‘Not American ones. Here,’ she spread the letter out, ‘This is the name of the religious group I’m looking for. Jaipur was the last address I had for them. They travel around doing their stuff and now they seem to have traveled off radar.’

He glanced at the name. ‘Unfortunately merely a tourist group, with a tourist swami leading it. However, if you are looking to be a real disciple I can give you other names…’

‘I told you I’m not a believer,’ said Quinn. ‘As a matter of fact a man I knew, he was a disciple in the community.’

Manu turned, interested. ‘A lover. You are chasing ghosts!’

‘Excuse me, I don’t believe in ghosts.’

‘Still you are chasing them, I can always tell.’

She pushed away some children who were pointing to the baby. ‘You know I really don’t much want to be here.’

‘The reluctant pilgrim, there is no such thing. Not in India.’

‘I told you I am in India without wanting to see it. I don’t believe in it. I don’t believe in India. And that’s a rather dreadful position to be in, don’t you think?’

Manu said nothing, thinking Quinn had phrased it rather well, it was what he sometimes felt about his own country. India had such a great capacity for happiness in the face of such suffering but he often felt trapped by it all.

And her phrase interested him, ‘I don’t believe in India,’ for she had said it like she did not believe in fairies or Father Christmas, or even God and it implied she had considered it.

‘Then why are you chasing your friend?’

‘I’m not chasing him. I was told he died here in India about a year ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago.’

‘Is this a murder hunt?’