The Contract

by Zeenat Mahal

  “Yes, I’ll be here. My flight’s at seven in the evening. So when you get back we can have a nice chat. Okay?”

  Natasha jumped with joy and he hugged her. After a moment, he opened his other arm for Shahaan and said in a complaining tone, “Come on pal. Girls like to do this kind of thing and we men…we just have to suffer.”

  Natasha punched him in the stomach and he laughed. But he kept his eyes on the boy. Unsure and awkward, he stood unmoving till Hussain smiled at him again. Then he came forward reluctantly, and allowed himself to be included in the embrace, but once there, he was the last to step back. Hussain noted the forlorn expression on the boy’s face as he let go of him. The boy seemed to miss his father, and he wondered about the circumstances of Shahira’s divorce. He knew nothing about her besides what his mother had told him.

  “Natasha, Shahaan, I’m waiting!”

  The schoolmarm was calling from downstairs, heedless of the fact that her husband and employer was here, at her suggestion. Hussain walked the kids out and looked down from the landing as they rushed down the stairs in a stampede loud enough to put wildebeests to shame.

  She was young. That came as a shock. Somehow he hadn’t imagined that—if he’d imagined anything at all. She had a silky mass of brown hair, well cut and styled and a very nice profile—all curves, he noticed appreciatively, not that that was in any way an advantage or otherwise in their arrangement. Natasha turned and waved at him, alerting Shahira to his presence, so that she swung her head back and looked up.

  Attractive. Shahaan had her eyes. She didn’t seem flustered or even shy. Instead, she gave him a formal little smile and said, “Hello. I’m just taking the kids to school. I’ll be back soon. Bye.”

  He nodded and watched her leave with the children. She was nothing like he’d imagined and in some ways exactly what he had. The average female would have shown some signs of being affected by a man’s presence. He might as well have been a piece of furniture the way she’d looked at him.

  ≈

  FOUR

  When Shahira got back from dropping the kids off to school, she saw Hussain sitting with his mother enjoying a cup of tea. At forty, there was just enough grey in his hair to make him look distinguished. He was a health freak, she could tell.

  She knew her mother-in-law would be expecting a certain kind of behavior from her this morning, so rolling her eyes in agony at the deception she had to engage in, she entered the room shyly.

  Aunty grinned from ear to ear, and checked her like a hawk for signs of appropriate nocturnal activities. Shahira tried hard to work up a blush, and avoided looking at Hussain.

  “Are you feeling okay, beti?” Aunty Salma asked, quite unnecessarily.

  Shahira smiled and said, “I’m very well, Aunty, thank you.”

  Then for good measure, she thought she should send a shy, loving smile towards Hussain. When she did, she saw him looking sardonically at her over the rim of his teacup, which was suspended mid-air. She ventured a glance back at Aunty and saw her watching him too, with a frown. Well, she wasn’t about to give him acting lessons. She tried to get Aunty’s attention away from him instead.

  “Aunty, shall I send in breakfast for you and…?” She looked at Hussain questioningly.

  “No, no. Hussain will have breakfast with you, of course.”

  Aunty glared at her son.

  Shahira smiled; a genuine loving smile. This was all so new to her; a mother-in-law who actually cared for her daughter-in-law; who wanted her son to spend time with his wife and make an effort to keep her happy. What a twist of fate. When she’d needed this, she’d got a man who was a sadist and a mother-in-law who was crazy with jealousy and her own complexes.

  “Okay, Aunty. I’ll send in your breakfast.”

  Hussain was surprised to see that Shahira seemed to genuinely care for his mother; the smile she’d given her was full of love. He hadn’t realized that his mother was still watching him, because his eyes were focused on Shahira’s perfect little derrière as she went out. He heard a chuckle, and turned his face to see that his mother looked extremely pleased. Having a fair suspicion about the direction of her thoughts, he frowned in consternation.

  “Go now. Go have breakfast with your wife,” she veritably crowed.

  He left the room to find Shahira, a rather poor actress. Her efforts at appearing shy were laughable, and what she’d assumed to be a loving wifely glance had been more a grimace than anything else. He found her sitting at the breakfast table, perfectly calm and poised, bearing no resemblance to the simpering woman in his mother’s room.

  “We’ll have to sit here and eat and talk. She’s going to ask Khalida later, and she loves to gossip, especially now that you’ve come after…you know, a long time,” she whispered conspiratorially.

  “Who’s Khalida?” he asked, seating himself. He wasn’t really interested in the answer until he caught the look of shock and disgust on her face, though she masked it quickly.

  “The woman who has worked for you for the last twelve years.”

  And just like that, he knew that he’d been judged and hanged. She emanated a whole new level of indifference, and the politeness had been replaced by barely veiled disdain.

  “Right…well.” Then deliberately, “Shabana…”

  He waited for her inflamed correction. To her credit, she didn’t seem to mind the mangling of her name as much as she’d minded his overlooking Khalida.

  “It’s Shahira,” she said, without rancor. “You’ll need to remember it for the next few hours at least. It will seem very odd if you keep calling me by other women’s names.”

  She gazed at him with a tolerant half-smile and asked politely, “What would you like for breakfast?”

  “What do you have?”

  “Not French cuisine, that’s for sure,” her voice too sweet to be genuine.

  Why he’d spared her a single thought was beyond Hussain. Fine, she was pretty. So her voice was sexy and the combination of schoolmarm properness and that huskiness was intriguing—but that was it. The rest of her—well she had a great body too, but apart from that, the rest of her was pure evil. If she weren’t human, she’d be a black widow spider.

  Incensed, he said, “I’m surprised you can even pronounce the word cuisine. Urdu teacher, weren’t you?”

  She shot him a wrathful look.

  “Ah, an Urdu complex too.”

  Further incensed, he twisted the knife some more.

  “The idea was to rest Ami’s suspicions and yet I’ve hardly seen you. I think I’m paying you too much.”

  “I don’t think…”

  “Yes, that’s becoming evident.” His voice laced with unmistakable irony, he added, “You weren’t even awake when I came in last night. You should’ve put on an act in front of Ami rather than catching up on your beauty sleep.”

  Immensely satisfied at her speechless indignation, he continued, “Make sure that by the end of this trip my mother’s satisfied regarding our marital bliss so I don’t have to waste any more of my precious time on these idiotic trips. That’s why I hired you, remember?”

  Just to push her further, he added in a low tone, loaded with meaning.

  “In fact, make sure I’m satisfied with you.”

  She choked. She was going to make this so easy. He suppressed his wicked glee and kept a straight face.

  “I…I’m not sure what you mean.”

  Good, she was on the back foot now and that’s where he intended she should stay. This goody-two-shoes teacher was entirely too sure of herself. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he wondered then, why she’d been so insistent that there should be nothing intimate about their relationship.

  Aloud he said, “Don’t try to put me in your judgmental little boxes of virtue and non-virtue. You’re an inverted snob and seem to have decided who I am, without ever having met me, and you’re determined to stick to that opinion.”

  “Luckily for us, knowing each other isn’t par
t of the deal. Who you are is none of my business.”

  “Damn right it isn’t.”

  “And vice versa.”

  She gave him another polite, tolerant little smile, one reserved for a raging toddler, which succeeded in making him feel like one. Was he over-reacting? Before he could reply, Khalida, a veritable Sherman tank, entered the room. He vaguely remembered her.

  “What can you make for breakfast that Hussain sahib would like?” Shahira asked the maid.

  Khalida enthusiastically launched into a long tirade of greasy, unhealthy food he hadn’t eaten in years.

  “I’ll have cereal if you have it.”

  He looked almost in pain and enjoying his obvious discomfort, Shahira told the maid what to get.

  Of course he hadn’t been over-reacting. She’d already decided she didn’t like him. Not that what she thought of him was of any consequence.

  The silence stretched between them.

  Hussain looked at the ceiling, and then the wall at the far end, and then back at the ceiling, all the while thinking that the schoolteacher was getting too big for her boots, or rather the dainty imported sandals she was wearing. Which were bought with his money—his hard-earned money. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She really was very pretty, but there were shadows of a deep devastation in her brown eyes that she hid quite well most of the time. What had happened to her to make her so? Was that why she’d accepted his ridiculous offer?

  Feeling a little sorry for her for no apparent reason, he said out loud, “Natasha’s very happy—she’s quite taken with you. You’re doing a good job with her.”

  He didn’t realize how condescending that sounded until he heard it. Shahira tried to look pleased and failed. Feeling annoyed, he decided to be off as soon as possible. She’d shown herself to be both arrogant and judgmental, and he was berating himself silently for sparing her a single thought. He didn’t have time for this.

  They talked sporadically about the weather, current affairs, Natasha, until at last, it was over and they both went in opposite directions to get away from each other as quickly as possible.

  Hussain spent the afternoon with his daughter as promised. Shahira looked in from time to time and gave him a smile of approval, which was not required, he thought irritably. He didn’t need any goody-two-shoes telling him what to do. Especially not in that sexy, schoolmarm tone.

  Get a grip, he told himself with a shake of the head.

  Later, when she found him wrestling with Shahaan, she gave him a look that he could only interpret as a warning.

  “Shahaan.” Her voice was cold and firm.

  Hussain watched her with interest, not understanding her concern.

  “Shahaan, you have to do your homework. Come with me.”

  “Aw, Mom!” Natasha complained. “We’re having so much fun! Please let him stay!”

  She glanced at Shahaan who was glowing with something more than exercise. A fleeting look of pain crossed her face, only to be replaced by the loving smile she seemed to reserve for his mother and daughter. She sounded genuinely sorry, “I’m afraid I can’t, sweetie. He has homework to do. Come on now.”

  Shahaan followed her, dragging his feet.

  Soon after, it was time to leave, and trying to hide his relief from his mother, he hugged her and Natasha goodbye. He didn’t bother meeting with the schoolteacher.

  ≈

  FIVE

  “It’s Javed Uncle’s youngest daughter’s wedding. This is the first wedding in the family after a long time and in case you’ve forgotten, it was Javed who looked after us after your father’s death.”

  Salma was determined to have Hussain back. It had been two months since his visit. Not once had Shahira looked as if she missed him. The girl couldn’t act to save her life. She was too honest to know how to pretend, and Salma let her think that she was being duped.

  “I’m really very busy, Ami.”

  Hussain sounded tired and even more reluctant than usual to come home. What had happened between those two? None of the servants had heard or seen anything. Natasha had been too happy to have her father around to have noticed anything of note and Shahaan was still too young to spy for her. He had benefitted by the presence of a male in the meager two days Hussain had so generously bestowed on them. She felt sorry for the little boy.

  “So is everyone else, Hussain, but people take time out for each other. It will be extremely rude and unforgivable if you don’t come. Javed looks upon you as his own son.”

  Hussain sighed and said noncommittally, “I’ll try, Ami. I have to go now.”

  That was the best she could get out of him.

  ***

  Shahira was excited about the wedding. Hussain’s family had embraced her lovingly, and she was especially good friends with the younger lot. All the girls idealized her, and some of the older boys liked to flirt with her. She let them, because no one had ever flirted with her before and it was harmless fun once you got the hang of it. They were just kids anyway.

  The phone rang. “Hi, Shahira, it’s Nudrat.”

  “Hey, you! Where have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  Nudrat was the wife of one of Hussain’s oldest friends and they’d got along from day one. She had made quite an effort to get to know Shahira.

  Teasingly, her voice slightly shrill, Nudrat said, “I heard you’ve been busy, too. I heard Hussain visited, and you didn’t even tell me, you sly little thing.”

  Shahira tsked. “That was two months ago and you were busy globe-trotting, yet again.”

  “Ohh! That’s right,” Nudrat said, and then added in her best wheedling tone, “So—tell me. How was it?”

  “It was okay. He stayed a couple of days.” Shahira replied lightly, not understanding her meaning.

  “Shahira, you’re deliberately being evasive. Give me all the details of your long-awaited wedding night. At last it happened. I swear most of us had offered nafal prayers for you.”

  Shahira laughed. For the life of her she didn’t understand how some women could share such intimate details with others but apparently they did. It was another thing to be competitive about. How many times? Whose husband was the most insatiable; apparently that woman was the luckiest. She shuddered.

  Trying to put on a flirtatious tone, she said, “Well, it was…amazing. Absolutely earth-shattering.” She’d read that somewhere.

  Nudrat sounded skeptical. “Give me details,” she said.

  “Er…I have to go now, Aunty’s calling me. Talk to you later, okay? Bye.”

  She disconnected the phone.

  Nudrat sat in her bedroom, the phone still in her hand. With a smirk, she said to no one in particular, “He didn’t touch you, did he? The little brown sparrow from nowhere.”

  She laughed in delight at her surmise.

  Nasir, her husband, had been married to someone else when she’d met him. It hadn’t taken Nudrat long to get rid of the wife and move into his house and his life. And it hadn’t taken him long to find a new mistress. Only Nudrat wasn’t going anywhere. Nasir’s money was the only attraction, and all the security, she had ever needed. She’d done what she had to, to get it.

  She and Rutaba had been like two peas in a pod. Hussain was a traditionalist, raised with those ancient ideas of morality that revolved around women not doing what men did. Why should a wife be faithful if her husband wasn’t? But in Rutaba’s case, her husband had been faithful while Rutaba had been a greedy, spoilt little rich girl, wanting everything that didn’t belong to her.

  So while she was sleeping with everyone else’s husbands, Nudrat had been there for Hussain. At first, she hadn’t told him about Rutaba’s infidelities; she’d made sure he trusted her first, spinning made-up stories of Nasir abusing her. Like all good men, Hussain was a sucker for a woman in distress.

  Then, like a good friend, she’d told him about Rutaba, crying for him while doing so. He’d been devastated. After the horrible accident that killed Rutaba, who
else could he turn to in his pain but her? She had given him all the comfort he needed.

  She smiled as she remembered those few months after that when Hussain hadn’t known what to do, or what had struck his perfect life and driven it straight into chaos. To her shock and anger, he’d extricated himself out of their affair too soon, and made his business his entire life.

  Nudrat was determined to get him back and the little sparrow would be old news soon enough.

  ***

  Hussain was not at all happy.

  He did not want to attend weddings and be a part of a life he had left far behind. He’d created a comfortable set-up that worked for him and his family, but his mother was determined to play fairy godmother to Shahira’s Cinderella. Only, his mother hadn’t got the memo about Shahira actually being the wicked witch.

  Almost at once, he admitted to himself that he was being unfair to her. She was extremely good to both the people he’d hired her to take care of. She just rubbed him the wrong way.

  Deciding that he wasn’t going to stay out of his own house just because of an employee, he elected to come home for the blasted wedding his mother was insisting he attend. And she was nothing more than that. An employee, whom he could and would ignore, no matter how attractive or intriguing she may be.

  Impulsively, he flew back without informing them, thinking to surprise Natasha. As he got closer to his home, he saw it was lit with fairy lights with a marquee set up on the lawn. What was going on? He could hear loud music, laughter, children—he hadn’t seen this kind of family gathering in ages.

  He entered the marquee from the back, trying not to create the commotion he knew his arrival was sure to cause. A group of girls and boys were dancing and he smiled. Some things never changed. Nostalgically, he recalled his own flirtations with girls he’d danced with in his youth.

  He caught a glimpse of Natasha amongst the dancers. She looked thrilled. He laughed to himself, seeing the open pleasure on her face. He caught a glimpse of the slim girl she was dancing with and realized it was none other than his dear judgmental wife, or employee, if one wanted to be technical.