The chowkidar's shouts caused a stir inside the house. An elderly man appeared on the porch, pen in hand, dressed in a starched white kurta and dhoti. 'What's the matter?' he demanded, peering irritably down the driveway.

He spotted Urmila and a frown appeared on his forehead. 'Yes, what is it?' he said, looking her over distastefully. 'What do you want? No appointments today – all appointments have been cancelled.'

Urmila ignored him. 'I want to see Mr Romen Haldar,' she said.

The secretary glowered at her, over the rim of his spectacles. 'What business do you have with Mr Haldar?' he asked.

'I want to ask him about a fish-seller who came to my flat this morning,' Urmila said defiantly.

The secretary's jaw dropped. 'Fish-seller?' he said. 'What fish-seller?'

'A young man,' Urmila said. She tried to describe him but all she could recall of his appearance was a fading T-shirt and a big, gap-toothed grin. 'He sells fish here regularly,' she said. 'He was on his way here right now; he told me so.'

She lifted up the packet of fish and held it out towards the secretary. 'Look: he sold me this just this morning.'

The secretary recoiled. 'Keep that filthy thing away from me,' he cried, snatching back a spotless, cotton-clothed arm. 'What nonsense is this? No fish-seller has set foot in this house for years.'

'He told me that he sold fish to Mr Haldar.'

'He was lying,' said the secretary.

Urmila stared at him, her head reeling. 'But the man told me… ' she began.

The secretary made an impatient gesture. 'Enough,' he said. 'You can be off now.'

Urmila's tone hardened. 'No,' she said. 'I will not leave until I see Mr Haldar himself.'

'I see,' said the secretary. Raising a hand, he made a sign to the chowkidar, who was standing at the door. 'Shyam Bahadur,' he said. 'Show this lady the way out.'

Urmila pointed a finger at him, looking him directly in the eyes. 'I don't think you know who I am,' she said, in a firm, cool voice. 'Let me tell you: my name is Urmila Roy and I am a Calcutta reporter. Perhaps you should think a little before you do anything.'

The secretary's scowl deepened and he launched into a threat-laden diatribe. Urmila listened quietly; she had become all too used to situations like these over the last couple of years. In her own way she had even come to relish them.

She waited impassively until he ran out of breath. 'Now will you please take me to Mr Haldar?' she said, silkily. 'Quickly, please; I don't have much time. In a short while I have to be at the Great Eastern Hotel, for a press conference with the Minister of Communications.'

The secretary began to splutter. 'You don't understand,' he said, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his spotless kurta. 'I can't take you to Mr Haldar because I don't know where he is. He's disappeared. He's missed two appointments already.'

Urmila stared at him, open mouthed, 'But he's meant to come to our flat for dinner tonight,' she began to explain, meaninglessly. 'That's why I'm cooking this fish; that's why I'm going to be late for the press conference… ' She shook the bag of fish under his nose once again.

The secretary sneered. 'You're either mad or dreaming,' he said. 'Mr Haldar is booked on a flight to Bombay this evening – he has to attend a meeting there. He had no plans to visit you or anyone else here.' With a gesture of dismissal, he turned to the chowkidar. 'Take her away,' he said. 'I'm not going to waste any more time on this nonsense.'

Urmila allowed herself to be led out of the room, but at the porch she broke suddenly free. 'You're lying,' she shouted, shaking off the chowkidar's hand. 'I don't believe you. You're not going to get away with this -you'll see… ' The chowkidar placed a restraining hand on her arm.

Trying to evade his grip Urmila stumbled. And then the gravel path was flying up to meet her.

Chapter 27

WHEN NEXT she opened her eyes Urmila was lying in the shade of the pillared portico of the Haldar mansion. Her sight was blurred and her head was spinning. A large indistinct shape was hovering above her, and beyond it were about a dozen hazy faces, looking anxiously down at her. A voice was shouting in her ear; she couldn't tell what it was saying; the accent was odd. Someone was fanning her with a newspaper; someone else was offering her a glass of water. The chowkidar was somewhere in the middle distance, gesticulating and arguing with someone she couldn't see.

Gradually, as her vision cleared, she saw that the large blur in front of her was a face, the face of a man, a man with a short, trimmed beard. He looked somehow familiar. 'Miss Calcutta:' he was shaking her shoulder. 'Come on, wake up. Where'd you get these? I've got to know.'

'Get what?' she said. He was waving something at her, but she couldn't see what it was.

'These,' he said impatiently. 'This stuff you brought with you; these papers.'

Brushing his hand away, she sat up. 'Who are you?' she said. 'Why are you shouting at me like this?'

He looked at her nonplussed. 'Don't you remember me?' he said. 'We met that day, at that auditorium.'

'What do you mean, we met?' she said. 'I don't know your name, or who you are, or what you do or anything.'

'I'm L. Murugan,' he said. 'I work for LifeWatch.' Murugan took out his wallet and handed her a card. 'I know who you are,' he said. 'I don't recall the name exactly, but I know you work for Calcutta magazine.'

'That's all you need to know,' she said. 'Now kindly explain what you are doing here.'

'Me?' said Murugan. 'I wanted to ask Mr Haldar's permission to visit his Robinson Street property, so I thought I'd come and introduce myself.'

'And why were you shouting at me?'

'I've got to know where you found these.' He produced the crumpled bits of Xerox paper she had found in the packet of fish. 'Can you tell me?'

'How dare you?' she cried. She lunged at his hand and snatched the papers away. 'These are mine. They belong to me.'

'They're not yours,' he said, grabbing at them. 'They have nothing to do with you.'

'They're mine and I'm going to keep them,' said Urmila.

She screwed the papers into a tight little ball and tucked them into the front of her blouse.

Murugan gritted his teeth. 'Look,' he said. 'You've found something that just might be the key to one of the mysteries of the century, and all you want to do is start a custody battle?'

Urmila rose slowly to her feet. 'Why do you want them so much?' she said. 'They're just bits of waste paper.'

'OK,' said Murugan. 'I'll tell you what: I'll save you the trouble of flushing them down the toilet. Give them back to me.'

'There is no need to get agitated,' she said coldly. She rose to her feet, and directed a look of enquiry at the faces around her. 'Where's my fish?' she demanded, of no one in particular. Someone handed the soggy packet back to her. Taking a firm grip on it she set off down the path, towards the gate.

Murugan ran after her. 'Wait up,' he said, trying to collect himself. 'Look, what is it that you want? Do you want money or something?'

She threw him a contemptuous glance and walked on. 'Then what?' said Murugan.

'I want to know what's in those papers.'

He caught hold of her elbow. 'Look,' he said, in as placatory a voice as he could muster. 'You haven't even told me your name. All I know about you is that you work for Calcutta .'

'My name is none of your business,' she answered, shaking his hand off. 'And kindly do not touch me.'

'Oh, so is that going to be your attitude?' said Murugan, his voice rising. 'So what shall I call you, then, since I'm not going to be granted the honour of an introduction? Miss Calcutta? Or perhaps even just Calcutta, or would that be too intimate? Too affectionate, you think? Your husband might begin to suspect some hanky-panky, some panking hankies, some untoward hanking and panking… '