ordering yet more chairs and hovering around the decanter. A good Hindu cannot bear human tension and seeks to resolve it immediately. More chairs than were necessary arrived and Bit momentarily lost his poise, raising his voice at them, ‘It’s not a bloody concert, we don’t need six bloody chairs!’

He took the bottle up more cheerfully, laughing at himself slightly embarrassed and offering it towards his brand new guest, smiling. ‘Look like you could do with a drink…’

‘Thank you,’ said the guest, taking the glass. ‘I will.’ He spoke slowly and unassumingly, with a white African accent, which could have passed as European to the untrained ear. ‘This is quite some residence,’ he said, ‘It certainly has the best defence I’ve yet seen in India.’

‘Dear fellow, you should have taken the jeep,’ said Bit. ‘I always keep one down there, on the plains.’

‘Yes I saw. But I find the night air here relaxing, unlike the sun at midday.’

‘Then you must become an owl!’ called Aunty across the veranda. Both men smiled and Bit asked, ‘Ah, have you two met already?’

‘Not properly,’ said the new visitor, shaking her hand. ‘Only in passing and by her legend. Hallo Aunty.’ They are very fond of you at the temple, all your good work and your humour.’

‘Well Dutch good evening to you…’ said Aunty surprised.

‘Goodness Aunty you are a sly one,’ said Agatha, feeling ignored. ‘All this time you’ve been beavering away in the charity compounds without a whisper.

‘And my wife Agatha…’ slipped in Bit.

Aunty seemed flustered. ‘I must say you are well informed,’ she tried to regain composure. ‘Now should we call you Stephen – or Stefan? ‘

‘Dutch is fine. I answer to most names.’

‘Well I wish I had more than one name. No one here can remember what I’m called at all.’

He smiled at her joke, looking towards the open veranda which went straight into the drawing room and the book shelves and paintings, largely Agatha’s art