A Scandalous Secret by Jaishree Misra Read Free Book Online Page B

‘Don’t worry, I’ll have a word with the PM,’ Vir-ji had said, leaning out of the window of his liveried car. ‘Leave it with me for a few days, Sharat. And keep your fingers crossed – there are many vying for the same seat, you know!’
    It had been less than a year ago that Sharat had first voiced his ambition of becoming an MP to a few friends with political connections and, even though he knew what an asset he would be to any party, the haste with which the Congress party had opened its doors had been astonishing. Now, from his very energising conversation with the Home Minister last night, it was clearly only a matter of time before the offer of a safe seat came. One of the South Delhi constituencies would be best, Sharat thought, areas where the educated newly rich were desperate to see the face of politics change for the better. And better he would make it, that he was sure of. It was a natural calling, to be mindful of the welfare of other, less fortunate people. He had insisted on egalitarianism even as a child: persuading his mother to give away his clothes to the cook’s son before he hadeven outgrown them and preferring to play cricket with the children of their factory workers rather than Scrabble and caroms with Shashi, his sickly and rather snobbish cousin who was Sharat’s only companion in the family home. Most of all, he was fortunate to have money from the cloth mills started by his grandfather and didn’t see the need to waste his time building up more wealth, especially when there were no children to pass it on to. Even his cousin, Shashi, was childless.
    â€˜Morning, sweetheart,’ Sharat said, his voice cheery as he saw Neha’s figure already seated in her customary swing chair that overlooked the blooming flower beds in the garden. He noticed in a glance that she looked exhausted. ‘Still recovering from last night, eh?’ he enquired, unfurling a yellow gingham napkin over his lap. When Neha only muttered a response, Sharat looked at her more carefully. She really didn’t look very well. At thirty-seven, she was still a very attractive woman, with creamy smooth skin and a trim figure, but this morning her skin was sallow and there were grey shadows under her eyes. It was also unusual to see her still in her dressing gown, rather than in the exercise gear she usually wore for her walk around Lodhi Gardens. ‘It was a fabulous party, thanks in no small measure to you,’ Sharat said, leaning over to plant a big wet kiss on Neha’s cheek. Helping himself to a cinnamon bagel from the toast rack, he proceeded to spread a generous smear of butter on it, grinning as he saw Neha wince visibly. Neha did enough exercise for both of them, Sharat sometimes said jocularly, content in the knowledge that he was blessed with a naturally thin frame. Of late, however, Neha had been at him to stay off the fatty foods because of the slightly high cholesterol count that had been revealed in his last six-monthly checkup. But Sharat really did love the raisinand cinnamon bagels that Neha bought for him from the Hyatt bakery, and a bagel without butter was worse than poories without aloo. ‘Carbs and fat, a marriage made in heaven, just like ours,’ he sometimes teased.
    â€˜You’re unusually quiet, Neh. Are you okay?’ Sharat asked, turning in his chair to face his wife as he took a sip of coffee and chewed on his bagel. ‘Didn’t you think it all went wonderfully well yesterday?’
    Neha finally roused herself, sitting up from her slouching position. She swallowed a mouthful of coffee and put her cup down before speaking. ‘It did go very well. No, I’m fine, Sharat, just a bit tired.’
    â€˜Well, you won’t have to do this for another six months,’ Sharat said, unscrewing the pot of marmalade. ‘By the way, I’m thinking of going off to Lucknow for a couple of days.’
    â€˜Oh,