The Moors Last Sigh

she spoke with dignity. ‘I am thinking to myself, Nadia Wadia, what is the generous sir requiring in return for such a favour? Maybe it is something that Nadia Wadia cannot give, even to the great Abraham Zogoiby himself.’
    Abraham was impressed. He told her that an enterprise like Siodicorp needed a friendly public face. ‘Look at me,’ he cackled. ‘Am I not a horrible old man? Just now when people think of our company, they think of this mad old fool. From now on, if you agree, they will think of you.’ So it was that Nadia Wadia became the face of Siodicorp: in commercials, on posters, and in person, hostessing the corporation’s many prestige sponsored events – fashion galas, one-day cricket internationals, Guinness Book of Records winners’ conventions, the Millennium Three Expo, the world wrestling championships. So it was that she was saved from the gutter and restored to the public celebrity her beauty deserved. So it was that Abraham Zogoiby scored another victory over Raman Fielding, and the Nadia Wadia song returned, re-released in a pounding dance remix, to the ‘Hot-hot’ playlist of Masala Television , and to the top of the hit parade.
    Nadia Wadia and her mother, Fadia Wadia, moved into the Colaba Causeway apartment, and on their living-room wall Abraham hung the one picture by Aurora Zogoiby that Zeenat Vakil was still unable to show at the gallery on Cumballa Hill, a picture in which a beautiful young girl kissed a handsome young cricketer with a (pictorial) passion that had caused such trouble; once upon a time. ‘Oh, how wonderful,’ said Nadia Wadia, clapping her hands as Abraham personally unveiled The Kissing of Abbas Ali Baig . ‘Nadia Wadia and Fadia Wadia love cricket, don’t we, Fadia Wadia?’
    ‘Very true, Nadia Wadia,’ said Fadia Wadia. ‘Cricket is sport of kings.’
    ‘Oh, silly Fadia Wadia,’ reproved Nadia Wadia. ‘Sport of kings is horsies . Fadia Wadia should know that. Nadia Wadia knows.’
    ‘Enjoy, daughter,’ said Abraham Zogoiby, kissing Nadia on the top of the head as he left. ‘But please: for your mother, a little more respect.’
    He never laid a finger on her, was never anything but the perfect gent. And then, out of the blue, he offered her to me, as if she were his to hand out, in his gift, a trinket wife.
    I told Abraham I would visit the Wadias and discuss his proposition. The two women awaited me in their Colaba high-rise, looking terrified. Nadia Wadia had been dressed up like a Christmas present for the occasion, nose-jewellery and all.
    ‘Your father has been so good to us,’ blurted Fadia Wadia, maternal feelings overcoming the exigencies of her situation. ‘But surely, respected goodsir, my Nadia Wadia deserves kiddies … a younger man …’
    Nadia Wadia was looking at me oddly. ‘Has Nadia Wadia maybe met you someplace before?’ she asked, half-remembering Ganpati. I ignored this question and addressed myself to the matter in hand. The problem was, I explained, that they were living on the patronage of one of the most powerful men in India. Should they refuse the offer of his only son’s hand in marriage, it was entirely likely that the old man’s protection would be withdrawn. Few hands would extend towards them after that, for fear of offending the great Zogoiby. Possibly the only interested party would be a certain gentleman who once, as a cartoonist, used to sign his efforts with the picture of a frog …
    ‘Never!’ cried Nadia Wadia. ‘Mrs Mainduck? This, Nadia Wadia will never be. First I will ask Fadia Wadia to hold my hand, and together we will jump from this verandah, just here, see.’
    ‘No need, no need,’ I soothed her. ‘My idea is a little better, I think.’ What I proposed was an engagement in name only. Abraham would be humoured, it would be excellent public relations, and the period of the engagement could be infinitely prolonged. I told them the secret of my accelerated existence. It was plain, I said, that I did not have long to live. Once I died they would reap the considerable benefits of being attached to the Zogoiby family, to whose great fortune I was the only heir. Even should I live long enough for the marriage to become necessary, I vowed, our platonic arrangement would remain in place. I asked only for Nadia Wadia’s agreement that she would keep up the appearance of a genuine match. ‘The rest will be our secret.’
    ‘Oh, Nadia Wadia,’ moaned Fadia Wadia. ‘See how rude we are!