The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(10)

Kittu Virani was like no woman he’d ever seen. It was impossible to say how old she was.

Under the mood lighting, her rich dark mane glinted auburn, but her face seemed smooth to the point of ripeness, skin taut as a drum underneath a thick layer of makeup. In her tight black dress, she seemed flat where other women were curved, and vice versa—like a grotesque voodoo doll.

Arnav gave himself a talking-to: Women came in different shapes, his sister Asha had told him. All were beautiful.

“You’re watching her, too?”

The question gave Arnav a start. Deep and chesty, the voice had emerged from the guest he’d noticed earlier. Arnav didn’t know how to respond, so he gave a half shrug and a nod that could have meant anything at all.

“She has no idea what she looks like, does she? All those beauty filters have turned her head,” the man grumbled, tossing back what seemed like a large whiskey.

“She is popular and successful.” Arnav was not sure where this conversation was going or why he was defending Kittu Virani to a stranger, but it wouldn’t hurt to know more about her, especially from someone who was clearly not a fan.

“Those are not qualifications. Most of it lies here”—the guest drew a line across his broad forehead, in the typical Indian gesture that meant fate—“and the rest, all about how low you’re willing to stoop.”

“She’s done a decent job with this restaurant.” Arnav sized up the soft lights, the solid wooden tables, the chairs that suggested style and comfort even to his untrained eye.

“She has hired a good team.” The stranger waved to a waiter. “I’ll give you that.”

Once the waiter left with an order of “another of the same,” Arnav decided to nudge a little and see where that led.

“Why do you hate her so much?”

“She’s a woman, isn’t she?” Arnav’s new friend barked out a bitter laugh. “What’s there to love?”

Arnav kept his expression noncommittal—not many people did well with silences. This brooding patron might prove no exception.

“Don’t you ask too many questions?” The man’s voice slurred. He seemed familiar.

“I’m not from the press.” Arnav leaned back on the swivel barstool. “And even if I were, I have no clue who you are. Your secret is safe with me.”

“My job here is done—I can tell the director I managed to blend in, and throw off everyone but you. You know who I am, right? You must be from the police.”

The guy spoke with a smile, which faded when Arnav said, “Guilty as charged. Here to meet a friend, who invited me to the opening.”

“I see. No wonder. Well, it is no secret. There have been so many blind items. I have no love lost for my darling mother.”

A moment later, it all clicked into place. Blind items: the stories Nandini had told him were anonymous hatchet jobs, published by film magazines. Behind the beard and the sunglasses was Rehaan Virani. Arnav let his surprise show and exaggerated it a little. A man who thought he’d gotten the better of you was likely to talk longer.

“Sorry about that. It seems quite impossible, living under such scrutiny.”

“Why don’t you join me?” Rehaan gestured to the chair opposite him.

Arnav didn’t wait. He could not give Rehaan Virani time to change his mind.

“You work in the police? Which station?”

“Malwani. I’m Inspector Arnav Singh Rajput.”

“Do you only drink soda?”

“I’m on night shift later, after this event.”

“This event will drag on—my mother knows everyone in Bollywood, and all their distant relatives.”

“Her fiancé doesn’t seem to be here.”

If he could not reach Kittu, her son could provide a few details.

“Rahul? Hah. Never around. That’s the one thing I like about him.”

So Rehaan liked Rahul Taneja about as much as he liked his mother.

“He’s a top name in the real estate business.” Arnav sipped on his soda.

“He’s also fourteen years younger than her. Forty-two.”

By all accounts, Rehaan was in his early thirties. Arnav watched Rehaan as the Bollywood star gulped down some more of his whiskey. That might explain why Rehaan was speaking with a perfect stranger. Arnav could have been anyone. Rehaan hadn’t asked to see his ID.

“They go on like it’s a love match. It is a match all right, but I doubt love has anything to do with it. I can see why she’d go for Rahul, but I don’t get what’s in it for him. He could have had anyone at all. Women half her age and twice as beautiful.”

“There have been rumors about him,” Arnav said.

“Not rumors. He did molest women. All the guests here know that, but won’t say a word. Maybe that’s why he’s marrying her. If she decides to quash a rumor, it won’t survive.”

“She’s working with him, as well.”

“She is?” Rehaan sat up straighter and signaled the waiter for another drink. “You don’t want another soda?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine.” Arnav held up his glass, which was still half-full. “And yes, Ms. Virani is doing the interiors for a spa that Taneja Estate Holdings is building on the Aksa beach.”