by Leena Nandan
Vikram stared at him. ‘You mean this oddball is a top official?
What is his background?’
‘Benoy is a brilliant man, but strange and secretive. His wife was dying of cancer and he hated her for it, hated being tied to her sickbed. He covered up pretty well though. No one except for me has an inkling of how he really felt. Her death liberated him in a sense, but further accentuated his aloofness.’
Vikram was in no mood to hear the sorry details of Benoy’s married life. ‘What has Benoy gathered so far?’ he asked.
A third voice spoke up and he almost jumped out of his skin. Benoy, who seemed a past master at silent entries, had quietly joined them. Vikram wondered just how much he had overheard. Benoy’s face gave nothing away; his eyes magnified by thick spectacles glittered with some indefinable emotion. Was it anger that they had been talking about him? Anyway, he deserved it for being so creepy.
‘We intercepted a message two months ago about leakage of vital software information and turned it over for analysis. Though Dr Maken was studying the report, he was being unduly sluggish, which made the top brass suspicious. So there has been a continuous watch on the research facility,’ he said.
‘Whose message did you intercept?’ asked Vikram. ‘That must have given you a clue.’
‘Never mind,’ said Benoy curtly.
Tushar continued as if there had been no interruption. ‘Everyone connected with Dr Maken or his team has been under surveillance since November—you escaped narrowly, my friend, since you had just broken up with Leila.’
Vikram then remembered his all-too-brief meeting with her earlier in the day, which he narrated tonelessly to them.
‘But why did she just clam up, after having specifically called me over, and why was she so tense when her husband came? Surely, he’d have shared her concerns.’
Benoy cast him an unfathomable look.
‘I think you’ll have to meet her and find out more. And that is why your role is so critical. We think Dr Maken was in league with those who had betrayed the company and we want to get the report to find out who they were. His untimely death and the disappearance of the report has been a real setback for us, and endangered Leila. You’ll have to work on Leila and get all the information from her.’
‘But I still don’t get it. How am I relevant to this affair? I’m a complete outsider.’
‘Leila trusts you and will tell you much more about what Dr Maken was really up to. It might help her remember some inconsequential detail which is actually vital for us,’ said Benoy.
‘I don’t see the need to get into things which don’t concern me.’
For God’s sake don’t you understand? Leila is in danger,’ said Tushar angrily.
‘Why should I care about Leila?’ said Vikram harshly. They only looked expressionlessly at him.
TEN
New Delhi, 5 February
Leila felt restless, unsettled. Neil had made breakfast for himself and left, quietly humming a tune as he knotted his red silk tie. He had worn the cream-coloured shirt she’d presented him after their engagement. She knew it was to please her, but it only made her nervous, given his past unpredictable behaviour. But they were beginning to adjust to each other now, she said reassuringly to herself. From anyone’s perspective, she had the world going for her. The apartment was beautifully decorated, with polished teak furniture upholstered in dark grey silk with streaks of bright red that set off the ivory-coloured walls to perfection. There were crystal lamps in the corners and the curtains were of light grey raw silk interwoven with silver threads that shimmered in the light. It was undoubtedly a dream home; she had divine looks and a handsome husband to boot—and she felt like death.
Death—the word made her shudder, as unbidden, the memory of her father’s waxen face came to mind. He had not even had time to look surprised at the suddenness of it all; rather it was a weary expression as though what he had dreaded all along had finally come to pass. For her, the shock had been magnified by the insinuations that his intentions were suspect in leaving the research facility, as the top-secret report was nowhere to be found. She had no rational explanation for this bizarre act of his, but could not believe that he would be bribed by another person or company. No one had that much influence over him, she thought. ‘Not even that arrogant colleague in his research centre who always behaved as though she owned him?’ a nagging voice whispered. And she hated herself for even harbouring the notion.
Should she leave the sleuthing to the police or try to at least ensure that the aspersions cast on her father did not result in a lackadaisical investigation into his mysterious death? She owed that much to her mother, her gentle unassuming parent who had just withered away in the shade of her father’s brilliant persona. Had Mother suspected Dad of infidelity all along and was that why she had retreated into a shell where nothing seemed to touch her? Had she even now grasped the full enormity of the situation that Dad was never going to come back? The misery her thoughts evoked made her head throb. Nothing gave comfort; the house felt alien and cold.
There was a time when she had loved the winter season. No matter how biting the wind, she’d walk for hours in the park, feeling the tip of her nose become cold ‘like that of a puppy’ Vikram used to tease her. Her hands, pale and slender, never shivered as they held the brush, painting with delicate strokes anything that captured her imagination—misty mornings and dark, moonless nights. In the bleakest of paintings there would always be one tiny image that held out hope…a bud that refused to shrivel and die; a faint glow of fire in the distant background that promised warmth to a cold and weary traveller. Mother had hung her paintings in the drawing room, and urged her to send them in for an exhibition, with the title: ‘Hope springs eternal in the human breast’. But Dad and Neil had been amused by the very idea that anyone could find beauty in her amateurish portrayal of life.
Leila felt cold, drained and hopeless. Every thought seemed to wound her today, the faint ticking of the clock mocking her loneliness. It was late afternoon now. She had not eaten or done anything all day, lost in unhappy memories. Mrs Dhawan, the friendly old lady in the next apartment, often called her over for a cup of tea, but of late Leila had been avoiding her. The maid had told Neil about the last occasion when she had met Mrs Dhawan and he had asked her innumerable questions about Mrs Dhawan’s bachelor son and what he did for a living and whether he, too was there when Leila had happened to drop in. It had made her feel so sick, just to think about the way his mind worked and she had decided to be more aloof in future. She spent most of her time on the terrace, trying to finish her watercolours, and if Mrs Dhawan was tending to her plants, they exchanged some conversation. She felt the old lady’s shrewd glance understood more than Leila revealed, but luckily she was tactful enough not to say anything.
Today when Leila opened the door to the terrace, the shadow of the neem tree seemed to reach right in and touch her with ghostly fingers. Mrs Dhawan’s terrace was unoccupied but the plants looked healthy and cheerful. They were better nurtured than her, she thought with bitterness. Leila shivered and could feel goose pimples all over. Today, more than ever, the deathly silence was deafening. She suddenly felt she had reached the very edge of her being. Abruptly, she decided she just had to speak to someone, anyone.
Subconsciously, her mind zeroed in on the one name she had sworn to forget—Vikram. He was her link with the past, and he alone could offer some explanation of why her life had all of a sudden become such a complex maze. Leila had Vikram’s number by heart, and was able to call him up immediately. Pushing away the thought that she hadn’t spoken to him even once after their breakup, she simply asked to meet him. Something told her he wouldn’t refuse to see her, and even though his tone was cold, it made her feel much better. Knowing that he was a fast driver—how many times had she chided him for it, she thought with a pang—she managed to change out of her crumpled clothes just in time to hear the doorbell.
Vikram came in, a se
rious unsmiling stranger. He bore no resemblance to the carefree, dashing young man who had cared so deeply for her. She almost dropped the idea of saying anything, but that would have been worse, as though her call had only been a pretext for seeking his company.
He said brusquely, without even asking how her mother, who he’d always liked, was coping with the tragedy, ‘What’s the problem?’
She hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘It was all a mistake. Dad had been very stressed out and before we knew it he was gone.’
‘Hold on—tell me from the beginning. What did he tell you about his inquiry and its conclusions? Did he give any details?’
The thought came to her mind that inexplicably he seemed to know already about Dad’s inquiry, but just then there was the sound of a car horn. Leila froze. She thought it sounded like Neil’s car, but how could that be? He’d said he had a Board meeting after lunch and needed to get his presentation ready for a foreign client after that, so what was he doing heading home at this time of the day? Then the bell rang and she rushed to open it. Neil stood there, an enigmatic expression on his face.
She introduced them, babbling in her agitation and Neil watched her with a faintly amused look.
Vikram said, ‘Well, I’ll be leaving. My meeting starts in an hour.’ He turned on his heel and left.
‘I’m having such a headache, I didn’t even offer him any tea,’ she said, stumbling over the words in her haste.
Neil gave her an unfathomable look. ‘You’ve worn a lovely pink saree. I haven’t seen it earlier.’
‘No, it was lying at the bottom of the wardrobe, so I took it out for a change.’
‘What a happy coincidence that Vikram came along just then,’ he said with a sneer and picked up her mobile phone.
She had a rush of panic. Her face turned pale and her mouth went dry. Had she called Vikram from the cell phone? Already he’d looked at the last number on her mobile and slid it into his pocket. He picked up the handset—oh God, she had dialled Vikram from the landline—and redialled the last number, putting it on loudspeaker. Her heart thudded as she waited for the inevitable. It rang on the other end without a reply.
‘Who did you call last?’ he asked casually without looking at her and her breath caught in her throat she struggled with the lie. ‘The tailor—he hasn’t delivered all the curtains. But how come you’re home at this time?’
‘I ask the questions, my dear,’ he said and walked out, throwing the cordless handset down carelessly on the carpet, as though he didn’t give a damn about it, or her. He got back into his car and drove away without a backward glance.
Leila collapsed on the floor, too wrung out with the chain of events to do anything else. She remained like that for hours, curled in a foetal position, her body feverish with tension. The phone rang, and she jumped at the sound. It was Vikram.
‘Why did you call? I couldn’t respond because I returned to office to find my secretary murdered and the office ransacked.’
The shocking news didn’t even register. ‘I didn’t call. It was Neil, checking to see who I’d spoken to. Vicky, don’t tell him I called you…and please find out the truth about Dad. Please, please…’
‘Leila you’re sounding hysterical.’
‘You have to help me or I’ll go out of my mind. Can we meet in town?’
‘All right. We can meet in the coffee shop Cool Cat tomorrow at five. You know I’ll do anything for you…’ He couldn’t bring himself to say more and hung up.
Neil listening on a wireless extension installed in his car uttered an expletive. He had already heard their earlier conversation, thanks to the secret extension he had installed in his office. He knew he’d been right to suspect her. She still cared for that bastard and it was mutual. He could hear it in their voices. His company, with its foreign collaborations, had long mastered radio wave technology, but they wanted to go by the book and get all the permissions before even trying it out on Indian soil. He had fooled them into believing that he had submitted the test set with the papers. Actually, he’d got a duplicate with a short range that served his purpose, since his new office was within a 5-kilometre radius. That was how he was keeping an eye (or should it be ‘an ear’, he thought with a chuckle), on his lovely wife. Well, he was one up on her. He would keep her under control and find solace in other things. Like Natasha or Tina…
…Tina and Raghav went to the cafeteria. She had deliberately put the slashed picture out of her mind and convinced herself that it must have been mailed to her for kicks; her tormentor must be some internet hacker out to have fun. The alternative was to report the whole matter to the police and she was in no mood to tackle all the unpleasant publicity that would follow. Her arguments in favour and against—no wonder Indians were the original argumentative species; she thought in a wry aside—had made her finally decide that there was nothing serious afoot. She was hardly the local beauty queen to be worried sick about obsessed stalkers.
A good number of executives and trainees were in the cafeteria, and all greeted her with a high-five—except Tony, who was markedly cold in his behaviour. She knew the reason for that—the role she had played in helping the police to solve the cyber fraud case. In fact, Tony’s attitude had been distinctly hostile for a long time afterwards. He had even confronted her. She had tried to explain that friendship was all very well, but she would not condone fraud. He had called her miss goody-goody and a lot worse, his face contorted with fury. Only the intervention of some other team members had ended the ugly scene and though he had apologised later, his face stiff and formal, she knew he didn’t mean it in the least. At the off-site too, he had gone out of his way to be unpleasant. Seeing him now revived the old tension, but with an effort she shrugged it away.
She had recovered her spirits sufficiently to be able to joke with the rest of the team and the best butt always (pun intended) was Shelly, dressed today in white. She picked a colour for every week and didn’t care about the comments that came her way—mostly good-natured ribbing, but sometimes quite catty.
‘Hi Snow White,’ said Raghav, ‘you look fabulous.’
‘Regs my dear, you really are the dregs,’ she replied. ‘You said fabulous last week too.’
‘Yes, but I didn’t mean it then,’ he responded, unfazed.
‘I like ice-maiden better,’ drawled Neil as he joined the group, ‘she’s ice-cold, unlike our hot young Tina here.’
It was an awkward moment. ‘Hot’ sounded horribly inappropriate; so too ‘ice-cold’. Everyone fell silent. Neil was the Senior Process Manager, very good looking, rumoured to have married a beauty, and no one liked him.
Tina made as if to say something.
‘Tina, my dear—everyone knows how well you teach people to be American in name and spirit. Reggie here has become a halfway decent guy, so I presume between you and Shelly, as Betty and Veronica, you’re giving him American love-tips. I could do with some as well.’
The innuendo was nastier than what she could stomach. Tina could feel her temper rise but Raghav too was quick to see it and moved swiftly to deflect everyone’s attention. ‘Hey guys, there’s a new circular on the office board about timings and schedules. They’ve not been able to mail it out because the server has crashed, so we’re back to good, old-fashioned print-outs. Tina you’ve got a cool week ahead, you lucky girl.’
‘I’ll do a trade-off with you,’ said Shelly. ‘I need some extra time. Say you’ll be able to accommodate me, that’s my sweetie. Or do you need Regs here to confirm that you’re available.’
‘It’s okay with me,’ said Tina, ignoring the rest of the statement. In any case, the weekend loomed large and she was already wondering how to keep herself busy.
‘So that’s official—Tina is Shelly’s sweetie. Quite a bundle of joy, aren’t you, my dear? Bad luck for you, Reggie.’ With that, Neil moved off.
Tina was still fuming, though Raghav had tried to improve her mood with his general witticisms. She didn’t bother
much about Shelly’s loaded statements, but Neil really put her off. Was his comment to be treated as a generally nasty one or a blatant pass? During the off-site too he had behaved in a peculiar obsessive manner that made her feel awkward. She didn’t know whether she should try and take it up with management. They had always followed a fair policy towards the girls but criticism of security arrangements had made them defensive and there was a murmur that women who weren’t comfortable could always look for better avenues. HR didn’t like people who posed problems and she couldn’t afford to be thought of as hyper sensitive. That was why she had never reported the crank calls. And that’s what they were, weren’t they—crank or prank calls?
‘Why are you looking like an angel who’s lost her cloud?’ said a familiar voice in her ear and she turned around with a start. Jeet!
‘How did they let you in here? They’re pretty tough on security issues.’
‘My inborn charm, my dear,’ he said with an incongruously humble expression.
She said with a squeal of laughter, ‘Native cunning, more likely’.
He pretended to look hurt. ‘You’ll have to compensate me with a sandwich for that.’
She linked her arm with his, feeling very light-hearted all of a sudden. ‘I’ll take you out, Jeet. I have to be back only by seven-thirty in the evening for the conference. Oh, it’s really great to see you.’
Two pairs of eyes watched them leave—one envious, the other with suppressed rage.
ELEVEN
5 February
Tina and Jeet slipped easily into their old relationship. Suddenly, all the awkwardness of the past few months seemed to have vanished and they went down memory lane with the easy familiarity of old friends. She told him about her father almost breaking a tooth on a bagel and swearing to eat only Indian food thereafter.
On the surface, there was just banter between them, but inside, Jeet was marvelling afresh at how she managed to bring colour and music into his life simply by being herself. Now she was talking about her new apartment and how it was so tiny, she fell over her feet every morning. She’d arranged everything and could now host friends—only three, or else they’d have to do a complicated tango round the dinner table, she said with her trademark infectious laugh. Of course her cooking would in all likelihood lead to a stampede to get away from the place, she added.