A Perfect Mismatch (14 page)

“Ha! You wish!” chortled Zara, bouncing back to form.

“Say it … or …” His mouth was descending towards her.

“Later! Armaan, I promise … please!”

And Armaan relented, only after extracting many more sweet promises. They had danced oblivious to everyone after that, unaware of Vini’s beatific smile or Bani’s vengeful sneer. The first thing Zara had done that night in the privacy of their bedroom was to fling herself into his arms and kiss him passionately for the most memorable night ever.

Armaan was affiliated to several charitable organizations to which he donated generously. No one except the family knew about it. He disappeared on certain days to give them hands-on help. Zara was delighted when he asked her to accompany him to help out. The thought that she was a part of his world and that he sought her opinions and company gave her a deep sense of belonging.

Armaan was just as busy as Zara was and she found him stuck in the studio on many nights. On the weekends she would slip in at lunchtime to watch him work.

He had an eclectic style and enjoyed versatility with a plethora of mediums. He explained some of his work and she understood how much passion and depth one required for the level of creativity he displayed. His watercolours were translucent and delicate. The oils and pastels were vivid and the charcoals were startling in its raw power of expression. Zara saw the nudes he was famous for and realized that, he could bring out the spiritual intensity, a connection with nature, through the female forms in his work. His women were not just sensual creatures, but powerful spiritual beings connected with the creative force and the endless cycle of birth and death. They were part
of the trees and the ocean and the seed and the root. The range of emotions that he could portray through colours astonished Zara.

Their relationship had grown more intense. Zara couldn’t find the words to describe it. Armaan surprised her at all times with the things he did for her. On the days she was late, he would simply land up at her office to pick her up and then take her out to dinner. Pari would swoon every time he made an appearance at the workplace and Sumana grumbled that Zara had only eyes for her husband these days. But Zara dreaded the passing of each day, as it brought her closer to the end of the contract. She wanted as much time with him as possible. And she cherished those times when he showered that attention on her. While she worked in the kitchen on the days when the cook was on leave, he helped her out so she could finish her office work. He confused her at times with his sudden brusqueness, but she was getting used to it.

When Zara left town on an auditing tour for a couple of days, she understood the meaning of misery. Armaan hardly spoke at length over the phone, though he made it a point to call her several times a day to check on her. It was a surprise to see him at the airport where he held her hand tightly, again, not saying a word of welcome, while she chattered like a bird until they reached home. He never said he missed her even when he took her to bed and made love to her urgently as if it were their last day together.

Little did Zara know, there was more simmering beneath the surface.

Armaan had not felt so good in years. He did not know
how to curb the jubilant feeling. It was too perfect. He had begun to get used to her flitting around the house and the studio. He should have considered it as infringement on his personal space, but he could not. That aspect bothered him at times.
Since when had Zara become a part of him that he did not grudge her that niche in his mind
? Zara would sit quietly as a mouse; sometimes so unobtrusive was her presence that he did not know she was there in the studio until she asked him a quiet question.

There were times when he would spend the night on the studio divan. Some of those velvety dawns became more beautiful when Zara would quietly slip in under the covers with him and cuddle close, her body merging with him in passion.

Sometimes Armaan would wait for her in the early hours of dawn in the studio bedroom. The sight of her racing across the vast garden when she came to him under the starlight was a thrilling experience. They quarreled less now, though at times they did fall to sparring like old times.

Armaan would catch her looking at him with that sparkle in her eyes, which would get veiled quickly before he could grasp the meaning behind it. However much he probed thereafter she avoided answering him, instead deflecting his questions with a sarcastic rejoinder. Zara never kept a grudge in her heart and that was one redeeming quality he couldn’t boast of. He brooded at times with severe mood swings, which she primly called artistic license to rudeness.

Two months flew past without either of them being
aware of the passage of time. Her locked up apartment in Gurgaon was a faded memory. The niggling thought that she would return to her own little space after six months was sometimes a painful thorn in her chest. But she remained optimistic as her days were filled with sunshine and love.

Zara noticed a million changes in herself. The best was Aparna’s open friendship. Often, Zara would drop in at her boutique for a chat. Aparna was a great help where Zara’s dressing sense was concerned and ironed out most of the problems with sound advice without compromising on Zara’s inherent sense of dignity and natural grace.

Zara quickly learned everything about how to look presentable effortlessly. Bani would often join in, but soon realized that she had no place in the scheme of things as Aparna sternly began to refuse indulging her friend’s juvenile whims and fancies.

Armaan saw the change and felt an intense pleasure and secret pride in Zara’s ever-changing appearance. Zara blossomed in front of him. His opinions though, were stringently given in clipped tones most of the time.

Underneath it all, Armaan was becoming painfully aware that it didn’t matter what Zara looked like or what she wore anymore. He dreaded the time slipping through his fingers.

Armaan had a crowded social diary even though he was reclusive by nature. Most of it was a professional necessity. If it weren’t for his sharp business acumen he would not have been so famous or wealthy. Zara’s initial
presumptions and her own insecurities melted away slowly as she became a part of his social world accompanying him whenever he wanted her company.

They were getting dressed for one of those occasions, a high profile get-together at a hotel where his paintings were exhibited. Zara was wearing a shimmering black georgette sari with silver and crystal embellishments that brought out the sparkling stars in her grey eyes. Her hair was swept back from a centre parting into a loose bun at her nape and she wore black pearls around her neck.

Armaan pulled her into his arms and crushed her lips with his own before burying his face in her throat. She smelt good and for a while, he held her as if he wouldn’t let her go.

He loved to see her happy. It made him happy. His eyes clouded at the awareness.

“You look stunning! Dressed to kill, are you?” he murmured, with an impassive face though his eyes glowed.

“Can’t help it, can I? Got to look for a groom very soon!” she answered flippantly with a dazzling smile as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

There was black silence for a few brooding seconds as Armaan’s countenance turned as hard as granite. He tightened his grip around her hips to near painful levels. His voice dipped dangerously “Indeed you must. How could have I forgotten that! But you dare not think of it while you are still my wife.”

Zara was contrite. “Armaan, I didn’t mean …”

He silenced her with a hard kiss. His arms were bands of steel around her and she swallowed a cry of protest as he let her go suddenly. “Let’s go.”

The party was in full swing when Armaan realized that Zara was nowhere to be seen. The earlier somber mood had dissipated and he had apologized while she had danced with him in the ballroom after the lavish dinner. He had looked into those starry eyes and felt guilty that he had been nearly cruel to her before they had left home.

It had hit him hard when Zara had mentioned looking for a groom for herself. He did not want to dwell on the unpleasant thought. He could not figure out why it should bother him so much. It was part of the contract they had made and he obviously had no reason to object to anything she wanted to do after that. The decision to enter into a physical relationship was mutual and after the stipulated period, both of them would be free to explore other avenues.

It did not feel very good when he thought clearly about it. On the contrary there was nothing clear about his thinking these days.

Well, for one thing, he thought with self-righteous pomposity, that being a divorcee, Zara might have her options reduced. That would be sad. Hmm … Well, he might be able to help her by extending the stipulated period from six months to … may be a year … or two. He liked the idea. Well, they could still be friends as some couples were. After all, it need not be complicated. Maybe she would be agreeable to living with him even after the divorce. He began to feel better.

It was more than an hour since Armaan had seen his wife and he was getting a bit concerned. He enquired with the host who laughingly teased him about losing his better half within such a short period of their marriage. It was not easy to get away from some of the guests as they claimed his attention discussing various aspects of contemporary art. A well-known industrialist wanted the sold artworks autographed by Armaan. That took a while. He scanned the area for a glimpse of black shimmering georgette in the crowd but everyone began to mill around for more autographs. A prominent socialite wanted to know when his exhibition trip to Belgium was scheduled as she wanted to plan her vacation accordingly. Distracted he answered some of them vaguely and made flimsy excuses to get away. After letting his manager take over, he was hurrying towards the lounge area where some of his sold out work was exhibited. Zara was not there.

The dance floor seemed crowded but he could not find her there either. Armaan was worried now, and disgusted with himself. Zara was a mature woman and certainly capable of taking care of herself. She must have slipped out for fresh air into the garden. Unable to stop himself, he pushed his way across the room to the open doorway. He was miffed that she had left his side without a word. Now that was the most stupid attitude to take up, he thought cynically. No one ever stuck around with their partners throughout the party! The reasons were numerous but he shoved them all aside by saying that after all he was supposed to keep an eye on her safety since she was his
wife. He moved around the blue, lit-up pool even looking inside the darkened Billiards room.

By now, he was getting angry. How could she be so irresponsible? He found himself in a dark corner of the green turf. There between the shrubs under a canopy was Zara with another man. They were sitting on the bench deep in conversation, completely oblivious to the surroundings. He recognized the man he had been introduced to earlier, an old friend from her college days. The man was explaining something and Zara seemed to be lost in his words. Then the man took her hand and held it.

Armaan was struck by the ferocity of jealousy that bit and ate into him like acid. It was with supreme control that he stopped himself from thundering down on the two of them to drag her away from the fool! No, it seemed he was the fool here. Now that she looked stunningly attractive, there would probably be more men groveling for her attention. She seemed to be making good use of her newly minted image.

The thought of losing her ripped through him like a blast. What a fool he had been. How could he have done exactly what he had never wanted to do? The truth was there right in front of him.

He loved his wife Zara. There was no way he could escape now. With that agonizing thought, he turned back to the party, raging mad like a wounded leopard trying to escape a trap.

When Zara returned, she saw Armaan glowering at her across the crowd. She made her way through finely
set tables where people laughed and ate enjoying the evening.

“What is it?” she asked him with her hand on his arm, concerned that he looked furious. Armaan was smiling all the time at the people surrounding him, making appropriate comments, but she knew him better now. His dark brown eyes glinted with the old fury that she remembered so well.

His voice deserted him when he looked down at her inquisitive face. What was he supposed to tell her? “I think we should leave,” Armaan said curtly.

If Zara was surprised by the change in attitude, she did not argue about it. “Of course,” Zara said in a clear voice that indicated that she did not appreciate being herded like docile sheep out of the venue.

They met the host and said goodbye to the other guests quickly. In the car, Armaan stepped down on the accelerator. After a while when the silence became overpowering she probed, “Are you going to tell me or not?”

“Tell you what?” he asked with the same gritty voice.

“About why you have that scowl on your face?”

“What scowl?”

“The one that makes you look like our gardener when he finds his precious seedlings trampled by the children.”

“What rubbish! Why should I be angry?” He wasn’t angry. He was enraged! Simply, raving mad and on the verge of ordering her to keep away from all male company!

“Of course your angelic countenance tells me that you are in the sweetest temper right now.”

“Look, just leave me alone, ok.” The aggression broke free, “And what makes you so chirpy anyway?”

“What’s there to not make me so chirpy?”

“Did you enjoy the party?”

“Yes.”

He seethed inward at that. “Of course you enjoyed it, getting cozy with your boyfriend!” he drawled scathingly.

Zara was getting irritated now. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it does! I was looking for you everywhere for hours before I found you sitting cozily with that friend of yours completely oblivious to everything.”

“Are you accusing me of infidelity?” Zara was shocked that he could suggest something so horrible about her. Then a tiny pleasurable thought uncurled inside her head. Did he care enough to feel bad about it?