The Vibrant Years(40)

Did he know the circumstances under which Richard had died? Bindu hoped Cullie had at least had the sense to not divulge those details to her father.

“I have no idea why he left me the money. But I do know that I did nothing to deserve it. So I won’t take it.” It’s what she had told Weaselly Leslie when he’d called again that morning. The man was like a recurring rash. He wouldn’t go away.

Of all the people on earth, why did he have to be Richard’s lawyer.

Trouble.

Her stomach did another churn. The echo of that word from long before Leslie had uttered it made her head spin. She should’ve known she’d be punished for taking Oscar’s money.

No! She needed to stop taking on the mantle of blame for other people’s actions.

Oscar should never have broken his promise.

There was too much neither of them should have done.

Unlike Richard, Oscar had not left her everything he owned. It was a neat little sum, but it didn’t even scratch the surface of the wealth he’d accumulated. Just his home in Bandra had been sold for several million dollars. Bindu knew this only because she had always been a Bollywood news junkie. It had nothing to do with the fact that her brain zeroed in on any scrap of information she’d ever been able to gather about him.

This also meant that she knew that Oscar had real estate all over the world, including London and New York, and he had left his children as rich as Kubera, the god of wealth. A thought arced like an electric current through her brain as she remembered that one of his grandsons was named Rishi.

Ashish watched her as she looked down at her phone. She had three missed calls and voice messages from a number listed as “Possibly Rishi Seth” from that morning. How had he even found her number?

“Ma, this is Richard Langley we’re talking about, right? The guy who wrote Death of a Whore. He was a famous playboy back in the eighties, nineties, and heck, even the decades after that. What were you doing hanging out with him anyway?”

“Death of a Whore?” That was the name of one of Richard’s books? She had the uncontrollable urge to laugh.

Before she could say more, her phone rang. “Possibly Rishi Seth” flashed on the screen.

Bindu squeezed the quartz of her breakfast bar until her fingers hurt. Get ahold of yourself.

“Listen, beta. I need to leave. Thanks for the sugar roti.” It was time to shut this Rishi person down.

Oscar’s lawyer had assured her that the inheritance was completely private, untraceable to her. Another lie. She no longer had the luxury of burying her head in the sand and hoping the problem would go away. If they wanted the money back, she’d have to sell the condo.

She loved her new home. She’d finally found herself here. But she loved nothing more than her family. Letting the door close behind her, she answered the call with the curtest hello she could manage.

The response was a surprised intake of breath, then complete silence.

“Hello?” she repeated angrily, ready to disconnect.

“Don’t hang up, please.” The voice shoved her into the past. Time and space spun around her so fast, she reached out and caught her balance on the wall. “Thank you for answering! I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to. You caught me by surprise.”

It was Oscar’s voice. Clear as day all these years later. A voice that strung together so many notes, it was like an entire harmony. Unchanged.

Goose bumps danced across Bindu’s skin, dotting her from head to toe like pin stabs. The sugar roti pushed up her throat.

Silence stretched again, and she made her way to the stairwell used mostly for emergencies and let the heavy fire door close behind her.

“My name is Rishi Seth. I’m Oscar Seth’s grandson.” He let that hang in the air, as though he knew exactly what that name meant to her.

Bindu sank down on a step, the stagnant stairwell air heavy in her lungs.

In a moment she’d fake not having any idea who Oscar was. But first she needed to catch her breath.

“I just need a few minutes of your time. I promise it won’t take long.”

She cleared her throat. “Do you mean the old Indian actor-director?” Her voice was steady enough, but she was grateful to be sitting down.

He’d obviously not been expecting her to lie, because there was another long pause.

“Yes, my grandfather made twenty-seven films. He is widely acknowledged as one of India’s best filmmakers.” Was that amusement in his voice?

“Congratulations?” Oscar would have been proud of how well she’d emoted that. Inflection is what sets the great actors apart. She sounded utterly at a loss for why he might be calling her. “But what does that have to do with me?”

The boy cleared his throat. “It appears my grandfather had some unfinished business. I believe you might know something about it.”

Bindu stood, heart hammering, then sank back down because her legs gave out. This wasn’t about the money? It had to be. If it were about anything else, she didn’t know what she’d do.

“Listen, I have no idea what you’re talking about, and I’m late for something. You have the wrong person.”

“Mrs. Desai, I promise I mean you no harm. I’m also a filmmaker. I was very close to my grandfather.” His voice trembled, and Bindu thought of Cullie. “Thing is, I miss him terribly. If you knew him, you know that he was the best human being you could ever meet.”