‘A mixed breed.’

‘Oh God, a foreign muddle…’ said the Rani. ‘You know in my youth, father had many foreign guests to stay for hunting. I remember those women were always hysterical, either clutching hot water bottles or bottles of gin. They were always ill and always complaining.’

‘But this was some time ago now…’ Pavna tried to remonstrate. ‘The American women we met in Washington –’ she tried to appeal to her husband, ‘Were warm, wonderful, engaging…ladies.’

‘They were drunk and engaged in extra-marital affairs…’

‘They showed me around, how to shop, and where to take the children.’

‘And like a toy poodle you followed them everywhere, and you learned to drink foreign wine.’

‘And what is wrong with that? You drank the wine too,’ said Pavna.

‘I wonder why has she not mentioned a father?’ said the rani.

‘But we didn’t really ask her…’ she said.

The D-G said, ‘Does he actually have a father? Or is he like their Jesus Christ – immaculate! Or what about this IVF…’ The Rani gave a low whistle.

Her son said, ‘This is the problem with England nowadays of course. The morals of an Empire… Their Margaret Thatcher and their Tony Blair! Their Great Britain! Now look, can’t run marriages, can’t run trains. Families – falling apart. And they are always worrying us about poverty and Pakistan!’

‘Don’t say these things Ravi, not on the first night at least.’

‘Better to get it out of the way.’

‘It’s not our business, we are just letting her our flat…’

‘Our good name is written on that flat.’

Pavna looked up to where the flat was, as if she could indeed see their names in ink on the wall. It was directly above their own, they had the bottom flat, she