More Than You Can Say by Paul Torday Read Free Book Online

Hindu Kush. She is of the Q’ata tribe, and it is said they are descended from Iskander the Great, and his Greek armies, when they passed through the region’s wooded valleys on their way to conquer India. She has the blonde hair and blue eyes of her race, so rare in our corner of the world.’
    I felt transfixed by the girl’s haunted gaze. Whatever powerful emotion lay behind her eyes, it was not unrequited love. There was something so dreadful in her presence it inhibited speech. Mr Khan filled the silence.
    ‘You are dumbstruck. That is very good. I told you she would be worth waiting for. Adeena, Mr Gaunt is a member of English society, no doubt with the most important and interesting connections. Also he is a soldier. Perhaps he has served in Afghanistan. Is that correct, Mr Gaunt?’
    ‘Yes, I was in Afghanistan for a while.’
    ‘Wonderful,’ exclaimed Mr Khan. He clapped his hands in delight. ‘Then the two of you can share happy memories of that beautiful country. Your bride is a most knowledgeable person, Mr Gaunt. She can tell you everything about the new, modern, democratic and prosperous country of Afghanistan.’
    He talked about the girl as if she were a thing, rather than a person. What was her name? Adeena, that was it. Mr Khan walked towards the bronze bucket in the conservatory. We followed him, Adeena moving very slowly as if each step cost her an effort of will. Mr Khan pulled out the champagne bottle from the melting ice, and another, smaller bottle containing what looked like orange juice. After a brief struggle he removed the foil and the wire cage and popped the cork of the champagne. He poured me a glass. Then he unscrewed the top of the other bottle and poured a measure of orange juice into the second glass, which he presented to Adeena.
    ‘You must drink to each other’s health,’ he said, still playing the part of the proud father-in-law. He lifted both hands as if conducting, enjoining us to raise our glasses.
    ‘Your good health and happiness,’ I said, raising the champagne glass in Adeena’s direction.
    My voice sounded pompous and formal. Adeena raised her orange juice in reply, then opened out her hand in a deliberate gesture and let the glass fall to the ground. It shattered on the tiled floor of the conservatory and the orange juice went everywhere. Then, with one last look of contempt, directed equally at Mr Khan and myself, she turned and walked out of the room.
    ‘Adeena!’ Mr Khan shouted after her, but she did not look back. In the silence that followed her gesture, I heard herlight footsteps going up the stairs, then the sound of a distant door being slammed with some force.
    ‘She’s nervous,’ said Mr Khan, rubbing his hands together. ‘It is too much excitement for her. First she arrives in a strange country, and now she is meeting a strange man who is to be her husband. She will get used to the idea. She is a frightfully jolly girl, really, when you get to know her. I knew her father. He was a jolly chap too, until he was killed.’
    ‘Well, she doesn’t have to like me, does she, Mr Khan?’ I said. ‘I mean, I don’t suppose you plan to keep me around once you have the marriage certificate. Let’s be honest, that’s what this is all about. I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry. Once I have the money, I’ll keep my mouth shut. But let’s not pretend it’s anything other than that. I don’t think that I’m a great judge of character, but I wouldn’t say Adeena is dying to get married to me. Would you?’
    Mr Khan had watched Adeena’s departure with the air of a loving father looking after an errant daughter. Now, as he faced me, his expression was a mask of clinical detachment. He stared at me with his dark brown eyes and said nothing at all. The friendly atmosphere that is usually generated by the popping of a champagne cork seemed to have dissipated.
    ‘You will please go to your room and stay there,’ Mr Khan said after a moment or two.