CHAPTER 17
C HAPTER 17
T he hour before dawn, Curtis woke from a dream he could not clearly recall. He and Kurien had been discussing the future. The old man had been very worried. As he rose from the bed, Curtis felt nearly consumed by the man’s fears. He knew there was no chance of getting back to sleep, so he slipped on shorts and jogging shoes, and went for a run.
The soft footfalls formed a rhythmic pattern that had seen him through so much. During his first months of recovery, it had become as close to a healing meditation as Curtis had been able to find. When the weather was truly awful, he had often been the first client waiting for the gym doors to open. Walking straight to the treadmill, dropping his street clothes in a heap, stepping onto the machine, going full blast. Desperate to run away from the dark.
Now was very different. The air held a salty perfume, so precious he tasted the same soft joy he had known during the evening drive. He was beyond glad that Amiya had joined him. The news of Kurien’s health had rocked his world. He had desperately needed her presence just then. Help him recover from the prospect of losing the man he admired most in the world. Share this moment with someone who understood what the loss would mean.
The morning’s humid heat was gathering by the time he returned. He showered, dressed, pulled a smoothie from the fridge, and seated himself at the laptop. When Curtis had first arrived in Morehead City, he had gone directly to the resort and introduced himself to the manager and his deputy. Their coldly polite response to his presence was exactly what he had expected. Joel Blanchard, their private investigator, had warned him of bad blood between the hotel director and many locals. Curtis had resided at the Ramada ever since.
Now that Amiya was here, he needed to relocate.
His corporate status granted him unfettered access to all the hotel’s confidential files—accounts, bookings, time sheets, the works. Fortunate Harbor Hotel was officially listed as sold out. But Curtis could see three rooms were still available. This was common practice with most five-star establishments. A few extra rooms were held back, in case a regular guest or VIP made a last-minute request. They were welcomed and charged the maximum room rate.
Amiya had taken the last available suite. Curtis booked himself into a standard room overlooking the main parking lot. By the time he ate breakfast and packed, the Ramada’s day staff were on duty. He checked out, explained work was taking him away unexpectedly, and said he’d be back later for items still with their laundry service.
He arrived at Fortunate Harbor an hour and a half early. Curtis pulled into the hotel’s main parking area, cut the motor, and just sat there. His bones felt welded to the seat. The conversation with Kurien represented changes beyond his control. Once again he heard the three requests uttered by that frail and failing man. Kurien had not merely passed on a dying wish. He had uttered a life’s challenge.
It was only now, sealed into the car’s stifling heat, that Curtis realized what had really woken him that morning. The man Curtis admired most in the world was asking him to move beyond. Begin life anew. Because that was the only way he could even possibly do all that Kurien wanted from him. Those three spoken requests, and all the challenges the old man’s words represented terrified him. To try, to give it his best, meant fully emerging from his safe haven. And even if he did, there was every chance he would fail.
He remained there, perspiring and worrying and stressed, until his phone rang. “Hello?”
“I’ve been standing on my balcony, waving at you for hours. ”
And there she was, leaning out far enough to peer around the building’s corner, her free hand making shadows on his windshield.
“Interesting,” he replied, “since I only got here five minutes ago.”
“Liar. I’ve gone for a swim and I’ve walked the beach and I’m bored and I’m desperate for a decent coffee.”
“There’s this amazing new development called room service.”
“You’re terrible. People will talk if they see me pound on a strange man’s car window. Come get me.”
“It’s probably best if I meet you in the restaurant.” He opened his door. “I’m on my way now.”
* * *
Rae’s night was serrated by lightning strikes. Or so it felt. Every hour or so, she was jolted by a flashing image. She was back in the conference room, seated across from this stranger who had once been the love of her life. She was standing on the office building’s front steps, listening to her former professor redefine her future. She was returning home in a limo, restructuring her day so she could meet the daughter of a billionaire Indian who also was her new corporate client.
And so on.
Which was why Rae was already awake when John called at a quarter to six.
“Babe!”
Rae had never much cared for the way he said that word. This morning, in particular, it echoed with hints of having been spoken to any number of young lovelies. Ladies whose names her erstwhile fiancé could not be bothered to remember.
“Good morning, John.”
“Sorry about the hour!” His enthusiasm was nearly explosive, a suggestion of the energy John barely managed to keep contained. “This was our one night not camping, which puts me in phone range. We got in sooo late! And some beers were involved. At least I’m pretty sure they were. It’s three in the morning here and I’m still foggy.”
“I was already awake. How are you?”
John Anders was quite possibly the most handsome man Rae had ever known, and certainly the fittest. He ran with a global crowd of long-distance runners, hikers, climbers, people whose passion for the impossible drew them into a very tight and happy niche. He spent hours and hours planning his treks. Like this one. Two weeks hiking the Mojave Desert mountains. Rae knew because maps and data sheets had adorned his apartment’s walls and every flat surface.
Peakbaggers, such treks were called. Rae had gone with him. Once. She considered herself to be immensely fit. She had lasted three days.
Rae told him, “I’m good. Sleepy.”
“We’re off for a predawn start, watch the sunrise from Quail Mountain, see the light come to Joshua Tree.” He laughed with childlike excitement, John’s finest quality. “How’s the same old, same old?”
Rae could actually hear the snap. An audible break, sharp as shattering crystal. “ Don’t you call it that !”
“Hey, babe, take it easy—”
“How dare you belittle my world? These are my passions!”
A silence; then, “Maybe calling you so early wasn’t such a good idea.”
“How would you like it if I told you to go climb your stupid hill?”
Suddenly she was crying.
“Rae, honey, sweetheart.”
She forced her breathing under semi-control. “I’m fine. It’s just . . .”
“What?”
“Yesterday was possibly the best and biggest day of my career. A real game changer.” A trembly breath. “I’m still exhausted. That’s all.”
“Then I wake you up and say the totally wrong thing. Which makes me a double idiot.”
Right then, all she wanted was to get off the phone. “You’re on vacation. Idiocy is allowed.”
“So I’m forgiven?”
“Yes. Go climb your silly hill.”
She tolerated another abject apology, wished him a good day, then responded to his affectionate words. Heard nothing, felt less. She dropped the phone to her lap and sat there on the edge of her bed, dripping tears.
Rae knew what was happening because she had witnessed similar moments among that group. John would show up in the lobby, one of his mates would ask what was the matter.
John: I just made my lady cry.
Friend: What did you do?
John: I said the wrong thing.
Friend: Which was . . .
John: I wish I knew.
Friend: Do I ever know what that’s like! Come on, let’s go bash some peaks.
End of story.
For them, at least.
As Rae prepared for her day, one thought in particular returned to her bruised mental state. How nice it would be to talk about this with Curtis. She recalled the way he had listened to her during their drive. How he heard what she could not put into words.
How he cared.
* * *
Rae arrived at the Fortunate Harbor Hotel feeling both bruised and fragile. She could not say what about the conversation with John had shaken her so. There had been so many times when John’s interest in her world had seemed, well, feigned. As if a good-hearted man was doing his best to understand when Rae spoke Mandarin.
This morning was different. Why? She had no idea. Rae hoped it wasn’t simply because Curtis had reinserted himself into her picture. She was ninety-nine percent certain the man held no interest whatsoever in rekindling their relationship. She was also one hundred percent sure it would be the worst move ever. They were both different people. They had moved on long ago. There was no going back. Certainly not for her.
Just the same.
Their conversation on the inland journey, the simple pleasure of being in the company of a man who understood her. Who treated their conversation as so important he willingly set aside his own urgent issues. And listened.
Their time together resonated on a very deep level.
Rae had always found honesty with herself, no matter how difficult, to be an essential part of living the life she wanted. This was not simply having her relationship with John fractured by just another imperfect moment. It was . . .
Was she intent on breaking up? Adding John to the list of failed romances? Despite everything others said about him?
And was this actually, down deep, about Curtis?
* * *
Rae had been to the Fortunate Harbor Hotel any number of times. Several of her clients had used it as a temporary base while moving into homes whose contracts she had overseen. She and John had twice eaten in the restaurant. The food was awesome, with prices to match. She loved the place more with every visit. Despite her internal baggage, today was no different.
The project had originated as the vision of a Raleigh consortium. They all had places along the Outer Banks and saw a need for this sort of high-end resort. But they also loved the Crystal Coast’s unique charm, the simple way it hid wealth and power behind barefoot strolls and easy days. They envisioned a hotel that married the finest five-star quality with this down-home charm. The architect’s concept was a remarkable marriage of Outer Banks simplicity with the finest of hurricane-proof materials. But as often happened, the consortium’s finances took a severe tumble long before the project reached completion. Even the locals who had grumbled over these Raleigh folks coming in and messing with their world grew fearful they would be left with a nearly finished eyesore.
Which was when the new mysterious owners stepped in. Local opposition solidified around the idea that New York money was shouldering into their community. Bullies just waiting to foist their will on the Down-Easters.
The prospect of these locals learning the hotel was now owned by an Indian consortium almost had Rae smiling. Despite everything.
Curtis had texted to say they were on the restaurant’s veranda. She took the path around the main building and stopped where broad stairs rose to the rear patio. Square parasols sheltered the tables like canvas flowers. The sound of happy families was musical. She spotted Curtis and a beautiful woman seated with Simon Leroux, the hotel manager. She had met the hotel boss several times, and disliked him more with each encounter.
Simon introduced himself by stressing the proper way to say his first name— “See-Moan.” According to chatter among locals, he was a recent transplant from somewhere exotic. Réunion was the name that popped up most often, an island off the African coast, where he had run another of the chain’s resort hotels. The local business community was forced to be nice to the guy. Rae thought See-Moan was just another part of the hotel’s PR problem.
Rae stopped where the rising sun struck the first canopy and sheathed her in shadows. She watched as Leroux leaned over so far, he looked ready to crawl into the woman’s lap. Fingers of his right hand tapped the table, millimeters from her wrist. He spoke with quiet urgency, pushing hard.
Rae thought Amiya’s response was regal. She did not move. She did not draw back. Her face showed nothing whatsoever, a calm mask that might as well have been formed from sunlit wax.
Then it struck her.
Rae was glad she could remain unseen. The image was blisteringly vivid and required time to digest. She studied the two of them, Amiya Morais and Curtis. And realized she had been asking the wrong questions.
Curtis was not simply the boy she had known and loved, grown and matured and developed in an unexpected direction. He had been completely and utterly reshaped. There before her was the answer to an age-old question, could a man ever change. The answer was most definitely yes, but only if fate dynamited him, rendering his former world to ashes.
The question now was, who had Curtis Gage become? Because looking at the two of them seated there, Curtis and Amiya, she realized they were in utter parallel. This was not merely their polished exterior, the way they both looked drawn from some Hollywood set. Nor their magnetic appeal fashioned from a mix of looks and sheen and money and power. This was something much deeper. Whoever Curtis had become, he was a man who existed in utter harmony with this strangely exotic woman.
He showed no more reaction to Simon’s urgent pressure than Amiya. Curtis listened with singular focus. He matched Amiya’s expressionless response. He gave nothing away. Just as he had in the law office. Except when Dana probed his past. The fracture had appeared then, a single hint of what he had apparently endured.
Rae was very glad for this shadowed moment. She studied herself as much as the trio. Wondering.
Did she have any interest whatsoever in rekindling a romance from long ago? Did he?
She had no idea. All Rae could say at the moment was, this very different individual was dealing with issues that appealed to her. At a heart level, she felt as though there simply wasn’t room for anything more.
Which led to the second question.
Did she want to involve herself more deeply in what these people represented? Because this lay at the heart of what the Raleigh attorney had said. Rae was certain of this.
The answer to this was unequivocal.
Rae watched the trio and felt her future beckoning. Observing that tableau sparked an excitement that resonated through her entire being.
Amiya turned her head slightly and spoke a single word. It was enough for Curtis to rise and walk toward her. Only then did Rae realize they had been aware of her presence all along.
“Thank you for coming,” Curtis said. “Sorry to make you wait.”
“I can come back later.”
“No need.” His gestures were formal, the tiniest of bows, a minute wave of one hand ushering her forward. “Please join us.”
Simon greeted her arrival with a look of irritated surprise. “You.”
“Good morning, Mr. Leroux.”
Amiya rose to her feet. “Thank you so much for your time, Simon.”
The hotel manager struggled to hide his anger over being dismissed. “You’ll discuss the matter with Kurien?”
“As I explained at the outset, my father will be unavailable.”
“But this is a crucial—”
Amiya silenced him with a flash of something; Rae had the impression of a frigid door being slammed shut. “If you think it might be of some small benefit, I will try to rearrange my own schedule and participate.”
The hotel manager realized he had overstepped the unseen boundary and fumbled over his reply. “Madame, most certainly, of course, I meant no—”
“Excellent. You will have my response tomorrow.” She offered her hand. “I wish you a good day.”
Simon offered a fractional bow, spun around, and departed without acknowledging either Rae or Curtis.
Amiya offered Rae her hand. “You must be Ms. Alden.”
“Rae. Hi.”
“And I am Amiya. Such a pleasure, I can’t tell you.” The slightest of smiles. “Especially how you rescued us from a conversation that should have been over half an hour ago.”
She watched how Curtis first held the woman’s chair, then her own. Amiya glanced up and said, “Remind me why Simon is in charge here.”
“It was your father’s decision.”
“I doubt that very much,” Amiya replied. “This smells of my dear cousin’s subterfuge.”
“No comment.” Curtis asked Rae, “Coffee? Breakfast?”
“Tea,” she replied. “Green, if they have it.”
“You really should have an OJ,” Amiya said. “Fresh squeezed. Every glass. And a croissant that comes straight from the baking oven.”
She tried to match the woman’s ceremonial manner of speech. Rae knew it was a feeble effort. But still. “That sounds lovely, thank you.”
Instead of signaling to one of the waiters, Curtis crossed the patio and entered the restaurant shadows. Personally seeing to her needs.
Amiya said, “Simon is hosting our first-ever gala in five days. He’s heard my father is coming. Simon is desperate for him to serve as official host.”
“The big banquet,” Rae said. “I’ve been hearing about that for weeks.”
“It’s far more than just a banquet,” Amiya said. “May I ask what’s being said?”
“Something about you charging a thousand dollars a table.”
“A thousand dollars per place,” Amiya corrected. “And it has been sold out for almost three months. All the money is going to charity. My father is footing the entire bill. Which includes music by a Grammy Award–winning jazz band. Six courses from a Michelin-star chef flown in from Chicago. Wine pairings that culminate with Chateau Cheval Blanc. And some snobbish wine critic boring everyone with an introduction to each pairing between courses.”
“I actually don’t know what to say,” Rae replied. A thousand dollars. “You’re really sold out?”
“Such an event becomes a calling card for the superrich,” Amiya said. “Plus, we are offering free tickets to the resort’s homeowners.”
“It makes sense, Simon wanting your father to play host.”
“That is not happening.” There was a hint of the same closed door to Amiya’s reaction. Then she lifted her gaze and smiled a welcome as Curtis approached. “And here comes your breakfast.”
He was followed by a smiling waitress, who settled tea and croissant and OJ and linen napkin and sterling silverware at Rae’s place. Only when the waitress departed did Curtis seat himself.
“Taste the croissant. Is that not the most perfect use for butter in the entire world?”
“It’s delicious,” Rae agreed. “The problem is, I can feel it going straight from my mouth to my fanny.”
Amiya laughed, a bell-like melody that drew smiles from other tables. “Listen, why don’t you come to the gala? As our guest, of course.”
Curtis said, “Amiya.”
“Yes?”
“Simon will freak.”
“Good.”
“You are actually wanting him to perform a manic dance in front of a booked-out hotel and all his staff.”
“It serves him right. Don’t you agree, Rae?”
She pulled off another feather-delicate shred of croissant. “Something you should know. Simon has been telling some of your local suppliers that he’s soon to become part owner.”
Curtis shared a glance with the lady, then asked, “We’ve heard vague rumors. Could you tell us precisely what’s being said?”
“I’ve heard it from several sources. Apparently, Simon likes to emphasize this, show how important it is for these people to stay on his good side.”
“Daddy has granted partial ownership to several of our most successful hotel managers,” Amiya said. “But he has never mentioned this as an option with Simon. I would know.”
Curtis added, “In any case, it’s far too early. The hotel still hasn’t broken even.”
“I hate to say it, but this meshes with my concern over Ajeet having a hand in this.” Amiya waved it aside and asked Rae, “Did you hear how that man sniffed at your approach?”
“I’m glad to say I missed that.”
“And his greeting. ‘You.’ ” She told Curtis, “No one deserves to freak out more than Simon. Go tell him to rejoin us. We will make his freaking a public event.”
“Not on your life.”
“Hunh.” To Rae, “Can you imagine the gall of this man? How can Curtis possibly refuse a direct order from his immediate superior?”
“It’s easy,” Curtis replied. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”
“I shall instruct Daddy to eliminate your bonus for this entire year.”
“Your father doesn’t pay bonuses.”
“No? Well, good. He probably assumes you’ll be such a perfect . . . What is the word I’m looking for, Rae?”
“I am legally obliged to pass on that one.”
“A wise move, counselor,” Curtis said.
Then as Amiya continued her easy patter, drawing Rae into their moment, it struck her. Amiya’s banter was a cover. Her gaze, the way she looked his way . . .
The lady was definitely interested in Curtis. And not just professionally, no matter how she might couch her words. A woman knew.
What was more, Rae suspected her former beau was blind to the fact.
Rae allowed herself a momentary inspection. Was she upset? Jealous? Happy for them? What?
She had no idea.
All she could say with any certainty was something about this realization only heightened her fractured conversation with John.
Amiya brought her back into focus by asking, “Would you like to bring your young man?”
Rae hoped her own expression was as calmly blank as her voice. “Sorry, John’s away for another ten days.”
“Well, I suppose the two of us will simply have to make do sharing this lone escort.”
Curtis showed a genuine astonishment. “I’m not going to Simon’s gala.”
“Of course you are.”
“Amiya, that guy considers me a louse from the home office.”
“Well, he has that at least partly right.”
“Me showing up on your arm will make things ten times worse than they already are.” Curtis looked genuinely worried. “And I don’t dance.”
“Nonsense. I’ve had you step on my toes any number of times.”
“And my tux is seven hundred miles away.”
“I’m sure there’s a wedding rental somewhere around here,” Amiya replied. “No doubt they’ll have something in your size. Electric blue, perhaps. With spangles on the lapels.”
“Amiya . . .”
She reached over and settled a long-fingered hand on his wrist. Took off her sunglasses. Regarded him with the serious calm of a strong-willed woman. And said, “Curtis. It’s time.”
Something in her words and manner pushed him back. He would have taken his arm away, but she held him fast.
“How long has it been since you allowed yourself to relax, enjoy, simply take the night off?” When he did not respond, she answered for him. “Almost two years. When my father sent you on the tour of Bordeaux wine country, no? And before that? Four years? Five?”
Curtis did not respond. Rae could not tell if the man even breathed.
She held him fast for another moment, then solemnly repeated, “It’s time.” Amiya leaned back and released him. “Now then.” Speaking briskly. “This will no doubt require fitting in a new table. And if Simon wants me to attend, it will obviously need to be at the head of the room. Or the center. He may decide. How many place settings are there to each table?”
“Amiya . . .” His protest was stifled by the look she shot him. “I think . . . twelve.”
“So. You and me and Rae. I think we should also invite the architects, father and daughter, yes? And Simon, of course. That’s . . .”
Rae offered, “Six.”
Curtis reluctantly suggested, “Gloria Tanner is—”
“The realtor. Perfect. Does Gloria have a significant other?”
“Divorced,” Rae replied. “Single mother. Between relationships.”
“So now we are seven.” Amiya addressed them both. “We have a public relations issue here. Who else can we include that might help us win over the local community?”
“My father’s former partner,” Curtis suggested. “Rae’s uncle. Now sheriff of Carteret County.”
“Will he come?”
Rae said, “Colton will absolutely hate it. But his wife, Nola, will be over the moon. He’ll come kicking and clawing the earth, but he’ll come.”
“Excellent. Which makes nine, correct? Three more.”
“The mayor of Morehead City has been an ally of mine,” Rae said. “He’s not exactly on your side. But he’s open to persuasion.”
“Excellent. And his spouse?”
“Miriam’s shrieks of excitement will be audible on this patio.”
“Nothing like a little excitement, is there, Curtis?” She ignored his glum silence. “Which leaves one. Who can that be? Anyone?”
He nodded slowly, looking at Rae. “My dearest friend growing up is Rae’s aunt. She is an unofficial leader of the Beaufort community.”
“You have to let me tell her,” Rae said. “Emma will die. Just keel over on the spot.”
“And that’s our twelve.” Amiya made an underhanded shooing motion. “Why don’t you go make dear Simon’s day?”
Curtis looked ready to argue, but in the end, he pushed his chair back and stood. “Thanks a lot.”
When he disappeared inside the main building, Rae took that as her cue and reached for her briefcase. “I have the Cape Fortune purchase documents ready for your signature.”
“Leave that for Curtis.” Amiya continued to watch the door through which Curtis had entered the hotel.
“I thought that was why you traveled down.”
“Ah.” Amiya swung back. “Which means Curtis must still be referring to himself as some midlevel corporate lackey.”
“Actually, he never really said what his title was.”
“When it comes to anything in the United States, Curtis Gage is my father’s right-hand man. I suppose you could say I am his superior. But neither of us is concerned about such issues.” She resumed staring at the open doorway. “Curtis has full signatory powers. Without limits. He will handle everything to do regarding the resort until we find a suitable replacement as manager.”
Rae mentally gave a silent wow. Then, “Understood.”
“I fear he may well need to take over the hotel as well,” Amiya mused. “I’ve been concerned about the decision to bring in Simon. He has done an admirable job with the hotel itself. But I fear he has become part of why we are having such difficulties with the locals.”
Rae took her silence as an invitation. Or request. She decided to answer honestly. “There’s a group of locals who will never forgive you.”
“But the hotel was already here,” Amiya protested. “And in bankruptcy. We simply spruced things up and brought it online.”
“When the original developers ran out of money, these folks considered the entire project dead and buried. A few hurricanes and the empty structures would be lost to a king tide,” Rae replied. “Then here you come, bringing this five-star resort to life. Not to mention the new five-star housing estate. Which includes land they see as stolen from the state park.”
Amiya was intently focused on Rae now. “Tell me why they are so opposed to our project.”
“You’d have to be here for a while to understand. This area has for years been a very unique Carolina haven. There’s a lot of money here. A great deal of power. But you would never know it. Most of the families who buy homes along the Crystal Coast want to strip away everything that defines them in the outside world. They wear cutoffs and slaps. They are nobodies in the extreme. And they love it.”
Amiya was nodding now. “And here we come.”
“I have to tell you, the way you’ve redesigned this place, with the smallish buildings and the understated luxury, it fits in a lot better than anyone ever expected. But these locals, they’ll never forgive you for rocking their island world.”
“And Simon?”
“There’s a second group, you could call them fence-sitters. They’ll go either way. Then they meet Simon. His attitude pushes them into joining the ones who want you gone.”
Curtis reappeared then, looking very grim. Amiya watched his approach and greeted him with, “The man is singed, but I can’t detect any third-degree burns.”
He remained standing. “We need to leave soon if we’re going to make our appointment with the architects. Rae, I think it would help a lot if you could join us.”
“All right.”
He eased himself down, as if coming off a hard slog. “Do you have the documents regarding the property sale?”
“Right here.” She lifted the file from her shoulder bag and set it on the table between them.
“Amiya, do you want to check them over?”
“Thank you, but no.”
Curtis signed, initialed, signed some more. He handed her the file, did his best to smile, and said, “Pleasure doing business.”
As they rose from the table, Amiya asked, “Curtis, would you mind terribly if I traveled into town with our attorney?” She offered Rae a singular look. Woman to woman. “I think it’s time for us to become better acquainted.”
* * *
Neither of them spoke until Rae pulled through the hotel’s main gates and drove into Atlantic Beach. This time of day, beachside traffic was heavy, but mostly heading in the opposite direction. Amiya lifted her sunglasses and used both hands to rub her eyes. Rae thought she handled the burden of exhaustion well.
Amiya said, “I thought it was time I offered an apology for Curtis using our investigator to check you out.”
“Hearing about that was a shock,” Rae agreed. “Why did he?”
“It is a practice my father has employed for years. Perhaps it doesn’t suit this place and time. We’ll see. But for now, Curtis did the right thing. We are not simply buying a property. We are trying to build a new network of trusted allies. And we don’t have much time.”
“This time, pressure . . . I’m not clear on what’s pushing you to such extremes.”
“My father arrives tomorrow.” Something about that statement sent a tremor through the woman’s entire frame. She pressed one hand to her mouth, breathed, then said, “You need to hear the rest from Curtis. Please.”
“Sure thing. Let’s change the subject.”
“Thank you, Rae.”
She was tempted to ask about Curtis, but decided this was not the time. “Can you tell me a little about yourself?”
“Certainly. My mother is from upstate New York and met my father on holiday. I was born in India and lived there until a few days before my sixth birthday. My mother left India and returned to New York. Why she insisted on my coming with her is still a mystery. Even then, I knew she had little interest in being a mother. But something happened between my parents that left her with a bitter fury she still carries. I have no idea what that might be. She refuses to even hear his name. My early pleas to stay with Daddy sent her into such a rage, I can’t tell you. After a while, I stopped asking. When I was nine, my mother married a wealthy financier and became what she still is today, a Manhattan socialite. After that I was raised mostly in boarding schools. We meet every now and then and remain polite strangers.”
Rae liked the woman’s demeanor, her apparent willingness to be completely open. Even when it cost her. “And your father?”
“I spent my summers in Delhi.” Her body relaxed, her demeanor shifted. “When my mother tried to make things difficult, Daddy took her to court. My mother never once asked me how things were for me in India. A car service took me to the airport. A kindly driver handed me over to a kindly flight attendant.”
“That sounds so sad.”
“It was heaven. Spending those months with Daddy was—”
And then, without warning, Amiya was weeping. She stripped off her sunglasses, tossed them on the dash, and mashed her hands to her face.
Rae pulled into an empty space and reached behind her. She searched her bag and pulled out a pack of wet wipes. “Here.”
“I must look a sight.”
“Your makeup could use a touch here and there.” She pulled down the visor and opened the sleeve, revealing the mirror. “Take your time.”
Amiya sniffed, blew her nose, pulled out another wipe. “You certainly run a full-service operation.”
Rae found it the easiest thing in the world to confess the reason why. “I’m only carrying them because my boyfriend made me cry this morning. I brought these just in case there were aftershocks.”
“ ‘Aftershocks.’ I love it.”
Rae watched as Amiya worked on her face. The silence was remarkably comfortable. Two friends sharing a hard moment.
When Amiya flipped the visor back up, Rae asked, “How can I help?”
“And that is the perfect question.” Amiya reached across the central console and took hold of Rae’s hand. “Do whatever Curtis asks. His words are mine. Even if I disagree with him, I will not override his decisions. I am not here to second-guess his moves.”
Amiya’s fingers were still damp. And cold as ice.
“Noted.”
“That surprises you.”
“Hearing you two in the conference, and there on the patio, I had that impression. But I didn’t, you know . . .”
“Expect me to actually put it in words?”
Rae nodded.
“Daddy trusts him. He relies on Curtis. How can I possibly do any less?”
Rae heard the undertone. The affection. She was tempted to get it out in the open, but she could see Amiya’s hold on control was beyond fragile.
She shifted the car back into drive. “We better be going.”