Manu bowed. ‘I was coming this way myself.’

‘Ah.’

‘And such a sweet baby.’

‘Thank you. Your place here is very fine.’

‘Thank you. It is my husband’s mother’s house…’

It was immediately pleasant, as far from the street outside as Quinn could imagine. The white house, the pink flowers, the emerald grass, everything became acceptable and India became a hostess again. No one mentioned the trouble outside. No one mentioned the blemish on her unnamed son. She was invited to sit next to the Rani on the verandah, with Manu opposite cross-legged on the grass. In the shadows the servants squatted as still as statues.

‘You see Miss Quinn -’ began the Rani.

‘Please call me Quinn.’

‘Quinn. You see - Quinn - Manu is my guru. Has he explained this?’

‘Not at all.’

‘As such I am not a bit surprised he met you outside. A guru is a guide. They teach us how to love by the nature of our devotion to them.’

‘Although,’ interrupted Manu, smiling, ‘You always become more blasphemous in my presence.’

‘Please use him whilst you are here,’ continued the Rani. ‘I am sure he will be helpful to you if you want anything arranged. We can arrange most things.’

‘Thank-you. But I don’t know how long I will be here.’

‘But you are an architect I am told. Is it business you have come on? You will have a fine time looking at our Rajput architecture.’

‘Actually it’s not strictly a holiday.’ She spoke calmly, coldly. She remembered Manu’s words and at the last minute changed her story. Lying was so simple to these people, why complicate it? ‘I’m interested in the Hindu religion. There is a religious group community I mean to look up.’