Weapon of Vengeance by Mukul Deva

Author:Mukul Deva
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781466835702
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

DAY SIX

Ravinder woke early the next morning, raring to leave for the office. Ruby’s arrival had energized him. And feeling guilt at Simran’s stress also pushed him.

When he entered his study to pick up his laptop, he immediately noticed the round water mark left on the table by Ruby’s jug.

He was looking at it perplexed when he heard the gate grate open. Looking out the window, he saw Ruby come jogging down the drive, her maroon tracksuit soaked in sweat. He smiled. Rehana too used to go jogging every morning. How clearly he could still see Rehana come thundering down the road just like that … ponytail flailing the air behind.… Like mother, like daughter.

Ravinder was going out to talk to her when his phone rang. Returning to the table, he took the call. It was some anal-retentive type at PMO asking for clarifications about the summit security plan.

“I will need to get to the office and send them to you,” Ravinder told him.

“Fair enough, Mr. Gill, but we need them urgently.”

He forgot about the water mark and, pushing the laptop into its bag, headed for the waiting car. His mind was whirling with so many conflicting thoughts and worries that, for the first time in years, he did not return the salute of the men standing guard at his bungalow gates. The two new, additional security guards did not notice it; the regular one did—he’d been with Ravinder’s security detail a while and knew the IG was a stickler for protocol.

The rain, which had taken a short breather at about daybreak, began again. Drumming down on the car roof with a metallic beat.

* * *

By time Ruby got ready and came down, Jasmine had left for college. Simran was sitting alone at the dining table when Ruby entered.

Ruby nodded: a tentative, hesitant good morning.

Simran nodded back as she rose, but it was a cold look. “Ravinder left early.” Simran said in a monotone; a weather forecaster would have shown more emotion. It sent an eerie feeling through Ruby, arousing the little girl inside her to seek some emotion, the little girl who had craved her father. Before Ruby could think of anything to say, Simran added, “Please sit down, I will tell the servant to serve you breakfast.” Doing her duty as a host and making it clear that Ruby was only a visitor to this house … would always be one.

Ruby felt a compelling need to gain her approval—well, if not approval, at least the simple acknowledgment that she existed, that she was there, in the same room, even if with hostility and anger, hatred, anything rather than the hurt of being dismissed, brushed aside.

“I am sorry,” Ruby called out when Simran was at the door. Simran half turned and looked at her; another expressionless stare. “I know I have disrupted your lives by coming here like this, but—”

“You have.” Just that, a flat statement, with no hint of an accusation. Even that might have mitigated the wanting churning inside Ruby.

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