‘Yes,’ said Dominic. ‘It’s the ideal city of the future that they’re hoping to build near Pondicherry. The people at the Sri Aurobindo ashram there started the idea, and I know a lot of the drive and talent is coming from France.’
‘Raoul was an idealist. He believed in the future, and he wanted to have a hand in building it.’ She folded her needles Together with perfect composure, and began to roll the blue knitting round them. Her husband had just appeared in the doorway, returning from a last stroll before bed. ‘Two days after he landed in Bombay,’ said Madame, ‘he was killed in a street accident.’
There was nothing he could say to her; she had herself made it impossible to offer her anything, nor did she need anything from him. She gave him a small, reassuring smile, well aware of everything that was happening within him. ‘We were in any case near retirement. We sold our business, and came out here after him. And a part of the proceeds we have spent in travelling round India, where he wished to live and work. Is it very surprising that we should plan the tour to end at Pondicherry?’
‘No,’ he said in a low voice, ‘not surprising at all. I can understand that very well.’ He looked her in the eyes, and said, as she had said: ‘I am very sorry.’ And then, in delicate withdrawal: ‘You will have a whole world of memories, when you get back to France.’
Madame Bessancourt tucked her knitting into her bag, and rose smilingly to meet her husband, who was crossing the hall.
‘We are not going back to France,’ she said. ‘We are not young, we have not much to offer – yet still, perhaps something more than merely what remains of the price we got for the shop. When the time comes, we shall die in Auroville.’
They took Priya to her door and said good night there very quietly, for by the hush that had settled over the house they knew that most of the guests were already in bed. Larry let himself into the room next door, and Dominic and Purushottam went on, soft-footed, into their narrow side-corridor.
A dim light had been left burning at the turn. By its subdued gleam they saw, the moment they turned the corner, that the louvred outer door of their room was not closed. One leaf of it jutted into the passage, and a squat figure was leaning inside it, a hand on the door-handle, and an ear inclined against the upper panels, listening for any sound within.
Dominic came out of the haze in which Madame Bessancourt’s confidences had left him, and leaped at the intruder. He made very little noise, but the rush of air alerted the listening man. He recoiled across the passage with a faint squeak of terror, turning to face the threat with shrinking shoulders and apprehensive eyes; but he did not run, for the corridor was a dead end, and there was nowhere to run to. The louvre swung back and forth, gently creaking; and they found themselves staring into the frightened and mortified face of Sushil Dastur.
Before they could utter a word he began to babble in a frantic whisper, excuse and apology tumbling over each other in their haste. ‘Please, please, I beg you, Mr Felse, please don’t rouse the house, please, I beg for silence. I can explain all… I was not trying to enter… I am not a thief, please believe me, I would not… It was a mistake, only a mistake. I thought this was Mr Preisinger’s room …I wished to speak with Mr Preisinger…’
‘At this time of night?’ demanded Dominic disbelievingly.
‘Hush!’ pleaded Sushil Dastur in a frenzy of muted terror. ‘Please, please keep your voice down! If Mr Mani should hear — Oh, I am so unlucky, so ashamed! What can you think of me? I wanted only to speak with Mr Preisinger privately… Mr Mani must not know about it, please, I beg you, don’t tell him I came here…’
‘What did you want with Mr Preisinger that Mr Mani mustn’t know about?’ Dominic asked in a milder tone, baffled by so sudden a manifestation of the devious in this hitherto predictable and inoffensive person. How could you tell, when it came to the point, who was capable of involved and circuitous evil, and who was not?
‘I wanted to ask him – Mr Preisinger is an American, he travels with an Indian guide, he must surely be a person of importance. I wished to ask him,’ whispered Sushil Dastur abjectly, ‘if he does not need a good secretary during his stay in India. I should be glad to work for him if he can employ me…’ No wonder he was trembling at his own daring and its ignominious ending. ‘Or I thought that perhaps Mr Preisinger is connected with some firm which has business interests here, and could get me a job with them if I asked him. Please, please, Mr Felse,’ he begged piteously, ‘don’t tell Mr Mani about this… You understand, it would be very unpleasant for me… very difficult…’
It would indeed, Dominic thought, it would be a minor hell, especially if he really is a poor relation. They’d never let him forget it, life-long. And jobs in India are very, very hard to get, that’s no lie.
‘I am so unhappy… I have made you think ill of me, and I so much wanted your good opinion. Please do not think badly of me, I am telling you the truth – I had no other reason for coming here, none. It was a mistake about the room, please believe me…’
He was nearly in tears of mortification. It all sounded plausible enough, even probable. Many a time he must have toyed desperately with the idea of putting an end to the endless hectoring and harassment to which the Manis subjected him, and looked in vain for a way of setting about it. Small blame to him if he at least attempted it when an apparently well-to-do American came his way; and small blame to him if he did his best to keep the move secret from Gopal Krishna. All quite plausible. But then a story for an occasion like this would have to be plausible. And might it not be even a little too apposite? Thought out in advance to be used in the event of discovery?
‘All right,’ Dominic said. ‘But better not disturb Mr Preisinger tonight. Mind you, I doubt very much if he wants or needs a secretary, or has any jobs to offer, but you can ask him tomorrow if you still want to.’
‘Oh, no, I could not ask him now, I am so ashamed… But thank you, thank you… And you will not say anything to Mr Mani?’
‘No, we won’t say a word to Mr Mani.’ What else could he do but accept it at face value and let the man go? There was no possible way of proving any ill intent on his part, and nothing to be done but go on keeping a close watch on Purushottam until morning. And then? The Swami had said no word of what was to happen afterwards.
‘You are most kind, Mr Felse, I am grateful… So unfortunate, I’m sorry… I’m sorry… Good night!…’
Sushil Dastur scuttled away thankfully but still miserably, his big head drawn deep into his shoulders with shame and distress. They watched him creep round the corner, and heard the soft slur of his feet on the stairs. Without a word Purushottam inserted the key into the lock of the inner door, and opened it. Nothing was said until he had locked it again carefully after them. Dominic switched on his bedside light, and they looked at each other doubtfully.
‘It could be true,’ said Dominic fairly. ‘You haven’t seen as much of them as we have.’
