Custody (10 page)

In the beginning she had been so brave and matter-of-fact, now she was more fearful. Things never remained static; in business you were always fighting to keep your position, because if you didn’t go ahead, you started to decline. And it was turning out to be true of love as well. Should he leave its management to Shagun, he was sure the whole relationship would be doomed.

‘Sweetheart, the first thing we have to do towards planning our future is inform the company of our relationship.’

‘What? Why?’

‘We are in the same organisation, your husband and I. We have to make a disclosure about anything that affects its working.’

‘Don’t bother. You will finish and go. I have to stay for my children. How will they like it when they grow up and realise their mother is a divorcee?’

Ashok lost his temper. ‘What is there to realise? This is why I hate this fucking place. This obsession with what others think. By the time your children grow up the whole world will have changed. Certainly this benighted country. Things are moving so fast as it is. Ten years ago you couldn’t get a Coke, pizza or burger here. There wasn’t even colour TV, for fuck’s sake. And now? Everything.’

‘What has colour TV got to do with my marriage?’ she asked, lip trembling. Ashok was always seeing connections where none were obvious to her.

‘Traditional versus modern values, individual versus society,’ he elaborated, putting a contrite arm around her. ‘I just want to take you away from here. This narrow social set-up is all you know – that’s why you are afraid. But it will all be fine, fine. Trust me, darling.’

‘Yes,’ she said slowly, ‘even Princess Diana left her husband. She found happiness before she died. Who knows how long we have?’

‘Are you saying we are going to die? In a car speeding to avoid paparazzi?’

‘Well – she just wanted to be happy too.’

‘All right, let’s look at Diana. So much of her identity was bound up with being the Princess of Wales. But she didn’t care. She followed her heart. And you must follow yours. Something else will emerge if only you let it. In Diana’s case she started saying she was the people’s princess – you have to admire the repackaging that went into that. We only have one life to live and everybody wants to live it the best they can.’

‘But then she had that terrible accident and her children were orphaned.’

He sighed and reverted to the original problem. ‘This situation has to change. It would be disastrous for me if Raman did the disclosing. I would appear to be exploiting him and you. This will go down badly, the company frowns on anything that prevents employees from giving their best.’

‘You should have thought of that earlier,’ she said, giving him a sideways glance, over the naked back that had so attracted him when he had first seen her at the Oberoi party a year ago. The white curved expanse interrupted by the thin black band of her blouse and the sari tied low over her hips had seized him more powerfully than many women’s cleavages had done over the years.

‘I know it’s difficult for you. But you’ll see. It’s better in the long run.’

‘Disclosure to whom?’

‘I could report to Hong Kong – or New York.’

‘New York. That’s far enough away.’

‘I wish I could say distances make a difference, but they don’t. He will get to know.’

‘He can’t get to know yet.’

‘We can wait a few weeks.’

‘A few weeks!’

She was panic-stricken. Why were things moving so fast? When she started her affair she had thought a lover would add to her experience, make up for all the things she had missed having married straight out of college. She had heard of other women who took lovers – their whole lives didn’t change.

She thought of her nights with Raman. The last time she had refused his overtures, he had not repeated them. They lay together, tossing and turning, sleeping in fits and starts, staring into the darkness. In the morning often he looked haggard, while her eyes had faint purple circles under them.

A few days later, Ashok to Shagun: ‘I mentioned our situation to a colleague in the US – Bill is a great friend as well.’

‘Why? Why did you say anything? You promised to wait.’ She clung to him, as though he could allow her to have her cake and eat it too.

He caressed her back gently, his hand lingering on the slenderness of her neck under the heaviness of her thick bright hair. If only he could take away her fear. Somehow manage it so that all the consequences were shouldered by himself.

‘I only sounded him out,’ and it surprised him how easily he could be patient. ‘Just to get a sense of things. We have to be realistic.’

Wearily Shagun supposed he was right. Whatever way you looked at it, she would have to give up something, and suffer accordingly.

‘All right.’

‘It’s only a matter of time before he finds out who it is. If you think he is suspicious, it is the next step.’

‘He talks of you with great respect. All stuff about Mang-oh! – and the deliverables.’

‘The deliverables are almost over.’

‘So, who would you go to?’

‘My own boss, who is head of South-East Asia – that’s in Hong Kong. Or I could go to New York, that’s headquarters.’

‘Can they fire you?’

‘Theoretically they can do anything. But they won’t want to lose me. Perhaps they will suggest a transfer – but it’s a joint decision. The Brand was built by consensus, by treating people well, by willing participation.’

‘Well, do it quickly, whatever you have to do. My life is a nightmare. It’s hard to be a wife when your heart is somewhere else. If only I were not a mother, how easy it would be. To leave him, to live with you, just be happy.’

He said nothing – only went on stroking her back, her face, her hair till she calmed down.

‘So I have your permission to make a disclosure?’

She merely nodded, then got ready and went away.

The next evening Shagun looked uneasily at her husband. Though there was no change in his demeanour, her dread increased. Days went by, still nothing. Ashok tried to calm her, instant exposure didn’t follow a disclosure, but he had never been married and didn’t know how much a husband and wife can tell each other without a single word.

When the Lovely Detective Agency handed a manila envelope to Raman in his office he thought he was half prepared for what lay inside. Later he could admire their sagacity; without the pictures he would never have believed it.

It was infinitely worse than he expected. Out-of-focus photographs of Shagun leaving a place that had number 27 painted next to the gate. There was his wife getting into a taxi and Ashok bending over her, there were the two of them lightly kissing in an open doorway; Shagun was wearing different clothes, a different day. How had the photographer managed to take these without their knowledge? But of their authenticity he had not a doubt.

He had employed the agency so that the truth would dispel his confusion, but the information paralysed him even more. He could confront his wife, but his boss? How could he stay on in the same firm? The long hours and hard work he had poured into the company, that appreciative entity, were being rewarded with recognition, bonuses and incentives. If he left he would suffer financially, besides which it would be impossible to find an equally good job.

All these past months, working so closely with Ashok, planning the Mang-oh! campaign, being grateful to him for putting so much energy into his department, while the man was screwing his wife, and destroying his family. There must be rules against this – company rules. He would not rest till Ashok Khanna was publicly disgraced. Whom to approach most effectively, the PR regional head office, or the PR section in New York?

It only took a few minutes, though, for revenge to seem pointless. No protest, however strong, could get back the security he had lost. He remained bent over his desk simulating work, as the office slowly emptied. By ten he was the only one left. Then all pretence over, he pulled the tainted folder out from under its innocent covering papers and gave himself up to anguish. So this was what had accounted for her distance, and he had thought she wanted him to travel less.

The sound of the phone roused him. It was Shagun: ‘What is the matter? Why haven’t you come yet?’

What could he tell her? He loathed her voice.

‘Raman?’

Still he could not reply.

‘Raman? Are you there?’

He put the phone down. There was nothing to say. But he did get up. His children were at home, as well as his lying, cheating wife. He must go to them.

So he knew. The disclosures had done their job. She sat next to the dumb instrument, her hands cold, a sweaty film of fear on her upper lip. The minutes passed, and she could not move. She looked at the clock: 10.09. Her marriage was over at 10.09, May 20th, 1998. Her son was ten, her daughter less than two.

She lifted the receiver, and dialled her lover’s number. ‘He knows.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘It is out in the open, good. Just get through this, darling. Or I can come and get you. It is what I always wanted.’

‘No, it’s all right. It won’t be long now.’

Carefully she placed the receiver in its cradle. There was a little dirt around the numbers, clearly Ganga had taken advantage of her absent-mindedness to forget all she had taught her about cleaning and dusting. Absently she fiddled with the phone. Should she go to her mother’s? Take the children? Right now they were sleeping, she would have to wake them up, answer their questions, endure the looks of the servants. Tomorrow. Tomorrow things would be clearer. There were other people who loved her, and if she could no longer hide, perhaps that was a good thing.

When Raman returned he wondered how he had never seen the guilt that was so evident in every gesture, every word. A lack of easiness, forced attention, periods of abstraction. Yes, that is how the faithless behaved. Now that she was in front of him, clearly apprehensive, pain entered the anger that had been so sharp in the car.

All the way home he had thought of what he was going to say, the harshness, the biting contempt. He would drag her screaming by the hair, out of the house, down the stairs. What did he care if she had no clothes, no money, if the neighbours heard? Should the children ask he would say she was dead. If only she
were
dead, how much simpler that would be.

But when he actually stepped through the front door, he could not even raise his voice. He wanted this agony to abate, and he knew of nothing that would help. He was still, his movements quiet. Dinner was eaten in silence. Finally, ‘Arjun and Roohi were asking for you,’ Shagun offered tentatively. ‘Now that their holidays have begun they wanted to know what we’re doing this summer. But you are always touring so I said no plans for the moment.’

He concentrated on the apple he was peeling. She noticed the slight trembling of his hands, the pallor on his face. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’

‘What is there to say? You tell me.’

Bravely she continued, ‘Is anything wrong? You seem upset.’

It was hard for him to look at her, the fear in her face was as apparent as the guilt, but to come out with an accusation was to make the nightmare still more real. But he had to, and when dinner was cleared and the servants gone, he started, praying for inspiration, for something to say that would make her see sense.

Was it true, what he had found out?

She only looked terrified.

Was there anything lacking in their home, their marriage, anything at all, that she should amuse herself – amuse herself—

His misery stopped his words and he half turned, wanting her to see and comfort, for this dreadful thing to be washed away, perhaps by both their tears.

No gesture or sound.

‘You have nothing to say?’

‘What do you mean?’ Her face was shrivelled, he noticed the tight little fists in her lap.

‘Is it not clear? Why do you insist on playing the innocent?’

‘I have done nothing.’

‘Nothing? Screwing around with Ashok Khanna is nothing?’

‘What are you saying?’

‘Fucking the boss. What did he promise you?’

‘How dare you talk like that? What kind of husband are you?’

‘So it’s not true?’

She looked down.

‘I have had you followed for one month. There are pictures to prove it – do you want to see them, or should I show them to Ashok’s boss instead? Have him deported? Then what will you do, you and your precious lover? His career in the company is finished, finished. I will see to it, see to it, do you understand?’

So it wasn’t the disclosure, he had had her followed. All of a sudden she hated him.

‘This was what was behind all that acting in the ad films. Not your natural talent, though your talent for acting, yes, for acting, is worth an Oscar. Month after month to pretend to be my wife, and yet – all the time – all the time – Shagun, how could you? I trusted you. If there was something wrong, why didn’t you tell me? I was working so hard – for whom do I work but my family? – and you—’

His tears did not allow him to say more, while her own trickled down her cheeks. She stood up. ‘I have wronged you. I didn’t mean to. But please don’t tell the children.’

Alone in the room, he gradually grew calmer. He had cried more in this one evening than he had in his entire life, but clearly that didn’t mean anything to anyone. He could hear his wife rustling about, the door of the room opening, closing, opening, closing. She was going to sleep separately, it seemed.

Wearily he got up, went to the bathroom, looked in the toilet case for the Anxit that he habitually took when he was travelling to help him sleep. Carefully he pressed two out from the strip. Hopefully this should take care of the night ahead – if not he would drink himself into oblivion.

The next day, with his world changed, Raman drove to office, determined to spread the change around. The walking pillar of effrontery known as Ashok Khanna should be made to pay for his sins.

Now the pleasure he had taken in the boss’s interest in his work struck him as pathetic. Pathetic, too, all those brainstorming sessions that had helped create new initiatives. How had Ashok Khanna been able to look him in the eye? Seemed empathetic and encouraging?