Disquiet flickered and he closed it down. He’d vowed emotion would not come into play here. He and Sunita were history—the sole reason for his presence was to ensure no scandal would touch Lycander and topple him, Humpty Dumpty-style.
They exited the building and emerged onto the heat-soaked pavement, thronged with an almost impossible mass of people, alive with the shouts of the hawkers who peddled their wares and the thrum of the seemingly endless cars that streamed along the road. Horns blared, and the smell of cumin, coriander and myriad spices mingled with the delicate scents of the garlands of flowers on offer and the harsher fumes of pollution.
Sunita walked slightly ahead, and he took the opportunity to study her. The past two years had done nothing to detract from her beauty—her hair shone with a lustre that should have the manufacturer of whatever brand of shampoo she used banging at her door, and her impossibly long legs and slender waist were unchanged.
Yet there was a difference. The Sunita he’d known had dressed to be noticed, but today her outfit was simple and anonymous—cut-off jeans, a loose dark blue T-shirt and blue sandals. It was an ensemble that made her blend in with the crowd. Even the way she walked seemed altered—somehow different from the way she had once sashayed down the catwalk.
Once.
And therein lay the crux of the matter. The more he thought about it, the more he recalled the vibrant, publicity-loving, career-orientated Sunita he’d known, the less possible it seemed that she had traded the life path she’d planned for an anonymous existence. His research of the past two days had confirmed that mere weeks after Sunita had ended their association she’d thrown it all away and melted into obscurity.
‘How did you find me?’
‘It wasn’t easy.’
Or so Marcus had informed him. Sunita’s agent had refused point-blank to respond to his discreet enquiries, but Marcus had ways and means, and had eventually procured the address through ‘contacts’—whatever that meant.
‘Was it my agent? Was it Harvey?’
‘No. But whoever it was I promise you they did you a favour.’
‘Some favour.’
‘You mean you aren’t happy to see me?’ he deadpanned.
A shadow of a smile threatened to touch her lips and he fought the urge to focus on those lips in more detail.
‘Pass.’
Raising an arm, she hailed a taxi and they waited until the yellow and black vehicle had screeched through the traffic to stop by the kerb.
Once inside she leant forward to speak to the driver. ‘Sunshine Café, please,’ she said, and then sat back. ‘I’m taking you to meet the solution to your mystery. The reason I stayed in India.’
Her eyes slid away from him for a fraction of a second and then back again as she inhaled an audible breath.
‘His name is Sam Matthews. He used to be a photographer, but he’s moved here and set up a beach café.’
‘A boyfriend?’
Such a simple answer—Sunita had given it all up for love. A small stab of jeal
ousy pierced his ribcage, caught him unawares. Get real, Frederick. So what if she walked straight into someone else’s arms, into the real thing? That had never been his destiny. Know your limitations. Easy come, easy go. Two stellar life mottos.
‘Yes.’
‘Must be some boyfriend to have persuaded you to throw away your career. You told me once that nothing was more important to you than success.’
‘I meant it at the time.’
‘So you gave up stardom and lucre for love.’
A small smile touched her lips. ‘Yes, I did.’
‘And you’re happy? Sam makes you happy?’
Her hands twisted on her lap in a small convulsive movement. She looked down as if in surprise, then back up as she nodded. ‘Yes.’
A spectrum of emotion showed in her brown eyes—regret, guilt, defiance,—he couldn’t settle on what it was, and then it was gone.