FLAWLESS

by Leena Varghese

  flawless

  Leena Varghese

  Text Copyright © 2018 Leena Varghese

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Leena Varghese asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  ~

  “We understand Death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love”- Madame de Stael

  ~

  ~

  To Neena…for being an inspiration to all single mothers. A lonely road is never easy for anyone, but you walk every day with renewed spirit and with God by your side.

  ~

  Acknowledgements

  The cover page was designed by Marilyn Thomas Kadantot, my little cousin and soul sister, my partner in creative ventures. Thank you for your priceless inputs and your undying support. Thank you for coming to my rescue again!

  Any errors in the book pertaining to the editing and factual representation are deeply regretted. I take full responsibility for these.

  Cover design https://marilcha-illustrations.com/

  Vector design accessed from Flower vector created by Freepik

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Books by the Author

  Books Illustrated by Leena Varghese

  ~

  Compassion and Forgiveness…

  …Without them True Love remains barren and incomplete.

  ~

  One

  Georgiana Francois watched little Toby, weaving his way towards Table No.5. It was the only occupied table near the wide window overlooking the streetlamp-lit kerb outside. Clutching a serving of spoons in his chubby fists, Toby, was moving between the tables, picking more spare ones from the trays, collecting them in his hands and sucking them one by one. Georgiana winced as the metal clanked noisily with his two front teeth. She was glad that the spoons had been washed in hot water. Unperturbed by the lack of taste in his acquisitions, Toby sucked on them, slurping with much relish.

  The Crème Caramel & Coffee was a charming, white and blue building, owned by Georgiana’s mother, Carol Francois. With a gurgling fountain and a courtyard surrounded by a profusion of flowers, the cafe, situated in one of the bustling streets of the seaside town of Pondicherry, had catered to the flux of tourists and locals for years.

  Georgiana would never have allowed Toby to run around her work place if it was not empty right now. It was way past his bedtime and he had been cooped-up all day where she had sat checking the accounts behind the billing counter of the cafe-cum-bakery.

  Her work was usually inside the bakery and the kitchen, supervising staff. It was a job that she loved better than dealing with strangers, both local and foreign tourists who came seeking the thrill of an exotic town with its French colonial heritage.

  Georgiana’s fledgling catering service had seen her dealing only with clients with young children until now, mostly women, who wanted birthday cakes for their kids. She would rather spend her day surrounded by the delectable aroma of freshly baked Pain au chocolat and roasted coffee beans, or the sweetness of the array of delectable pastry lining the glass counter. It helped her to overcome the bitterness in her life.

  Her younger sister Annabel who was in her final year of college would come in to help every evening after classes, while their mother Carol Francois kept track of the smooth running of the cafe. Today being stock-checking day, they were not back yet from their monthly wholesale purchasing expedition in Pondicherry town. They had called to inform her about the traffic jam near the cross-section.

  It was nearly eleven in the evening and no one was around, except one customer, who had now become as permanent a fixture since the past few months, as the warm cream and yellow decor in the cafe. He came in the evenings around six and ordered his usual bitter brew of scalding coffee with a chocolate muffin and sandwiches.

  His permanent seat was Table No.5 near the window overlooking the street. Some days he waited outside, lounging on one of the wrought iron chairs facing the fountain until his preferred table was free. Most days he would sit late into the evening, staring at his laptop in complete absorption, barely registering the buzz of humanity around him.

  Georgiana had never conversed with him, letting Sandeep Nair, their young manager, deal with the male customers. Giana preferred to stay away from any direct interaction with them. However, today, she seemed to have no choice but to communicate with him.

  The cafe was nearing shut down time and the stranger had not shown any inclination to leave. Today he had come in later than usual. Feeling more and more restless by the prospect of having to show him the way out, Georgiana kept scribbling on her note pad and adding the figures on her calculator swiftly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Toby inching his way towards Table No.5.

  She should have asked Sandeep to close down the cafe before he left. Juggling his managerial course along with the job at the cafe, Sandeep’s exams were due in a week and Georgiana had shooed him out protesting. She had sent away Toby’s maid who hadn’t been feeling well. The elderly woman helped her take care of him when Georgiana was busy at the bakery. So, Toby was having a wonderful time scrambling about unattended now and Georgiana was dithering from having to tell her customer to leave.

  Little Toby stood gawping at Table No.5 with his pink mouth open, his inquisitive, bright, brown eyes fixed on the tall, brooding stranger in front of him. The man never looked away from the screen as his hands flew over the keyboard.

  Georgiana saw Toby gingerly edge towards the table and clutch the shiny spoon he could see peeping from the tray. But he could not reach it without dislodging the coffee mug.

  Breaking her mesmerized gaze, Georgiana slid off the stool, but paused. The man looked down at the little boy and gave a brief smile; or rather, it was so brief that she thought she had imagined it. He picked a clean spoon from the tray and gave it to Toby who broke into a cherubic smile in response and resumed his journey to the next table. His attention was caught by a set of bright red, ceramic cups turned upside down to dry.

  This time Georgiana raced towards Toby. But she could not prevent her curious son from happily toppling the entire tray of cups. She reached just in time to catch a couple of them as the rest crashed to the floor with a splintering sound.

  “Oh, Toby, look what you did!” she whispered, dismayed, clutching him to prevent him from stepping on the shards.

  She gasped when Toby was suddenly lifted out of her arms, dangling in mid-air, squealing in delight at the view of the world from that height. Looking up to see the tall stranger towering over her, she quailed at the sudden intrusion into her personal space.

  She was so struck by the sheer magnetic charisma of the man that she stared at him with the same curiosity and open, starry-eyed admiration that her son had displayed a few moments ago. To say that the man was beautiful was an understatement. His breathtaking masculine appeal, attired in a formal black shirt and trousers and silk tie was enough to make any sane woman trip and fall headlong into those pools of dark chocolate eyes. But not her, she thought, embarrassed,
catching herself before she could swoon at the sudden rush of blood at her temples.

  “This is no place for children!” admonished Table No.5 in disapproval.

  His voice was deep and gravelly. It reverberated through the short space between them making her toes curl in her sensible moccasins. She looked away quickly, flustered, but not before her vision had taken in the deep, dark eyes trained on her that somehow seemed too personal. She had the fleeting impression of incomprehensible bleakness as his eyes swung to Toby briefly. As though it hurt him to even look at the child.

  “There is no one at home, so...” she offered the incomplete explanation in a jittery voice, before turning away quickly to avoid him. One look at the strength of his arms and shoulders and lean muscular thighs rendered her breathless as she bent to clear the mess at her feet. What was wrong with her? As if she had never seen a man before! Well...not like this one, the thought popped in her head.

  The man put Toby safely on a chair and placed a box of colourful coasters in his hands. Toby fell for the universal trick of baby distraction, gurgling happily at the new toy.

  “Let me help you,” muttered the stranger, pulling back his sleeves to gather the broken crockery.

  To Georgiana’s utter consternation, he was down on his haunches to assist her. She snatched a look at him, alarmed, her heart beginning to pick up pace.

  “Thank you, but please let me handle it,” she mumbled politely, taking the pieces away from his hands, avoiding touching him. She raised her head to call out to the conspicuously absent kitchen help, who had probably not heard the crash of crockery in the din of cleaning going on inside the kitchen.

  Suddenly the revolving door swished open, letting in her mother and sister with huge packets of brown bread, plastic cutlery, and paper napkins. They stopped short at the sight of the man kneeling in front of Georgiana, their hands nearly touching.

  “Giana?” Carol Francois called out, rapping out the short version of her daughter’s name. Her sharp, suspicious glare narrowed, noting the younger woman’s pink, flushed countenance.

  Giana stood up abruptly, a guilty blush spreading on her face. She winced as a shard pierced her finger in that moment of distraction as she clutched a piece in her fist. It was going to be one of those days, she thought, with growing trepidation. The broken piece fell to the floor with what seemed like a gunshot in the gathering silence in the cafe. Giana wiped the little offending droplet of blood from her finger on her apron. God! Please let Mamma remain quiet until the man was gone, she prayed. But then her mother couldn’t change overnight even if God came down and boxed her ear. She had a rigid preconceived moral code that could not be broken for anyone and right now it was one of those times when her disobedient daughter had once again shown signs of moral weakening.

  Max stood up, brushing his hands together nonchalantly, acutely aware that the cafe’s air of tranquillity was suddenly thrumming with resentment. He wondered, mildly annoyed, about why the beautiful Giana, whose name he had just learned, was swallowing so hard that her smooth throat was in danger of snapping at the joint. She was scrubbing her finger on her apron and staring at the spreading stain as though it was the end of the world. She darted him a furtive glance of embarrassment and ventured into the gathering storm clouds.

  “Mamma, Toby dropped the cups by mistake. I was only...”

  “You are not supposed to let him run about unsupervised in the dining area while you chit-chat with the customers,” her mother’s cold, clipped voice cut Giana’s explanation short.

  “Mamma!” whispered Giana her voice cracking, horrified that she would be shamed in front of a customer. “It is not what you think!” she exclaimed, glancing apologetically at the man standing by her side. “He...was only helping me clear up the broken...”

  “Well, that’s a new excuse!” Carol snapped. “Guests are not supposed to help clean up at the eatery they patronize. Haven’t you learned anything at all in your life, Giana? In spite of all my warnings, you are back to your irresponsible ways!”

  “Mamma!” It seemed to be the only word she could utter.

  Suddenly, Max decided to step in. “Look here, Mrs. Francois, I don’t know what this is all about but...”

  “The cafe closes at ten-thirty,” Carol interrupted him with freezing politeness. “We don’t entertain customers beyond a certain time. I hope you will understand and leave immediately.”

  Max eyed the woman with obvious distaste. He could see that he was dealing with someone who never liked to be disobeyed. Ignoring the faint gasp of embarrassment from the woman called Giana, he turned away. Rolling down the cuffs of his shirt, picking up his laptop and bag, he slung his jacket over a shoulder and strode out of the exit briskly.

  Giana was so mortified that she tightened her hands inside the apron pockets to prevent them from trembling. The sudden chilled atmosphere finally made a dent in Toby’s cheerful babbling. He flung away the coasters and began to whimper, scrubbing his eyes sleepily. Giana picked him up deftly to hug him close before he could let out a wail.

  “What were you doing with him?” hissed Carol.

  Giana should have known that her mother would never let it go without a battle.

  “I told you. He was helping me pick up the broken...”

  “Have you spoken to him before?”

  “I don’t even know his name! He was sitting here until Toby decided to drop all the tea cups on the floor!”

  “His name is Maximillian Alexis Martineau and he is an architect,” Annabel announced cheerfully to dispel the tide of doom.

  But it had the opposite effect on their mother who snapped out a warning to her younger daughter, “I did not ask you! And you have no business knowing the customers’ names. I am warning you. I will not tolerate you following in your sister’s footsteps.”

  Tears pricked Giana’s eyes and she turned away clutching a drooping Toby to her chest. “I am going home. The accounts are complete. The kitchen is still being cleaned by Bhanu and Selvam. Goodnight.”

  Pride and shame stiffened her back as she buckled Toby into the baby sling around her waist. She walked out before the humiliating tears could scald her cheeks, waiting for several moments in the empty parking space behind the cafe to gulp down the lump that had arisen at her mother’s insulting assumptions.

  The roar of a motorbike at the exit brought her out of her painful reverie. She watched as the rider swung a long, muscled leg over the hump and sat perched on it, buckling his helmet. She knew who it was of course, and slid back into the shadows as he rode out of the gate like a dark knight riding the wind. Giana’s home was only a few minutes away. She rolled her bicycle out and slowly pedalled home with the sleeping baby weighing down her tired body.

  *

  Max rode out into the traffic, weaving his way towards the coastline into the dark night. Although his new residence was at the end of the next lane to the Crème Caramel & Coffee from where he had exited hastily, he was disinclined to return to his gloomy abode tonight. His Bugatti purred under him like a caged beast, suppressed from being unleashed. It matched his temperament...tonight as most nights. He hit the road by the sea and revved up to lightning speed, letting the machine roar, taking him to the outskirts of Pondicherry. As he reached the shoreline he stopped near a secluded spot and parked his bike in the shadows of the rocks. Removing his helmet, he let the salty breeze ruffle his hair. With an impatient hand, he wrenched his jacket and tie off to dump them on his bike.

  The simmering rage and self-loathing that engulfed him at this time of the year since the past three years, was more acute tonight. He had a good mind to sleep here on the shore. But then even the balmy air and the damp sand would probably not ensure a good night’s sleep and he loathed the idea of returning to the empty building called ‘home’.

  Finally, after the day’s long futile struggle, he allowed the ghastly memories to rip away his armour as he sank on the shore. The days were marginally better since he had joined the i
nternationally acclaimed firm as the chief architect. He worked so hard that all the feelings of helpless inadequacy were efficiently kept locked away when he immersed himself in drawings of inanimate buildings. Not that he needed the money. Wealth had always been a part of his life since he was born. More had been accumulated over the years at a lucrative career. But it had not helped him to find peace. Spending maximum time in an emotionally sterilized office environment was a deliberate move on his part to remain detached.

  There were times when an official party became unavoidable or a member of his team threw an impromptu drinks session to celebrate a project’s success. But Max remained adamantly aloof from family gatherings. Children’s birthdays and wedding anniversary invites were never entertained. Nor were the subtle invitations from some of the adventurous female staff, who were quite welcome to the idea of an office affair, especially when they came to know that Max was unattached.

  He was lonely. God only knew how much! But the idea of cheap, casual, soul-sapping flings nauseated him. As though he was being unfaithful to Eva’s memory.

  The days were numbing, filled with work. The nights were terrifying. With the empty space in his life creating hollows within and the demons that latched onto his soul, drawing blood every time he tried to sleep. The visions of Eva and Joey were embedded in his memory. They haunted him, accused him, pleaded with him and he could not do a thing. The hopeless grief wrenched out a groan from him as he sank down on a boulder with his head bowed.

  Max would have done anything to have them back in his life! However hard he tried, he could not dispel the feeling of tearing loss. He scrubbed his face in despair with trembling hands, squeezing his eyes shut and gritting at the pain that lashed at him.