The Sari Shop Widow Read online

  Well, he was here strictly for business purposes, and if his future business partners didn’t like the fact or like him, that was their problem. And he wouldn’t have been here if Jeevan Kapadia hadn’t asked for his assistance. Rishi would do anything for the old man. He owed Jeevan a lot. Much more than a lot.

  The two women disappeared amongst the bridal outfits and he followed them. He wanted to observe how Anjali Kapadia did business. He also needed to know the typical client that shopped at Silk & Sapphires if he was to make the upgrades meaningful. In fact, he considered it serendipitous that a promising customer had stopped in while he was here for his initial assessment.

  This particular shopper appeared quite wealthy. The latest designer handbag and the fashionable sandals hadn’t escaped Rishi’s experienced eye; neither had the gleaming black German import parked right outside the door. He stepped forward and positioned himself practically next to Anjali. He didn’t want her to think he was a voyeur on top of everything else.

  He introduced himself to the customer. “Hello. I’m Rishi Shah, an associate of Miss Kapadia’s,” he said, offering his hand to Ms. Singh.

  Roopa Singh accepted his handshake and looked at both him and Anjali by turns. “So you two are like…uh…both owners of the store?”

  Rishi knew it was his Caucasian looks and British accent combined with the Indian name that had the young lady mystified. She was probably wondering what a white-skinned Brit called Shah was doing in a business partnership with a purely Desi woman in New Jersey. It happened all the time when he and Jeevan-kaka introduced themselves as partners.

  Nonetheless he smiled, trying to summon all the charm he could muster. “Yes, Miss Kapadia and I will be co-owners soon.”

  Anjali glanced at him briefly before turning on the goodwill for the bride-to-be. “So, when is the wedding, Miss Singh?”

  “Please call me Roopa. The wedding is set for a year from now. Mid June.”

  “Beautiful and popular time of year for a wedding,” said Anjali. “All those roses and petunias in bloom—can’t beat that for outdoor photographs.”

  “Exactly. And I’m a teacher, so I can have all summer off right after the wedding…for an extra-long honeymoon.” Roopa Singh dimpled prettily.

  Anjali smiled. “Perfect timing, then.”

  “I’m looking for something that’s kind of light and summery and yet Indian…you know…” Roopa made a helpless gesture with a dainty, manicured hand and Rishi noticed the diamond engagement ring, an impressive solitaire set in platinum—two carats or thereabout.

  Anjali promptly brought out a writing pad and pen. “Okay, are you going to have a ceremonial Hindu wedding or…” She deliberately let that hang, Rishi realized, so the customer would tell her if her fiancé was Indian or of some other faith. Clever.

  “Ajit and I want a nice East-West mix.” She looked longingly at the display Rishi had admired earlier. “I love that. Is it possible to have something along those lines?”

  “No problem,” assured Anjali, already busy taking notes. “We can design something for both of you in coordination, and for anybody else in the bridal party, too. What color did you have in mind?”

  “The usual red and gold for the ceremony, of course.” Roopa bit her lower lip in that cute way some women did when they were undecided or befuddled. She looked around at the racks and shook her head. “For the reception, I don’t know yet.” She turned to Anjali. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  Anjali studied Roopa critically for a minute. Rishi could almost sense the wheels turning in her brain. “I think I know exactly what would look good. A rosy peach would be perfect…almost like apricot, only lighter.”

  The customer looked skeptical. “You really think it would be a good color for me? I’m usually partial to blues and greens.”

  “I’m positive.” Anjali nudged Roopa to one of the racks that held the more elaborate and glitzy salwar-kameez outfits. She pulled one down that was indeed a rare color.

  Rishi thought light apricot sounded about right to describe it.

  “This is the shade I’m talking about.” With a quick flick of her wrist Anjali plucked the chunni and draped it around the young lady’s neck, then turned her around to face the mirrored wall. “What do you think?”

  Roopa Singh stared at herself for a moment, then turned this way and that several times. “I think I like it. A lot!”

  “Looks great on you. It emphasizes your lovely complexion and brown eyes.” Anjali walked back a few steps and eyed the image for a second. “I could design something special for you in that color.”

  “You can do that?”

  “I’ve designed all the clothes in the store myself. They’re exclusively made for Silk & Sapphires.” She picked up her pad and pencil again. “Let me show you what I have in mind.” With a few bold strokes Anjali began to draw a simple yet elegant design.

  Rishi watched her sketch, fascinated by the deft hand and the imagination. She was good at this design thing. Damn good.

  Roopa looked at the picture and her eyes went wide with delight. “That’s cute! I love it.” She gave it a moment’s thought. “I think I want exactly that.”

  “You’re sure you don’t need to discuss it with your fiancé…or your parents?” Anjali seemed to be throwing in the practical and cautionary hints.

  Mentally Rishi approved of Anjali’s sales strategy. It was good to remind eager young shoppers of the costs involved. Wedding clothes were expensive and the bride’s parents were most likely paying for them.

  But young Roopa shook her head. “Nah, my parents and Ajit want me to pick whatever I like. But Ajit will have to come in here himself and see what he wants in the groom-wear area.” She was already off and fingering other outfits.

  Rishi moved to a portion of the wall where he could lean back and observe the transaction. His knee was beginning to ache again, and standing for long periods of time left it feeling worse. Having sat in a plane for hours earlier and with jet lag beginning to set in, he’d already put his leg under a lot of stress. Absently he bent his right leg, rested the heel flat against the wall, and rubbed the knee.

  Nearly an hour later, the two young ladies had discussed bride and groom attire and Roopa had settled on her wedding and reception costumes, and they moved to the jewelry display area. Rishi once again casually sauntered to get closer to them.

  When Anjali had Roopa convinced that rubies would go perfectly with the red ensemble while pink corals with pearl accents were the right jewelry to set off her reception outfit, the sale was more or less concluded.

  Roopa Singh looked thoroughly pleased with herself. “It’s a good thing I walked in here on your day off. I got individualized service and everything just like I wanted,” she said with a smug grin. “I’ll bring Ajit here soon.”

  “Excellent,” said Anjali. “We can design something for him that harmonizes perfectly with your ensembles.”

  Roopa looked questioningly at Anjali. “Do you know any good salons around here that do hair and bridal makeup, mehndi and all that?”

  “I can give you the names of several places around here,” Anjali replied.

  Mehndi referred to the henna designs that women, especially brides, decorated their hands and feet with. It was traditional for brides in India, but now the West had discovered it and it was all the rage, especially with second-generation Indian-Brits and Indian-Americans. In London, Rishi had introduced a full-time mehndi artist in one of his stores, and she was kept busy.

  That’s exactly what this place needs, he reflected, as he moved forward to join the two women. “Miss Singh, may I offer a suggestion?”

  Roopa glanced at him. “Sure.”

  Anjali threw him another distressed look. He ignored it and said to Roopa, “We plan to put a salon on the premises very soon. It will offer makeup, hairstyling, nails, mehndi, and just about everything a bride or a party guest would need. We’ll be adding on a full-service photo studio and printing options, we
dding and party decorations, flowers. All our services will be first-class, just like the clothing and jewelry you just selected. You might want to wait a few weeks and stop by again?”

  Roopa gave him an eager nod while she pulled out a checkbook from her handbag. “I can wait. That’ll be great—everything under one roof. It’s such a hassle going to ten different places to plan a wedding.”

  Rishi turned his gaze on Anjali. I told you so. But all he got was a bland look. She wasn’t about to allow him his moment of triumph. He wished she’d loosen up a little.

  Meanwhile Roopa cast a skeptical glance around the store. “Isn’t this place a bit small to include a salon and studio, though?”

  Anjali tossed him a glance this time. I told you so.

  “But we’re planning to expand soon,” Rishi said. “We’ll be taking over the space next door. The whole building will become one large boutique.” Privately he hoped he hadn’t counted his chickens even before they were eggs. Now he’d really have to work hard on Mr. Tejmal.

  Perhaps sensing the undercurrent of dissension between Rishi and Anjali, Roopa looked speculatively first at one and then the other. “I’ll come back in the next couple of days with Ajit and maybe we can all discuss this some more.” She lifted a thin, tweezed eyebrow at Anjali. “How much deposit do you need for today?”

  Rishi heard the amount Anjali quoted. With an inward smile he realized Anjali had just concluded a substantial sale to this rich young woman with a fat checkbook. Not bad for a day’s worth of business—and on a day they were supposed to be closed, too.

  Earlier he had told himself he’d wait and see how bright Anjali Kapadia was. He was slowly beginning to recognize that Jeevan-kaka was right about her.

  Anjali printed up an invoice on her computer. “I’m going to order the fabrics tomorrow and when they come in, I’d like you to see them…just to make sure that’s what you really want. If you approve, then I’ll have our best seamstress start work on it,” she said with a warm smile. “In the meantime, if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call. Here’s my card.”

  Roopa threw the card in her handbag. She studied the invoice and didn’t seem particularly concerned with the price of the items. It too went into the bag. Extending a hand to Anjali and then to Rishi, she said, “Thanks, you guys. I think your store is beautiful. With the expansion you mentioned, I think it’ll be fabulous.”

  Rishi nodded. “Thanks. I hope you’ll recommend us to your friends?”

  The young lady threw him a dimpled smile. “If everything goes perfectly, we’ll definitely recommend you to others.”

  “Fair enough,” Rishi said, returning her smile.

  Both Rishi and Anjali watched Roopa Singh walk out of the store, put on her sunglasses, and get behind the wheel of her car.

  Rishi turned to Anjali. “You handled that beautifully. Jolly good work.”

  “Just doing my job,” she murmured and strode to the front door. After making sure it was locked, she hurried directly back to the office in silence.

  He saw the look of total defeat in her eyes, as if her world was coming apart and she was rapidly falling through the fissure.

  Was he totally wrong in his calculations? In the end, would he end up hurting this woman instead of helping her and her family like he was supposed to?

  Chapter 6

  Lunch was a minor disaster, in Anjali’s opinion. Jeevan-kaka predictably found everything wrong with the food. The potato and beans were too spicy; the dal or lentils were not cooked soft enough for his liking; the rotlis—rolled whole-wheat bread—was not thin enough. And despite her mother’s efforts to remove every speck of coconut from the khaman, her uncle complained that the mere smell of it was likely to cause him intestinal distress.

  Surprisingly, Rishi Shah complimented Anjali’s mother on the food. And she knew it wasn’t merely lip service, because he ate second and third helpings, making Anjali believe his praise was genuine. But all his kind words about her mother’s cooking weren’t about to lessen her suspicions about him. And she was still curious about who he was and about his strange looks.

  Anjali’s father did his best to keep the peace at the table by telling his brother that the evening meal would be less spicy and the dal cooked softer. That didn’t endear Mohan to his wife much, but then the guest and elder were always right.

  And to everyone’s amazement, Jeevan-kaka had actually apologized in his own way to his sister-in-law. “Your cooking is not bad, Usha. It is quite good, but I am getting old, you know. These days my stomach is giving me trouble, and I have to eat less spicy.”

  “I’ll put very little chili in the food tonight,” she had assured him through clenched teeth.

  After the meal was over, Anjali did her best to soothe her mother’s bruised ego. “Mom, don’t pay attention to his comments. He’s just an old man with no social graces.”

  Usha shrugged it off, but Anjali could see the pain in her mom’s expressive eyes. How could her uncle be so thoughtless and cruel?

  She rubbed her mother’s shoulders. “Hopefully just a few more days, Mom, and then they’ll both be gone.” Anjali knew for a fact that she was trying to convince herself more than her mother. She could only pray the nightmare would be over soon. Maybe after the store was up and running smoothly, the two men would return to their respective homes.

  Soon the preparations for dinner began. Her mother was already pulling out produce from the vegetable bin in the refrigerator. Anjali could feel the tension humming around Usha. This would be their daily routine from now on: cooking and cleaning and cooking and cleaning, because Jeevan-kaka refused to eat anything but home-cooked food.

  Anjali’s father’s other brother, Naren Kapadia, and his family were invited to dinner. The good thing was, Naren being the youngest of the siblings, he was just as intimidated by Jeevan as everyone else in the family. Naren-kaka’s wife, Varsha-kaki, barely tolerated Jeevan. And their daughter, Sejal, who worked part-time at the boutique, was so scared of him that as a little girl she had wet her panties in his presence once.

  Meanwhile, Anjali and her mother had a brief reprieve since the old man had taken himself upstairs for a nap. The house was blissfully quiet.

  Rishi Shah and her dad had gone into town so Shah could rent a car. At least that was the excuse Shah had used to get out of the house. And renting a car for his exclusive use was a brilliant idea as far as Anjali was concerned. At least she and her parents wouldn’t have to chauffeur him around, and hopefully he’d take the old man in his car as much as possible.

  Anjali was dicing zucchini when her brother walked in the door, looking hopelessly disheveled as usual. Nilesh wore an old cocoa brown T-shirt, faded jeans, and ratty-looking sneakers that were scuffed to the max. A bulging black backpack was slung on his right shoulder.

  “Mom, Anju, what time is Jeevan-kaka arriving?” he asked. From Anjali’s and Usha’s expressions he must have guessed the answer. “He’s here already!”

  Anjali nodded. “You got that right.”

  “So where is the old dinosaur?”

  “Shh, he’s taking a nap,” Anjali whispered, warning Nilesh to pipe down. “He’s tired after picking on Mom’s cooking, the walls in our home, my clothes, and of course the store.”

  Nilesh frowned and looked at the kitchen clock. “All of that? What time did the guy get in? The crack of dawn?”

  “Close enough.”

  “No wonder Mom looks like shit.” At his mother’s vexed expression, Nilesh bit his tongue. “Sorry.”

  Anjali shook her head at her brother, silently telling him not to kid around with their mother. “Pissed off,” she mouthed to him and he nodded his understanding.

  Tall and lean, Nilesh was a pleasant-looking young man, but his clothes always looked like they had just come out of the wringer—which they generally had. He never bothered to iron them. His dark, straight hair was a bit long since he let months slide between haircuts. He considered good g
rooming a waste of time.

  Mostly Nilesh’s time was devoted to the computer. Between his homework assignments, working on new software programs, the Internet, and riveting computer games, he could sit in front of a computer for hours without batting an eyelash.

  He tossed his backpack on the breakfast table, opened the refrigerator, and studied the shelves for a few seconds. “I’m starving. Any leftovers from lunch, or did Jeevan-kaka polish off everything?” His face broke into a smile. “Man, I remember, that guy can really eat.”

  “You’ll be surprised when you see him, Nil,” Anjali added. “He’s eating a lot less and he’s lost weight.”

  “Lost weight? You’re shitting me!”

  “Watch your language, Nilesh,” his mother warned. “He’ll twist your ears if he hears words like that. Remember the last time you used foul language in his presence?”

  Nilesh grinned. “That was five years ago. I’m several inches taller than him now and I work out. Let him try twisting my ears this time.”

  Usha pointed to the lowest shelf of the refrigerator. “Leftovers are in those covered dishes. Just put whatever you want on a plate and microwave it.”

  Grabbing a plate from the cabinet, Nilesh set it on the counter and piled it high with food. While it warmed in the microwave, he turned to Anjali. “Why the long face? It can’t be all that crappy.”

  Anjali snickered. “You won’t be saying that when you find out what happened to your room, buddy.”

  Nilesh froze in place, ignoring the microwave’s shrill beeps. “What do you mean?”

  “It means as of today you don’t have a room in this house.”

  Nilesh gave his mother a stunned look. “The old geezer got my room?”

  Usha cleared her throat. “Well…he…”

  “Why didn’t you put him in the guest room?”

  Again Anjali snickered. “He is in the guest room, but he brought a surprise.”