‘It is astonishing how people don’t learn,’ his wife said, changing the topic. ‘I’m talking about Michelle, Sarah’s daughter. One would have thought that living with a scoundrel of a father, and growing up under the shadows of his misdemeanours, would have been enough for a young woman to avoid thugs like her father. But no! As soon as she comes of age, Michelle goes and marries Murthy–a crook of the first water, just as her father was. Maybe worse. He has his eyes on the Greybrooke estate, I can tell you. And he wouldn’t think twice about gambling away Michelle’s inheritance. Poor Michelle.’
‘History repeats itself.’ Ramanathan nodded sagely. ‘Michelle took after Sarah and is stuck with a scallywag of a husband.’
‘What about Bhaskar’s other niece and his nephew? Athreya asked. ‘His brother Mathew’s children.’
‘Ah! Mathew’s kids! Well, Richie, the son, has turned out to be a rascal as well. There isn’t one attractive young woman within miles of Greybrooke whom he has not propositioned or coveted.’
‘Does he live there?’ Athreya asked.
‘No, but he visits often enough. He holds no regular job, you see. He gets free food, drink and lodging at Greybrooke Manor. Even when the estate was under dispute, Bhaskar had kept it running, and had allowed the extended family unrestricted access. That had been Tom’s wish.
‘Murthy, Michelle’s husband, also used to drop in often. Like Richie, he doesn’t have a regular employment either. But one night, a few years ago, he got badly drunk and abused Bhaskar in the most profane terms. After that incident, he stopped coming to Greybrooke. Bhaskar and he are not on speaking terms now. Murthy still comes to Coonoor, but he stays elsewhere. He’s always trying to get Michelle to chisel Bhaskar out of some money.
‘Richie may be good for nothing, but Dora is an angel. Nice, sweet girl, with a good head on her shoulders. She will do well, I’m sure. Bhaskar loves her as he would his own daughter.’
‘Dora and Manu are sensible young people,’ Susheela agreed. ‘I’m happy that the estate will pass on to Manu. He will look after Dora too–despite all the bad blood the disputed will has created. They are like brother and sister.’
‘The bad blood was only between Bhaskar and his siblings, Sarah and Mathew,’ the retired postmaster protested. ‘Not between the cousins of the next generation.’
‘No?’ his wife asked sharply. ‘Haven’t you heard what Richie and Michelle have been saying? Not to speak of the venom Murthy spews when he is drunk?’
3
Manu was waiting for him when Athreya reached Crown Bakery in the heart of Coonoor. Reputed to have been established in 1880, the bakery was among the oldest institutions of Coonoor and a veritable landmark. Manu had somehow managed to find was a place to park his jeep on the crowded road that served as one of the main thoroughfares of the town.
Lounging beside Manu was a pleasant-looking young woman, who appeared cheerful and at ease in her light-blue jeans and dark pullover. Willowy like Manu, she was of a similar build that spoke of wiry strength and easy movement. Their faces were remarkably similar. Had Athreya not known that Manu was an only child, he would have taken her to be his sister.
‘This is Dora, my cousin,’ Manu said, as Athreya walked up to them.
‘Hello, sir.’ Dora’s agreeable face split into a grin as she shook hands warmly and with a surprisingly firm grip. ‘Welcome to Coonoor. I hope you had no difficulty finding Crown Bakery? I was telling Manu that we should have picked you up from where you were.’
‘No difficulty at all,’ Athreya responded, returning the smile. ‘Everyone seems to know it. I hope I’ve not kept you waiting?’
‘No, no, sir. We came here not more than five minutes ago. Shall we go? Your suitcase has already reached Greybrooke Manor.’
Dora swung herself into the driver’s seat of the jeep they had been leaning against, and Manu insisted that Athreya sit in the front. It was, he said, far more comfortable than perching at the back. Dora wriggled into her jacket and zipped it up to her chin.
A slight thrill ran down Athreya’s spine when he realized that the canvas hood of the jeep was down and the windshield had been laid flat on the bonnet. He would soon be experiencing the full rush of crisp mountain air as they drove to Greybrooke Manor.
The jeep pounced forward and darted between bikes, buses and pedestrians as it made its way north, past the bazaar. From the effortless way in which Dora drove the jeep while keeping up a steady chatter, it was apparent that she was adept at handling the vehicle. With a suppressed smile, Athreya realized that if there was one thing she didn’t share with her cousin, it was his reserve. He decided that she was a fun-loving, likeable person.
Soon, they had left the town behind as they head north. Dora pointed out various sights and places, reeling off names in the dwindling light. Wispy mist–sometimes white, sometimes grey–glided along the hillsides and dales, clinging to groves and lingering over ponds. Here and there, thicker fog cloaked the valleys and hilltops at a distance, veiling tea plantations and woods alike.
Wherever the dying fingers of sunlight touched the scenery, the foliage erupted in different shades of green, from a bright pea hue to a dark olive. But where the grey mist enwrapped the slopes and shut out the sun, colour seemed to drain from the picturesque landscape.
What was amply clear was that the area they were driving through had recently seen copious rainfall. The ground was drenched, and puddles of water dotted the roads. Here and there, patches of earth had come loose and had slid down the hillside. Landslides, Manu had earlier said, were common at this time of the year.
All the while, Dora continued her chatter, drawing smiles and chuckles from the willing listener in Athreya. From time to time, Manu
