Death to the Landlords

He was still revolving under the cool water when he heard, distantly through this splashing music, the shrill, peremptory shriek of a woman’s voice, and then Dominic’s resigned groan of: ‘Oh, no!’ from the balcony. In pure curiosity Purushottam emerged glistening and golden from the bathroom, trailing his towel over one shoulder and leaving moist footprints behind him.

‘Why: Oh, no! – and so fervently? What was it?’

Dominic drew back a little from the railing, and pointed down into the garden.

The Manis, in all their glory, were just returning from a leisurely stroll along the coastal road from the village; Gopal Krishna in immaculate beige linen and immense sunglasses, with his expensive camera round his neck, Sudha in a lilac and blue sari woven in subtle stripes that changed shade with the light, her wrists laden with portable treasure of good bracelets, and her pale golden face plaintive with vexation. Sushil Dastur, harried as ever, trotted at her elbow bearing her bag, folding canvas chair, cushion and book. And what had occasioned the shriek of reproof was that he had let fall her bookmark, and lost her place in the book. Profuse and voluble in apology and reassurance, he was already feverishly hunting for it again, at the peril of dropping her cushion at any moment.

‘That is what it was – the lady. You haven’t encountered the Manis yet, but you will, the minute they set eyes on us. One of those cars outside must be theirs, but I never thought. All those black hire jobs look alike. And the devil of it is that they know Lakshman. In any case, they’ll have read about Patti.’ The mention of her name was like a stab, all the more because it was entirely possible, for brief periods, and on the tide of such crazy pleasure as they had experienced at Nagarcoil, to forget all about her. The reminder was still a crude shock when it came; and reality was treading on their heels even here.

‘Do they matter?’ Purushottam asked, watching the three figures advance towards the hotel.

‘Do we know what matters? They were at Thekady. They’d seen us a couple of times before that. For that matter, the French people are surely on their way, too. The car we passed at the temple. A pity! As we were a couple of days behind schedule, I thought they might all have turned back northwards by now. Not that the Manis ever actually acknowledged Lakshman’s existence,’ he added scornfully. ‘I don’t believe they ever addressed a word to him. But the Bessancourts did. And in any case none of them can help noticing, at close quarters, that you’re not Lakshman, whether they expect you to be introduced or not. Now how are we going to account for you?’

Purushottam wrapped the towel round him, massaged his slender body pleasurably and considered. ‘Lakshman had to leave you, and I’m your new guide. My name’s Narayanan. Why not? Supposing there is anyone here who already knows of me – the chap you’re worrying about – then he knows my name. And for any others, Narayanan is a perfectly good name, common enough, you meet a few of us everywhere. It will do for a guide as well as for anyone else. Who knows, they might even take me for a plainclothes policeman detailed off to escort you!’

‘Good advice,’ agreed Dominic, after a moment’s reflection. ‘Why complicate things unnecessarily? Hurry up and get dressed, and we’ll go and brief the others.’

They had need of a united front; for the moment they appeared in the lounge, with its range of large windows giving on the coast road and the dunes, Sudha Mani rose with a small, melodious shriek of recognition and sympathy from her tea-tray, and bore down upon them in a gust of perfumed air, her sari fluttering.

‘Oh, Miss Madhavan – Mr Preisinger – Mr Felse—Oh, we have been so anxious about you all! It was all in the papers – such a dreadful thing, that poor young lady! Ah, how we felt for her, and for her unhappy parents, so far away! Oh, how little we realised, when we said good-bye in Thekady, that in so short a time —’ Her breath gave out; she held her swelling bosom, and heaved great sighs.

‘My wife,’ intoned Gopal Krishna, rolling ponderously up to her support, ‘is so hypersensitive. Your bad news – such a shock to hear…’

‘Yes, it is a wretched business,’ Larry agreed rather forbiddingly.

‘But why, I ask myself, should anyone wish to hurt a young English lady like Miss Galloway?’ Gopal Krishna blinked behind his dark glasses, and shook his head heavily. ‘The police have a theory? They did not detain you, I am so glad of that.’

‘No, they didn’t want us to stay put. Though of course we’re in constant touch,’ Dominic said. No harm to plant the idea that wherever they went the police might well have a shadow not far behind. ‘As far as we could gather, they think that Miss Galloway may have seen something incriminating at Thekady, perhaps without even realising it, and someone wanted her silenced. But of course we may be wrong – it’s just an impression. They haven’t found it necessary to interfere with your movements, I hope?’

Sudha raised her fine black brows, a little disposed to be affronted by the suggestion, but her husband flowed on complacently enough: ‘Oh, no, indeed no, we have not been troubled at all. But for such distressing happenings, it could have been a most pleasant trip. We spent two nights at Tirunelveli, and went out to the coast there to see the Subrahmanya temple at Tiruchendur, and the cave sculptures. We arrived here for lunch today. You are also staying overnight? That will be very nice, we shall see more of you.’

They withdrew, smiling their goodwill and shaking their heads over all that had proved regrettable and spoiled a perfect trip, and went back to their tea. Neither of them had given more than a faintly curious glance at Purushottam, who hovered in the background with a very fair imitation of Lakshman’s ambiguous manner.

‘Let’s get out of here and have a look for the Cape we’ve heard so much about,’ said Larry restively, and led the way out, straight through the lounge to an open door, and out into a narrow garden, a levelled waste-land of grass half silted over with the encroaching edges of the dunes. It was like Cornwall in many ways, the furtive wavelets of sand creeping towards the house, the sparse plantations of tamarisks, the smell of the sea.

A light, insinuating hand plucked gently at Dominic’s arm as he passed through the doorway, last of the four. He looked down into the timid, apologetic dark eyes of Sushil Dastur.

‘Mr Felse, I wanted only to say… I read in the papers yesterday, about Miss Galloway.’ He shrank a little, drawing his large, bony head into his hunched shoulders. ‘It is not for me – I am only a retainer… But I am so very sorry!’

Startled by the very simplicity of this direct approach, Dominic looked at him as if for the first time. The Manis made it difficult to view Sushil Dastur as anything but an adjunct of their passing, a kind of comic postscript. And the man himself made it no easier to see him clearly, since he saw himself in much the same manner, and would, in a sense, have preferred to be invisible. It was an act of courage and decision on his part to speak for himself. And even now he had in his other hand a silk scarf belonging to Sudha, and before he could break away she gave tongue in quest of it; ‘Sushil Dastur, quickly! There is a draught here!’

‘Thank you,’ said Dominic hurriedly, and briefly touched the arresting hand with his own. ‘We appreciate that