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covering the tray, to reveal chicken stew and bread. ‘This is all I can get. Now you eat nicely. I better be going. Big fat rats doing Kathak in my tummy.’
    ‘What? You haven’t eaten yet?’
    Ayah touched Rachael’s chin lightly. ‘How can I eat when my missy baba not eaten?’ Then she shoved a little decanter into her hands. ‘Hide tray under bed when finish. Then spray this ittar all over room. Spice smell go away.’
    ‘Good Lord, you’ve thought of everything. What would I do without you?’ She took Ayah’s hands in hers lovingly. ‘You’re wonderful, Ayah. Kalyaan is so lucky.’
    ‘Unlucky, missy baba. Better not born than born to poor mother.’
    Rachael smiled a small smile. Ayah would never understand. As soon as she left, Rachael attacked the food. She was ravenous and it tasted divine. She gulped down a few morsels then coughed and spluttered. Eat slowly Rachael, she told herself. Don’t be a glutton. She took a deep breath and drank some water.
    Just as she put the last morsel in her mouth, there was a knock on the door. Now what? Wiping the crumbs off her mouth, she hastily pushed the tray under the bed and straightened the sheets. She was about to open the door, when she remembered Ayah’s advice about the perfume and quickly sprinkled some all over the room. It was one of those local perfumes. It smelt exotic, albeit a bit too strong. In her haste she tipped the decanter and a small puddle formed on the bed. She covered it with a pillow just as there was another knock.
    It was Papa, followed by Ram Singh carrying a tray of food. Rachael looked questioningly from one to the other, then at the tray.
    ‘I know, I know, but I couldn’t sleep,’ Papa said. ‘I kept wondering how my little princess could fall asleep on a hungry stomach.’
    ‘I’m all right. I’m not hungry.’
    Papa patted her head, then whispered, ‘I know I shouldn’t have been so cross. But I was worried about you – you know, gallivanting all over Chowk. That’s why I punished you.’
    ‘Pray don’t give me any explanations, Papa.’
    He pointed to the food that Ram Singh had placed on the stool.
    ‘I don’t feel like eating. I just want to sleep.’ She stretched and pretended to yawn but brought her hands down abruptly and bit her lips as Father walked to the bed, pushed the pillow aside and sat down. He sniffed the air but did not notice the perfume stain.
    ‘I’m not leaving until you have eaten at least a little,’ he said.
    Holding her breath, Rachael watched her father cross his legs. His right foot was just a couple of inches away from the tray under the bed.
    She looked at the food. It was chicken stew and bread. With pursed lips and a satisfied tummy, she slowly took a bite. ‘Well, it’s nothing like the nabob’s Eid banquet that everyone has been talking about since yesterday, but …’
    ‘I heard there were over a hundred different dishes …’ Rachael said.
    ‘Well, the only thing that buffoon of a nabob does is eat and sing and dance with his innumerable wives. He’s becoming as fat as a hippo,’ replied Papa.
    ‘Well, for that matter, I’ve never seen you put in more than four hours of work a day. And that disciple of yours, that Christopher Wilson, he works even less.’
    Papa looked grim. He was about to retort but decided to let it go. ‘He’s also your friend, you know,’ he said quietly.
    Rachael sighed. Yes, Christopher was her friend. Had been since they were babies. Most English parents sent their children to England when they turned five, but the Wilsons couldn’t. They had no family back home. So Christopher stayed. And Mrs Wilson persuaded Papa to let her stay as well. ‘Mrs Bristow is too frail to see another child go. Spare her the heartache a second time. Let Rachael grow before her eyes,’ she had said. And Papa had agreed.
    Christopher and Rachael had got on well, Rachael had to admit, until of late when he had started getting possessive, as though he owned