Page 59 of First Comes Marriage
‘Zafar?’
‘Huh?’
‘The food.’ She held the calamari a few inches from his lips, but he took it from her fingers and put it down on the small plate in front of him, rather than eat it. ‘Did Ibrahim say what the plan was going forward?’ She took a calamari ring herself, hoping that if he saw her eating, he might do so too.
‘Yes, but only vaguely. I left express instructions. I was quite clear about how important this is, but Dad refused to listen to reason, thinking it’s more important for me to be here. With me not there handling any crisis that comes up with this deal, there’s a good chance it could slip through our fingers.’ He ran his hand through his hair, completely oblivious to the impact his words had had on her.
Maybe it was just his frustration coming through. Since they’d been married – and likely before that too – he had spearheaded every crisis management situation and sitting here while others took care ofhisproject in his absence was bound to make him feel irritated and wanting to be there instead.
Reshma took a calming breath and tried to reason with him. ‘Have faith that Ibrahim and Murad will manage things in your absence. We’re only here for a few more days and then you’ll be back home and able to deal with whatever it is that’s cropped up. Try to be patient.’
He finally looked at her properly and his gaze softened as a corner of his lips went up by a scant millimetre. He picked up the piece of calamari he’d put down and put it into his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully. As he took another piece, Reshma felt that she might have got through to him, and while he’d said a few things she hadn’t been happy with, she knew he wasn’t being personal. It was just his frustration doing the talking.
The waitress came back to their table just then, asking if they were ready for their mains just as Zafar’s phone rang again. He asked the waitress for a few more minutes and answered his phone, this time excusing himself from the table and stepping outside. Reshma could see him from where she was sitting as he gesticulated with his arm, talking into his phone with a great deal of energy.
He came back ten minutes later and stood beside her. ‘I’m sorry, Reshma, but can we do this another time? I need to sort this out and I can’t do it sitting here in a restaurant.’
Reshma forced a smile and stood up. It wasn’t ideal, but he clearly had a problem he needed to deal with and her getting upset about a thwarted date and wanting to savour the moment of telling him how she felt wasn’t the way to go.
She smiled past her own hurt and frustration. ‘Sure. Why don’t you give the driver a call and say we’re ready to be picked up and I’ll settle our bill. Do you want anything for dinner to take back to the villa?’
He was already calling the driver. ‘Not for me thanks. Grab whatever you’d like for yourself. I’ll see you outside.’ And with that, he left the restaurant with his phone against his ear again.
Reshma didn’t bother getting anything. She paid for their starters and drinks and followed after Zafar, her mood drastically different from when she’d walked into the restaurant with him. She’d told him she loved him, but she never got the chance to hear what he was going to say and she couldn’t help but wonder if she ever would.
25
Zafar
Zafar was buzzing, and not in a good way. It wasn’t the buzz of euphoria or satisfaction. It was a build-up of restless energy and a sense of helplessness because he was thousands of miles away from where he needed to be.
Shit had well and truly hit the fan and here he was, waiting for the emails he’d asked Ibrahim to send him to load properly on Reshma’s laptop. His father hadn’t let him bring his own gear, insisting that he wouldn’t need it while he was out there, and Zafar’s irritation with the whole situation went up another notch.
He’d told Reshma he had to look into things and she’d handed him her laptop and then made her way to join Daadi at her aunt’s villa for the remainder of the evening while he caught up with matters back home.
He made himself a coffee and grabbed a couple of croissants and when he sat back down in front of the laptop, his emails had finally loaded. He started making his way through them chronologically and each email upped his annoyance until he felt anger simmer through his veins.
The hotel deal was supposed to have been a straightforward transaction, but things had started wobbling soon after he’d left London, it seemed, getting more tangled in the last few days. Ibrahim had clearly tried to managethings, as had Murad, but the seller was being difficult and throwing one obstacle after another their way, the latest being a hike in the original purchase price, with a threat of taking it to auction if they delayed in accepting his terms.
He’d seemed to be in a hurry about selling and with such a prime location and a solid building, Zafar had been keen to close the deal, having run all the necessary checks and paperwork before leaving. He couldn’t understand why things hadn’t progressed as smoothly as he’d anticipated.
He spent a good few hours going through what he could, getting frustrated each time he wanted a document and realised that he wasn’t connected to the main server because he wasn’t using his own laptop.
The seller had given them a deadline for two days’ time to accept his terms before he backed out, which, according to Zafar’s calculation, left him roughly thirty-six hours to get things back on track. And he couldn’t do that sitting where he was. He needed to get back to London as soon as possible if he wanted to salvage this.
It was already pretty late, so it was unlikely he’d get anything today but maybe he’d be able to fly out tomorrow. He needed to get in touch with the airline. He also had to consider what arrangements to make for Daadi and Reshma. Would they stay or fly back home with him?
Frustration and the need to be doing something pounded through him. This was exactly what he’d wanted to avoid in the first place, but his father had refused to listen to him. Even now, his father had no idea that Ibrahim had looped Zafar into what was happening.
Zafar picked up his phone and called Murad.
‘Hey.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything before? You called me, asked me a bunch of fucking questions but didn’t say athing about the shit fest we now have on our hands. I trusted you to be honest with me.’
‘Slow down, mate. First things first, don’t even think about offloading all your pent-up frustration my way. I’m doing the best I can, as is Ibrahim. As for trusting me to be honest, if you work your super smart brain a bit harder, you’ll see that when I called you there wasn’t anything concrete to say. The seller was just being annoying until then, but there was nothing substantial happening. Things escalated shortly after that, but your father gave us strict instructions not to involve you. He said he’d take care of things. I had a meeting with Ibrahim afterwards and we thought it might be a good idea for Ibrahim to fill you in so you’re aware of what’s happening. Your dad is still dealing with it and doesn’t think there’s anything to be worried about.’
Zafar heaved a frustrated sigh as he paced the space between the dining table he’d been sitting working at and the kitchen island a short distance away. ‘It was supposed to be straightforward, man. If I hadn’t come here because of Dad’s whim, we could have sorted this out before it got to this. I want that hotel, Murad.’
