A Perfect Mismatch (8 page)

“Enough!” Armaan growled, his eyes turning flinty. “… or I shall not be responsible for my actions.”

They glared, not wanting to give in to the other, locked in a battle of wills, unwilling to be cowed down by the other. Armaan was the first to become aware of a sizzle of reaction. She was crushed into his chest down to the thighs. Tension sizzled between them as he became aware of every breath she took. He watched her through hooded eyes and saw the same intense awareness reflected in her face in a flash of lightning. Her breasts were flattened against the solid wall of his chest. He did not let go immediately and she did not move, not even daring to breathe now. After a moment, Armaan loosened the grip and they let go of each other as if scalded.

That couldn’t have happened. Zara analyzed it and shut it away instantly. Armaan couldn’t have looked at her in that way. Like he wanted to … No! In a flash, she remembered the day she had tightened the tie on his neck. It was as if he wanted to do more than just hold her. The darkness was playing tricks on her mind. It was impossible to imagine Armaan attracted to her. No. It had to be this insane moment. Of course, both of them had gone shamefully beyond the boundaries of civilized behaviour. She had never thought that she would stoop to physically attacking anyone. Clearly Armaan brought out the worst in her.

Zara looked at him as he vigorously removed the dirt splattered all over and gave a sugar-coated smile. He
glowered at her temerity, wondering how long he could remain patient with her.

“At least we are out of the flooded area!” Zara said looking around. Armaan followed her gaze and found that she was right.

“Great to hear that good news! Now we don’t know where we have to go - left or right! On the road, I had some idea about the direction and knew we had a chance to reach the hotel.” Armaan stood looking around with his hands on his hips.

The wind picked up even as they considered useless options one after another. A flash of lightning across the landscape lit up barbed wire fencing. They walked towards the edge and after much distress found a gap to squeeze through. To their surprise, they were on a small dirt track. They walked for a few minutes to find a small house. However, they were dismayed to find that the hotel was too far out for them to walk in this weather. On enquiring about a place to stay, the residents informed them about a lodge a kilometer straight down the path.

They walked with grim determination, sometimes erupting into a squabble and subsiding again into a sullen silence. The rain and wind intensified and their trek became slower with no lodge in sight. There seemed to be a power failure everywhere. Armaan tried calling the hotel several times but there was still no signal.

“Are you sure you heard the man right? This path does not seem to be leading anywhere! We have passed two private bungalows and a shanty!” Zara asked for the third time in confusion.

“If you keep quiet more often, I might just be able to hear the instructions correctly. The man we met at the last turning couldn’t get a word in edgeways with you badgering him with questions!” She ignored the sarcasm. The trees on the side of the road were thick and they did not see any signboards as per the directions given to them earlier.

“Did we take the wrong turn at the fork?” she questioned again.

“No we didn’t! The man specifically said ‘turn left’,” Armaan said grimly.

“But we didn’t turn left because it was covered in shrubs!” she persisted.

“Can you just leave this to me?” he thundered in exasperation. They walked a few meters and reached the edge of a cliff.

Armaan looked down and sighed. The silence was loaded with meaning as Zara shot a snide look his way. He turned with his palms up to stall a mutinous ‘I told you so’ expression on Zara’s face. “If you say one more word I will be tempted to tip you over the edge.”

Zara raised her eyebrows contemptuously. “Yeah, sure! And I will make sure that I take you down with me again! Now can we go back to the turning we missed?” She began to stalk back the way they had come.

They trudged along for another half an hour before they saw a gate. It was a sprawling Portuguese style bungalow but without a ray of light in the windows. They walked up to the gates to peer at the nameplate that claimed that it was indeed a lodge.

“It looks haunted to me!” Zara could barely stand with exhaustion.

He snorted in derision, “Don’t worry, one look at you and they’ll know who’s scarier. You could frighten the hell out of any ghost!”

Not to be left behind in the verbal battle she purred with malicious sweetness, “You aren’t looking like a prince drenched in musk either, you know!”

He scowled down at her, resisting the urge to say something more when a movement at the window caught his eye. Someone was moving about with a lamp. Armaan went in, followed by Zara and they were soon standing in front of a wooden door with a brass knocker. It was after the third knock that the door was finally opened by an old man carrying the lamp they had seen earlier.

“I am Elbert Vaz. There has been no electricity since the rains began. How can I help you?”

Armaan explained their predicament and the old man nodded, leading the way into a giant hallway that ended at the base of a beautiful winding staircase.

“It is a very old house. My great-grandfather built it several decades back. Since my sons don’t live here anymore, and it needed maintenance, my wife and I decided to turn it into a lodge.”

A tiny old woman almost as thin as her husband came out from the kitchen.

“Elvira can get what you want to eat. I am afraid there is nothing elaborate to offer. Normally, tourists call in advance if they want to stay for a few days.”

Armaan nodded his agreement and they proceeded into the courtyard at the back of the house.

“Only one bedroom is clean. The rest were occupied until today and we couldn’t clear it up since the storm began. I am afraid the amenities are quite simple.”

Zara was grateful that the beds were clean.

“You can clean up the mud in the courtyard, at the well. Later you can bathe in the bathroom upstairs but the water in the taps would be cold,” said Elbert

They stood near the well, washing themselves as best as they could by pouring bucket after bucket of freezing water. Zara stood shivering, drenched from head to toe when Elbert came again to call them for dinner.

Elbert offered his own clothes when he brought in towels and blankets for them. But Zara and Armaan refused immediately, knowing that they would never fit either of them, the old people being too tiny even to contemplate such a prospect.

Armaan saw Zara shiver again. She had crossed her arms across her chest, rubbing her palms together, trying to warm herself. Water dripped from her hair and gleamed on the smooth skin on her cheek and her throat. Her voluminous top stuck to her wet body. She was walking about the room looking at old photos on the wall. He was still figuring out a way to block out the memory of what he had felt when she had fallen on top of him. Later when he had pulled her into his arms … everything had gone crazy! In one evening he had experienced a range of emotions that had simply gone into overload. It was just not like him to react in this uncontrolled way with a woman and he had
done everything wrong from the beginning. Why had he not been in control?

Zara was saying something to Elbert about wanting a little detergent to wash her clothes. He dragged himself back to reality and requested for the food to be served in the room when he saw Zara tremble again.

They trudged upstairs to find the room lit with candles and a lantern that cast long golden beams everywhere. Armaan exclaimed on finding a charcoal brazier in the cavity of a defunct fireplace, “At least this will keep us warm until we change.”

Elbert left them a packet with an assortment of some more candles and matches, a packet of detergent, soap, shampoo, toothpaste and several sheets, blankets and towels. To Zara’s surprise and delight, there were rubber slippers for both of them.

Zara averted her eyes when Armaan peeled away his wet shirt and squelching shoes to hunch down in front of the brazier. A palm-sized bruise on his shoulder caught her eye.

“You’re hurt!” She flew to his side and knelt in front of him. “Let me call Elbert for some ointment.”

Armaan was stranded on uncertain ground by the look of genuine concern in her beautiful eyes. She touched his shoulder gingerly to test the injury and he jerked away. “It’s just a bruise. I will be fine.” He could never tell her that in the chaotic state of mind he was in, he might just pounce on her.

Zara stood up in a huff. “Suit yourself!” He must have injured himself when they had rolled down the hillock.

She hid her worry by pottering around the room for a while. Then she went down in search of Elbert who gave her an antiseptic ointment. Quietly she kept it near Armaan who remained silent. She was about to turn away when he mumbled a gruff ‘thank you’.

Zara sighed, relieved that he did not argue this time. She took off her shoes, sneaking glances at his broad back. She didn’t want to feel this way about him. But then, she acknowledged, painfully aware of the heavy thudding in her chest, that she had always felt this way about him. How comfortable he looked without the shirt and here she was jittery about taking off her wet top. Her toes curled into the furry carpet in reaction.

The meal arrived before they could bathe. They were too hungry to wait so they decided to eat. They sat on wooden stools wrapped in blankets with a table in the centre laden with the hot food in old silverware. The meal consisted of steaming spice-scented rice, chicken curry, sandwiches, lentils and vegetables. A bowl of fresh fruits and roasted nuts followed much to their satisfaction.

“Now, we can sleep in peace,” Zara said tiredly, picking up the items she needed to make her way to the bathroom. Unfortunately, she bumped into Armaan who had the same intentions. They were stuck in the middle of the doorway glowering at each other.

“Ladies first!” said Zara imperiously trying to edge her way in.

“The times have changed, honey!” Armaan drawled in a silky tone. “Gentlemen have an equal right to the bathroom at whatever times they choose!”

“Ha! You will be hammered with every piece of antique furniture in this room,” she threw back angrily. “You did the same thing to me when we were at the hotel. You took the bed and I let go, opting for the divan! It is time to repay my kindness.”

“But we didn’t sleep at the hotel. You lost your way and we landed up here instead!” Armaan replied, leaning further into the door, his arm brushing her shoulder.

She leaned away as much as she could to avoid touching him. “Armaan …” Her impatience fizzled out suddenly. She was bereft of words when his melting brown gaze slid to the opening of her wet shirt, to the hint of voluptuous curves. She thought she would disintegrate, pinned under that open male gaze.

Armaan was slowly coming to the conclusion that he had lost his mind. He had just caught himself assessing his wife’s lovely assets. It must be the lousy weather, he thought in despair. Just not suited to an unwanted honeymoon. Angry with himself, he raised his eyes to her face. Her lips were so full of promise that he was distracted from what he intended to do. What had he intended to do? Oh … yes … wrestle the rights for bathroom visitation from his shrewish wife! He must remind himself diligently of that aspect of his wife’s nature whenever temptation surfaced. He looked at her again. Her eyes, though steely now, were shadowed with fatigue. Zara was exhausted and he was a fool arguing over such a silly thing … er … what was it … Ah yes the bathroom. Then, as if it did not matter, Armaan stepped back letting her hurry in.

She trembled in aftershock as she shut the door quickly!

Why had he looked at her like that? It had astounded her into complete silence a few moments ago, giving her that toe-curling need to throw herself into his arms. She looked into the mirror at her wet image in disillusionment. Did he think she was fat? She was behaving like a typical love-struck teenager! Her fist pressed into her chest to quell the feeling of deep-seated insecurity. Anger took its place. It was better than feeling insecure. But another thought dislodged the anger again. Why had he stepped back? She knew that Armaan was just as tired as she was. He had protected her throughout the rough trek even when he was so annoyed with her. Zara had not called out her gratitude though she knew she should have. She had forgotten all about who should get the bathroom when he had looked at her in that way.

Zara shook herself out of the bizarre mood and got down to washing and rinsing her muddy clothes in the cold tap water. It was a good half an hour before she stepped out, wrapped respectably in the extra sheets.

Cleverly covered in sheets Zara could have been a nun, thought Armaan disappointed. He was going to make some changes in their living arrangements after this honeymoon was over, he thought sternly. He was going to have a firm chat with his mother about shifting their residence. He strode into the bathroom to shut the door firmly, wishing fervently that he could shut his wife out of his mind just the same way.

Zara set about drying her dripping garments on an antique wooden clothes stand in the far corner of the room. It was good that the room was warm. The clothes would be
dry by morning. Elbert had promised a steam press for the next day apologizing for not having bath robes. Until then they would have to make do with the sheets.

Zara looked at herself in the old-fashioned mirror and sighed. If there was any embarrassment as she had emerged from the bathroom, it was lost now. Armaan had taken one look at her and left without a word. Given his superior sense of style and aesthetics, he would probably be giving her tips on how to look elegant in a bed sheet.

The wind howled, taking her mind away from the turmoil. It whistled through the slats in the old wooden window shaking the bolts and hinges wildly. She opened the window for some fresh air. The wind took charge of everything. She reeled back from the impact of the cold, wet lashing, as it filled the curtains and blew them about wildly. In the ensuing chaos, an old vase kept on the table crashed to the floor. Zara scrambled about to close the flapping windows when her sheet slithered to her waist billowing about like a parachute. A giggle of pure delight escaped her as the gusts of wind swirled her damp hair, giving her goose bumps all over. In vain, she tried to retrieve her temporary dress and close the windows at the same time.