‘I tried, Uncle. But he …’ Her words petered out, and she shook her head mutely.
‘Is he okay, Michelle?’ Dora asked suddenly. ‘Not affected by the landslide, I hope?’
Michelle threw her cousin a grateful glance and smile.
‘He’s okay, Dora. Thanks.’
In a flash, Athreya understood why Michelle had rushed to the French windows as soon as she had heard about the landslide. She had immediately begun texting. She must have been trying to reach her husband to check if he was safe.
The conversation was abruptly broken by Richie sauntering in, looking a little dishevelled. From the droplets of dew on his jacket, and from his sodden shoes, Athreya guessed that he had been walking in the open. Without a word, Richie went to the buffet and began loading a plate with food. Silence fell.
He then went to the far end of the dining table, opposite Bhaskar, and sat down to eat, keeping his gaze down. He didn’t even look at his sister to see how her hand was faring. Nor did he bother to exchange pleasantries with the guest.
After a few long moments of embarrassed silence during which Dora bit her lip and turned away from the table, forced talk began. Dora’s eyes were swimming with tears. A strange expression suffused Bhaskar’s face, one that was a mixture of sadness and outrage. For a brief moment, disgust flickered across Michelle’s face.
Clearly, the family knew something Athreya didn’t. Glancing at Varadan, Athreya saw that the lawyer was studiously focussing his entire attention on his dinner.
5
It took Athreya a couple of seconds to remember where he was when he awoke the next morning in a large, square room that was about ten yards across. A five-seater sofa set, two upholstered chairs, a gleaming writing table and three low tables dotted the room, around the huge four-poster bed he was lying on. The only time he recalled waking up in bigger rooms was when he had visited some of the palaces in Rajasthan.
Diffused light was filtering in through the barred windows he had left open overnight. Outside, a thick blanket of fog shrouded the lawns and the garden. Sunlight was struggling to infiltrate the murkiness, giving the vista a pearly quality.
Athreya rose and walked to the window, where he deeply inhaled the crisp mountain air. At once, he felt invigorated, as a pleasant tingling spread across his body and the lingering lethargy from a restful slumber fell away. The eucalyptus-scented air felt moist and fresh. He decided to take a walk outside.
Ten minutes later, he stepped out of the front door, which he had found unlocked. Before him was dense fog, through which he could barely make out the tree-lined driveway by which he had arrived yesterday. The fog reminded him of the comparison many an English writer has used–a thick pea soup. There was no sound to be heard, not even that of the breeze or the brook.
He went down the broad steps on to the paved walkway, patterned with interlocking blocks of three colours. But now, he could only see them as three shades of grey. The aspect that struck him was that the hazy world around him was almost entirely devoid of colour. The fog was so thick that he would not have detected a man ten yards away, and, even at a shorter distance, he wouldn’t have recognized anyone unless he knew the person well.
He walked a few paces and turned left along the walkway, treading along in a leisurely manner. At a junction where the walkway met another walkway at a right angle, he stopped and turned to look at the rectangular mansion.
The ivy-covered shorter side of the rectangle, along which he had come, looked black. The openings in the ivy that marked the doors and windows looked a shade darker. The longer side of the rectangle, along which he now wanted to walk, looked grey, as it blended into the fog at a distance. The mansion stood silent and still. A slight shiver ran down his spine as his imagination seemed to perceive something baleful and ominous in the scene.
Shrugging it off with a hiss of irritation, Athreya began walking down the pathway that ran parallel to the longer side of the mansion. The first room to his left was the large drawing room where he had spent several hours yesterday. One of the two pairs of French windows, he knew, must open on to the track he was on. Sure enough, he came upon a set of steps that led down from the closed French windows to a path that met the walkway.
The room next to the drawing room also had a pair of French windows. From these too, a set of steps led down to a path, which then met the walkway. At the top of the steps, framed against a soft glow from the room, was an indistinct shape. Man or woman, he could not tell, but it seemed to be peering out at him.
Abruptly, the figure ran down the steps and hastened towards him. Athreya could make out the contours of a hand, which was a clutching heavy stick or cane of some sort. When it was a couple of yards away, he recognized who it was, just as the person too seemed to identify him.
‘Mr Athreya,’ Manu called in surprise. ‘Good morning! You are up early.’
‘Morning, Manu,’ Athreya acknowledged. ‘Force of habit, I suppose. I’m usually an early riser. It’s a wonderful morning. Even if I can’t see beyond my nose!’
‘That’s the valley for you. Fog can get
