LITMIR.BIZ

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scold her. Right now, though, she must banish him from her mind. He had his own business to attend to and she had hers. And hers was here, in the home of Anish’s uncle.

      ‘So how do you find Jasirapur?’

      ‘It’s an interesting town,’ she said neutrally, and then with more enthusiasm, ‘and India is fascinating.’

      ‘But this is not your first trip to India, I believe?’

      How did he know that? If she were a stray traveller who’d stopped at his house—to ask for directions, to seek refreshment—he would surely know nothing of her. But she wasn’t a stray traveller, was she? He knew her, he knew who she was. She had a frightening feeling that he’d known even before she’d said her name at the gate. The prickling increased.

      ‘And are you here for long? This is not the best time of the year to visit our country.’

      ‘I’m not sure when we’re to return to England. We may stay for the cooler weather.’

      ‘You mention “we”. So you are here with companions?’

      She was sure that he knew that too. And just as sure he was aware of who her companions were. Suddenly, the thought that Grayson and Mike belonged to the Intelligence Service carried meaning. It had always seemed a strange way of life, Grayson’s career, nothing to do with the real world as she knew it. But, in that instant, she realised it had everything to do with it. And this man with the opaque eyes knew that better than she. ‘I’m here with a friend and his colleague,’ she said, continuing the bluff. ‘They have business in Jasirapur.’

      ‘And have left you to your own devices today, I see. You have come adventuring alone.’

      She didn’t like the way that sounded. ‘I left a message to say where I was going. They won’t be worried.’

      ‘How very sensible of you. But to come all this way—Megaur must be more famous than I realised.’ He lounged backwards in the heavily embossed chair, his head resting on cushions weaved in golden thread. The slightest smirk touched his mouth. He was playing with her, she decided.

      ‘It’s not Megaur I came to see, Mr Suri, but you.’ She was fed up with this cat and mouse game. She would state what she wanted and he could make what he would of it.

      ‘Dear me. Now why would you wish to see me?’ He swatted lazily at a passing fly.

      ‘I knew your nephew.’ She was bold now, refusing to look at the black eyes.

      ‘You must be mistaken. I do not have a nephew.’

      ‘No longer, it’s true,’ she said even more boldly, ‘but you used to. His name was Anish, Anish Rana. I’m sure you cannot have forgotten him. He died only ten years ago. His mother, Parvati, was your very own sister.’

      ‘I know none of these people, if they ever existed.’

      She felt the elder son begin to move towards her, but his father’s glare flashed at him to stay where he was. Suri’s eyes were as hard as agate and he sat poker straight in the imposing armchair. His mouth was a thin, tight line, his expression no longer lazy. If she were to find out what she wanted, she would need to be more conciliatory.

      In a gentler voice she said, ‘I understand this subject may be painful for you but—’

      ‘You understand nothing,’ he interrupted, and there was no doubting his hostility.

      ‘Forgive me if I’ve angered you. I’ve come only to ask one question and I hope you will answer it for me. I think you can. It’s something that is entirely personal but very important to me. I believe Anish’s father may have been a patient in the hospital where my mother was a nurse. If your sister left papers belonging to her husband and you still have them, it’s possible that my mother is mentioned in them.’

      He said nothing but his face was chipped from stone.

      ‘I know it sounds most unlikely,’ she went on, ‘but it’s the only lead I have. I’m sure Anish’s father must have written to his wife while he was recovering in England from the wounds he’d received, and it’s just possible that your sister kept his letters. I hoped you might still have them.’

      ‘I know not one person you speak of.’ The voice brooked no argument.

      It didn’t stop Daisy though. ‘Karan Rana was your brother-in-law and you don’t know him?’

      Ramesh half rose from his chair, his body taut and his stare dagger sharp. ‘I know nothing of this man.’

      ‘And nothing of your sister, Parvati?’

      ‘I have no sister. Can you not understand that? I have never before found the English to be quite as stupid as you appear to be.’

      ‘Is it stupid to ask for information?’

      ‘There is none to have.’ He clapped his hands as if to underscore the finality of his words. ‘Now I think it is time for you to leave.’

      ‘But—’

      He pointed to the door. ‘Leave, Miss Driscoll, unless you wish to be helped on your way.’

      She became conscious that the retainer who had served them drinks had returned and brought with him several companions. Together they flanked the doorway.

      The glowering elder son walked forward, his steps marked and deliberate. He took up a position at his father’s shoulder. He was a clone of the older Suri, she thought. It was Daya who was different. He remained standing at a distance, half in shadow, but she could see the smooth skin of his face creased with worry lines.

      Unhurriedly, she stood up. She was determined not to betray alarm and fought to keep her voice level. ‘Thank you for your hospitality.’ She hoped the irony would not go unnoticed.

      Her legs felt flimsy but, without a backward glance, she strode to the door. It swung open before she reached it, and she realised that yet another servant had been lingering on the other side. Suri appeared to need a battalion of retainers to protect him, any one of them eager to eject her if she’d shown a reluctance to leave. His voice followed her as she began to walk back along the long ribbon of marble.

      ‘You would do well to forget your questions, Miss Driscoll. For your own well-being. Enjoy India but forget the questions.’

      She stopped in her tracks and retraced her steps to the door, facing her host across the flurry of silken rugs. His threat was too important to ignore.

      ‘I will enjoy my stay in your country, Mr Suri, but it won’t stop me asking questions.’ And, with that, she turned and marched proudly back along the hall, through the huge carved wooden door, which stood ajar, and out into the hot midday sun.

      ‘You won’t get any answers, you know.’ It was Dalip who had followed her out to the iron gates. ‘That woman brought humiliation on our family. A woman from a princely house who should have brought only pride. Her belongings were burnt. Every item. There is nothing left. Whatever you hoped to find no longer exists.’

      Daisy climbed into the tonga without replying.

      Her pride was bruised. The visit had been a disaster. She’d been all but thrown out of the house and had learned nothing for her pains. As the tonga bounced its way back to Jasirapur, Dalip Suri’s parting shot echoed in the rhythm of the wheels. His words had hit home. Everything his aunt had owned had been burnt, he’d said, and she believed him. His father wasn’t just angry, he was malevolent. Ramesh’s insistence that he’d never had a sister, never had a nephew, disclosed the cold fact that he’d wiped these two close relatives from out of his life. The burning of Parvati’s small stock of possessions was consistent with her brother’s frightening pretence that she had never existed. And consistent with his refusal to accept any of Anish’s belongings when his nephew died. The adjutant had described Ramesh as rude. Daisy would have said vindictive. But there was little point in name calling. If Parvati had ever possessed papers that in anyway referred to her husband’s

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