesced and stood to leave, breezing out of the office and reaching the newsroom within a minute, only to stop in her tracks at the sight of the woman standing in the middle of the busy room.
Tall and slim, with gleaming chestnut hair and a delicate, exquisite profile, Pamela Richter, the TV station’s lead anchor, waited near Neha’s desk. Haughty and proud, she was the bane of every staff member. Pamela thought the world owed her everything, and she made it very clear she expected no less from any of the common mortals she had to deal with. Only Logan escaped her contempt.
The urge to flee tingled in Neha’s legs. She hated dealing with Pamela and kept their encounters to the strict minimum. Usually, she had no problem doing so, the diva coming in every evening at five, when Neha was leaving the station.
So what was Pam doing here so early?
With a resigned step, she ambled towards the other woman and stepped around to her desk. “Hello, Pam. Anything I can do for you?”
Pam trained her cold blue stare on her and smiled in a glacial manner. “No, thanks. I didn’t come here to see you.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” Neha said under her breath.
“I’m looking for Logan.”
How strange, she thought with irony, but didn’t say. “You’ll find him in his office.”
On the verge of exiting the newsroom, Pam whirled around and retraced her steps back, this time to stand a few inches from Neha. Though Pam stood tall in her heels, Neha wasn’t deterred by her height. At five-seven, she could easily meet everyone in the eye.
Pam curled shiny red lips as she roamed her gaze over Neha. “Don’t play this game with me, dear.”
“What game?” Neha asked coolly.
“Thinking you’re better than me. Than the rest of us.”
Neha took a deep breath though her stomach took the blow. She knew exactly what the other woman was getting at. Her skin might be pale, but she wasn’t white. Colour codes still existed in some people’s minds. She was of Indian origin, brown, and so had to remember to stay at the bottom of the social ladder.
“Be certain to remember your place. And,” Pam paused, as if for emphasis. “Logan might not see through you, but I do. Don’t think you’ll fool him.”
Clueless this time as to the implication, a part of Neha’s mind registered the hush in the room. Was everyone expecting a catfight?
“Thank you very much, Pam, but I can pick and fight my battles alone,” a chilling, calm voice said from the doorway.
Both women turned towards the man who stood a few paces from them. A severe expression marred Logan’s hard features, his arms crossed in front of him as he stood in a deceptively casual stance.
Pamela’s eyes grew big, and she opened her mouth, recovering her composure a split-second later. “I know, Logan. I was only concerned, that’s all.”
A sickening realization sank through Neha.
Pam thought she had her sights set on Logan. How could she? And worse, was she the only one to think so?
“Keep your concern for those who really need it, Pam,” Logan said in a cool tone. “What are you doing here so early?”
Pam pulled a few papers from her leather handbag. “I got the results of the media survey. I wanted to show them to you.”
“Thanks, but I already got them this morning.”
A crestfallen look appeared on Pam’s face.
“Since you’re here, Griffin needs to run something by you. He’s in his office right now.”
Pam’s features hardened. The cold mask on her face made Neha shiver, and she battled with the feeling as the woman exited the room.
The reason for the hush a little while earlier struck her. Logan must have heard Pam’s last statement, and from the gist of it, he’d understood every nuance contained in the hate-filled words.
Blast
it, how would she face him again? Would he, too, believe she wanted something out of him? Wouldn’t be the first time he’d think so.
“Logan, I’m sorry. About Pam—”
“Don’t worry about her. If she weren’t such a bloody good TV anchor, she wouldn’t be on my team. Forget it.”
Neha nodded and lowered her face since the remnants of the shame flaming through her must still be obvious in her expression.
“I came to see you,” he said.
She ventured enough to peer up at him. “What for?”
“About your son. I’m sure he needs you, more than we do. Ned and the others can handle the newsroom. You go home. And no need to come in tomorrow, either. You can supervise the Saturday midday broadcast from home itself.”
Had he read through her? Speechless, she could simply nod.
“Thanks,” she said in whisper.
“It’s okay. Take care of your son,” he said, and spun on his heel to leave.
***
At one o’clock the next day, Logan slid behind the wheel of his SUV and started the engine. Thank goodness everything had gone all right. Today had been the first day Neha hadn’t been at the station, and the rest of the editorial team had done a good job of putting everything together for the numerous broadcasts and the Saturday morning current affairs talk show.
She’d trained them well. Most of the staff had been fresh out of university, with no practical experience. They’d manned the desk like professionals today.
Easing onto the motorway, he sighed. It had been a few weeks since he’d last been to the boxing gym. Work had piled on, and he’d been hard pressed for time. At least today, he’d be able to go check on his protégé.
He smiled. Kunal had turned out to be a very good athlete and an excellent fighter. The kid had been gaining in confidence over the past few months, ever since Logan had started to mentor him. The lad would go far.
He frowned when he thought of something. He’d asked Marc to set up a meeting with Kunal’s mother, but so far, the woman had dodged his every attempt at contact. What was she hiding? Why didn’t she want them to meet? He could almost have thought she didn’t care about her son, but Kunal waxed on and on about his mum and all the paragon of perfection did. So what lay amiss here?
Mauritians didn’t also pick up the phone to speak to strangers; they hung on to old-fashioned notions of being introduced. As long as Mrs. Kiran didn’t come down to the gym, Logan would have no way of making her acquaintance.
Disappointment zinged through him when he reached the gym and Marc informed him the boy had called in sick. Bugger.
“What’s he suffering from?”
“Apparently, a bad cold or a case of flu.” Marc shook his head. “He’d been so fired up to come, but I spoke to his mother, and she doesn’t want him out. I finally managed to talk him into listening to her. She sure got a full plate with this boy.”
“She sounds like a survivor.” And someone who’s hiding something. Maybe he should quiz his friend about her. “You know what happened to his father?”
“Yeah. The man was reported missing while on a business trip in India, during a monsoon flood about a couple years back. How twisted is that? Imagine what it’s like for this family, not knowing if their loved one is still alive or not.”
“Akin to Hell,” Logan said.
Was Mrs. Kiran having a tough time dealing with her grief? He had an idea what she was going through. Every time Tyler went out on a posting, he lost sleep over his brother’s whereabouts. As a freelance photographer with some of the biggest news agencies in the world, Ty covered almost all the war-torn areas of the globe. Sometimes, he’d be gone for months, and once in a while, Logan would get a call in the middle of the night, usually lasting under a minute, so his brother could reassure him he was still alive before he dove into this madness again.
The last time he’d heard from Tyler, his brother had been in Israel, covering its unending war with Palestine. Right when Logan had come to Mauritius.
“You know where Kunal lives?” he asked.
Marc gave him a puzzled look. “Why?”
“You think it’d be a good idea if I went to see him? I have no idea when I will next be able to come down.”
And I’ll also meet the elusive Mrs. Kiran. She’d started to fascinate him like a complex puzzle would. He had to solve this mystery.
Marc scratched his head. “I probably have it on his registration card, in the files. Wait here, I’ll see if I can get it.”
Ten minutes later, Logan hit the road on his way towards Kunal’s house. He had no trouble following Marc’s directions. The house lay close to the town centre, and he steered his SUV down the long, winding road that started right next to a shopping complex boasting a Spar supermarket. The house he looked for stood near the end of the street.
The farther he went down Lees Street, the more the houses grew apart. Behind bamboo hedges or low walls, he caught glimpses of sprawling, beautiful dwellings. The scenery a mile down the stretch resembled one of peaceful suburbia. Rich neighbourhood, his mind chided as he noticed the well-tended gardens and the sheer size and architectural richness of the private residences.
He came across number 115B, etched in gold on a pillar marking the entry of the property. No gate barred the path, and he turned into the driveway. Tall trees and their canopy of leaves blocked most of the sight of the house from the road, and he slowed as the gravel crunched under the wheels of his car.
He emerged in front of a big, two-storey building. The place resembled a stately English terraced house, the kinds found in the country where rich folks had their secondary residence. Ivy covered most of the white walls, lending a romantic air, the orange ceramic tiles on the gabled roof adding further to the old world charm. The front porch comprised of cut-stone blocks, and intricate wrought-iron railings ran along the windows and the many terraces the rooms opened upon.
Breath-taking sight, to say the least, and Logan closed his gaping mouth as he stepped out of the car and his feet hit the coarse rock chippings on the ground. Even in Jessica’s nook of rich Auckland, he hadn’t seen such a beautiful house.
The driveway cut through a lush, green lawn surrounding the house. Tall trees grew around the property, and blooming flowerbeds ran in front of the house and dotted the lawn.
He ambled towards the front porch, stepping under the stone arch and in front of the massive mahogany door. A white intercom device lay to his left, on the wall. Logan pressed the button, to be answered a few seconds later by a feminine voice.
The mysterious Mrs. Kiran?
Saying he had come to see Kunal, he noticed the tiny camera hidden in a corner of the stone ceiling. The line went silent, and the door opened inward. Logan stared at the tall, beautiful young girl across the threshold.
Not Kunal’s mother. Damn.
“Well, hello there. I cannot believe I am finally meeting a celebrity!” she exclaimed.
Her big eyes sparkled, and the huge smile lit up her striking face.
“G’day,” he said tentatively. “You must be Suzanne.”
Logan couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but she seemed familiar. Yet, he’d never seen her in his life. He however dismissed the notion, probably seeing a resemblance between the brother and sister.
“You got that right,” she said as she moved aside. “Come on in. What has my idiot little brother been telling you about me, huh?”
He chuckled. “Wasn’t so bad.”
She snorted, and he coughed to camouflage the laugh escaping him.
Something about her bubbly manner endeared her to him immediately. At the same time, he wondered; she may know who he was, but she didn’t know him. “Is your mother here?”
“She went out for a last-minute errand. Come on.” She cocked her beautiful head to one side. “You’re not gonna stand there all day, are you?”
He hesitated, then stepped in, and she closed the panel behind him.
“Kunal’s in
his room. Follow me, I’ll show you.”
“You do realize you just invited a virtual stranger in?” His protective instincts were hitting sky-high, Heaven knew why. He’d never felt paternal towards anyone except for Tyler.
She laughed, a merry trill that had him stopping to listen to the sound.
“Mr. Warrington, sir,” she started. “Kunal thinks the world of you, and Mum vouches for you, too.” She turned and gave him a bright smile as she led him to the staircase. “They’re generally good judges of character.”
Your mum doesn’t know me, honeybun.
Now where had the endearment come from?
“Call me Logan,” he said as he followed her up the stairs.
He travelled his gaze over the entrance lobby. Polished wood floor and many authentic-looking Oriental rugs. Solid dark-wood furniture dotted the area, with fresh flower arrangements here and there to create a cosy decor.
Money, his mind couldn’t help but scream. Could Mrs. Kiran be one of those rich housewives who lived as recluses with their nose always in a glass? Curiouser and curiouser. He caught a fleeting sight of a well-appointed sitting room to his right, as well as the gleaming pine cabinets of a kitchen towards the back. But he couldn’t observe any more of the ground level since they’d reached the landing.
He tagged along behind Suzanne until they emerged into a large, carpeted corridor. Tall windows at either end of the long hallway bathed the surroundings in pale light.
She stopped in front of the first door on the right. “This is his room.”
“Thanks,” he said.
“I’ll warn you, it’s a land of all dangers in there.”
He chuckled. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Go on. I need to go check on the food in the kitchen. Mum left something on the stove.”
“You run along,” he said.
Watching her leave, her long black hair dancing behind her, the notion of something eerily familiar about her struck him again. Yet, the recognition still eluded him. Shrugging, he stepped closer to the ajar door bearing a large plate with the ‘Parental Advisory’ slogan and knocked.