Chapter 23

Madhavi felt sick to the stomach. The dinner she had eaten, all that delicious, beautifully prepared and presented Italian food, was churning in her stomach. She knew she shouldn't have eaten so much. But after that drink -- two Gin-and-tonics were her limit -- and after all that waiting, she was ravenous. And she adored Italian food. It was the only vegetarian cuisine that was really different from Indian vegetarian food. She had taken three servings, and then she had had two desserts too. The buffet had been exquisite. The best Italian food she'd ever had -- and she'd tried all the best places in town -- from Trattoria at one end to Al Fresco at the other end.

But the reason for her nausea wasn't the food.

She was nauseated by her husband. By what she knew he was planning even now, as he drove the car along a deserted by-lane off Nepean Sea Road.

"Birju?" She spoke cautiously, making sure she was out of arm's reach. He was capable of striking out at her blindly at a time like this. She squeezed against the passenger door of the car, as far from him as she could possibly get without jumping out into the street.

"Birju, not tonight." Her voice was filled with pleading, with desperation. But he paid no attention to her. Didn't even react in anger, try to strike her. He just kept driving on, watching the road ahead intently.

No, she thought. Not the road ahead. The car ahead. He was watching the car just ahead of them, the one he had been following ever since they had left Sin City.

And now, he smiled as the car stopped before a bungalow at the end of the lane. He brought the Santro to a smooth halt just behind the Ford. That was one thing she could never understand about him: No matter how much he drank, he always drove as steadily as an 80-year old Parsi.

The gates of the bungalow opened and the Ford moved inside. Birju followed quickly, pausing as the pair of smartly dressed security guards motioned to him to stop.

He leaned out of his window and smiled at them. "We're with Mrs Patalia," he said. "She asked us in for a drink."

The security guards glanced inside at Madhavi, who had a sudden insane impulse to scream and leap out, beg them for help.

But even if they believed her, then what?

She stayed silent as the guards salaamed Birju and motioned him on. He drove on up the sloping driveway.

When he caught up with the Ford, it had parked before the facade of the main bungalow, and the driver was holding the door open for Mrs Patalia.

From the way she staggered out of the car, it was obvious that she was plastered. Madhavi had watched Birju ply her with Scotch after Scotch, so she wasn't surprised.