She had refrained from telling him about the events of Fujiyama. When she’d spoken to him briefly the other day, she had still not come to terms with what had happened there. She had trawled the newsfeeds for mention of the attack, but found nothing. Obviously the Serene were imposing a news blackout on the event.
Now, little by little, she described the afternoon, the wonder of the arboreal city, the other representatives she had met… and then the attack. As she spoke, she recalled new details she had either forgotten or repressed: seeing Nina Ricci lasered almost in half before her very eyes; a mother and child mown down mercilessly by a dispassionate blue figure… And then her salvation thanks to a Serene self-aware entity.
They held hands across the table, Kapil too shocked to speak for long minutes, until, “Well, all I have to complain about is a razor cut yesterday morning…”
She laughed and swiped his head.
“And after that…” She frowned. “I knew I had to contact Bilal.” She smiled at him. “None of us live for ever, Kapil, and I knew I had to act sooner rather than later. Did you…?”
He nodded. “I contacted his PA and explained that we had business interests in common, and my recent links with China which might prove beneficial to the Morwell Corporation.”
Ana bit her lip. “And?”
“Your brother is a very busy man, but I arranged an appointment for eleven this morning, but I could only get fifteen minutes.”
“That will be fine, to start with.”
“Then, as you instructed, at nine this morning I had my secretary contact his PA and tell her that, due to illness, I wouldn’t be able to make the meeting but would be deputised by my assistant. You’re going under the name of Sara Ashok, so remember that.”
She leaned across the table and kissed him. “Thank you so much, Kapil. This means a lot to me.”
“I’ll come with you as far as Morwell Towers. After that you’ll be on your own.” He gave her one of his lovely smiles. “I’ll wait for you, then we’ll go for a coffee and you can tell me all about it.”
She looked at her watch. Ten-thirty. “We’d better be setting off.”
As they left the apartment, Ana tried to quash her sudden apprehension at the thought of meeting her brother. She told herself not to be so stupid. She had faced down Sanjeev Varnaputtram after all, so what did she have to fear from Bilal?
SHE RODE THE elevator to the fortieth floor of Morwell Towers, her anxieties mounting in proportion to the rate of her ascent. Kapil had left her outside the building with a kiss and the assurance that he would be waiting for her — and that she had nothing to fear. Nevertheless she did feel fear: fear of an outright rejection from her brother, or an inadequate reason for his not saying goodbye all those years ago.
The lift doors swished open and she found herself in a plush carpeted corridor with a pulsing softscreen on the opposite wall. A name appeared on the screen, Lal Devi, underlined by a flashing arrow indicating that she should turn right. Hesitantly she stepped out and walked down the corridor, reading the nameplates on the doors to right and left as she went.
She came to the door bearing the name Lal Devi and stopped, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She took a deep breath and checked her watch. She was a couple of minutes late.
She knocked, and when she heard a voice call, “Enter,” opened the door and stepped inside.
The first thing she noticed was the opulence of the office. It occupied a corner site, with two great plate-glass windows looking down the length of Manhattan. Behind a big silver desk, shaped like an arrow-head with its point directed at the door, was a slim man with a thin, handsome face. He wore his hair long in a ponytail and sported an amethyst stud in his right ear.
She stared, comparing this slick, besuited businessman with the malnourished urchin she had last seen twenty years ago.
He hardly glanced away from his softscreen as he gestured her to take a seat at the point of his desk. “Ah, Miss… Ashok. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet your superior, Kapil Gavaskar, but illness knows no social boundaries.”
She forced herself not to dislike her brother for his opening words, as he rose and took her hand in a limp, perfunctory shake.
“I’m Lal Devi, James Morwell’s right hand man, as you no doubt know.” He gestured to the screen. “And we’re interested in what you have to offer as regards your Chinese links.”
She said, “Bilal…”
He looked up and frowned. “Now, no one has called me that for a long time.”
She stared at him, this slick, fast-talking, high-flying aide to a one-time billionaire tycoon. How did you come to this, she thought?
She found her voice and said, “Do you know who I am?”
He glanced at his screen, his face quirking with a quick frown. “Miss… Ashok. I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
“You don’t recognise me?”
He looked mystified, then a little annoyed. But was it any wonder that he didn’t recognise her? She had changed so much in appearance from the ragged street kid she had been.
Her heart laboured as if pumping treacle. She felt a hot flush rise up her face as she said, “We last saw each other, Bilal, many years ago. On Howrah station, the day before you disappeared.”
He stared at her and shook his head, and Ana wasn’t sure if he was totally confused or had realised who she was and was denying the fact.
Then he whispered, “Ana?”
She held his startled gaze. Despite her earlier resolutions not to intimidate him with accusations, she found herself saying, “Bilal, why didn’t you say goodbye? Why did you just leave like that? There one day, gone the next…”
He shook his head. “I…” he began, lost for words.
He reached out, tapped his softscreen, and said, “Amanda, cancel my appointment at 11.30. I’ll be free again at midday.”
He sat back in his swivel seat, the cushion squeaking, laid back his head and closed his eyes.
She had hoped his reaction would be one of joy at their reunion. She had foreseen tears, maybe, and apologies, and had expected him to move around his desk and embrace her.
He did none of these things, just lay back with his eyes closed, the expression on his aquiline face unreadable.
“Bilal, I have come a long way to see you. All the way from India.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her. “Ana… This is something of a shock, to say the least.”
“A pleasant shock?” she asked. “Or…?”
“An unexpected shock.”
They stared at each other, Ana trying to hide her pain at his response. She said, “I just… I just wanted to know why you didn’t contact me before you left, why you didn’t say goodbye. You can’t imagine how I felt.” She reached into her handbag, pulled something out, and slid it across the desk to him.
He picked it up and turned the flattened enamel cup.
“I found this… on the tracks. For a long time I thought you might be dead, only no one had reported a street kid’s body on the tracks, so I hoped… Oh, how I hoped! But the years went by and there was no word from you.” She stopped, took a breath, and asked, “So, I would just like to know why you never said goodbye.”
He turned the flattened cup over and over, and said as if to himself, “I left it on the track, to be destroyed… A symbol, if you like, of my leaving.”
She repeated, “Bilal — why didn’t you tell me you were going?”
“Ana… it was a long time ago,” he said, as if this somehow excused his actions.
“What do you mean by that?” she snapped.
He gestured, spread his hands, and smiled disarmingly. “Twenty years, Ana… I hardly recall?”