‘Agree to what?’ said Pran.
‘To withdrawing your candidature, of course. Don’t worry, dear boy, I will handle all the formalities. As you know, the selection committee is meeting on Thursday. It took so long to arrange a date,’ he went on. ‘But finally, in the middle of January, I succeeded in fixing one. And now, alas – but you are a young man, and will have many more opportunities for advancement, here in Brahmpur or elsewhere.’
‘Thank you for your concern, Professor Mishra, but I believe I will feel well enough to attend,’ said Pran. ‘That was an interesting question you asked about Eliot,’ he added.
Professor Mishra, his pallid face still frozen in disapproval at Pran’s unfilial attitude and tempted almost to refer to funeral baked meats, was silent for a while. Then he pulled himself together and said: ‘Yes, I gave a paper here a few months ago entitled “Eliot: Whither?” It is a pity you were unable to attend.’
‘I didn’t hear about it till later,’ said Pran. ‘I regretted it for weeks afterwards. Do have a cake, Professor Mishra. Your plate is empty now.’
Meanwhile Lata and Kabir were talking.
‘So you invited him when you came to Calcutta?’ said Lata. ‘Did he come up to your expectations?’
‘Yes,’ said Kabir. ‘I enjoy his poetry. But how did you know I went to Calcutta?’
‘I have my sources,’ said Lata. ‘And how do you know Amit?’
‘Amit, is it?’
‘Mr Chatterji, if you like. How do you know him?’
‘I don’t – I mean, I didn’t,’ said Kabir, correcting himself. ‘We were introduced by someone.’
‘By Haresh Khanna?’
‘You really do have your sources,’ said Kabir, looking straight into Lata’s eyes. ‘Perhaps you would care to tell me what I was doing this afternoon.’
‘That’s easy,’ said Lata. ‘You were playing cricket.’
Kabir laughed. ‘That was too easy,’ he said. ‘Yesterday afternoon?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Lata. ‘I really can’t eat this cake,’ she added.
‘I’ve put up with some of this cake in the past in the hope of seeing you,’ said Kabir. ‘But you’re worth any amount of chipped enamel.’
Very charming, thought Lata coldly, and did not respond. Kabir’s compliment seemed rather too facile.
‘So, how do you know Amit – I mean Mr Chatterji?’ continued Kabir. His voice had an edge to it.
‘What is this, Kabir, an interrogation?’
‘No.’
‘Well, what is it then?’
‘A civil question, which might merit a similar answer,’ said Kabir. ‘I asked out of interest. Do you want me to withdraw it?’
Lata reflected that the tone of the question had not been civil. It had been jealous. Good!
‘No. Let it stand,’ she said. ‘He’s my brother-in-law. I mean,’ – and here she flushed – ‘he’s not my own brother-in-law but my brother’s.’
‘And I imagine you’ve had plenty of opportunity of meeting him in Calcutta.’
The word Calcutta was like a goad.
‘Just what are you trying to get at, Kabir?’ said Lata angrily.
‘Just that I’ve been watching him for the last few minutes and during the reading too, and everything he does seems to be aimed at you.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘Look at him now.’
Lata turned instinctively; and Amit, who had had half an eye on her while he was attempting not too dishonestly to comment on Nowrojee’s triolet, gave her a smile. Lata smiled back weakly. Amit, however, was soon obscured by the bulk of Professor Mishra.
‘And I suppose you take walks?’
‘Sometimes –’ Reading Timon to each other in cemeteries.’
‘Not exactly.’
‘And I suppose you go up and down the Hooghly on a boat at dawn.’
‘Kabir – how dare you, you of all people –’
‘And I suppose he writes you letters as well?’ continued Kabir, who looked as if he wanted to shake her.
‘What if he did?’ said Lata. ‘What if he does? But he doesn’t. It’s the other man you met, Haresh, who writes to me – and I write back.’
The colour drained from Kabir’s face. He grabbed her right hand and held it tight.
‘Let go,’ whispered Lata. ‘Let me go at once. Or I’ll drop this plate.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Kabir. ‘Drop it. It’s probably a Nowrojee heirloom.’
‘Please –’ said Lata, tears starting to her eyes. He was actually hurting her physically, but she was very annoyed about her tears. ‘Please don’t, Kabir –’