Uncle George laughed comfortably. “This is your lucky evening, Sandilands! Hold on, will you?‘ And, in an aside, ’Freddy! Just a moment, Freddy! Tell me – an officer – Templar. Serving on the frontier. Do you know him? You do? Good. Serving with 10GR. You were brigaded with them? Tell me then – is he married? No. You’re sure?’
Uncle George turned back to Joe. ‘No, he’s not married. I just managed to catch hold of a friend who’s dining tonight and he seems to know him quite well. Evidently not married. He’s not in the country at all at the moment – he’s on home leave and not due back with his regiment until next month. Is this good news or bad?’
‘Good news,’ said Joe. ‘It certainly takes the immediate pressure off.’
‘Are you going to tell me what this is all about?’ asked Uncle George.
‘I could but it might take a bit of time. I’m dining with Nancy tonight and I’m late, you’ve got a dinner party forming up – perhaps we could talk about this tomorrow?’
‘By all means,’ said Uncle George, his gargling voice only just audible.
Nancy ’s bungalow was clearly en fête and Joe, wan with relief, made his way there. All the house rooms seemed to be lighted and there was a procession of night lights in glass jars lining the drive. There seemed to be an unaccustomed number of servants, many of whom, Joe realised, had been borrowed from other households for the evening. The same was true eventually when dinner was served. China, glass and plate had been assembled from other establishments in the sensible Indian fashion.
Leaning on a stick and arm in arm with Nancy, Andrew Drummond stood on the verandah, hospitable and expansive. No chance for a while of speaking privately to Nancy but it seemed the heat was off for the moment and he could surprise her with his news later in the evening.
‘Sandilands, my dear fellow,’ Andrew said with a wide gesture, ‘very good to see you! We had begun to fear that you had got lost. But there you are! Who do you know and who don’t you know? Let’s get the order of precedence right. I must make the presentations. Kitty! I think you’ve met Commander Sandilands. And Prentice you know, of course, and I hardly need draw your attention to the belle of the ball…’
He had no need to draw Joe’s attention to Midge Prentice. From the moment of his arrival, like all the men present, he could look at no other. Laughing and lively, her slim boyish figure set off by a flame-coloured crepe de chine dress, she seemed aflame herself. She came instantly to his side, taking both his hands in hers. ‘Good evening, Commander or, since our jolly drive down from Calcutta, perhaps I could say, hello Joe! How’s the investigation going? Perhaps we ought to drink a toast to you? Andrew…’ and she waved a hand towards the Collector, ‘Andrew says, “Here’s to the hound with his nose upon the ground” so here’s to you!’
She took a glass from a passing servant and, handing it to Joe, clinked glasses with him and favoured him with a look which seemed in the most natural way possible briefly to set them apart together as two old friends and fellow conspirators.
‘What did you think of your present?’ said Joe, turning to Prentice. ‘Your little ivory figure?’
Prentice withdrew a slender cigar from between his lips and said, ‘Beautiful! Really good and of a good period. Worth twice what she gave for it.’
‘Do you think,’ said Midge, gratified, ‘that I could make a living as an expert on Indian egotica…’ She stumbled over the word and tried again, ‘erotica, I mean.’
‘Just let me see you try!’ said Prentice and there was a general laugh.
Two Greys subalterns closed in on Midge and Joe found himself in the company of Kitty.
‘That wretched child gets more like her mother every minute,’ she said. ‘Dolly had an eye for all things Indian and, of course, people gave her things! Quite a collection she had. Destroyed in the fire, I suppose.’ She looked critically once more at Midge. ‘The looks, the taste, the animation and, unless I make a mistake, the same capacity for champagne! Dry-as-dust-Prentice is going to have his work cut out! All the unattached men on the station and probably quite a few of the attached will be at her feet! Damn it all, Commander, I’ve seen it all before. This takes me back twenty years and the charm and the fascination is still there. Heredity! Where does it come from? Now – tell me something about yourself. What have you been doing since our tea party – at which you fluttered a few hearts, I can tell you.’
‘My heart was a bit fluttered, to tell you the truth, surrounded by so much allure,’ said Joe.
‘Oh, you! I was expecting you to say, “All my fancy dwells on Nancy, so I’ll cry tally-ho.” ’
‘Kitty!’ said Joe boldly. ‘You’ve got a tongue that would clip a hedge! Spare me your amatory speculation and remember – I’m a policeman on duty!’
‘All work,’ said Kitty, ‘and no play make Joe a dull boy!’
And dinner was served.
Considering the short time that had been available to Nancy to arrange her dinner party, the dinner was surprisingly good. It opened with a flight of snipe on toast, followed by a curry that nearly took the roof off Joe’s mouth, followed by a bombe surprise (it must have been a logistic miracle to bring that to the table!) and terminated with an unidentifiable fish on toast by way of a savoury. Claret with the entree, champagne once more with the dessert and the ladies, gathered together by a look from Nancy, disappeared.
The gentlemen made their way into the garden, glowing cigars like a flight of fireflies in the darkness. They unbuttoned themselves as though by drill and stood in a row on the lawn’s edge. Joe found himself next to Prentice.
‘This,’ said Prentice, ‘is an Anglo-Indian custom. I suppose it’s an English custom too but I can’t get used to it. I’m too much of a Pathan. On the frontier this would be considered a very shocking display.’
Joe was damned if he was going to be patronised by Prentice. ‘We all have our rituals,’ he said pacifically. ‘On the frontier too, I expect.’
Prentice looked sharply up. ‘Yes, we all have our rituals, don’t we?’
They rejoined the ladies and the solid figure of Kitty came to his side and took his arm. ‘You can escort me to the Club,’ she said. ‘When I was a girl, no one would have dreamed of walking a hundred yards. Times change.’
They set off to walk, Midge arm in arm with Easton and Smythe, Joe arm in arm with Kitty, Nancy between Prentice and Andrew Drummond.
The Club when they reached it was likewise en fête. The Shropshire Light Infantry dance band was beating out a polka and to Joe’s astonishment, the Greys officers were all wearing night-shirts over their mess dress.
‘Manoli Night, you see,’ said Prentice. ‘You must excuse me for a moment while I garb myself like Wee Willie Winkie.’
He walked to a table where were laid out various items of night attire and selected a voluminous starched white shirt. With the twittering help of Midge he struggled into it and arranged it in folds over his mess jacket. The other officers had set out to look absurd but not Prentice. He wore his white shirt with the air of one deliberately robed for some priestly ceremony.
Joe danced a stately waltz with Kitty, paused to have a drink with Andrew and, hoping he was not being too obvious, seized the first opportunity to gather Midge into his arms for a second polka. ‘One, two, three, hop,’ said Midge cheerfully. ‘You’re pretty good, Joe!’ And, as they circled the room, smiling, ‘I like to be noticed!’
‘Don’t we all?’ said Joe. ‘I certainly do!’
As the dance drew to a close, Midge seized his arm. ‘I’ve got something I want to tell you,’ she said. ‘And I want to tell Nancy too! Nancy! I want to tell you a secret! Come where I can talk to you!’
‘Well,’ said Nancy, ‘nothing like the Manoli Dance for releasing inhibitions. But even this early in the evening the kala juggah appears to be occupied. If you really want to tell secrets we’d better step out on to the verandah.’