The Secrets We Live In: A Novel

by Fazle Chowdhury

  Salima sought the advice of Masuma Sultana—Zain’s mother—herself for an ideal candidate. Although his post was largely ceremonial, Yazid instead appointed Zain as the country’s ambassador to the Republique.

  “Sir, I know what the answer to this question will be but is it necessary to have property developers on the guest list?” asked Salima.

  “These individuals could become a source of embarrassment for us.”

  “Are you talking about Edward Blakensoff?” Zain smiled.

  He couldn’t ignore her expression of discontent.

  “Edward is an old friend and one of the very few gentlemen in this city who has less of the pomp and more of the steel I need to pick me up after the ostentatious words of many of our annoying guests.”

  A frustrated Salima protested,

  “All I ask here is that we invite him at another time, at another event.”

  “No, need I remind you that his company was able to complete this embassy in six months and ahead of schedule?” said Zain.

  “But Sir—”

  “Salima, please…”

  “What will it take for you not to invite Blakensoff to important events?”

  “Salima, he’s been married for half a decade now and has legitimate children, I think. He’s introducing me to his wife tonight. He’s sobered from his past reputation.”

  “Sir, our security team uncovered a wide list of conflicts of interest, ranging from his present, past, and even roles that go back to decades. He’s moved his businesses into revocable trusts run by his own cronies in full violation of EU laws so he could continue to profit from them. As we speak, there are pending lawsuits in Brussels that allege he’s violating clauses of the EU Charter. And let’s not forget about the three hundred or so documents that our team submitted to the EU courts…..

  “Well, friends screw each other every now and then. What’s one criminal offense?”

  “Sir, he is one page away from being indicted.”

  “As long as he is not, let’s keep inviting him.”

  “He’s an embarrassment who could taint your presence in Paris. News media will be present.”

  “We could use some bad publicity.” Zain laughed.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, lighten up, Salima. We’ll do this one at a time. Let him come tonight, and then, you can uninvite him for the rest of the year.”

  Salima stood up, straightened her suit, and gathered her folders and tablet.

  “I am running late for some more meetings. Would you also approve some of the items I sent you in my email last night?”

  “I did them all early this morning as I was driving back from Dreux.”

  “All but three, Sir.”

  “Fine, I’ll check again.”

  As Salima was about to leave, Zain tapped on the table. She turned around.

  “No, Sir, she has not called back yet. As soon as she does, I’ll tell the switchboard to forward the call directly to your cell phone.”

  “Now, why would you think I was going to ask you about Debra?” asked Zain.

  “Who else, Sir?”

  Zain gave Salima a wry smile. Salima smiled back for the first time that day.

  “She’s coming at five, Sir.”

  “You do mean Debra, right?” Zain pronounced the name with all his feeling.

  “Say it so I can believe you, Salima,” toyed Zain.

  “Sir, do I have to? I have pressing meetings.”

  “Yes, you do. Come now.”

  Unwillingly, Salima responded,

  “The Mercedes-Maybach S650 Sedan, which you have named Debra costing you €400,000 and which the state did not approve of, will be here at 5 pm.”

  Zain clasped his hands behind his back. He looked outside his grand window.

  “Something about Paris that makes you want to live longer,” he said.

  “At the rate you’re spending, Sir, we’ll be lucky to have a roof over our head by the end of the week,” she said in a worried tone.

  “Will that be all, Sir?” she asked.

  “Yes, Salima, thank you for everything.”

  “Oh Sir, I did forget one thing. There’s a couple downstairs. Apparently, they’ve come from Zimbabwe to receive your blessing for their marriage.”

  Zain scratched the back of his head.

  “Pardon me?”

  Salima repeated herself.

  “May I remind you, Sir, that you did officiate a wedding for a couple that came from Uganda only last month, and you did send out a press release that the mansion’s cultural center is a place of spiritual enlightenment?”

  “Fine, fine, I’ll come down now,” said Zain.

  Salima and Zain rushed downstairs and across the grounds, passed the flurry of staff preparing for the night’s event in the rain. As they walked briskly into the room, Zain said,

  “I trust you have not been waiting too long.”

  The couple stood, their faces filled with excitement. For them, Zain was something else. Less than God but above a celebrity.

  “It is an honor to meet you, Sir,” said the man.

  “My name is Jaffar Shamjee, and this is my bride-to-be Rabia Bashir.”

  “You will have to forgive me,” said Zain. “I’m not used to giving blessings to those who don’t need it.”

  Jaffar smiled, and his bride bowed her head in respect.

  “Sir, let me explain. Your grandfather Awaal Auzaar founded the Decan Textile mill in 1908 in Harare. A few years later, he, along with his consortium, built the Decan Group, which he bestowed to my grandfather Tahir Shamjee and my father, Reza. It is only because of your family’s generosity that I stand before you today as a recently qualified dentist.”

  Zain smiled.

  “Congratulations on your achievement, but what has that got to do with me?”

  “Our families would not approve of our marriage, but if you officiate the wedding and we have your seal of approval, it will go a long way toward getting their acceptance.”

  Jaffar’s words struck a chord with Zain.

  “You came all the way to Paris just for my approval?” he asked.

  “The little we can afford…this risk was worth it for us. Only a letter with your seal of approval would do. We don’t mean to keep you from your busy schedule,” said Jaffar.

  Zain was taken aback by the couple's devotion to their purpose and their desperation for an act of kindness. He couldn’t identify his exact emotion, but it verged on gratitude at being thought of. He wanted to give the couple something special, beyond their request and worthy of their visit, however short it would have to be.

  “Salima, tell the Estonian Ambassador I’m going to have to reschedule.”

  “But Sir!—” Salima protested

  —“it’s a very important meeting.”

  Zain looked at Salima and made a gesture like “It can wait.” Turning to the couple, he said,

  “Give me just a minute. I want to wear my best suit for this.” He then addressed Salima,

  “Get the official photographer…and just a few kilometers away, there’s a tavern. Bring the violinist that plays in front. Send a messenger to fetch him to come here faster than he can count to twenty and send the car to round up Father Gaspard. I need him.”

  Salima gently grabbed Zain’s hand.

  “Sir, we have pressing matters to attend to.”

  Zain took his hand back.

  “Sometimes we need to attend to those that really matter, Salima.”

  A few moments later, he dressed in his most dashing Saville Row suit as he began to officiate the wedding with Father Gaspard behind him, whispering what he needed to say. In attendance were all the mansion staff members, including the security.

  “I’d like to begin by thanking everyone for being here on this rainiest of day in Paris. It’s no accident that each of you are here today, and each of you were invited to be here because you represent the spirit of plurality, compassion, and understandi
ng in the individual and collective lives of this couple, Jaffar and Rabia. I truly can’t think of a better venue for a more cohesive affair, for an occasion like this where all of us are lucky to witness these two begin their life together.”

  Ignoring Gaspard’s next words, Zain took over.

  “I think everyone in attendance would agree that the most remarkable moment in life is when you marry the person you love. It is the beginning of two hearts finding a home with devotion, partnership, and spark. A bond inordinately pure.”

  Zain paused. For a moment, he thought of someone very dear to him. Though he knew her long ago, her shadow lingered along the edges of his heart even now. He composed himself and turned his head back to Gaspard for his next lines.

  “I’ve had the good fortune to meet Jaffar and Rabia, even if it was only twenty minutes ago, but already, I have a feeling your lives will be rich in all forms. So, without further ado, I ask Jalal and Rabia to speak their vows.”

  Jaffar and Rabia whispered their vows to one another and exchanged their rings.

  “Now repeat after me,” said Zain.

  “With this ring, I thee wed.”

  “With this ring, I thee wed,” repeated Rabia.

  “As a token of my love.”

  “As a token of my love.”

  “That I have chosen you.”

  “That I have chosen you.”

  “Above all else.”

  “Above all else.”

  “With this ring, I thee wed.”

  “With this ring, I thee wed.”

  Then, Zain asked Jaffar to do the same.

  “Good, what is bestowed on me by par la grâce de Dieu, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Jaffar, you may kiss the bride.”

  While all celebrated in applause, Mazaar’s suspicious eye zoomed in on something else. He had been part of the group of guests as observers from the stairs facing downward at the ceremony. With his eyes locked in at the bride and groom facing the Catholic priest, something was not right. From where he stood, and as he checked his watch, he noticed the bride wearing a round-cut black stoned bracelet with numerous insertions of round stones except one. As he looked deeper, he noticed the angular layers where a tinkle of flash appeared but could not confirm. It looked like a round cameral charm was inserted in the stone with an acute lens taking pictures. Mazaar was sure that it indeed was a camera lens inserted in the jewelry item to take pictures of the ambassador, his entourage, and the entire vicinity.

  Mazaar immediately made his way to the stairs. But by the time he got to the bottom floor a large number of people in front of him left him helpless to alert with his own security. As he struggled to make way, he became frustrated. Then, as he saw, the jewelry item he so suspected was out of sight. The bride and groom had made their way towards another part of the room.

  Mazaar stopped himself. Realizing he had no concrete proof but was absolutely convinced the couple had ulterior motives, he kept on thinking about what to do next. As others cheered, he saw Salima and rushed towards her. Mazaar pardoned himself as he moved through those in front of him. He was even courteous to the staff and contractors. It did not make his race to get to Salima any easier. When he did get to her, she was not in the best of moods. He tapped her shoulder anyway.

  “I need to speak to you NOW!” Mazaar said in total seriousness.

  “NOT NOW!” Salima responded in a fury.

  “Shhhh” alarmed Zain to Salima. She was not amused.

  Unconventionally to the couple’s culture, they kissed each other’s hands and cheeks, mainly to please Zain.

  Salima’s staff bring out the necessary marriage documents to be signed by Father Gaspard and Zain. When Zain signed the document, he beckoned Shehzad over.

  “Write a check for €10,000 to Jalal and Rabia, will you?”

  ╔ ——————————————— ╗

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  ╚ ——————————————— ╝

  He squeezed her behind as his lips and tongue flicked over her body, and Charlotte weaved her hands in his hair, her head falling back in ecstasy. His mouth lingered over her upper body, taking each of her breasts one at a time, gently biting as she moaned.

  Yes, Zain was doing this. He was the one driving all rational thoughts from her head as he made his way down to her waiting, dripping world.

  She wanted his hands and lips everywhere—it felt right. He had a way of making her feel free. She could abandon her daily cares as a young barrister and experience release of one of a kind.

  His mouth and tongue were driving her closer to her climax, and she grabbed his shoulders and hung on tight while that familiar spiraling, tightening coil of pleasure started winding and winding.

  Free from any restraints, she couldn’t stand it anymore. She wanted to come, and as she begged this of him, he laid her down on the bed, positioning himself over her. She eagerly wrapped her legs around him as he slid in, mouth returning to her breasts as he thrust hard into her, over and over, his cock sliding, rubbing intensely against her, and an even louder moan tore free of her throat.

  That's how full he made her feel. That's how much ecstasy she was in right now, with no thought but for this moment, his mouth and hands moving everywhere, fast and slow by turns, as he came close to the edge himself, but slowed down in order to make this incredible feeling last.

  Together they continued their edging dance that kept the inner spiral coiling and then devolved into moving, thrusting, rushing headlong into a gushing, near-volcanic explosion.

  Charlotte shut her eyes as she came, her back arched in the air as he pumped in and out of her. Her body shuddered as powerful, orgasmic waves rushed over her, and her pussy clenched and released over and over.

  When her orgasm subsided, she opened her eyes to the empty room. She relaxed her back and stretched herself on the soaked bed. This was the first time that she’d reached her climax with the imaginary person of her dreams, and even though it wasn’t real, there was a sense of satiety. It had been a while since Charlotte secreted so many juices, even during actual intercourse. She wondered who he was, what these dreams meant. Were they a sign of her longing?

  Zain continued to pound into Charlotte. Her moans filled the air, only turning Zain on more with each thrust.

  "Give it to me now," Charlotte let out a breathless moan.

  Zain continued to caress her in his large bedroom. She looked at him as intensely as she had the first night they met when they locked eyes across the room and later found themselves in a garage in a similar position to the one they were in now.

  "Z-a-i-n," Charlotte moaned his name again, bringing his attention back to the woman he had pushed up against the wall. "I...I…" She didn't have to say another word as she hit her pinnacle.

  It was over. Both were breathing heavily when he pulled away and rebuttoned his pants. With little time, he buckled his belt and opened the closet door, letting Charlotte out first.

  "That's it?" Charlotte said sarcastically, straightening her Colette Bolero dress as she walked across Zain's room.

  "Not exactly,"

  he walked over to the bar in his bedroom and poured them both a glass of 2007 Château Margaux.

  "For you,"

  he handed over the wine glass and a piece of dark chocolate.

  "When have I ever let you leave without a treat?" smiled Zain.

  "That's not what I meant."

  Charlotte didn’t take the chocolate. She took a gentle sip of the wine.

  "Well then, what do you mean?"

  Zain hated when she danced around the point.

  "Zain, you don't see anything wrong in what happened just now?"

  He had no clue what she was talking about.

  "What's wrong? I thought this was good, No?"

  "Really?"

  Charlotte crossed her arms.

  “Am I too much of an embarrassment for you?". Charlotte said in anger. Zain was annoyed. This wasn't a
new conversation. The life of an ambassador was lonely, especially at night, when he came home to an empty bed. The convenient passion with Charlotte kept him warm, to an extent.

  "Why would you ask me this question?"

  Zain tried to understand. Charlotte turned her head away, avoiding his eyes.

  “Don't be like this,"

  He gently touched her cheek.

  "Charlotte, you know I care for you.”

  Charlotte was quiet and quickly wiped away a tear threatening to fall from her eye, making Zain feel guilty. She took a deep breath and faced him,

  "You don't get it. Do you?" she said.

  Charlotte shook her head. She couldn't believe he was so oblivious to her feelings.

  "You mean to tell me you don't think what we are doing is getting old?"

  The statement made no sense to him.

  "Yes, Zain. Old. All we do is the same thing over and over again. You call me whenever, and like a fool, I drop everything I'm doing and come over when all we do is…and I don't feel anything from you when we're together like we are now."

  “Charlotte, I’m sorry you feel this way.”

  "Maybe things have changed," said Charlotte, as she looked down at her feet.

  "We've been like this for months. What’s changed?" Zain asked.

  "How about the fact that I have a man who is interested in me? Who wants a commitment. He wants more than you do. But I keep turning him away. And for what? For you?"

  Zain was taken aback. In recent months, she had been acting a little differently. Anticipating it was only the stress from her work, Zain never inquired, and she never said a word. He knew what she was getting at, but it wouldn’t change his mind.

  “I don’t know what to say, Charlotte. Are you saying you want to end this?" he said softly.

  Zain did care, but he just couldn’t commit. The risks were way too high. If she did want to call it off, he would at the very least feel relieved that she would be safe and not at risk of getting embroiled in something she did not sign up for.

  "I need an answer, Zain. Are you serious about us? Is this going anywhere?"