‘Luter,’ said Arun promptly.
‘Aaah, that’s got to be right. But I always thought the right word was lutanist or perhaps lutist.’
‘Does the L give you any help in the other direction?’
‘Er… let’s see… yes, it does. That must be “Belfry”. Thank you.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ said Arun. ‘As it happens, I had a linguistic advantage with that one.’
‘How so?’ said James.
‘The word “loot” comes from Hindi.’
‘So it does, so it does,’ said James Pettigrew. ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘it seems that I’ve won the Ashes three to two, and you owe me lunch sometime next week.’
He was referring to their weekly crossword stakes that ran from Monday to Friday. Arun grunted his admission of defeat.
*
While this conversation, devoted largely to the peculiarities of words, and not entirely pleasing to Arun Mehra, was taking place, another telephone conversation, also dealing with the peculiarities of words, was taking place, which, had he been aware of it, would have pleased Arun Mehra even less.
Meenakshi: Hello.
Billy Irani: Hello!
Meenakshi: You sound different. Is there anyone in the office with you?
Billy: No. But I wish you wouldn’t call me at the office.
Meenakshi: It’s so difficult for me to call at other times. But everyone happens to be out this morning. How are you?
Billy: I’m in fine, er, fettle.
Meenakshi: That makes you sound like a sort of stallion.
Billy: Are you sure you’re not thinking of fetlock?
Meenakshi: Silly Billy! Of course not. Fetlock is the hair somewhere. It’s what you catch a horse by, I think. I think it’s the part of the mane at the base of the neck. Hair equals lock.
Billy: Well then, tell me, how can you sprain a fetlock or break one? You keep hearing of a horse having to be shot because it’s broken a fetlock. By the way, are you going to the races tomorrow at Tolly?
Meenakshi: Yes, as it happens. Arun just called me from the office. Basil Cox has invited us. So will I see you there?
Billy: I’m not sure I’m going tomorrow. But we’re all meeting this evening aren’t we, for cocktails at the Finlays’ – and then dinner and dancing somewhere?
Meenakshi: But I won’t get a chance to say a word to you – what with Shireen guarding you like an emerald egg, and Arun – and my sister-in-law.
Billy: Your sister-in-law?
Meenakshi: She’s quite nice; she needs to be brought out a bit, though. I thought we’d throw her in with Bish, and see how they get along.
Billy: And did you call me an emerald egg?
Meenakshi: Yes. You are rather like an emerald egg. And that brings me to the point. Arun is going to be out in Puttigurh or somewhere until seven o’clock or so. What are you doing this afternoon? I know it’s Friday, so don’t say you’re working.
Billy: Actually, I have lunch first, then a game of golf.
Meenakshi: What? In this weather? You’ll be swept out to sea. So let’s meet – for tea and so on.
Billy: Well – I’m not sure all this is such a good idea.
Meenakshi: Let’s go to the zoo. It’ll be pouring with rain so we won’t meet the usual good citizen. We’ll meet a horse – or a zebra and we’ll ask him if he’s sprained his hair or his neck. I’m so funny, aren’t I?
Billy: Yes, hilarious. Well, I’ll meet you at four-thirty. At the Fairlawn Hotel. For tea.
Meenakshi: For tea and so on.
Billy [rather reluctantly]: And so on. Yes.
Meenakshi: At three o’clock.
Billy: Four o’clock.
Meenakshi: Four o’clock. Four o’clock. Perhaps you were thinking of forelock when you said fetlock.
Billy: Perhaps I was.
Meenakshi: Or foreskin.
Billy: I wouldn’t grab a horse by that.
Meenakshi: Silly Billy! But what is a fetlock then?
Billy: Look up a dictionary – and tell me this afternoon. Or show me.
Meenakshi: Naughty.
Billy [with a sigh]: You’re far naughtier than I am, Meenakshi. I don’t think this is at all a good idea.
Meenakshi: Four o’clock then. I’ll take a taxi. Bye.
Billy: Bye.
Meenakshi: I don’t love you a bit.
Billy: Thank God.
7.23
WHEN Meenakshi returned from her assignation with Billy, it was half past six, and she was smiling contentedly. She was so pleasant to Mrs Rupa Mehra that it quite unsettled her, and she asked Meenakshi if something was the matter. Meenakshi assured her that nothing at all was the matter.
Lata couldn’t decide what to wear for the evening. She entered the drawing room carrying a light pink cotton sari, a part of which she had draped over her shoulder. ‘What do you think of this, Ma?’ she said.