1. OS 19: His Elusive Lover (Part 1)

Part 1

Arnav Singh Raizada glared at the toast on his plate. Not that it was guilty of anything but lying on his plate ready to be eaten. The real culprit was seated across from him mouthing endearments to his di which he suspected were meant to fool her into believing that he was a loving husband.

“Rani Sahiba, I really have to go to office today,” Shyam the snake said with an ingratiating smile. “Naniji, I have been in Delhi for four days now and haven’t even gone to my office once. Your love has held me back.”

“You work too hard, Shyamji,” Anjali chided her husband.

“I can never refuse cases brought to me by the poor and the needy, Rani Sahiba,” Shyam said, trying to sound all noble and selfless.

Nani, mami and Anjali smiled at him, full of affection for his sanskaari ways and his lofty ideals.

Arnav’s fingers tightened on the handle of his coffee mug as images from the video of Shyam doing the naagin dance, naked except for a pair of shorts, surrounded by a bevy of bar dancers flashed through his mind. His PI had been very thorough.

“Kya hua, bhai?” Akash asked softly, pushing his specs up his patrician nose.

“Nothing,” ASR grunted.

Akash looked unconvinced, but decided not to provoke his brother’s fury with further questions.

The doorbell rang.

HP returned saying, “Damadji, there is a delivery for you.”

Shyam excused himself with a smile and went to the door. He returned to the table with a huge bouquet of red roses and kneeling by her, offered it to Anjali.

She was suitably moved. Her hands were clasped to her cheeks. Her mouth was open in awe. Tears filled her eyes at the love on display by her husband. A Miss Universe who had won the title had nothing on her.

ASR clenched his fists and his jaw. His di was being played by an expert player. But he was Arnav Singh Raizada, born in an aristocratic family and tempered by fire, a survivor, a winner, a master at the games Shyam was an amateur at.

“Chotey, look at what your jiju has done,” Anjali exclaimed, all flushed with happiness.

Arnav looked at the blood-red roses and felt his heart burn.

He loved red. His office was painted red and white, but now the colour stood for betrayal of the worst kind, chicanery, lies and infidelity. 

He wanted to throw the flowers out of the house, burn them, banish them from his sight, throw them on the floor and stamp on them.... He looked at the crook’s oily smile. The rat must have paid for them using the allowance Arnav paid monthly into his di’s account.

“I need to get going,” he said brusquely, standing up to grab his coat and laptop bag. He needed to get the creep out of his di’s life and he needed a foolproof plan. He needed time and space to think it through. He needed the peace his office would give him.

Akash abandoned his breakfast and stood up to follow his brother.

The men walked out of the house.

On the way to the office, Akash asked mildly, “Bhai, didn’t you sleep well last night?”

Arnav glared at the poor soul. “Why do you think so?” he interrogated his brother.

Akash looked uncertain as he said slowly, “You seem different. Tense. You were fine last evening. Kya hua, bhai?”

How could he disclose that they had been supporting a poisonous snake for the last three years? Arnav thought. That his di’s husband was like his father, an unfaithful wretch out to destroy her life as though she hadn’t been through enough already.

“Kuch nahi,” he muttered. “Akash, meet Singhal for me. I need some time to study the Paris contract.”

“Yes, bhai,” Akash replied, willing to do anything his brother asked, without question.

                                                                    ***

Arnav strode into his red and white office and stopped short. There was a huge vase of red roses on the receptionist’s desk. Fury rose in his mind like a tsunami.

“Who arranged red roses here?” he bit out.

“Sir...,” the receptionist gasped, “Khushi...”

“Who the hell is she?” ASR shouted.

“ASR,” Aman came to take charge of the situation. “Khushi is the girl Friday we employ. She helps out in all departments as and when they need her. Is anything wrong?”

“This is an office, not a wedding venue,” shouted ASR. “Why are there red roses in my office?”

“I will ask her to remove them,” Aman reassured him. “ASR, she won’t get red roses again.”

ASR clenched his jaw to stop himself from venting further and strode up the steps to his office.

He pushed open the glass door only to come to a stop.

There was a glass bowl of red roses on his desk and another larger vase with red roses on his side table holding his files.

His breath left him in a gush. Then he let go of his temper.

“Who the hell gave her permission to place red roses in my room? Who asked her to come here? Aman, how the hell did that girl get here with her...with her red roses?” he fumed.

“ASR,” Aman tried.

“She is dismissed. Throw her out,” he ruled.

“ASR, she has a contract,” Aman tried reminding him.

“Really? A contract?” he asked sarcastically. “Then let me do the honours. Summon her here. I will kick her out.”

“ASR,” Aman tried to make him see reason. “I will talk to her. She won’t repeat this mistake.”

But ASR was in no mood to be cajoled. “Call her here,” he ordered.

Aman called the reception and asked them to send Khushi to ASR’s room at the earliest.

ASR stood fuming in silence.

“She is coming over,” Aman reassured him.

ASR turned to the door intending to greet her with a dismissal, but unfortunately his eyes fell on the lush red roses sitting in all their glory on his table.

He rushed to them, grabbed them and threw them at the door, desperate to be rid of them. But the door opened at that very moment and the roses fell in a shower over the head of Khushi Kumari Gupta.

Hot molten chocolate eyes met scared hazel eyes.

Then his eyes took in the silky hair, the lovely features, the glittering nose pin, the lush body in a red suit and finally her shapely feet in jootis.

Red roses lay scattered at her feet.

Something happened within him...an explosion of some kind, more potent than anger, more hazardous to his peace of mind than a typhoon, more unsettling than an earthquake.

The anger drained out of him.

He stood rooted to the spot, silenced by her presence.