The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(55)

Nandini was chatting with the nurse who’d come in. He watched Tara. She looked beaten, a different woman from the one he’d dropped off that morning.

“Did Shetty know about me?” he asked Tara, his voice low. He felt like an ass, speaking of it in Nandini’s presence, but Tara was in danger and he had no choice.

“I’m not sure. Why can’t I go to work?”

“It isn’t safe. Switch off your phone.”

“I can’t.” She was agitated, her eyes wide with fear.

“You must. For anyone else who needs it,” Arnav said, “pass them another number. I’ll give you an extra phone.”

“If I don’t go,” Tara said, “he’ll send men to look for me.”

“You won’t stay at the hotel tonight. Switch it off. Now.” He watched as she did it with unsteady hands.

“She’s coming with me.” Nandini had finished talking to the nurse and stood at the foot of his bed. “My building has security.”

Tara said, “I’ll wait here.”

“I never make an offer I do not mean. You’ll be safer at my condominium.” Nandini smiled, all matter-of-fact, and turned to him. “It is time for your dinner and medication. I’ll take care of the formalities at reception, and drive to the lobby to pick her up.”

Nandini made it sound normal, but it couldn’t have been easy. She waved at him and left before he could thank her.





CHAPTER FORTY-SIX


TARA

Tara sat beside Arnav’s bed. Dark circles under his eyes, bruises on his forehead, neck, and arms. His left shoulder was in a cast, and his chest was bandaged. Why had he asked her to not go to work? What had Shinde told him about Shetty? She didn’t wish to upset Arnav, but disappearing from work wouldn’t bode well for her contract. She couldn’t afford to forget why she needed the money. Pia.

This could be the only time she’d be alone with him. Once he knew the truth, he wouldn’t stand in her way.

“I’m going to break it off with Nandini.” Arnav’s voice startled her.

“What?”

“I nearly died—”

She raised a hand to stop those words, but he caught it in his own. “I know what I want,” he said. “I can’t be with her.”

She considered asking him who he longed to be with instead, but she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t certain she’d ever be. She went on the offense instead. “And I’m supposed to stay with her?”

“Only until I leave the hospital.”

“That’s taking advantage of her.”

“No one could take advantage of Nandini if they tried. She offered. Like she said, she means it.”

“I need to finish the contract with Shetty. What did your friend tell you?”

“I understand you wish to keep working, but tell me about Shetty, Tara. Both our lives may depend on it. Start from when you first met him.”

What could she say to that? Fear and shame battled within her. Fear won, and she started speaking, keeping her gaze on their joined hands.

She recounted the strange assignments at the railway station. The high-paid, creepy appointments to dance for a client who stayed in the dark. Mithi’s suspicions. Her latest trip to the Borivali railway station. Shetty’s offer for a private dance performance. Her refusal. She expected Arnav to react, but he merely said, “Tell me what you recall about the drives at night to this client’s place.”

“I was in a burka. They used to take me to a car and blindfold me. We drove for a while, and changed cars.”

“When you arrived, was it a bungalow or an apartment?” Arnav said.

In her mind, Tara heard the creak of a gate. A calloused hand steered her by the elbow, and she was relieved to find paved ground beneath her feet.

The air smelled of jasmine, and other flowers she didn’t recognize. Breeze rustled through trees as she stumbled, then righted herself. Someone held up her left hand and placed it against a wall. A harsh male voice—Keep your hand on the wall and walk straight. She tiptoed on, mouth dry, breath short. A door slammed behind her and a bolt fell in place. That sound, its finality, and the sticky darkness sent a chill through her even after all this time.

“A bungalow, I think. No lift. They dropped me outside a long corridor. I could hear the rustling of leaves.”

“What else?” Arnav said. “Close your eyes and try to remember.”

She described the birdcalls she heard sometimes, the lack of traffic noises when she arrived. They drove through empty roads. The men smoked and listened to Malayali songs. She spoke of the mysterious client she’d never seen.

“What did he sound like? Young, middle-aged, old?”

“He wasn’t old.”

“Would you be able to identify his voice if you heard it again?”

I was told you will do as I say.

The jackal didn’t speak her language, the streetwise tapori slang of most of the customers who frequented the Blue Bar.

“I . . . think so. His voice had a smile in it, as if he knew a lot I didn’t, and I’d be sorry one way or the other. Educated man. Spoke like rich people do, who use Hindi only when they must. It was years ago, though.”

“What did he talk about?”