had never actually been inside the studio. The door opened into a small kitchen, and from the kitchen a passageway led further in. You could see that much from the back door. But where the passageway went, Amelia didn’t know.
She knew she shouldn’t go in. Mr Vishwanath valued his privacy. But Amelia was dying to find out what the old lady was doing in there. Maybe it was because this would finally give her the chance to disprove all the rumours that Eugenie and Kevin and everyone else were always spreading. Or maybe it was Amelia’s dislike of the old lady that made her curiosity so intense. What could such a severe, ungenerous old woman possibly be doing with Mr Vishwanath, who was such a good, gentle man?
The kitchen was small and simple. Almost at once, Amelia was at the passageway on the other side.
The passageway was unlit. It led past another small room which had no window and was dark inside. Amelia glanced in. She caught the scent of the oil Mr Vishwanath rubbed on himself before he started his yoga exercises. She could make out a kind of mat on the floor. It looked like the room where Mr Vishwanath slept. Amelia was feeling guiltier and guiltier. At the end of the passageway, a door stood slightly ajar, and light came through the crack.
Amelia went to it. She stood behind the door and listened.
Silence.
Amelia put her eye to the crack. All she could see was a blank strip of wall.
She pushed the door. Then a little further. She put her head around it.
Light. The room was big, open, airy. On the opposite side was the sheet over the front window, with a soft, even light coming through it. In the middle of the room stood Mr Vishwanath, his back towards Amelia, in his blue yoga nappy. The old lady was facing him, wearing a green leotard. Both of them were standing on one foot with their other foot around their neck. The old lady’s eyes were closed.
Amelia stared. The expression on the old lady’s face was calm, even gentle. The harshness had gone. It was more like Mr Vishwanath’s expression, suffused with a kind of peace and contentment.
Mr Vishwanath murmured something. The woman opened her eyes.
She saw Amelia. In an instant, her face changed, as if the calm, gentle expression had been nothing but a mask.
‘How dare you!’ cried the lady.
It was another moment before Mr Vishwanath could get his foot off his neck and look around.
By then Amelia had fled.
CHAPTER 6
Amelia didn’t stop until she was back in her room and the door was closed behind her.
She was panting for breath. She peered out the window, hiding behind the edge of the curtain. The old lady was marching out of Mr Vishwanath’s studio. The driver wasn’t ready for her, and Amelia saw him jump out, hastily slapping his hat on his head as he scurried around the car. The old lady waited as the man fumbled at the door. For a moment, Amelia forgot about what she herself had done and watched the lady on the street below in distaste. Was the old lady too good even to open a simple car door for herself?
Then the lady got in, the man went back to the driver’s seat, and the big cream-coloured car pulled out and moved off down the street. And Amelia was left thinking about what she had done, the shame and dishonesty of it. How she had crept into Mr Vish-wanath’s home. Like a sneak. Like a thief.
She opened her door a fraction and listened to the sounds coming from the house. There was a banging in the sculpture room. Between the bangs, nothing. Amelia continued to listen, trying to hear if anyone was coming up the stairs.
She closed the door and sat down on her bed. She didn’t know what was going to happen next. Maybe Mr Vishwanath was waiting to see one of her parents and tell them about it.
She listened. Still nothing.
The minutes passed. Amelia almost wished she could hear someone coming up the stairs. Shame and guilt kept building up in her.
Eventually Amelia came out of her room.
She waited for a moment, listening,
She knew she shouldn’t go in. Mr Vishwanath valued his privacy. But Amelia was dying to find out what the old lady was doing in there. Maybe it was because this would finally give her the chance to disprove all the rumours that Eugenie and Kevin and everyone else were always spreading. Or maybe it was Amelia’s dislike of the old lady that made her curiosity so intense. What could such a severe, ungenerous old woman possibly be doing with Mr Vishwanath, who was such a good, gentle man?
The kitchen was small and simple. Almost at once, Amelia was at the passageway on the other side.
The passageway was unlit. It led past another small room which had no window and was dark inside. Amelia glanced in. She caught the scent of the oil Mr Vishwanath rubbed on himself before he started his yoga exercises. She could make out a kind of mat on the floor. It looked like the room where Mr Vishwanath slept. Amelia was feeling guiltier and guiltier. At the end of the passageway, a door stood slightly ajar, and light came through the crack.
Amelia went to it. She stood behind the door and listened.
Silence.
Amelia put her eye to the crack. All she could see was a blank strip of wall.
She pushed the door. Then a little further. She put her head around it.
Light. The room was big, open, airy. On the opposite side was the sheet over the front window, with a soft, even light coming through it. In the middle of the room stood Mr Vishwanath, his back towards Amelia, in his blue yoga nappy. The old lady was facing him, wearing a green leotard. Both of them were standing on one foot with their other foot around their neck. The old lady’s eyes were closed.
Amelia stared. The expression on the old lady’s face was calm, even gentle. The harshness had gone. It was more like Mr Vishwanath’s expression, suffused with a kind of peace and contentment.
Mr Vishwanath murmured something. The woman opened her eyes.
She saw Amelia. In an instant, her face changed, as if the calm, gentle expression had been nothing but a mask.
‘How dare you!’ cried the lady.
It was another moment before Mr Vishwanath could get his foot off his neck and look around.
By then Amelia had fled.
CHAPTER 6
Amelia didn’t stop until she was back in her room and the door was closed behind her.
She was panting for breath. She peered out the window, hiding behind the edge of the curtain. The old lady was marching out of Mr Vishwanath’s studio. The driver wasn’t ready for her, and Amelia saw him jump out, hastily slapping his hat on his head as he scurried around the car. The old lady waited as the man fumbled at the door. For a moment, Amelia forgot about what she herself had done and watched the lady on the street below in distaste. Was the old lady too good even to open a simple car door for herself?
Then the lady got in, the man went back to the driver’s seat, and the big cream-coloured car pulled out and moved off down the street. And Amelia was left thinking about what she had done, the shame and dishonesty of it. How she had crept into Mr Vish-wanath’s home. Like a sneak. Like a thief.
She opened her door a fraction and listened to the sounds coming from the house. There was a banging in the sculpture room. Between the bangs, nothing. Amelia continued to listen, trying to hear if anyone was coming up the stairs.
She closed the door and sat down on her bed. She didn’t know what was going to happen next. Maybe Mr Vishwanath was waiting to see one of her parents and tell them about it.
She listened. Still nothing.
The minutes passed. Amelia almost wished she could hear someone coming up the stairs. Shame and guilt kept building up in her.
Eventually Amelia came out of her room.
She waited for a moment, listening,
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