CHAPTER EIGHT
HER HEAD ON one side, Keira carefully studied the newly painted walls of the show house. She had chosen the paint from over a dozen different samples, all of which had been applied in square patches to the wall so that she could assess the effect on the room’s light and size.
‘Yes,’ she told the waiting painter with a pleased smile. ‘That’s perfect.’
Someone else might not consider it worthwhile on such a tight schedule to spend time finding exactly the right shade of off-white, but to Keira such niceties were an essential part of the way she worked. The right paint would provide the foundations of her scheme, and thus in her opinion was vitally important. Combining both Jay’s wishes and Alex’s advice, she had sourced her paint locally, and the supplier had been marvellously patient about fine-tuning the pigment to get the shade she wanted.
The painter was smiling broadly himself now, a huge watermelon grin stretching across his face as he promised her that he would have the paint mixed and delivered to her ready for the decorators to start work in the morning.
It was a month since the evening she had fled—not just from Jay, but more tellingly from her own response to him—to spend virtually the whole night curled up on her bed, agonising over what she should do.
The discovery in the morning that Jay had returned to Mumbai had given her a breathing space that had enabled her to think logically and practically about her situation and her options. She had reasoned that financially she could not afford to break her contract, whilst emotionally and sexually she could not afford to mirror her mother’s folly in falling in love with the wrong man and going to bed with him.
Jay inhabited a world in which the super-rich called nowhere home. It was unlikely that their paths would ever cross again once she had finished her work here. Reasonably, therefore, all she had to do was keep her distance from him until life put an even greater distance between them. Once it had she could ache all she wanted for him, in the secure knowledge that all she could do was ache. Better to burn with unappeased longing than to be destroyed be the acid corrosion of shame and self-disgust.
And anyway, now she was alert to her own danger she had herself properly under control, Keira assured herself firmly.
Really? So why, then, was her stomach now twisting itself in knots just because she could see Jay walking towards her?
He was here, and her world had tilted on its axis. But she could act naturally and keep things on a professional footing, Keira decided, and she told him briskly, ‘Jamil has been very patient with me, and we’ve finally got the right paint colour. The decorators should be able to start work tomorrow, and by the time they’ve finished the furniture and soft furnishings should be starting to arrive.’
Jay nodded his head.
‘You haven’t given me a decision yet on the toile fabric I discussed with you,’ Keira reminded him. ‘So if you’ve got time...’
‘You mean your fellow countryman’s designs?’ Jay stopped her.
‘Yes,’ Keira agreed, telling him enthusiastically, ‘I thought his contemporary designs were fun and quirky and would appeal to buyers—especially if we move away from the traditional French colours into something more dramatic and modern. Black on hot pink or bright yellow would make a real statement if we used it on cushions, for instance.’
‘And of course if I agree to buy your countryman’s designs then naturally he’s going to want to show his gratitude—probably in a private suite at that hotel he was discussing with you.’ The sardonic tone of Jay’s voice coupled with the innuendo of his words made Keira’s heart plummet downwards.
‘That is grossly unfair and insulting,’ she told him furiously. ‘There is only one reason I would ever recommend anyone to a client, and that is because, in my professional opinion, they or their product are right for the job. That is the way I do business. You, of course, may have other methods.’
‘You dare to accuse me of your own low moral standards?’
Jay looked so angry as he took a step towards her and stood almost menacingly over her, filling the air with the heat of his fury, that Keira wasn’t sure what would have happened if the site manager hadn’t come and interrupted them, explaining that there were some papers he needed Jay to sign.
The sooner this commission was completed and she could end her association with Jay the better, Keira told herself fiercely.
She had an appointment to meet with one of the manufacturers who was providing some of the furniture for the show homes tomorrow. His factory was several hours’ drive away, in a small town close to the border of the desert. Remembering what had happened when she had gone to visit the fabric factory, this time Keira had sent a message first to Jay, explaining what she intended to do and requesting his approval. He had not said anything about it just now.
Keira’s heart slid heavily into her ribs. It was no use trying to lie to herself. Each time she saw him she might promise herself that this time she would not permit herself to endure that surge of sick, aching need that made her long to be in his arms even though she knew that that was the worst place she could ever be, but she knew that in reality it was a promise she would never be able to keep.
Take today. It was just over four weeks since she had last seen him—four weeks, two days and ten minutes, to be exact. Well, twenty minutes if she counted the extra ten minutes she had spent concealed behind the fretwork of the latticed jails, designed to keep the women of the harem from public view whilst enabling them to look down into the street below, watching Jay walk away from the palace.
Four weeks during which she had resolutely focused on her work, filling every heartbeat of time with a feverish busyness designed to deny her the ability to give in to the temptation to think about Jay. She had even taken to reading books on Indian culture and crafts when she went to bed, until her eyes became too heavy to stay open.
And yet earlier today, the minute she had looked up and seen him, every rule she had made to protect herself had been ignored and forgotten.
It had taken his insulting remark about Alex to force her to recognise reality.
In that regard at least she was most certainly not her mother’s daughter, Keira recognised tiredly. She felt no quickening of her senses at all where other men were concerned.
Which made her danger greater rather than less. Loving the wrong man could be every bit as destructive as loving too many wrong men—especially when that wrong man was a man like Jay.
* * *
Jay leaned against one of the pillars supporting the vaulted ceiling of the palace’s main reception room. The walls and the pillars were decorated with a traditional form of plasterwork that had been hand polished with a piece of agate, to create a marble finish, but of course that finish was a fake, false—just like Keira. Did she really think he had been deceived by that protest of hers about her fabric designer friend?
Jay paced the room restlessly. He had gone to Mumbai to escape from the ache of wanting her that being here with her gave him. He had even sworn that he would ease that ache in the arms of the actress who had been so delighted to hear from him. So why hadn’t he done exactly that? And why had he cut short his visit and returned here ahead of schedule?
He wasn’t going to answer that question. Why should he, when he had so many far more important matters to concern himself with?
* * *
Keira’s heart sank as she stood in the main entrance hall to the palace. Her driver had just brought her the unwelcome news that he was not going to be driving her to her appointment but that instead Jay was going to take her, and that he would join her shortly.
Up above her was the gallery she had just walked along, which separated the main part of the palace from the women’s quarters, where once they had lived in Purdah.
Purdah! The concealment of a woman’s face and body from the eyes of all men except those of her immediate family. To some a protection, but to others a form of imprisonment. As a Western woman the very thought of enduring Purdah was beyond comprehension.
But wasn’t the reality that what she herself was enduring, and had endured for most of her life, was in its own way an inner form of Purdah, imposed on her by her own fears? Her Purdah meant that her emotions and desires must always remain hidden away, denied the light of day for her own protection.
Keira tensed as she heard Jay’s now familiar footsteps crossing the hallway.
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.’
How formal he sounded—and looked, Keira thought, contrasting his immaculate appearance in a perfectly fitting lightweight neutral-coloured suit worn over a pale blue shirt with her own jeans and shirt. But then she had dressed for the bumpy, dusty ride she had been anticipating. Her driver tended to keep the windows of the car open rather than use the air-conditioning, so that he could engage in conversation with other drivers.
They were in the car before Jay spoke to her again.
‘Remind me again what the purpose of your visit to this manufacturer is?’
The sarcastic tone of his voice made Keira wish even more that he had not chosen to accompany her.
‘I want to see the finished furniture before it is delivered, to make sure that it will work. He’s making some special shelving units for the larger properties. They’re to go into the studies and the children’s rooms, and I wanted to see how he’s getting on with them. If my idea works I thought they could be adapted to various age groups if they were given different paint finishes. I also wanted to make sure that he understands that all the paint used must be lead-free. I’m trying where possible to ensure that all the raw materials used come from sustainable sources. Green issues are just as big here in India with the middle classes as they are in Europe, of course.’
Jay had been driving fast, but now he had slowed down to allow for the leisurely progress of several camel carts.
‘I see. And can I be confident that this designer is not another of your countrymen, looking for what you are so obviously eager to give?’
He was hateful, horrible, making accusations without any justification to back them up. Except that in his arms she had been eager to give, hadn’t she? And she could hardly tell him that he was the first, the last and the only man to whom she had wanted to give herself. Even if she did he wouldn’t believe her, and if he ever got to know about her background and her mother, he’d think he had even more reason for his accusations.
‘I am not the one who controls what you do or don’t think,’ was the only thing she could think of to say to him to show her feelings about his comment.
But it was no use. He swooped on her words as swiftly as a predatory bird of prey to the lure—so much so, in fact, that she could almost feel the verbal bite of his sharp talons as he countered, ‘But you are the one whose behaviour gives rise to my thoughts.’
Keira had had enough.
‘If you choose to think that a simple lighthearted exchange of words between a man and a woman is tantamount to an offer of sex then I feel sorry for you—or rather I feel sorry for the women who are the victims of your prejudice, should they happen to indulge in what they think is lighthearted conversation with you.’
‘Your sex does not indulge in lighthearted conversation. It plans the course of its words with military precision—from the minute a woman makes an approach to a man to the minute he hands over to her the reward she has already decided he will give her in exchange for the pleasure of her company.’
‘That is just cynical and unfair. There may be some women who do do that, but—’
‘Some women—of which you are one, as we both already know.’
Keira knew there was nothing she could say that would make him accept that he was wrong about her. And why should she care if he did? What benefit would it be to her? It would simply make her even more vulnerable to him. At least this way she had his contempt of her to strengthen her determination not to allow her feelings for him to betray her.
* * *
The furniture factory was outside a small, dusty and very busy town on the caravan route where the plain met the desert.
Henna painters sat cross-legged on the roadside, hoping for passing custom; up ahead of them a farmer was unloading cackling chickens onto a stall ready to sell, whilst hot food was already on sale at another stall, filling the air with the scent of spices and cinnamon. A group of temple musicians walked past, their brightly coloured turbans contrasting with their white clothes.
‘The factory is over there,’ she told Jay, pointing in the direction of a two-storey building set apart from the others.
The desert heat hit Keira the minute she stepped out of the air-conditioned car. It was post-monsoon now, and she couldn’t imagine what it must be like in the oppressive heat before the rains came.
The air was sharp with the smell of glue and paint, stinging her nostrils and making her catch her breath.
Their arrival had obviously been noticed, because the door to the factory owner’s office had opened and the owner himself was hurrying towards them. Keira saw the anxious look he gave Jay, and felt sorry for him. Jay was an extraordinarily formidable man, especially when his mouth was compressed and he was frowning, as he was doing now.
‘Hello, Mr Singh,’ Keira greeted the factory owner. ‘Please let me introduce His Highness Prince Jayesh to you.’
Keira could see how awed the factory owner was by Jay—which was hardly surprising. Jay dwarfed the other man, physically and materially, and poor Mr Singh was looking more anxious by the second.
They were ushered towards the office with many bows and a great deal of ceremony. The factory owner was plainly on edge, but no more than Keira was herself. This was a big test of her ability not just to locate and order furniture, but also to ensure that what she had ordered worked with the whole scheme.
She sensed that Jay had accompanied her not just to check up on her, but in the hope that she might fail—and that, of course, added to her anxiety.
‘And now, Miss, if you will come, please, and see your shelves?’ Mr Singh invited once they had gone through the formality of drinking tea.
Mr Singh led them into an anteroom of the factory, where Keira’s shelving had been put on display.
To her relief it was exactly what she had wanted: constructed in sections so that it could be put together in different combinations, to cover an entire wall or merely part of it, either low or high on the wall. These particular shelves had been painted black and then rubbed down for a modern look.
Keira went up to them to inspect them properly, checking the quality of the paintwork and then testing the shelves themselves for stability.
‘They are good, yes?’ the factory owner asked eagerly.
‘Yes,’ Keira confirmed.
The factory owner’s mobile phone rang. As he turned aside to answer it Keira ran her hand along the underside of one of the shelves, wincing when her finger was pierced by a small splinter of wood and quickly withdrawing her hand to inspect the damage.
‘Let me see,’ Jay demanded peremptorily
The factory owner had excused himself to deal with his call, and suddenly the small room felt very claustrophobic now that she was alone in it with Jay.
‘It’s only a splinter,’ Keira told him. But he was ignoring her, reaching for her hand and taking hold of it before she could stop him whilst he frowned over the splinter and then expertly removed it.
A single small drop of bright red blood had formed at the exit to the wound, but Keira barely noticed it. All her attention was concentrated on the fact that Jay’s fingers were still curled around her wrist, and that he was standing close enough to her for her to hear the sound of his heartbeat.
Her own heartbeat increased in speed. The drop of blood quivered in response to it. Jay looked down at it, and then lifted her hand to his mouth.
Keira drew in a sharp breath and then discovered that she couldn’t release it. She started to tremble.
The slow curl of Jay’s tongue around her finger felt like rough velvet stroking her skin. Molten heat invaded her body. She wanted to close her eyes and stay with him, savouring this feeling for ever. She wanted... The sound of footsteps outside the door as the factory owner returned jerked her back to reality. She pulled her hand free and exhaled unsteadily.
The factory owner was saying something, but she couldn’t concentrate, so it was Jay who responded to him.
How could something so simple be responsible for the sensations and emotions tearing her apart?