Major recognized him immediately as the young boy from the Promenade. He felt a schoolboy flush of panic rise into his face at the possibility that he and Mrs. Ali would be exposed. Of course, there had been only public tea drinking, not some kind of debauchery. Still, as the small group came slowly across the expanse of the restaurant, running the gauntlet of curious faces, he felt miserable that he was to be discovered in his private friendship. The Major could not move. He could only clutch the back of Mrs. Ali’s chair and guess the feelings in the glossy head beside him.
“Oh, my goodness, the niece has brought her boy,” said Mrs. Khan in a loud whisper to Mrs. Rasool. “I’ll get rid of him right away—what was she thinking?”
“Don’t be silly,” said Mrs. Rasool. She laid a hand on Mrs. Khan’s sleeve. “It will be perfectly all right.”
“I’m trying to help, if only for Noreen’s sake,” said Mrs. Khan. “But the young woman is very difficult.” She gave the Major and Grace an uncomfortable glance.
“What a darling little boy,” exclaimed Grace as the women dropped their heavy load onto a nearby table and the boy struggled to do the same. “What’s his name?” There was the briefest of pauses, as if introductions had not been expected. The woman named Noreen looked quite frightened. She patted her thin gray hair with a nervous hand and darted her eyes at Mrs. Khan, whose lips were pressed to a thin line.
“I couldn’t just leave him in the car,” said the young woman, also looking at Saadia Khan, but with a face as fierce as her aunt’s was meek.
“I believe his name is George,” said Mrs. Ali, dispelling the tension. She got up and went to over to shake the small boy by the hand again. “We had the pleasure of meeting in the park. Did you manage to get your ball all the way home?”
The young woman frowned and swung George up onto her hip. “He managed that day, but he lost it down a drain on the way to the shops the next day.” She said nothing to the Major, giving him only a brief nod. Today she wore a long, shapeless black dress over leggings; the tone was spoiled only by violently crimson sneakers that laced up over the ankle. Her hair was partially hidden under a stretchy bandana. She had made an obvious effort to dress more conservatively, but it seemed to the Major that she had just as deliberately measured out a stubborn resistance. She looked as out of place at the restaurant as she had done on the Promenade, when she had screamed at the tea lady.
“Jasmina, I believe Amina and George are from your home turf up north,” said Mrs. Khan with a silky smile. “Perhaps your families are acquainted?”
The Major couldn’t tell whether Mrs. Ali was amused or angry. She compressed her lips as if suppressing a chuckle, but her eyes flashed.
“I don’t think so, Saadia,” she replied. The Major detected a deliberate avoidance of the name Sadie. “It’s a big place.”
“Actually, I think you might have a nephew my age who used to live there,” Amina put in. Her aunt Noreen trembled like a leaf in a sudden squall and fiddled with the books of fabrics. “Maybe I went to school with him?”
“Well, perhaps, but he left a while ago,” said Mrs. Ali. There was a hint of caution in her voice that the Major had not heard before. “He has been in Pakistan studying for some time.”
“And now I hear he is living with you,” said Mrs. Khan. “How fortunate to be given the chance to move to Sussex. My charity does a lot of work in these northern cities, and there are many, many problems.” She patted Amina on the arm as if Amina constituted most of them. The young woman opened her mouth and looked from one to the other as if torn between saying something more to Mrs. Ali and delivering a stinging retort to Sadie Khan. Before she could speak, her aunt gave a savage tug to her arm and she clamped her mouth shut again and turned away to help unfold a length of heavy fabric. The Major watched them tussle over it in silent argument.
“Shall we talk about decorations?” said Mrs. Rasool, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. “Why don’t you show us the table runner fabrics first, Mrs. Khan?”
Mrs. Khan, Mrs. Rasool, and Grace were soon arguing over the relative merits of the iridescent sorbet sheers and the heavy damasks resplendent with rioting paisleys. Amina and her aunt Noreen unfolded fabrics and turned sample book pages in silence, the former with pressed lips. The Major regained his seat and the waiters brought glasses of hot tea. Ignoring the elderly Rasools, the Major watched Mrs. Ali invite George to climb up on her lap.
She handed him the teaspoon dipped in honey and he gave it a cautious lick. “George likes honey,” he said with a perfectly serious face. “Is it organic?” Mrs. Ali laughed.
“Well, George, I’ve never seen anyone injecting bees with antibiotics,” said the Major, who was generally in favor of medicating sick livestock and saw nothing wrong in a healthy application of properly aged manure. George frowned at him, and for a moment the Major was reminded of Mrs. Ali’s dour nephew.
“Organic is better, my mum says.” He ran the spoon down the entire length of his tongue. “My nanni puts honey in her tea, but she died,” he added.
Mrs. Ali bent her head to the top of his and gave his hair a brief kiss. “That must make you and your mother sad,” she said.
“It makes us lonely,” said George. “We’re lonely in the world now.”
“You mean ‘alone’?” asked the Major, aware that he was being pedantic. He resisted the urge to ask about a father. These days it was better not to; and somehow, it seemed unlikely that there was one.
“Can I have more honey?” asked George, closing the subject with a child’s honest abruptness.
“Of course you can,” said Mrs. Ali.
“I like you,” said George.
“Young man, you have very good taste,” said the Major.
Grace came back to the booth beaming and informed the Major of the good news that Mrs. Khan would lend them wall hangings and draperies and charge them at cost for lengths of fabric used as table runners, which were almost certain to get stained.
“It is such an old and important institution in the area,” said Mrs. Khan. “And my husband has so many friends who are members. We are glad to help in any way.”
“I’m sure it will be appreciated,” said the Major. He raised his eyebrows at Grace who gave him a blank smile in return. “Perhaps Grace, you’d like to get a final approval from your committee chairwoman?”
“What? Oh, yes, of course I should,” said Grace. “Though I’m sure they’ll be thrilled with everything.”
“My husband and I would be pleased to come and meet with your colleagues if necessary,” said Mrs. Khan. “Since we know so many of them already, we would be delighted to help make them comfortable with the Rasools’ wonderful catering. I can tell you I’ve used Mrs. Rasool on many occasions for my own functions.” The Major caught sight of Mrs. Rasool rolling her eyes at Mrs. Ali. Mrs. Ali smothered a giggle and put down George, who ran back to his mother.
“That sounds lovely,” said Grace in a vague manner. As the Major shook hands with Mrs. Khan, he couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. Regardless of her husband’s prominence, or their generosity, he thought it quite unlikely that Daisy or the membership committee would have any interest in entertaining the question of their joining the club. He could only hope they would have the decency to refuse the Khans’ generous offer and keep things properly separated with cash instead. He made a note to have a quiet word with Grace later on.
Chapter 10
On the way to Little Puddleton, Grace elected to sit in the back of the car, where she sprawled at a strange angle and, after a few moments of heavy traffic out of the town, declared herself to be feeling just the tiniest bit green.
“Would you like me to stop the car?” asked the Major, though he could only manage a half-hearted attempt at sincerity. It was getting close to three and he did not want to disappoint Roger by being late. He accelerated as the road became clear and ran the heavy car effortlessly up over the crest of the hill.
“No, no, I’ll just rest my eyes,” said Grace in a faint whisper. “I’ll be fine.”
