‘Stop! Just stop whatever you have come here to do. Please!’
Manjrekar knew then that Jazmeen had changed her mind about executing Karan. He hadn’t understood why, but he had complied anyway. And Karan had survived—ready to live a brand new life. As a National Hero. As Prime Minister.
‘Did you see The Sunday Times this morning?’ Karan continued on the phone.
‘You mean that front page story speculating about you and me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let the bastards speculate,’ Jazmeen hissed. ‘The report just proves that you are a normal, horny man who appreciates a woman with a great ass. What’s the harm in that?’
Her comment made him laugh.
‘Well, I can’t wait to see their reactions when you start living in the Prime Minister’s official residence as First Lady one day!’
‘One day. Some day. Maybe.’ “Yes,” she said.
There was some commotion in the line at Karan’s end. ‘Oh, looks like the CBI Director is here. Even though it’s Sunday, I’ve called him over to discuss all the investigations they have going on currently. You know, Amrit…’
‘Yes, yes,’ she interrupted. It was critical to halt the investigation of the countermanded Gorakhpur election immediately.
‘I should make a quick call to Ma before I meet the CBI fellow. She has called twice since morning already but I have been busy each time.’
‘Yes, you do that. She is elderly, who knows how long she’s going to live?’ Aloud, she said, ‘Yes, you do that. What would we do if it wasn’t for our mothers?’
‘Yes, bye!’ He hung up before she could wish him the same.
Jazmeen tossed her phone aside and looked at Sareen. He was busy mixing three different pastes and creating a brand new concoction on a plate. Some new colour tone, she presumed. She looked at the special M.A.C foundation cream jar sitting on the side of the table. It was clearly identifiable by its red cap.
‘Karan didn’t bring it up this time,’ she said. Sareen halted the stirring action of his hands, but didn’t look up to see her. He knew what she was alluding to.
‘Looks like he finally believes me when I say that I had nothing to do with Saran’s death,’ she continued. ‘I mean, how could I have killed him? The poor old bastard died more than two weeks after I had met him. In a hospital, 1,500 kilometres from here!’
Sareen nodded—and resumed the mixing activity.
‘You know what that means?’ she asked.
Sareen paused again. He still didn’t look up. Jazmeen reached forward and carefully lifted the jar with the red cap in her hand.
‘It means we should pay a visit to that old lady in Gorakhpur soon. Maybe in a couple of months’ time? I’m sure she’s dying to be with her departed son. What do you say we give her that opportunity?’
Obviously, she didn’t expect him to answer the question. He resumed his whipping, perhaps a little more forcefully than before.
Both the Ahluwalias had just a hint of a smile on their faces.
Pretty Vile Girl Page 42