The Khan by Saima Mir (best thriller novels of all time .txt) 📗

her, her husband adjacent on the soft cream cushions of the carved wooden sofa, Jia sat, waiting for her father to arrive.

The silence was broken by a clatter of plates from the kitchen. Sanam Khan took her daughter’s hand. ‘It will be OK,’ she said. And for the first time Elyas noted how similar mother and daughter were. Tall and slim, Sanam Khan was an elegant woman. When she laughed, her eyes were more hazel than green, and when she stopped they darkened to emerald. This they did with the arrival of Akbar Khan. Everyone got to their feet. He looked from his daughter to the young man.

‘Who is this?’ he asked. The room remained silent, tempered only by the sounds of activity coming from the kitchen. It ended with the arrival of the manservant, who came in balancing plates of buttered naan in one hand and fried eggs in the other. The old man’s vision was poor. He didn’t see Akbar Khan standing in the doorway, and as he sidestepped to avoid him, he lost his balance, almost losing one of the plates. Sanam Khan moved swiftly forward and rescued it.

‘Chilli Chacha, how many times have I told you to use the trolley?’ she said. The old servant nodded in short, sharp bursts before scuttling off back to the kitchen. ‘Here, sit here,’ Sanam Khan said to her husband, directing him towards the table and beckoning Jia and Elyas over.

Legs crossed, his eyes low, Akbar Khan waited as everyone sat down. The room was pregnant with tension, the waiting unbearable. Sanam Khan finally spoke. ‘This is our guest, Elyas,’ she said.

Akbar Khan looked up at his daughter. ‘Jia jaan, you know our ways well enough to know that women in our family do not have male friends, and you have brought one to the dinner table?’ he said. He waited for her reply but none was forthcoming. He softened his tone a little. ‘Bacha, speak to your father.’

Elyas, who had been poised for a fight and a barrage of abuse, was taken aback. The Pukhtun ways were legend in his home. His grandfather had been hard on his children, saying it was the custom of the ‘old country’ and the best way to instil discipline in one’s offspring. That Akbar Khan would be anything else had not occurred to him.

Jia reached over and touched her father’s cheek. ‘Baba jaan…’ she said. And Elyas saw a tender expression fall across his face. He listened to his daughter quietly, his head bowed throughout her explanations. He seemed like a good man, a just man, and Elyas wondered if there was any truth to the stories about Akbar Khan. When he finally raised his head, he looked down the table at his son-in-law, and Elyas was reminded of the oversized eyes of a maindak, but of course he could not be as harmless as a bullfrog. Jia finished speaking and Akbar Khan called Elyas towards him. ‘Bacha, come here.’ He patted the empty place to his left. Elyas did as he was asked.

He both feared and revered Akbar Khan. So when asked for his father’s name, Elyas answered in more detail than was necessary. His knowledge was sketchy and he found the names difficult to pronounce, but Akbar Khan seemed impressed with his effort. He smiled and patted him on the back. ‘Good, good. I am pleased my daughter has chosen to marry into such an honourable family. Even if the manner has been a little less than honourable. We must correct that oversight and organise an official wedding. I know you have already had your nikaah, but in my house that is not enough. I am a forward-thinking man but many in my family are not. I do not want them to point fingers at my daughter and her honour, you understand?’ Elyas nodded. ‘Then write down your parents’ name and address on here and leave the rest to me,’ Akbar Khan said. The scribbled details were taken gratefully by Akbar Khan and slipped into his shirt pocket.

‘He’s probably going to have me beaten up,’ Elyas had said half-jokingly to Jia on the way over, ‘and then thrown out of the house.’ Akbar Khan had done neither. Instead he had only smiled.

After the meal, Akbar Khan said he had much to attend to, and stood to take his leave, his son-in-law following suit. Akbar Khan placed his hand on Elyas’s head. ‘Kor di wadan!’ he said as he kissed him.

For a second, fear filled his new son-in-law’s eyes, but Sanam Khan smiled, and Jia whispered in his ear, ‘It means “a blessing upon your house!”’ And he relaxed.

Akbar Khan pulled out a roll of purple banknotes from his kameez pocket and called Chilli Chacha towards him. ‘Buy some mithai and send the rest of this to your family,’ he said. ‘Tell them my daughter has found a Khan worthy of her!’ Jia kissed her father without reservation and he responded with laughter, turning to hug his new son-in-law once more.

No one even noticed the small slip of paper that made its way into the manservant’s hand and from him to Bazigh Khan.

CHAPTER 17

That unnoticed slip of paper destroyed the house that Jia built. It took two years, but at the end of it, her father-in-law was implicated in a complicated tax fraud.

A company once registered by him became one in a long line of businesses used to commit carousel fraud. Signatures had been forged, invoices drawn up for products that never existed, and VAT falsely claimed from HMRC. She had no proof of his involvement, but Jia blamed Akbar Khan. ‘Are you listening to me?’ she screamed.

He ignored her, and carried on writing on his notepad, his gaze unflinching. She could feel the pressure building up inside her, his disinterest like screws tightening her sinews. From the corner of the room, Elyas watched. He knew his father to be meticulously law-abiding, a man who had never even had a parking