‘Ha!’ said Edgar with satisfaction. ‘A great honour! They’ve sent the Rolls! I wonder if it’s for you or me?’

‘Can’t be for me,’ said Joe. ‘He didn’t know I was coming. Did he?’

‘My dear chap,’ said Edgar, ‘you haven’t begun to understand Udai if you imagine he doesn’t know who’s come, who’s gone, who to expect, who not to expect and what you’ve got packed in your luggage!’

For a startled moment, Joe had a vision of the dark metal of the snub-nosed gun nestling amongst his dress shirts and hoped he’d remembered to lock his trunk. Joe’s eyes followed it anxiously as it was moved with Indian efficiency along with other luggage from the mainline on to the waiting narrow gauge train. For a moment he regretted not keeping the gun tucked away in his belt in spite of the discomfort. He turned his attention back to the open-topped Rolls Royce Phantom and looked and looked again at the two people in the front seats.

The passenger seat was occupied by an Indian wearing a smartly tailored but dusty chauffeur’s uniform. Hatless and dishevelled, he was holding on to a leather strap, bracing himself as the car came to an abrupt halt at their feet. The driver, a slim figure in khaki trousers and white shirt, applied the handbrake and jumped out to greet them. She took off the borrowed chauffeur’s cap, releasing a shining fall of fair hair, and knocked the cap against her knee to shake off the thick layer of dust.

‘Edgar. How nice to see you again.’ Her tone was formal rather than warm and her attention moved rather more quickly than was polite from Edgar to himself.

‘And this is your English policeman? Cops finally got wise to you, did they, and put you in custody?’ She stared at Joe with undisguised appreciation, her expression now warm and playful. ‘Well, lucky old you! . . . My! If I weren’t already spoken for I’d put my cap right back on and set it at you, mister!’

‘Hello, Madeleine,’ said Edgar stiffly. ‘May I present my friend and colleague, Commander Joseph Sandilands? Joe is in India on secondment from Scotland Yard. Joe, this is Madeleine Mercer – as was – now the first wife of Udai’s second son, Prithvi. What the hell are you up to, Madeleine? Still trying to astonish, unnerve and upset? Udai won’t like this display, you know!’ He waved a hand theatrically at the onlookers beginning to gather round the Rolls. ‘Quite a decent crowd you’ve drummed up . . . thinking of going round with the hat?’ The sarcastic edge to his voice made Joe uneasy and he waited for Madeleine to reply in kind, but she ignored the gibe, smiled sweetly and put out a hot, sticky hand to shake Joe’s.

‘Hello, Joe, and welcome to Ranipur. I’m Maddy. Oh, and I’m not the first wife – I’m the only wife.’

Clearly there was little respect or liking between these two and Joe thought he could understand this. Loyal as he was to the ruler, Edgar would share his disappointment with the heir to the throne’s odd choice of bride. And Joe suspected that Edgar had an innate mistrust of any woman who did not conform to his idea of her role in society, Indian or British.

And this was a nonconformist, Joe decided, liking her at once. She was pretty, even beautiful. The first impression of youth and innocence given by the shining blonde hair and widely spaced brown eyes was belied at second glance by the thick straight brows, knowing expression and determined chin. He would have guessed her age as mid-twenties, a year or two younger than himself.

‘I’ve never driven a Rolls,’ Joe offered in an effort to distract them from pursuing their show of mutual dislike.

‘Have a go on the way back if you like,’ said Madeleine easily.

‘Thank you, but I’d hate to wrap it round a peepul tree,’ said Joe. ‘Not had much practice with motor cars. I do rather better with horses.’

‘It wouldn’t matter much if you crashed it. My father-inlaw’s got nine more like it back home.’ Was there disapproval in her flat American drawl? ‘I’ll give you lessons if you like. I’m pretty good, you’ll find.’

‘Madeleine’s father was a racing driver,’ Edgar explained. ‘And he passed on his skills – along with his modesty – to his daughter.’

The disapproval was unmistakable.

While they talked the chauffeur had taken their hand luggage and stowed it away in the car. He was now standing hopefully by the driver’s door.

‘Oh, go on then, Gopal! You’ve had enough excitement for one day, I guess! You can drive us back to the palace,’ said Madeleine. ‘Edgar, you sit in front. I’m going to cosy up with your friend and colleague in the back and tell him about Ranipur.’ She grinned at Joe. ‘All about Ranipur. The lid off Rajputana! Though I’ll have to work hard to counter some of the impressions Edgar’s given you, I expect. A woman’s-eye view of the principality is never going to be the same as a man’s.’

They settled down into the leather upholstery and the sleek car moved off at a sedate pace into the interior.

‘Just irritating Edgar,’ Joe guessed as Madeleine fell silent, allowing him to register his own impressions of the countryside uninterrupted by commentary. He looked about him eagerly. Desert scenery gave way to orchards and cultivated fields; strips of corn and millet and other crops Joe didn’t recognize filed past. Here and there patches of jangal, which Edgar explained meant uncultivated land, intruded into the tame landscape, small thatched villages sheltered under ancient fig trees, plough oxen plodded their desultory way under the relentless sun. In this dry countryside Joe was pleased to notice sleeping tanks of jade green water and here and there a turning water wheel and evidence of irrigation. And everywhere there were people working, the men standing out against the dun background in white dhotis and richly coloured turbans of saffron and magenta.

Their way was blocked for a moment or two in a village by a flock of girls as bright as birds of paradise in their saris of pink and acid green and yellow. Chattering and laughing and, Joe was quite certain, making rude remarks about the white faces in the white car, they moved off the road, heavy copper pots of milk balanced on their heads, backs straight and swinging along with a lithe grace.

Joe was enthralled. ‘What beauties!’ he remarked.

‘Village women,’ said Madeleine dismissively. She gave Joe a look full of speculation and amusement and added, ‘If it’s female beauty you’re interested in you’ll find a fine sample at the palace. Well, at least, the ones you’re allowed to see . . . the respectable ones are still in purdah.’

‘I had understood that the ruler wasn’t in favour of purdah? It’s a Moghul tradition, isn’t it? Not Rajput?’

‘That’s so. The Rajputs adopted it from their conquerors – the Moghuls. It was the fashionable way to live your life. The women got used to it, I guess, and most of them at court would refuse to give it up if you gave them the choice . . . and, to be fair to Udai, I think he has. His first two wives both stay firmly behind the slatted screens of the zenana. They haven’t been seen by a man apart from their husband since they were married. And before that – only their brothers. Can you imagine! They spend their whole lives guarded by eunuchs, in the company of other women, most of whom they can’t stand, squabbling and intriguing all day long. Their chief topics of conversation are who’s been given the most valuable necklace and how many times has the ruler slept with them that month. What a life!’ Madeleine shuddered in a showy way. ‘I have nothing to do with them. As far as I’m concerned, they’re dead. Dead to the world!’

‘A very short-sighted and ill-informed view, if I may say so,’ drawled Edgar. ‘First Her Highness and Second Her Highness are very intelligent women who not only rule the zenana with a rod of iron but manipulate events on the outside as well. First Her Highness, in particular, is very influential. Anyone affecting to be ignorant of that would be foolish indeed.’