‘Very well, thank you,’ said Arun, with some hauteur.
‘And the baby?’
‘The baby?’
‘Your niece.’
‘Flourishing, no doubt.’
There was another pause.
‘Do you have any children?’ asked Haresh of Meenakshi.
‘Yes,’ said Meenakshi. ‘A girl.’
This cobbler, she decided, would make a very poor rival to Amit.
Arun turned to Haresh and said: ‘What is it you do exactly, Mr Khanna? I understand you’ve been taken on by Praha in some sort of position. A managerial position, I presume.’
‘Well, not managerial,’ said Haresh. ‘I am in a supervisory position at the moment, though my previous job was managerial. I decided to take this job because it has more of a future.’
‘Supervisory?’
‘I am a foreman.’
‘Ah! A foreman.’
‘Praha usually starts people on the shop floor, not even in supervisory jobs.’
‘Hmm.’ Arun took another sip of tea.
‘James Hawley offered me a managerial job—’ began Haresh.
‘I could never understand why the Cromarty Group hasn’t moved its head office to Calcutta,’ said Arun in a distant manner. ‘Puzzling that they should wish to remain a provincial concern. Ah well.’
Meenakshi felt that Arun was being too unfriendly. ‘You’re from Delhi originally, aren’t you, Mr Khanna?’ she asked.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Haresh. ‘And I went to St Stephen’s College.’
‘And then, I understand, you went to England for your education. Was that to Oxford or to Cambridge?’
‘I went to the Middlehampton College of Technology.’
There was silence for a few seconds, only interrupted by Mr Khandelwal’s return. He was looking even happier. He had an arrangement with the watchman to keep a bottle of whisky and a glass for him at the gate, and he had mastered the art of gulping down a peg in five seconds flat.
Arun continued his conversation with Haresh: ‘What plays have you seen recently, Mr Khanna?’ Arun named a few that were running in London.
‘Plays?’
‘Well, since you’ve come from England, I presume you would have taken the opportunity to visit the theatre.’
‘I didn’t have much of an occasion to see plays in the Midlands,’ said Haresh. ‘But I did see a large number of films.’
Arun received this information without comment. ‘Well, I expect you visited Stratford; it’s not far from Middlehampton.’
‘I did,’ said Haresh, relieved. This was worse than Novak, Havel and Kurilla put together.
Arun began to talk about the restoration of Anne Hathaway’s cottage, and by slow degrees moved from the provinces to post-war reconstruction work in London.
Meenakshi talked about friends of hers who were doing up a mews off Baker Street.
From there the conversation moved to hotels. At the mention of Claridges, Mr Khandelwal, who always booked a suite there whenever he visited London, said:
‘Oh, yes, Claridges. I have a good relation with Claridges. The manager always asks me, “Is everything to your satisfaction, Mr Khandelwal?” And I always say, “Yes, it is all to my satisfaction.”’ He smiled, as if at a private joke.
Mrs Khandelwal looked at him with suppressed anger. She suspected that his trips to London had a carnal as well as a business element to them, and she was right. Sometimes she would phone him up in the middle of the night to ensure that he was where he had said he would be. If he complained, which he rarely dared to do, she would tell him that she had mixed up her time zones.
‘What do you like best about London — when you do happen to go there?’ asked Arun, turning to Haresh.
‘The pubs, of course,’ said Haresh. ‘No matter where you go you bump into a pub. One of my favourites is that wedge-shaped pub near Trafalgar Square — the Marquis of Anglesey — or is it the Marquis of Granby?’
Mr Khandelwal looked somewhat interested, but Arun, Meenakshi, and Mrs Khandelwal gave a collective shudder. Haresh was behaving like a real bull among the Rosenthal.
‘Where do you buy toys for your daughter?’ asked Mrs Khandelwal quickly. ‘I am always telling Mr Khandelwal to buy toys from England. They make such good gifts. People are always being born in India and I don’t know what to give them.’
Arun quickly, and with accuracy and aplomb, gave the names of three toyshops in London, but ended with a hymn to Hamleys:
‘I always believe, though, Mrs Khandelwal, that one should go for the tried and tested stores. And really, there still is nothing to compare with Hamleys. Toys from top to bottom — nothing but toys on every floor. And it’s done up beautifully at Christmas. It’s on Regent Street, not far from Jaeger’s—’
‘Jaeger’s!’ said Mr Khandelwal. ‘That’s where I bought a dozen sweaters last month.’
‘When were you last in England, Mr Mehra?’ asked Haresh, who was feeling left out of the conversation.
But something appeared to have got stuck in Arun’s throat, because he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and began to cough, pointing with his left hand to his Adam’s apple.
His hostess was all solicitude. She ordered a glass of water for him. The servant brought in a thick tumbler of water on a stainless steel thali. Seeing Meenakshi’s horrified look, Mrs Khandelwal shouted at the servant.
‘Is this how you have learned to bring water? I should send you back to the village.’ The steel platter contrasted dreadfully with the gold-and-white tea service. Meenakshi looked still more horrified at the public outburst of her hostess.
When Arun had recovered, and the drift of the conversation was about to change, Haresh, feeling that Arun might appreciate his interest in him, repeated his question:
‘When was the last time you were in England?’
Arun went red, then collected himself. There was no escape for him. He had to answer the question.
‘Well,’ he said with as much dignity as he could muster, ‘as it happens, it might surprise you to learn that I’ve never actually had the opportunity to go there — but of course we’re going in a few months’ time.’
Haresh was startled. He would never have dreamed of asking Arun whether he had ever been to England. He felt like laughing, but dared not do so. His eyes, however, disappeared in an expression of amusement. His host and hostess looked startled too.
Meenakshi began to talk quickly about bridge, and how they simply had to have the Khandelwals over sometime. And after a few minutes of polite conversation the Mehras looked at their watches, exchanged glances, thanked their hosts, got up, and left.
13.32
Meenakshi was right. Billy Irani was at the second of the two cocktail parties they went to that evening. Shireen was with him, but Meenakshi managed with some light flirtatious banter to draw him aside in an amusingly public way.
‘Do you know, Billy,’ she said, softly and laughingly, in a voice that did not carry, and with an expression that indicated that they were making small talk, ‘do you know that I’m expecting?’
Billy Irani looked nervous. ‘Yes, Arun mentioned it to me.’
‘Well?’
‘Well — should I congratulate you?’
Meenakshi laughed tinklingly, her eyes cold.
‘No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You might be congratulating yourself in a few months.’
Poor Billy looked rather haunted.
‘But we were careful.’ (Except that once, he thought.)
‘I’ve been careful with everyone,’ countered Meenakshi.
‘Everyone?’ Billy looked shocked.
‘I mean, with you, and with Arun. All right, let’s change the subject, here he comes.’