Death to the Landlords

wouldn’t be in the way, honestly.’

There was no way of knowing whether Larry objected bitterly or welcomed the suggestion, for his face was never particularly expressive, and at this moment he was caught at a disadvantage. They had, after all, joined forces more or less by chance in the first place, and none of them had expected the alliance to continue. More embarrassing still was the fact that Priya had entered her protest so promptly, and deprived him of the opportunity of appearing genuinely warm about the prospect; he should have spoken up immediately or not at all. Not that it made any real difference, except to his self-assurance, for there was still only one thing he could do, and he did it with the best grace he could achieve.

‘Of course, we’ll be delighted to take you. No difficulty whatever about the transport end of it. And if accommodation is short, we can always camp again. How about it, Dom? Do you think this friend of yours would be very much put out if five of us descended on him instead of three? He never turned a hair at taking on Lakshman and me.’

‘He isn’t exactly a friend of mine,’ Dominic said scrupulously, ‘not yet, anyhow. I’ve never set eyes on him. But his father was a friend of my boss, and the son’s asking for our help and advice with his land, not being in the least prepared for the job. His father was only in the late forties, he didn’t expect to have to give his mind to running the estates for years and years yet. From all I can gather, a dozen people could descend on the place and hardly be noticed, but perhaps I’d better call him up and explain the situation first.’

‘Oh, no,’ protested Priya, colouring to a warm peach-colour which was her version of a blush. ‘Please, you must not ask him for hospitality for us, that is too much.’

‘I won’t ask. Except, perhaps, whether there’s a travellers bungalow or a small Indian hotel anywhere within reach. But you mustn’t grudge him the possibility of offering,’ he said, half teasing her, something he wouldn’t have ventured to do yesterday. And she smiled briefly but brightly, instead of remaining grave and slightly distressed; another thing which would not have happened yesterday. They had travelled a long and by no means obvious way in twenty-four hours.

‘Settle it with Mr Narayanan,’ said Inspector Raju tolerantly, ‘and let me know.’

Dominic was back from the telephone a few minutes later with the answer he had confidently expected.

‘We are all invited most warmly.’ Purushottam’s words, not his own, delivered with both constraint and ceremony in the purest of pure English, straight from Cambridge but rooted deep, deep in the soil and rock of India. He had heard the voice once before, but as yet had never seen the face and form that went with it, and he wondered often and curiously what he was going to find in the flesh. All he knew was that Purushottam Narayanan was a year or so his junior, and had been studying in England until his father died, and tipped him headlong into the vexed affairs of a large, wealthy, but recently somewhat neglected estate. To judge by his telephone manner, classical English was something he lived with intimately, awake and asleep, but colloquial English had made no mark on him so far. ‘Don’t worry about anything, Priya, he means it and he’ll enjoy it. Don’t forget he’s just bereaved, newly home after several years in England and he must feel like a maladjusted alien. A little company will do him good.’

‘It is most kind of him,’ said Priya, not altogether happily, but with a reconciled smile. And her peach-bloom blush deepened to a dark rose-colour. ‘He must have much on his mind. We shall try not to disturb him more than we need.’

‘Good, then that is settled,’ said Inspector Raju briskly, ‘and we can contact you all at Malaikuppam.’ Sergeant Gokhale amended his notes accordingly. ‘A good journey! I hope you may also have an uneventful one from now on. One such experience is more than enough.’

They went out to the freshness and radiance of a fine morning, and the Land-Rover standing waiting with a bonnet starred and sticky with honeyed droppings from the flowering trees.

Dominic came round from the kitchens with a box full of prepared food and fruit he had taken thought to order on rising, in case they should find it more convenient to picnic on the way. There were little three-cornered pastry cases stuffed with vegetables, and crisp pancakes sprinkled with paprika, the dough-cake type of bread called nan, and joints of chicken fried in golden batter. And fruits of all kinds, and a bottle of boiled water. No need now to go in to the railway junction at Tirumangalam; they would save a little time, and eat better with these provisions than at any restaurant they were likely to encounter on the way, not to mention being able to choose the place, the shade and the view.

Outside the back door Romesh Iyar squatted on his heels, strapping up a meagre bed-roll which presumably contained all his portable goods. Today he was not in his white tunic and turban, but wore khaki shorts and a bush shirt, and his curly hair fell in black ringlets over his intent forehead. As Dominic’s shadow fell upon him he looked up, and showed a resolute but thoughtful and wary face, which mellowed into an ingratiating smile of recognition.

‘Namaste, Felse sahib! You go Madurai now?’ He had been well tipped, and was well-disposed, but he did not look particularly happy. ‘I go away, too. I go by the bus soon.’

‘You’re leaving here? Leaving your job?’

Romesh rotated his head fervently from side to side in violent figure-eights of affirmation, and showed the whites of his large eyes. ‘I not stay here now, this is bad place. I not stay here where boat-boy gets killed. I tell inspector sahib, tell boss, too. This place no good for me any more, so I go.’

‘But it’s over now. It’s all over, nothing more will happen. It was a good job, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t quit just for that.’

Romesh hoisted his wide, lean shoulders under the baggy bush-jacket and set his jaw. ‘No good here for me now. I not stay here, not like it here. Must go.’

‘And Inspector Raju knows you’re leaving?’

‘Oh, yes, sahib, I tell him, and he say O. K. I report to policeman night and morning, then everything O. K. I tell him where I go, and he say all right.’

‘And where will you go? What will you do?’ Dominic fished out the small coins from his pocket. ‘You’re going to need bus fare. Here, put this away!’

Romesh pocketed the coins in his turn with a slightly brighter smile and a bob of thanks. ‘I go see my brother in Tenkasi, maybe they got job for me on railway. If that no good, I try in Quilon or Trivandrum. Every day I tell police where I stay, do everything they say. Only I not stay here.’

He had made up his mind, and nothing would change it. He squatted patiently and doggedly beside his bundle, and settled down to wait for the daily bus, his back already turned on Thekady and the Periyar Lake.