The Onus of Ancestry (26 page)

Some six weeks later he had suddenly appeared in her office, briefcase in hand, looking tired and breathless, but still very handsome in his dark grey business suit. Dwita was completely thrown, but had simply said, “You? But you never told me you were coming?”

“Have I spoilt your plans in any way? I have a taxi waiting, I can always go away.”

“Chris dear, what is the matter with you?” She went to him and touched his face lightly. He caught her hand then, and squeezed it as though he was going to break it – he was trying to control himself. “Christopher, it is nearly five and time to pack up. Let us go home. I have a very small bed sitter, but I am not so large that you cannot fit into it too.”

He relaxed immediately and smiled with some effort. They left together. Her secretary was a little surprised as Mrs Roy, as Dwita was called, never left her office so early, and never before her. Who was he? Obviously someone special.

Christopher was exhausted by the long flight from Hong Kong and the events of the past few weeks. He had at last asked for his freedom from Julia, and for custody of the children, or failing that the custody of Brent, which he thought would be fair. He would have preferred to take them both because he knew how close they were to each other. She had refused him out of hand on both counts. She knew that Christopher would never leave the boys – in them lay her own safety and security. He had then left home, spent two weeks en route visiting his projects and took the decision to come on straight to London and Dwita. He had told her everything as soon as he had collapsed onto the sofa, as though he had to unburden himself without delay in order to breathe freely again.

“Now what, Dwita?” he said in dismay. “How long can I keep you waiting? I know I have no right to ruin your chance of a full life.”

“Who told you that I wanted any more from life, or from you, than you have given me already? I have never asked you to leave your family in order to come to me. I understand that they need you more in some ways than I do, though I must admit that I cannot conceive not seeing you again or losing you completely. But in life, who knows?”

He pulled her to him and said sadly, “Why did we take so long to meet up with each other? We could have saved ourselves so much pain and disappointment – now it seems too late – is it, Dwita? Is there really no way–”

“We will talk again when you have rested and can think better and when I have recovered my breath,” she said, determined to cheer him. “I am excited as a child to see you and you cannot expect me to be sensible and serious now. I am going to make us some tea and you are going to be spoilt with some of Dia's chocolate éclairs. How about that? I can also make some very thin cucumber sandwiches to make you feel English and royal.”

“Where do you get your elixir of life?” He was laughing already. “But who is Dia?”

“Diana – we are great friends already, you see.”

“Which means you were won over as soon as you met her, like the rest of us.”

“Yes, Chris – I sometimes think very unwisely perhaps. But I am truly helpless against my feelings. Just as I am with you.” She decided not to say any more.

“I don't like competition, not even from Diana.” But he was smiling.

They had chattered away all evening and to Dwita's relief Christopher lost a lot of his gloom, if not quite all. She had rung Dia to explain why she had to let her down. Dia was not at all pleased with Uncle Christopher, but was soon distracted in asking about Brent, who she had met earlier and liked. Dwita refused to accept Christopher's idea of a meal out. She had cooked them a very nice Indian dinner which they had enjoyed at the minute table by candlelight. He was touched by every gesture of hers, as though she was bestowing favours on him he had never deserved. When she put a glass of cognac into his hand and sent him away from the loaded sink in the kitchenette, he joked, “Are all Bengali women like you? If my fellow countrymen were to discover, all our poor girls would remain spinsters.”

Dwita accepted the compliment by shaking her head and saying, “No, we are all different – but most of us have learned not to go overboard with women's rights or feminism when faced with a kitchen sink. We like to keep our men, when we find them!”

The week with Christopher had flown by. Dia had complained bitterly to Christopher when he accompanied Dwita to dine at the Parkinsons – she said that his visit had deprived her of Deeta's company. Dwita had been able to come only twice very briefly to see her and when Dia phoned to wish her goodnight Deeta had been out. Christopher apologised profusely and said in future he would not forget to include her. Dia's presence had helped lighten the atmosphere. John and Jennifer noticed that Christopher was looking at Dwita often as though summing up mentally something he did not wish to discuss. He looked at John very hard, just once, but John turned his eyes away.

When they had returned from the Parkinsons Christopher said, “Dwita, do not get too close to Dia, my love, you will get hurt.”

“I cannot help it, Christopher. When I met you first, they had said the same thing to me – not to get involved with you as I would get hurt. I could not help it then as I cannot help it now. I seem to have done all the wrong things in life.” Christopher had decided not to take it further.

When the time came for departure it had been very difficult once again. Christopher told her that he was going to pull out of the projects in South East Asia and change with one of the other partners. Once in England he could perhaps get Julia to see things in their right perspective. Dwita was not so optimistic, but decided to go along with him, to promote his confidence. She did not wish to see him leaving as despondent as when he had first arrived.

*

Her three months in England came to an end very quickly – Ernest Reed returned to work after the recuperative spell in Switzerland. Rusi was quickly in touch with Ernest, asking him to send Dwita back as soon as possible. There were certain personnel issues at the firm which needed her immediate attention. Rusi was not even able to take his planned holiday in England as there were far too many problems to be solved for Sunbeam.

Dwita understood the need for the speedy departure but it would be hard. She was now far too attached to Dia, and the little girl to her. Dia clung to her even more the last few weeks as though she sensed their imminent separation. She had even spent a few nights with her at the bedsit and insisted Dwita spend some weekends with her. Dwita was embarrassed at times in case their relationship might be making Jennifer uncomfortable. Yet the bond between them was inescapable.

When the moment came to leave, Dwita had wanted to escape without saying goodbye, but she felt it would be cowardly and could upset Dia even more. She had explained carefully that she was going away only for a while and they would soon see each other again. She had refused to be taken to the airport by the Parkinsons and instead accepted a lift from Ernest, who wanted to show his appreciation of Dwita's contribution towards his peaceful convalescence. In his absence Dwita had managed the firm's affairs well in the Eastern markets. The handover had been meticulous and comprehensive. He now knew why Rusi relied on her so heavily.

Arriving back in Calcutta, she felt very restless and unsettled. Several months passed yet she had not been able to discipline herself to be as absorbed in her work as before. The little face of Dia kept returning to her, and what might lie behind this strong affinity between them haunted her. She was afraid to raise the topic with either the Parkinsons or the Wadias. She felt they were all parties to some conspiracy – and was Christopher too in connivance with them? Why had he asked her to stay away from Dia? But surely Christopher would not conceal anything from her. He was probably suspicious about Dia and Dwita's physical resemblance, and like her he was afraid to pursue it.

Her mother too, was a worry these days. She looked tired, and was thinking of early retirement, remaining with the firm only as an adviser. She was more and more embroiled in social work, heading one committee after another. Mahama had aged visibly. She found Dwita's absences more and more irksome, as she was lonely and could not possibly spend all her time talking to Raghu. Raghu had very little to keep him occupied, so he was bored and less patient with Mahama's cantankerous outbursts.

Barun had kept in touch through letters. His time for leaving Harvard was drawing nearer and he was most reluctant to return. But paternal pressures still existed and were in fact increasing, as Abani Mitra was tired of carrying the entire responsibility of the business. The sons of his business partners were taking increasing interest in the company and he did not want Barun to be left out. He knew Barun was not interested and would be quite happy to sell his share to the other partners, but he had his family to think of and could not allow his son to ignore his duty to pursue his academic career. Being a thoroughbred businessman, with limited education but a surfeit of commercial acumen, he could not appreciate Barun's preoccupation with academia – such a life could offer little financial reward or material comfort as Abani Mitra understood it. Hence, he summed it up as unreasonable indulgence born out of his son's immaturity and extravagant upbringing. He decided to hold his wife responsible for Barun's escapist behaviour. For his part, Barun wrote long letters to Dwita as an outlet for his frustration and complained of the constant parental interference in his life.

Christopher telephoned her often and wrote from time to time. He had now returned to England and the situation at home had not changed. He sounded more and more despondent.

Finally, Rusi had decided to take his doctor's advice about retirement. His latest ECG was discouraging, his blood pressure was consistently high and Janet was using all her powers of persuasion to get him to retire. She very much wanted to enlist Dwita's help, as she was one of the few who had any influence on him. Janet knew that Rusi's going would affect Dwita considerably and was sorry about that, but she also felt it would take the young woman out of the rut she was firmly stuck in. Janet thought that Dwita would do well to look beyond Sunbeam and Calcutta.

Dwita, on her part, knew that time for decision-making on many fronts was approaching. If she wished to pursue a career to the exclusion of all else, she would have to shake herself out of the cocoon of absorptions that surrounded her. She would have to leave her secure existence at Sunbeam, encounter new situations and new people. She was no doubt doing well there, but she wanted to move into the wider market place of the managerial world. Rusi had trained her well – her negotiating capabilities had developed, her organisational grasp and management performance had been commended by the board, now the time had come to venture out from Rusi's protecting umbrella. But where could she go? She did not want to return to England – or did she? In the end, once again Rusi had made up her mind for her.

Sheikh Sultan bin Ahmed, a Gulf Arab with extensive business interests in the Gulf States and Europe had been known to Rusi Wadia for some time. He had now come to Calcutta to ask for one of Sunbeam's trusted executives to be seconded to his company for two years, to help improve the organisational and management capability of Sheikh Sultan's diverse operations in the Gulf and overseas. He had said, “Rusi, I know you are a hard taskmaster and an honest man, I can trust your choice.” Then he added frankly, “European managers cost us too much money, which is why I have come to you. I am now recruiting less from Europe and more from the subcontinent and elsewhere – when they are good they are as good as their European counterparts, and much less demanding.”

“Well, Sultan, I could recommend you someone straight away, one I can trust truly and entirely, but you will not approve – you chaps do not believe in women or their capabilities.”

“You are recommending a woman to me? Are you mad, Rusi? A woman for my company?” To Rusi's annoyance he began to laugh noisily.

“I knew it! What is wrong with a woman? She can be as good as a man or even better sometimes – this one is, and I say that as a man.”

“No problem so far as you are concerned, Rusi, but when it concerns an Arab, he likes to keep his women at home.”

“That is a big mistake made in your part of the world, Sultan. Your progress has been considerably retarded by your lack of respect for women's capability and lack of faith in their potential.”

“Rusi, I am sorry – I cannot change my people, nor my own inherent culture and beliefs for your sake or any one else's. But surely you can try and find me a good man? You must have so many in your company.”

“No,” Rusi said obstinately. “I can find you one person and I have offered her already.”

“Be reasonable, Rusi – anyway, who is she? Is she single or married? Old or young? Can I see her?”

“She is a Bengali – she is young and single. She was widowed some years ago. You can see her to consider her as a possibility, not to survey her as an object of curiosity.”

“All right – since you recommend her so highly, let us meet then. But you do realise that you put me in some sort of corner.” He paused for a while and then said: “So, shall we meet her now?”

“No – make it tomorrow. I would like to brief her before the meeting. If I give her away, I am giving you my right arm. I am doing this not because I wish to do you a favour but for reasons of my own.”

“Are you in love with her, you wicked old man? What does Janet think? Or are you trying to send her away before Janet finds out?” the Sheikh said with mischief sparkling in his eyes, whilst flicking ash off his expensive silk robes.

“You Arabs have rather a one-track mind when it comes to women,” Rusi said dryly. “She happens to mean a lot to both of us. She is the child we have never had.”

Sultan was silent for some time, then he said, “You are right, Rusi, we
are
different – I think perhaps we need to move on and look beyond the limitations of our social prejudices and cultural practices, or we shall continue to lose out in the race with the rest of the world. I am sorry, Rusi, I was being naïve. Tomorrow it is then.
Inshallah
I shall be here at eleven – is that convenient?”