29 Trust factor

"I don't see what the fuss is about. Surely my drinking preference is none of your concern." I said.

"You're absolutely right, Lila. I don't care what you like to drink." He said, in an unassuming voice, before continuing "...but I do not like you did not come clean with me. Yesterday night it wasn't cordiality on your part to serve me drinks. You just didn't want to tell me you didn't want wine. You went on the pretext of serving me just because you wanted to get yourself some water. Oh Lila, what a roundabout way of doing things; for want of a glass of water! A five year old would do better." He continued.

His expression was grave and I wondered why he was so sensitive about it. We were talking about drink, and I had told him the reasons for my actions. It struck me moments later that he felt he could not trust me anymore. But this was a white lie, and white lies amounted to nothing. Everyone told them. I was sure he did too.

"I apologize for trying to cover up the fact that I do not like red wine. If I had thought that it was even the slightest bit of importance to you, I would have told you. Trust me, Mr. Boardmann." I said.

Silence filled the room for a while, before he spoke again.

"Lila, we have had conversations the past two nights and we are bound to have more for the whole month now. I am going to stress to you again that it is therefore important to me that whatever you know about me remains confidential. I need to know that I can trust you, and trusting you means that you tell me what you like or do not like; whether or not it's important to me." He said in a serious tone.

"I understand, Mr. Boardmann." I said.

I wanted to reassure him that he could trust me. He nodded at my acknowledgement. Then he spoke about himself.

"I was just like any other millionaire businessman making tonnes of money. I kept my private life private. Slowly and steadily, after Clara left me, I had become a drug addict, alcoholic and a depressed maniac. I could barely function anymore. I wanted to end it all. I became infamous when I made an attempt at my own life a year ago by swallowing an overdose of pills. At that time, I was no longer thinking straight. I was a drug-fuelled alcoholic. Failing to reach me, my personal assistant had come to my home in the city and was shocked to find me sprawled on the floor." He said, in a harsh tone, yet his voice was breaking.

"I'm glad your attempt failed. I thank your personal assistant. You owe her your life." I said immediately.

The thought of him lifeless on the cold floor brought shivers to my spine.

"Yes, she is an old dear. She worked for my father, and now for me. I am pulling myself together for my company's sake. Shares have plummeted and losses are huge. The company is going bankrupt unless I do something." He said, looking at me.

His eyes bore traces of sadness and surrender although he was speaking harshly.

I reached towards his hands, and gave them a squeeze.

He looked at me; his eyes deep-set, his jaw was tight. His eyes pierced into me again. I let go of my reservations. I took upon his gaze; felt the stinging pressure of his eyes on mine. As we sat opposite each other; as equal as we were on that footing just gazing at each other, I let him look in and beyond me.