SidNaaz: Worst Betrayal Ever?

Guilt

Shehnaaz's optimism stayed with her through the busy days of packing, and blossomed into excited anticipation on Thursday morning as she waved goodbye to her father and stepmother and started for Mumbai.

With the directions Irfan Siddiqui had given her she had no trouble locating the elegant suburban community of Pali Hills that night. She did have a little trouble believing that she was actually going to live there. One magnificent home after another flashed by.

It was ten o'clock at night when she pulled to a stop at the gates of a breathtakingly lovely Spanish-style condominium complex. The gatekeeper came out and peered at her through the open car window. When Shehnaaz told him her name, he said, "Mr. Siddiqui drove in half an hour ago, miss." Then he directed Shehnaaz to the proper street, respectfully touched his fingers to the visor of his cap, and added, "I understand you're a new resident. If I can be of help, just let me know."

Shehnaaz forgot her weariness as she pulled to a stop before a lovely courtyard with an arched entryway displaying the number 175. Irfan had promised to meet her here and show her around, and his Cadillac was parked in the driveway leading to the private garage.

"Well, what do you think?" he said a half hour later as they completed the tour of the luxurious apartment.

"I think it's wonderful," Shehnaaz said, carrying one of her suitcases into the bedroom, where an entire mirrored wall concealed closet space. She opened a closet door and her gaze swung back to Irfan. "What should I do with these clothes?" Every closet she opened was filled to capacity with wonderful dresses of linen, silk and crepe. Shehnaaz recognized some of the designer labels. Most of the things still had tags on them and had obviously never been worn. "Your aunt certainly has very youthful tastes in clothes," Shehnaaz commented.

"My aunt is a compulsive shopper," Irfan explained disinterestedly. "I'll phone some charity and have them come over and take all this stuff."

Shehnaaz ran her hand down a gorgeous wine velvet dress, then she glanced at the tag hanging from the sleeve. Not only did the woman have very youthful taste in clothing, she also wore the same size Shehnaaz did. "Irfan, would you consider letting me buy some of these clothes?"

He shrugged. "Take whatever you want and give the rest away; you'll save me the trouble."

He had started down the stairs to the living room below, and Shehnaaz turned off the lights and followed him. "But those are very expensive clothes""

"I know what they cost," he interrupted irritably, "I paid for them. Take whatever you want"they're yours."

After helping her carry in the rest of her things from the car, he turned to leave. "By the way," he said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. "My wife doesn't know I bought this place for my aunt. She feels that my relatives impose on me financially, so I've never mentioned it to her. I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention it either."

"No, of course I won't," Shehnaaz promised.

After he left, she looked around at the luxurious apartment that was now her home, at the marble fireplace, valuable antiques and gracious silk-upholstered furnishings. The condominium looked as if it had been decorated for a magazine layout. A vision of the alluring clothes hanging in the upstairs closets superimposed itself in her mind. "My wife doesn't know I bought this place for my aunt; so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't mention it..."

A knowing smile slowly dawned on Shehnaaz's face as she glanced again at the beautiful room and wryly shook her head. Not his aunt"his mistress! At some time in the recent past, Irfan Siddiqui must have had a mistress. Shehnaaz shrugged the matter aside; it was none of her business.