a few swallows of the nourishing liquid and the food, Megha took stock of her surroundings. Earlier she had been too distressed to notice the flat. This was her first real glimpse of Kiran’s home. It was not a very large place, but still spacious and airy compared to both the cramped homes she had lived in.
The contemporary domed light fixture above the dining area was made of etched glass. The sofa and chairs in the drawing room were covered with tan damask and accented with forest green pillows. Curtains in the same shade of green covered the window directly behind the sofa. There was a hand-woven area rug in shades of tan, white and green. Two matching brass floor lamps sat next to a pair of end tables on either side of the sofa. A large bronze sculpture of the god Ganesh rested on an oblong table against one wall that had no other furniture. The Ganesh looked like an antique. On the wall above the sculpture hung a set of four miniature Rajasthani paintings mounted on ivory silk mats in intricate gold frames.
Kiran’s flat had the look of understated elegance. So this was how rich bachelors lived. He worked for some corporation at the moment, and had family wealth, as well. His father was the sole owner of a flourishing petroleum and chemical products distribution business. Megha could see the discerning taste of his mother, Kamala Rao, in the décor around his home.
“Nice place you have here,” she said, turning to Kiran. Talking about the flat gave her mind something else besides her misery to think about. It also helped to alleviate the awkwardness of sitting there in his dining room, dressed in his clothes and drinking his Ovaltine.
“Thanks. Not very spacious, but it’s a place to call home.”
“Pretty impressive kitchen, too,” she added, noting the tall, gleaming wood cabinets, the modern appliances, including a microwave oven, and the cream granite countertops.
Kiran chuckled. “Fully equipped kitchen, but I never cook. My parents invite me to eat with them at least twice a week. The rest of the days I eat out or reheat something that my mother insists on packing for me.”
“No servants?” she asked, surprised. Wealthy people always had servants. Megha knew Kiran’s parents had several. Even Amma and Appaji had a servant.
“I have one man who comes in on Sundays to clean the flat and wash my clothes and linens.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’m a typical spoiled Indian male. I don’t know how to cook or clean.”
She glanced at him curiously. “I’m surprised you live alone when your parents own such a huge house.” The Raos owned a mansion with several bedrooms.
He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “What can I say? I like my independence.”
“Maybe if Suresh had felt that way I wouldn’t be in this situation today,” Megha said thoughtfully. She wondered if Suresh would ever be really independent of his mother, in or out of her house.
“Suresh is entirely too attached to Amma,” said Kiran, confirming Megha’s thoughts.
After another awkward silence Megha inclined her head towards the drawing room. “You did a fine job of decorating this place.”
“I don’t know how to do that either—my mother did that. She’s very artistic, as you know.”
“I know.” And she was also part of the clique that planned her murder. His mother was tight with Amma, and Megha had seen them huddled together gossiping often enough.
As if reading her mind, Kiran quickly added, “I know what you’re thinking. My mother was part of the conspiracy. I’m not trying to defend her, Megha, but I distinctly heard her trying to talk Amma out of it.”
“And she didn’t think to warn me? She was going to sit back and watch me die an agonizing death?” The bitter resentment was hard to keep out of her voice.
Kiran folded his arms over the table and leaned forward so Megha could see clearly into his deep-set brown eyes and note the thickness of the lashes. His dark brows were pulled close together, forming a small ridge in between. “Like I said, what she did was wrong. She probably thought there would be a divorce. If she knew it was anything this dreadful, I’m sure she would have tried to protect you.” He must have noticed her lingering skepticism, because he said with more conviction, “Believe me, Megha, she’s not a monster. She’s a good mother to me and a loving wife to Papa. She wouldn’t stand by and see you get killed—or anybody get killed.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Megha recalled the occasions when she had visited the Raos with the rest of the family, and how Kamala had been quite cordial to her. She was not nasty like Devayani, their younger aunt, and certainly nothing like Amma. But Megha preferred to reserve her judgement about Kamala. Maybe Kamala Rao wasn’t a bad sort, but Megha still considered her one of the conspirators. At present the entire Ramnath clan and the Raos remained suspect in her mind.
“You know as well as I that once Amma gets something into her thick head nobody can talk her out of it,” Kiran reminded her.
“God, don’t I know that!” Megha rolled her eyes.
“Besides, my mother is very old-fashioned. She’d never oppose something her husband’s respected elder sister was planning, barring murder, of course.”
Megha nodded, agreeing that stringent traditions did indeed prevent a woman from standing up to her older sister-in-law or betraying her confidence. Swallowing the last of the Ovaltine, she rose from her chair. “Would you mind if I wash my clothes in your washing machine, Kiran?” She had noticed what appeared to be a washer and dryer outside the bathroom, another luxury she’d never had.
“You can wash your clothes tomorrow, Megha. You need to get some sleep now.”
“What!” Tomorrow would be too late. And sleep? In his flat? What was he talking about? Suddenly, panic set in again. She needed to get out of here as quickly as possible. Daylight was only a few hours away and she had to disappear before then.
Time was running out.
“No, I have to wash them now. And can I…uh…borrow some money from you?” Oh dear, it was so awkward asking for money, even if it was a small loan. “I need to get on the earliest possible bus to Hubli. I’ll return the money as soon as I get there.”
Kiran’s brows snapped back together once again. “You can’t go out there alone!”
“I have no choice.”
“Yes, you do. You’ll stay here.”
“I can’t! I’m a married woman.”
“I will not let you out of here until I know you’re safe.”
“You can’t dictate to me, Kiran. Technically, you’re my cousin-in-law. And since Suresh and you grew up together almost like brothers, you’re more or less my brother-in-law.” What was he thinking? It was a ridiculous idea, even more absurd than her appearing on his doorstep, begging for help. All she’d intended to do was borrow some money and request him to drive her to the bus stop. She’d definitely not envisioned any of this. Even the shower and the food and clothes he’d offered her were unexpected and utterly generous.
She looked at herself dressed in his clothes and frowned. What was happening here? Things were spinning out of control. She needed to focus on what to do next and not sit here drinking warm milk and admiring Kiran’s flat, much less wear Kiran’s clothes.
