Page 6 of Driven By Desire
For the first time since they’d met earlier that evening, Max was stunned enough to do exactly what he asked.
CHAPTER 3
Three days after that strange, eventful night, Krish found himself driving down one of the smaller by-lanes of Marredpally following the directions Pooja read out from his iPhone in the passenger seat next to him. Even as he scanned the street, his mind wandered inexorably back to that night.
She’d left him with four stitches, a black eye, assorted bruises and the memory of a stranger’s simple act of kindness. Try as he might, he couldn’t forget what it had felt like to have a hand hold his in comfort, given, not taken. It had been a very long time since that had last happened.
“Stop. Stop.” The screech had him yanking his mind back and sitting on the brakes with a hasty look at the rearview mirror.
“You missed the turn.” Slanting an accusatory glance at him that didn’t seem to take into account the fact that she hadn’t told him to turn, she pointed over his shoulder. “That right.”
Sighing, Krish reversed a little and swung the car into the turn she indicated. He wondered where his sweet baby sister haddisappeared. In the years since their parent’s sudden death, he’d been father, mother and big brother rolled into one in her life.
He’d anticipated sullen moods and nightmares and even hysterical crying jags and they’d run through all of that, but they’d done it as a team. Until she turned thirteen and into the demon’s spawn. Everything he said and did was now wrong. She was brawling like a street thug at school and mouthing off at home to the three of them. Her moods ranged from defensive at best to furious at her worst.
Spying a neat blue and white board with Sheridan’s engraved on it, he came to a stop before his truculent navigator yelled at him again.
“I’m really looking forward to this. Did I tell you-“
The slam of the car door cut off whatever it was he planned to tell her. He sat for a few minutes more watching the thin, angry figure stalking off in the direction of the gate. Exhaustion mixed with a healthy dose of despair and helplessness had him resting his head on the back of the car seat for a second.
God help him, he had no idea what he was doing wrong. He’d discussed it with Chirag and they’d tried everything from talking, yelling and even pleading but it had all been met with sullen silence. Adi was too involved in his world of college and women to care one way or another. Trying to forget one particular woman of Adi’s, Krish raked his hand through his hair. His mood plummeting in response to his mind’s unwillingness to forget, he watched his sister kick a pebble at the metal gate.
Exhaling hard, he hauled himself out of the car and followed her into the garage. Grabbing her hand and ignoring the way itstiffened in his, he approached the nearest mechanic and asked for the office. Pointing in the direction of the neat house that sat adjacent to the workspace, the man told him to ask there for a Mr. Brian Sheridan.
Thanking him, Krish made his way over to the neat little white bungalow. Ivy crept up the front and spread over the walls that faced the road. Yellow lamplight glowed from within in stark contrast to the brightly lit garage space next door. Locating the bell, Krish rang it and waited for someone to appear.
A few minutes of silence later, Krish leaned forward to press the bell again. His finger hovered a hairsbreadth away from it when the door was pulled open. Quickly regaining both his balance and composure, he smiled in greeting at the tall, distinguished man standing on the other side. Short salt and pepper hair, rimless spectacles that didn’t manage to hide the shrewd eyes behind it and comfortable tracks with a sleeveless exercise t-shirt left him with a confused impression of an intellectual trying to masquerade as an athlete.
“Hello. I’m Krish Mehra and I wanted to speak to you about-“
“My stew is burning. Walk with me and talk.” Gesturing to them to follow, the older man disappeared down the long corridor that seemed to lead to the back of the house. Feeling a bit like he was going to fall down Alice’s rabbit hole, Krish tightened his grip on Pooja’s hand and followed. An absolutely gorgeous antique chest of drawers lined the corridor and had a slew of picture frames scattered over its counter. Quickening his pace to keep up with the sprightly older man ahead of him, Krish took in the rest of the house as they walked through.
The corridor ended in a large spacious drawing room with a worn, well used couch and a lounge chair that spoke of hoursspent relaxing there. A low center table with a crystal dish filled with assorted pebbles or what looked like pebbles was the focal point of the room. No TV in sight but books, books and more books. A wall mounted bookcase ran along the perimeter of the entire room and looked like it might topple off the wall if even one more book was crammed into it. Every nook and cranny of the house had plants of all shapes and sizes along with knick-knacks and curios that peeped out at you from every surface that existed. The only thing left was for the Mad Hatter to appear.
On cue, the other gentleman popped his head around the door at the far end of the room. Frowning, he said, “I asked you to follow me. Come on.” Before Krish could respond, he’d disappeared behind the wall again. Shaking his head in bemusement, he tugged at Pooja’s hand and followed.
Entering the kitchen, his retinas practically sizzled from the deluge of colours. Orange and green tiles lined the walls above the cream granite counter. Cheerful yellow cabinets marched along like soldiers both above and below the tiles with what looked like white daisies painted on them. Eyeing the straight back that was standing before the stove and stirring a pot of something that smelt like manna from heaven, Krish tried to control his drool and talk business.
“Sir, I needed to talk to you about something.”
“Talk.” The terse order was followed by bowls being produced and filled from the dish bubbling away on the stove.
Leaning against the breakfast counter in the middle of the kitchen, Krish tried again. “I have a proposition for you. I’ve heard that Sheridan’s is one of the best in the country as far as restoring vintage cars goes. I have one that needs a lot of work done. I was wondering if we could work out some kind of deal-“
“Eat.” Steaming bowls of stew with a side plate of what looked like freshly baked homemade garlic bread cut him off and had him staring again. The automatic polite refusal never made it to his lips as Pooja grabbed a spoon and dug in.
Abashed, Krish looked up and into twinkling eyes that surveyed his sister who was currently eating with all the manners of a homeless person who hadn’t seen food for a week.
“I promise you, we feed her at home.”
The dry comment had Mr. Sheridan chuckling. “Eat and we’ll talk business. Nothing like a full stomach to help you think clearly.”
Giving in, Krish picked up his own spoon and dug into the bowl in front of him. The first mouthful woke up taste buds that he hadn’t even known he owned.
“This,” Swallowing as slowly as possible, he mumbled, “is probably what Gods dine on.”
Laughing, the older man settled down on a chair across from them. “What car?”
