Saturday, December 18
New York City
Terminal number seven of the John F. Kennedy Airport was crowded. People flowed through the corridor in both directions, sometimes moving swiftly and other times starting and stopping like lanes of traffic on a freeway at rush hour. Around the gates themselves, crowds of people milled in various states of patience. Some paced restlessly, others sat, reading books or staring out the windows, while others stood staring blankly into space or talking in small groups. It was 5:30 p.m. of a gray December day as Hadji Singh joined the throng bunched around gate nine, awaiting Flight # BA003 from London's Heathrow Airport, which was just minutes away from touchdown. It seemed strange to him how foreign this all seemed. For all the flight miles he had logged and all of the places he'd been, it wasn't often that he was faced with negotiating the terminals of the commercial airlines. Usually, he flew out of private terminals in smaller airports reserved for those people who owned their own planes. Those terminals never seemed this chaotic.
Today, the restless nature of the crowds mirrored his uneasiness. He had been eagerly anticipating this day from the moment he had left Bangalore almost six weeks before. But now that it had finally arrived, he was nervous. He wasn't sure what kind of reception to expect, particularly in light of the little bombshell that Admiral Bennett had inadvertently dropped yesterday. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, using his meditation techniques to try to control his rising anger. To have announced that I am to be married, and to have done it through official government channels, even after I specifically forbade it?? He felt the fury rising again, in spite of all his efforts to dampen it. This was his mother's doing. No one else would have dared.
After he had returned home last night, he contacted several people in Bangalore to find out exactly what was going on. He had not lied to his mother when he told her that he monitored the situation there very closely when he was gone. He had eyes and ears in places his mother would never dream of, and they reported back to him faithfully on all the intrigue that was afoot, both inside the palace and in the countryside. All of his sources said the same thing. Word was out that the Sultan was betrothed to a girl from one of the outlying regions of the province. But all agreed that nothing was being said about the name of the girl or when the marriage was to take place. In fact, one of his sources told him, speculation was running high on who the girl was, and there were even rumors of wagers being taken on her identity. Hadji hadn't liked that at all, but grudgingly admitted to himself that it was to be expected. He had come very close to calling both the Indian and the Bangalorian ambassadors to try to still the rumors. But after thinking more carefully about it, he realized that trying to squash the rumors now would only add more fuel to the fire. But that did not mean that there wouldn't be some repercussions over this fiasco when he returned to Bangalore . . . particularly for his mother.
"Are . . . are you all right, young man?" a thin, reedy voice asked suddenly. Hadji opened his eyes, startled, and found a very old woman standing at his left elbow. She was tiny and round-shouldered, with snow-white hair and sharp brown eyes. She was dressed in a blue pantsuit and a gray wool coat and she clung tightly to a black patent leather handbag. As she looked at him in concern, he became aware of the rigid set of his back and neck and his clenched fists. This would not do. He forced himself to relax, flexing his fingers to ease the sudden cramp that gripped them. Taking a deep breath, he smiled down at her and bowed slightly.
"Yes, Madam, I am well. I thank you for your concern. I seem to have gotten a bit . . . wrapped up . . . in my thoughts."
At that instant, a group of businessmen, frustrated at the slowness of the corridor traffic, attempted to force their way through a bottleneck of people. In the resultant shuffle, the old woman was bumped sharply by a large, stocky young man in ragged blue jeans and a black T-shirt. The old woman shied away in fear and confusion. Hadji reached out hastily, taking her arm and drawing her into a small clear space.
"This is a very busy place today," he said to her in a calming voice. "There must be several planes arriving at once."
"I . . . I don't know," she said, looking around in bewilderment. "I . . . I've never been here before, you see. But my son is arriving today . . . he lives in London . . . and I haven't seen him in nine years . . . and . . . and he asked . . . I can still drive, you see, and . . . but I don't much . . . and things are so strange . . . and . . . but I wanted to see my son . . . " She looked like she was about to cry.
"Yes, of course," Hadji replied, putting his arm around her shoulders consolingly. He could feel her shaking. "If I may offer, Madam, perhaps you will allow me to help you find your son?"
The old woman looked up at him hesitantly. "Oh, that would be very good of you . . . but I don't know you . . . "
Hadji bowed deeply to her. "My name is Hadji Singh, Madam, and I would be most happy to help you." He glanced up as people began streaming out of the jetway of gate nine. "I am here to meet some people, as well. They should be here very shortly, and then we will assist you in finding your son."
"I would be very grateful," the old woman said, looking up at the tall young man with dawning hope. "I'm afraid this is much worse than I ever imagined."
Hadji laughed easily. "Airports can be a bit overwhelming, particularly when you are not accustomed to them. May I ask your name, Madam?"
The old woman blushed and put a hand to a withered cheek. "Oh . . . oh, I am so sorry. I'm not usually this forward. It's just . . . you looked . . . well, I don't . . . I'm Martha . . . Martha Addison . . . of Fairfield, Connecticut."
"And you drove in here today from Fairfield?" Hadji asked her in amazed admiration. "I am most impressed, Mrs. Addison. That is quite a long way to come when you are not familiar with the city."
"Well, my neighbor, Mr. Lockersby, was going to bring me, but he's down with the flu, poor man, and simply wasn't up to it. And I did so want to meet James . . . that's my son, you see . . . it's been so long . . . and he's bringing his wife and children . . . and I've never seen the children . . . and . . . "
"Yes, of course," Hadji agreed, scanning the crowd. "As I said, my name is Hadji Singh and I live with my family in Rockport, Maine. I am here to meet two people who are coming here to visit from India." He paused suddenly, recognizing two of the individuals exiting through the gate. "In fact, there they are now." His gaze focused on the young woman just exiting the gate. She was dressed in a dark blue sari and her satiny black hair shown in the light. Gold jewelry glittered around her neck and wrist as she shifted the coat draped over her arm. Her dark eyes roved over the crowd restlessly, searching it for a familiar face. Suddenly, their eyes locked across the crowded space and Hadji could feel time stop for an instant. Then she smiled, and all of Hadji's uneasiness fled. Kefira was here, and things seemed right again. Hadji watched as she turned and grasped her father's arm, pointing excitedly. Rajeev Subramanian's gaze followed his daughter's pointing finger and the two men's eyes met. Rajeev bowed his head briefly in acknowledgement, then caught his daughter's arm and drew her toward the luggage carousel.
Hadji turned to Mrs. Addison, who was watching the young man with a spark of interest. "My visitors will be here momentarily. Do you have the flight information for your son's plane, Mrs. Addison?"
The old woman began fumbling with her handbag. "Yes. It's right here. James sent it to me." She drew out an envelope and removed a letter. Folded inside of it was a single sheet of white paper that included a flight itinerary. Hadji scanned it quickly and then consulted his watch . . . 5:47. Drawing the woman after him, he moved a few feet to where he could check the arrival board. Mrs. Addison's son was due in at gate 12 in about 30 minutes. Good, Hadji thought, it will be on our way out, and we can stay with her until her son arrives. Hadji explained what he intended to Mrs. Addison, and then guided her to a chair where the two of them waited for Kefira and her father to clear customs. They were in the midst of a conversation over pictures of her grandchildren when a voice interrupted them.
"Excellency." Hadji rose and faced his future father-in-law calmly. The man bowed deeply, "I bring greetings from your mother."
Hadji stiffened slightly at the man's comment and he could feel Mrs. Addison fluttering at his side in confusion. He inclined his head to the older man briefly and replied in a formal tone, "Rajeev Subramanian. I am pleased to see that you have arrived safely." Then his eyes flicked to the young woman standing slightly back from the two men. "Kefira."
Kefira bowed in acknowledgement and replied formally, "Excellency." For a heartbeat, no one said anything as the two young people gazed at each other. Then, in a rush, Kefira darted around her father and caught Hadji's arm. "Oh, Hadji, it is so good to see you!" and they both began to laugh joyfully. Hadji caught her hands in his and squeezed them gently, wishing desperately that he could do more. Rajeev stood back, smiling slightly, and watched their reunion indulgently.
Hadji finally turned back to the older man and asked, "So, your flight went well? And your business meetings en route?"
"Very well," Rajeev agreed, shaking hands briskly with the young Sultan. "I would like to discuss them with you later, if there is time."
"We will make time," Hadji agreed.
Kefira noticed the confused elderly woman and stepped forward to take her hands. "Hello," she said to the woman, with a friendly smile. "My name is Kefira. Are you a friend of Hadji's?"
The woman responded with a timid smile and replied haltingly, "I . . . I don't know . . . such a kind young man. He . . ."
Hadji shook his head at his own thoughtlessness. "I am terribly sorry. This is Mrs. Addison. She has come to meet her son and found herself a bit overwhelmed. I have offered to help her locate him."
Kefira was immediately concerned. Putting her arm around the elderly woman's shoulders, she said, "Of course we will help you find him!" She looked around the room in wide-eyed wonder and then back at Mrs. Addison again. "This place is so big, it is a wonder anyone can find anything."
"Oh, you are so kind! I simply don't know what I would do. I really didn't expect anything like this at all."
"Well, you do not need to worry," Hadji reassured her. "I know where your son will be arriving and we will stay with you until he gets here and can join you."
"Oh, thank you . . . I can't begin to tell you . . . I mean, I just didn't know what to do . . ." But then she faltered, her gaze moving from one to the other as the deference the two newcomers had shown and their greeting began to dawn on her. She looked at Hadji doubtfully and said, "But I'm sure you must have other things you need to do. Perhaps you can just tell me how to get to where I need to go. I'm sure if I'm in the right general area that James will be able to find me."
"I could not do that," Hadji objected.
"Absolutely not," Kefira agreed emphatically.
"Now that I have met my friends, I have nothing that cannot wait," Hadji promised her. "I will feel much better knowing you are safely reunited with your family. Come, let us go to his gate and see if his plane has landed yet." Hadji tucked the elderly woman's hand into his arm and escorted her toward gate 12 as Kefira and her father trailed along behind them.
Several hours later, Kefira Subramanian shut the door of her bedroom and tossed her coat onto the bed. She stood in the center of the room for a long moment, allowing the quiet to fill her. It had been a long day . . . a long two weeks, actually . . . and she suddenly found that she was tired. After reuniting Mrs. Addison with her son, they had retrieved Hadji's car and left the airport. Hadji had explained that they were to fly to Maine the next day to meet his father, and from there they would drive to his home. He had arranged for rooms in the city for the night and proposed that they go to the hotel first, where they could freshen up and rest for a bit, before going out for dinner. The suggestion was eagerly accepted.
When they arrived, Kefira discovered that "rooms" meant a three-room suite on the top floor of The Plaza Hotel, overlooking Central Park. Kefira was reminded again of the power this quiet, centered young man commanded. All of the hotel staff seemed to recognize him on sight and treated him with respect. At first, she just assumed it was because of his position as Sultan, but as he spoke with various people, she came to suspect that none of them even knew about his royal status. No, they responded to Hadji's own natural charm, and all of them asked about his father . . . his American father. Hadji had said he was a powerful man, and Kefira was coming to believe that.
Kefira walked over and flipped off the lights in the room, then moved to the window. She stood quietly, gazing out over the city. Christmas time was here and the city was a cascade of lights . . . Christmas decorations shown everywhere, adding to the normal glow of shop lights, street lights, vehicle headlights, theatre marquee lights . . . the city itself seemed alive. From her high perch, she could see groups of people moving along the pathways between the trees. Not far away, a lighted Christmas tree glittered near a small platform. She could see people standing on the platform, and others gathered around the base of it, as though interested in some activity. Kefira wondered what they were doing. Nearby, she could just make out a hansom carriage as it moved slowly along one of the paths. Experimentally, she tried the window and, to her surprise, discovered that it opened willingly. The cold winter air swirled in, whipping her hair about her face and bringing an array of sounds with it . . . car horns, airplanes, laughter, and the distant sound of music. Oblivious to the biting wind, she leaned out, gazing at the panorama, in rapture.
Watching the teeming city below, she couldn't believe how much life had changed for her over the last six weeks. The day after Hadji had left for Maine, the whole family had packed up and returned home to begin preparations for the marriage between Daria and Subir. Initially, Kefira had been concerned that her older sister would be unhappy with her over the way things had turned out. However, she discovered very quickly that her sister was delighted. Daria had been as totally overwhelmed by life in the royal palace as Mrs. Addison had been by the airport. She confided to Kefira that she didn't know what she would have done if the Sultan had shown an interest in her, but she was certain it would have been something radical. The biggest miracle of all was when Kefira discovered that Daria actually liked Subir. So, on that score, everything had turned out perfect. The decision had been made to continue on with the wedding plans exactly as they had originally been made for Kefira, so Daria would be married in June, shortly before Kefira would leave for school.
Kefira still found herself viewing all the changes with awe. It was as though her father's decision to allow her to attend school had opened a magical door. He seemed to have done a complete about-face in his attitude toward her. While he was just as loving as before, he now took everything she said and did very seriously. The day after they arrived home, the two of them took a trip to one of her father's nearby mines. And while this was not an unusual occurrence, what followed had been. Rather than indulgently answering her questions when she asked them, as he always had in the past, now her father began to feed her information at an almost alarming rate. It didn't take her long to realize that, rather than being indulged, she was now being trained. Without it being said, she knew that her father's expectations of her had changed. What he was telling her, he would expect her to remember . . . and be able to apply. For the first time, she was being given a chance . . . a real chance . . . and she was not going to waste it. She was determined to prove that she was capable of running the family's granite mines and she would do whatever it took to make him proud of her.
Over the next month, her father took her to a host of different mining sites, including ones he had never allowed her to visit before. Whenever she was not in school or committed to something else, she was at his side, following him wherever he went, learning anything he would teach her. She went with him as he dealt with a host of problems, sat in on meetings, reviewed purchasing documents and blast records, and, in the end, learned more than she had during the rest of her life combined. And the questions! Her father actually asked for her opinion! All of those years of reading mining journals and technical releases on the latest advances finally paid off. But when she didn't know the answer, she didn't hesitate to tell him so. Then she would go home, research the question, and tell him what she had found first thing the next morning. The approval he expressed at both her knowledge and her behavior made her euphoric. And it wasn't just a private acceptance, expressed only at home or their own sites.
This trip had been more than just travel directly to the United States. It had been planned for quite some time. Her father had long-standing appointments with various suppliers, potential buyers, and customers, and for the first time, he took her with him. They began in Mumbai with a series of meetings with her father's shipping contractor. From there, they flew to Ankara to meet with another mine owner regarding a joint bid for supplying stone and fine sand to a large company in London. After that, they went to Athens to talk with cultural officials who were searching for the right kind of stone to do repair work on some old structures. They continued to Florence, Rome, Brussels, and finally, London, where they presented the joint bid to the contracting agency. In each new city, her father had formally introduced her to his business associates and treated her with the same respect and attention in public as he had within their private holdings.
Kefira found that her father went at a relentless pace, starting early in the morning and working late into the evening, dealing with almost all aspects of his business personally. His primary job, of course, was mining the stone from their various family-held quarries. But unlike most, he did not sell the stone to a wholesaler to market. Their granite was of the highest quality, fine-grained and crystalline, in a wide array of shades that were suitable for a variety of specialty functions. One mine had unprecedented veins of stone, unbroken by faults or cracks. Kefira discovered that her father was a genius at recognizing niche markets and had advertised worldwide in arts publications and trade journals about the merits of this particular variety of granite. The end result was steady orders for large, uncut blocks of this stone for use by sculptors. Kefira smiled to herself as she remembered the thrill of her visit to the Royal Museum of Modern and Ancient Art in Brussels. There, they had attended the unveiling of a new sculpture that was made of this stone. She couldn't believe how satisfying it was to see the end use of the product that they had marketed.
After a moment, Kefira's thoughts returned to the mines. Initially, the men had not taken her seriously. They treated her much as they always had, humoring her like a child. But the difference in her father's attitude was clear, and before long, indulgence turned to disbelief, followed quickly by disdain, anger, and eventually, sullenness. She often came upon groups of men talking among themselves when they didn't know she was around, and the topic was always the same . . . Was the man insane? A mine was no place for a girl. He was acting like he was really going to let her work here. What was he thinking?
But she let it all wash over her. This was little more than what she had expected. She had always known that if her father was ever to relent and allow her to really become involved in the family business, that one of her biggest hurdles would be acceptance among the workers. And the more she worked with her father, the more she came to realize that acceptance was going to be harder to achieve than anything school could ever throw at her. When she contemplated that thought in bed at night, the task seemed daunting. There was so much more to this job than she had ever imagined. Learning the necessary skills was going to be difficult enough . . . having to fight for her place among men she had known all of her life was only going to make it that much worse. But Kefira had resolved early on that if that was the way it had to be, then she would deal with it. There were only three people in her life that she really felt she had to prove herself to. The first two were her parents . . . and the other was Hadji.
Kefira thought about Hadji Singh again as she stood at the window gazing out over the city. She had found herself eagerly awaiting the evenings when she could go to her room and check her e-mail for his notes. He had written to her faithfully, and even when those notes were filled with pain at the thought of his brother's death, she had been glad to receive them. When his brother had been found alive, his joy had been so real, so powerful . . . she had found herself wishing desperately that she could have been there to share it with him.
Kefira shivered suddenly in the chill air. She moved to the bed and picked up her coat, wrapped it around her tightly, and then returned to her place at the window. She sat down on the wide windowsill and gazed out sightlessly as she continued thinking about the young man. He had such a caring nature . . . people mattered to him. Like today at the airport with poor Mrs. Addison. She could tell that her father disapproved of his Sultan taking so much time to worry over some woman he didn't even know. But Kefira understood. Hadji could no more have walked away from that old woman than he could one of his own subjects. It mattered to him that she made it safely to her family. And Kefira knew that if something had happened, and her son had not arrived on time, Hadji would have made it his business to care for her until he could reunite them. It was the kind of person he was. It was that empathy that would make him a good ruler.
But that thought made Kefira shift uncomfortably on her perch. She wondered if Hadji knew what was going on in his home country, and if he didn't, how he would take it when he found out. He had been gone less than a week before word began to circulate that the Sultan was to be married. She never did find out who actually leaked the information, but what she did know led her to believe it was someone inside the royal palace. She had been at school when she learned of it. One of her friends had asked if she had heard the news. When Kefira said no, the girl had informed her that the Sultan was getting married and that everyone was waiting for the official announcement of the name of the lucky girl. Kefira couldn't believe it. She hadn't said a word, but she spent the rest of the day worrying about it. By the time she went home that afternoon, she was half-convinced there would be a message from Hadji saying that he had chosen to marry someone else. There had been a message waiting when she got home, but it was filled with the latest news of his father, his brother, his girlfriend, and the boy, Brandon. The note had ended with the fact that he missed her and wished she could be there to share in their happiness at having his brother safely home. There hadn't been a single word about a marriage announcement. Over the next several days she had received other messages from him and they were all the same . . . talk of his family, what he was doing, the research he was participating in, how much he was looking forward to her visit, and other small talk. She finally concluded that he knew nothing at all about the leak from the palace.
Excitement was running high among the populace over the rumors, and everyone was speculating about the identity of the girl. Initially, the phone had rung almost constantly with congratulations for Kefira's sister. Many assumed that Daria was the chosen one, and everyone was surprised to discover that she was to marry Subir. No one asked if the chosen girl might be Kefira, which hadn't surprised her at all. When people asked her father what had transpired in the palace, he simply responded that he had some beneficial business meetings with the Sultan, but that he could not discuss their nature. He always left the distinct impression the discussions involved the mines. Of course, his change in attitude toward Kefira tended to reinforce that notion, as well. And when Kefira was asked, she simply replied that she had spent her time in the library. Well, it is not a lie, she thought, smiling with wry humor. But her smile faded abruptly as she recalled the event that had occurred just days before their trip began.
Bangalore
Kefira sat at a table in the south garden of her family's home. Mid-afternoon sunlight spilled around her shaded nook and a breeze stirred her hair as she finished checking her answers on the practice test she had just completed. Her college entrance exams were in two days and she was still working to get ready for them. She contemplated the results with a frown. A 92% score on the advanced mathematics section wasn't bad, but she really had hoped for better. She sighed and turned her attention back to the exam. Well, let me see which ones I missed, she thought. Before she had the chance, however, her younger sister, Maia, interrupted her. Maia rarely got flustered. Her calm, spiritual outlook usually left her placid and somewhat disconnected from things going on around her. More than once, Kefira had caught herself envying the girl's poise under stress. But today, Maia was flustered. She erupted out of the side door and came running across the garden as fast as she could. Once, about halfway across, she stumbled and almost fell. Kefira watched in astonishment as Maia came running up to her and began tugging on her arm frantically.
"Come quickly . . . important," she gasped, struggling to catch her breath, "Mother . . . looking for you . . . hurry!" Kefira rose obediently. She had no idea what was wrong, but Maia's agitation was contagious. Kefira knew that it must be serious for her placid sister to be this upset.
"What is wrong? Where is mother? Has something happened?"
Maia shook her head, still panting for breath, "Your room . . . go . . . no time . . . questions. Mother will explain," she managed to gasp out before shoving Kefira in the direction of the house. Kefira gathered up her skirts and began to run for the door. Maia stayed where she was, sinking down onto Kefira's vacated seat to catch her breath.
As Kefira burst into her room, she observed Daria frantically rummaging around in her closet. The older girl grabbed two saris and held one up in each hand, saying to her, "Which one? Quickly!"
"I like the green one," Kefira responded automatically, and then demanded, "What is going on? Has something happened?" At that instant, her mother, Anila, arrived with a handful of jewelry. Laying it on the dresser, she crossed swiftly and began stripping Kefira's clothes as Daria advanced on her with makeup and a hairbrush. "Mother! What is . . . what are you . . . "
"Hush!" her mother told her urgently. "Be quiet, cooperate, and listen. The Royal Regent, Her Excellency Neela Singh has just arrived with another man. They are both in with your father and you have been summoned, as well. It is vital that you make a good impression on these people." Daria stepped back quickly as her mother began to drape the clean garment around her.
"But what does she want?" Kefira demanded as she began sliding bracelets onto her arms. She winced at Daria's hasty attempts to brush her hair.
"I have no idea," Anila replied as she fastened a tiered gold necklace around her daughter's neck. "But you just remember that she is the Royal Regent and will one day be your mother-in-law. You are to treat her with the utmost respect. Be polite at all times. Do not speak unless asked a direct question. Do not interrupt your father. Be a lady. Speak softly and do not get off on . . . "
"Yes, yes, Mother, I know," Kefira interrupted. She kicked her shoes off and gestured to Daria for a different pair lying on the floor of the closet. Daria snatched them up and set them at Kefira's feet. "I will behave. There. Anything else?"
Her mother and sister surveyed her quickly and then her mother shook her head and said, "No. That will have to do. Go on. Your father and our guests are in the library. You have already made them wait long enough. Oh, and they have already been offered refreshment and have declined, so you will not need to do so again." Kefira nodded once and left quickly.
Soon, she found herself standing before the door to the family's library, which also served as her father's study. She took a deep breath and knocked firmly. At the sound of her father's voice, she opened the door and stepped into the room. The tension was so thick it took her breath away. Rajeev was seated in the chair behind his desk. He was scowling fiercely as she came in and she did not miss the fact that both of his hands were doubled over into fists as they rested on the wood surface in front of him. His stance warned her that things were not as they should be, although he said nothing. An older man Kefira did not know was seated on the divan against the nearby wall. He was of moderate build and had thick graying hair, heavy eyebrows and restless black eyes that never seemed still. His face was totally blank as she entered, but the stiffness of his posture led her to believe that he was angry, as well.
And then there was Neela. At first, Kefira could see nothing of her other than her outline. She was standing in front of the large west windows of her father's study with her back to the room, gazing out into the garden. Sun streamed through the glass, making Neela seem little more than a silhouette. After a brief moment, she turned back into the room, and Kefira had the chance to look at her more closely. Kefira's first impression was one of a total lack of color. Her skin was pale and flawless. Her hair had grayed until it was totally silver. Her sari was a clean, snowy white that draped around her elegantly . The tiers of jewelry that hung around her neck and encircled her wrist also emphasized the sense of colorlessness. All Indian women wore jewelry, it seemed a hallmark of their culture. But where most women, Kefira included, wore yellow gold jewelry, Neela's was all white gold. As she turned to face Kefira, her image and bearing were highly intimidating. As she meant it to be, a tiny voice in Kefira's mind whispered. She wants something.
Kefira's eyes locked with her father's for a fraction of a second before she turned to the older woman and bowed deeply. "Excellency. I bid you welcome and apologize for my tardiness. It is an honor to see you again so soon." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father relax fractionally.
Neela gazed at her silently for a moment, and Kefira got the uncomfortable feeling that she was being sized up. Finally, Neela replied, "Hello, child. It is a pleasure to see you, as well. I was sorry your father found it necessary to leave the palace so quickly after my son's departure. I had hoped to have the opportunity to get to know you better."
Kefira could sense her father tense again and she replied smoothly, "I regret the missed opportunity as well, Excellency. However, urgent family business called my father home and he required our assistance. I would be a poor daughter, indeed, if I did not do all in my power to help when my family requires it." A small sound to her left made Neela turn her head sharply to stare at Rajeev.
Kefira shot a quick glance at her father and saw that he had relaxed back into his chair. His hands rested easily in his lap now, and his face showed a pleasantly helpful expression. However, Kefira could sense an undercurrent of dry humor as he said, "My daughter is very diligent about supporting her family in every way she can." From behind her, she heard the stranger shift uneasily.
Neela's gaze flickered between the two of them restlessly, trying to read their bland expressions. Finally, she replied, "A fine quality, and one that will be a great asset when she becomes Sultana." Kefira stiffened slightly at the finality of that statement. Hadji had told her that the choice would be hers . . . she could refuse his offer of marriage if she chose. But before Kefira could say anything, Neela continued relentlessly. "And that it why I am here. I believe it is important that Kefira and I become better acquainted. Therefore, I am here to take her back to the royal Palace for a brief stay . . . say, until spring or so."
Kefira was stunned. This was why the woman was here? Surely Hadji had told his mother about Kefira's planned trip to Maine. But in the next instant, she knew the trip was the reason Neela was here . . . to try to block it. Kefira turned and moved swiftly to stand behind her father, putting both him and the desk between herself and the Royal Regent, as he replied evenly, "As I have explained to you before, Excellency, that simply will not be possible. Kefira is preparing for the university entrance exams, which she will take in two days time. Once they are complete, the two of us are to leave for a series of meetings, following which she is expected in the United States to meet with the Sultan's American family. The schedule simply does not allow for her to spend time at the royal palace at the moment."
Neela whirled and paced the length of the room restlessly. She stopped and stared at the ceiling-high case of books before turning back to Rajeev and saying harshly, "You know that this is inappropriate. The girl should not even be leaving this house, let alone thinking of attending school. And as for the question of her going to the United States, it is absolutely out of the question. It goes against ALL tradition."
Rajeev spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Perhaps, Excellency, but this wish comes directly from the Sultan, himself, and I am really not in a position to question him. Also, this is the reason I am accompanying my daughter. I am to assure myself of the propriety of her accommodations and the character of those she is to visit. If I am in any way disturbed by what I find, rest assured I will bring her directly back here."
"And I will be staying with Dr. Quest and his family," Kefira added. "His reputation is impeccable. Surely, Excellency, you do not question the integrity of the man who was so instrumental in raising your own son." Kefira let the implied question hang, giving the woman a challenging look. As they stared at each other, Kefira felt herself go cold. The emotion that raged behind the other woman's eyes was frightening. She was jealous . . . jealous of the loyalty and love that Hadji felt toward the Quests! But surely she must know that if she blocked this trip to America it would do little more than drive a further wedge between her and her son. But then Kefira saw the woman's intent clearly for the first time. She was to be bait! Neela wanted her son in Bangalore. And if Kefira could not leave the country, she was hoping that Hadji's feeling for her were strong enough to draw him back and hold him here permanently. Suddenly, Kefira was furious.
Neela's eyes fell in the face of that anger and she replied, "No, of course not. Benton Quest is a fine man, and I was very lucky to have someone of his caliber take an interest in my son." But then Neela drew herself up into her most regal pose and continued, "But that does not change the fact that it goes against all of our traditions for the woman who is betrothed to the Sultan of Bangalore to be taking trips to strange places, attending schools outside of her own country, and living outside of her father's house. There are proprieties which much be followed."
"That is very true, Excellency, but . . . " Rajeev began, but Kefira cut him off sharply.
"As I understand it, Excellency," her voice dripping with sarcasm, "THAT was one of the reasons that the Sultan made the decision NOT to formally announce the betrothal. But somehow, at least PART of that information has become public." Kefira literally spat the words at the older woman, clearly signaling her anger. Rajeev turned and laid a placating hand on his daughter's arm, but Kefira did not relent. She stared at Neela, practically daring her to deny the leak. "How do you suppose that happened?"
It was a war of wills and neither woman appeared willing to back down. Finally, Neela replied haughtily, "An unfortunate affair. We have still been unable to determine who allowed that information to get out."
Oh, yes, I am just certain she does not know who leaked it, thought Kefira sarcastically. Just as I am certain that she called Hadji for his advice on how to handle the situation. She paused, an idea suddenly occurring to her. For a split second she hesitated, wondering if it really was a wise move, but the expression on Neela's face decided her. She smiled at the older woman suddenly and came back around the desk to face her. With unexpected ease, she said sweetly, "But I do not want to cause distress. So I think we should do what TRADITION dictates in situations like these . . ." Neela's triumphant expression and her father's astonished one caused her private amusement as she continued, " . . . and contact the Sultan for his direction in the matter."
The smile on Neela's face disappeared abruptly, to be replaced by one of alarm. "No!" Frantically, she tried to recover. "No, that is not necessary. My son does not need to be bothered with such a silly thing." Kefira could see her scrambling to find some reason to prevent her from calling Hadji. "Furthermore, I do not have any good way to reach him at the moment."
Rajeev stood and came to put his arm around Kefira's shoulders. "No, I have to agree with my daughter. I believe the most sensible thing is to get the Sultan to settle this matter. His Excellency was very clear with me about his desire for the two of us to visit. He is expecting us. After all, we will need to contact him if we decide not to go, since it will be necessary for us to notify him of our change in plans."
"And reaching him is not a problem, Excellency," Kefira assured Neela calmly. "I have a number where I can reach him at any time, day or night." She moved gracefully toward the desk and reached for the telephone in her most helpful manner. "It should not take me any time at all to get through, and then we can get the entire matter resolved . . . "
"No, I do not believe that will be necessary." Startled, the three of them turned to stare at the man sitting on the divan against the far wall. They had totally forgotten he was still in the room. He rose fluidly and came to bow respectfully to Neela. "I believe Mr. Subramanian and his daughter are correct, Excellency. It would be . . . inappropriate . . . for them to cancel at such a late date, particularly when the Sultan is expecting them. Perhaps it would be best if plans continue as they are for now, and that Miss Subramanian come to the royal palace for a prolonged visit at another time. Surely, there will be time enough to arrange such a visit in the very near future." The man turned and gave Rajeev a long look. Kefira's father inclined his head, acknowledging the thinly veiled order. The man nodded. "So. That should settle the matter for the time being. May I suggest, Excellency," the man said, bowing again to Neela, "that we should take our leave here. It is a long trip back and I am sure that Miss Subramanian needs to return to her studies."
For a minute, Kefira wondered if Neela would let it go. She stood rigidly in front of the two of them, appearing extremely angry. Finally, she nodded her head once, stiffly, and replied, "Yes, we should be going. I will contact you when you return from the United States, Rajeev Subramanian, and we will make arrangements for your daughter to come to stay at the palace." Kefira shivered slightly at her tone and wondered briefly if, once there, she would ever be allowed to leave again. Taking her imagination in hand, Kefira joined her father in bowing respectfully to their visitors. Neela said stiffly, "Please give my regards to my son when you see him." And with that, they swept out of the library and were gone.
Kefira and her father stared after them for a long moment before Kefira finally said, "I am not certain I want to go visit at the royal palace, Father."
Rajeev sighed, "Unfortunately, you may not have a choice, Kefira. I do not believe that "invitation" was optional."
"Who was that man? I have never seen him before."
Her father chuckled dryly and replied, "Perhaps a stay in the royal palace would do you some good, after all. That, my daughter, is Arun Birla. He is the head of the Sultan's advisory council and an extremely influential man. He is one of the wealthiest men in Bangalore, as well as being our representative to Parliament in India, and a member of the Rajya Sabha. And, daughter," Rajeev caught Kefira's shoulders and brought her around to face him, "he is a very dangerous and powerful man. You tread carefully around him. He is not a man to alienate or anger."
Kefira was thinking of Arun Birla now, as she gazed out on the teeming lights of New York City. Even after having reflected on it numerous times since that encounter, she could not decide what the purpose of his visit had been. Certainly, Neela's had been clear enough . . . she wanted Hadji back in Bangalore . . . probably with all of his ties with the Quests severed for good. But Arun Birla was another matter. She simply couldn't figure out what it is he wanted . . . or gained, for that matter. And she really hadn't seen enough of him to get a feel for him. He had carefully stayed in the background and allowed the entire scene to play out while he watched. Had he been using Neela to gauge her? See how far she could be pushed? She thought it said something that all of them had completely forgotten he was there until he decided to remind them. And then, he appeared to completely take over the situation. Neela had definitely bowed to his wishes . . . she hadn't wanted to let it go. And yet, he had voiced no opinions on the issue of her schooling, her unofficial betrothal to the Sultan, or her impending visit to the United States. For some reason, that made her nervous. Yes, she thought somewhat grimly to herself, I will discuss this with Hadji . . . very, very soon.
As if on cue, a knock sounded and Hadji stepped in the door. Behind him, Kefira could see her father. Hadji asked, "Have you rested?"
Kefira rose and turned to shut the window. "As much as necessary for the time being. I was just sitting looking out the window. All of the lights and sounds and activity are marvelous."
Hadji offered her his arm, and as she took it he replied, "Well, then why don't we descend down among all the activity and see about getting some dinner?"
"That sounds wonderful," she replied, and set her uneasy thoughts aside for later.
A short time later, Kefira found herself seated beside a large window that looked out onto the crowds that moved up and down 48th Street. She sat quietly, watching the people move past the window and listening inattentively as Hadji and her father discussed the various business meetings the two of them had attended during the last two weeks. I feel strange, she thought to herself. Disconnected from reality. Everything around her seemed muted in some way. She could hear Hadji and her father, and yet it was as though their conversation was coming to her from a great distance. She decided that she really was more tired than she had realized. So for a long while, she was perfectly content to sit quietly, eat her dinner, and just float along.
She snapped back to reality with a start, however, when she heard her father say, "The Royal Regent paid us a visit a few days before we left Bangalore." Instinct told Kefira that Hadji would not take this news very well and his inarticulate exclamation of surprise and dismay confirmed her suspicion. Kefira had really wanted to tell Hadji about this herself . . . and at a time of her own choosing. She caught her father's eye hastily and shook her head at him just fractionally before Hadji replied sharply,
"My mother? At your home? What did she want?"
Rajeev had no way of knowing the amount of tension that appeared to be building between the young Sultan and his mother, because Kefira had not mentioned the episode she had seen between the two of them that morning in the royal palace. However, Rajeev was a good businessman and could read the signs his daughter was passing him clearly. Without missing a beat, he replied easily "I believe it was just a courtesy call. She and Mr. Birla stopped for a brief time, paid their respects to both myself and Kefira, and then went on their way."
"When was this?" There was an edge to the young man's voice that set alarm bells ringing in both Kefira and Rajeev's minds.
"It was three days before we left for Mumbai," Kefira supplied. Hadji turned to look at her. The dark expression on his face assured Kefira that she was correct in her original instinct . . . they did not want to discuss this issue in a public restaurant. She smiled at him reassuringly. "It was a perfectly civil conversation, Hadji. As father said, they paid their respects, inquired how the plans for our trip were going, and asked when we planned to leave."
"She caused no . . . trouble . . . then?" The pause in the sentence as he searched for the word he wanted was eloquent.
"None at all," Rajeev assured him. Kefira did not miss the veiled look her father shot in her direction at that statement.
Kefira ignored the look and smiled at Hadji instead, saying, "In fact, she extended a very cordial invitation for me to visit at the palace sometime in the near future." She looked at him quizzically and reached across the table to lay a gentle hand on his arm. "What is wrong? Surely there is no reason your mother should not visit at my family's home . . ."
For an instant, Hadji studied her closely, as though trying to read her mind. Finally, he released his breath in a long sigh, and said, "No. No, of course not. It was just a . . . surprise. Mother had said nothing to me of any intention of visiting you and your family."
"Well, the Lady Neela has a mind of her own," Rajeev said. "It is what makes her good as your Regent. And she is certainly welcome in our home whenever she chooses to visit, as is any member of your advisory council." Rajeev chuckled. "Her visit certainly was a surprise, though. We definitely were not expecting it."
"Well, as long as there was no difficulty . . ." Hadji replied reluctantly. He was silent for a moment, then sighed again and straightened. "Are we finished, then? Perhaps we should go. You have traveled a great distance, and we still have the trip to Maine tomorrow. It would probably be best to get back to the hotel so that you can rest."
"A wise choice, Excellency," Rajeev agreed. Then, with a trace of humor, he added, "Before my daughter falls asleep in her dinner plate."
"I am fine!" Kefira replied indignantly, desperately attempting to stifle the yawn that suddenly gripped her.
"Perhaps," was her father's calm reply, "but I believe that both of us could use some rest . . . as could the Sultan, I expect."
Hadji rose, signaling for the bill, and added, "Definitely. It was a long drive from home and I had business for Father that I had to attend to, as well. I am more than ready. I also need to call Father and pass on the information I received today, so I believe we should return."
"All right," Kefira agreed, secretly relieved. If the truth were known, she would be happy to get back to the hotel, too. "But can we take our time and look in windows as we walk back?"
Hadji laughed as he held her coat for her. "Of course. That is what one does in New York . . ."