‘I thought you’d fallen under her spell like everyone else seems to.’ His voice was bitter.

‘Not for long,’ Anna said.

Jake parked in a side street off Stoney Lane, and they walked across to the little restaurant. The street was busy, most of the shops still open, with people milling in and out of the grocer’s a few doors away, leaning over the rickety trestle tables outside to select from the boxes of green bananas, okra, garlic, oranges. A string holding paper bags shifted in the breeze. One of the passing cars blared Asian film music, a woman’s voice reaching high. The evening air was warm and full of the smells of cooking.

Inside many of the tables were already taken and the atmosphere was busy, full of spice and smoke, a mixed-race clientele, the waiters holding dishes high, wriggling their hips to squeeze between the chairs. A huge white man sat alone at the back of the room pulling at naan bread with stumpy fingers. The waiter seated them with great courtesy, a metal jug of water and a small metal dish containing chopped onions in a runny white sauce rippled with tomato ketchup. Each table was covered by a sheet of glass with the menus tucked underneath and a sprinkling of paper napkins on the top.

‘You familiar with this cooking?’ Jake asked.

‘Oh, yes. Richard was very keen on these places and got me hooked. I brought my mom here a few times.’

Jake smiled. ‘And?’

‘She loved it. Said it was the nearest she’d get to travelling now.’

They ordered Cokes and food.

‘Kebabs,’ Krish said. ‘It has to be kebabs.’

Once they’d got past the activity of ordering, there was a sudden awkwardness. Anna asked Krish about his course, whether he was enjoying it.

‘It’s fine,’ he said ‘Really interesting.’ She couldn’t help feeling that this, too, was a stock reply.

‘And the Bengali – you obviously already speak it?’

‘Some. She brought me up almost bilingual – that was the idea. She speaks it very well herself.’

He changed the subject quickly then, asking Jake how the business was going, and the two of them talked through the starters. The main dishes arrived, the dark, well-used balti dishes like small woks, half filled with bright, sizzling food, and thick naan breads and rice alongside.

‘Enjoy your meal,’ the waiter said, retreating.

There was a long, embarrassed silence. They tore the bread, scooped up the spiced meat and vegetables.

‘So things are bad again?’ Jake said eventually, with a directness which suggested they settle down to the real business of the evening.

Krish nodded. Anna expected him to feel ill at ease with her there, but he seemed to trust her. She saw that as a measure of the trust he had in Jake.

‘It’s the longest I’ve spent in the house since last summer. A few days is OK. I can cope with it. Things don’t build up too much.’ He looked round at Anna. ‘You might think I’m being very critical of her. Most people think she’s marvellous – charming and sensitive, life and soul of the party. She is, of course, some of the time. In fact in some ways there’s no one I’d rather have a conversation with. That’s the good side of the lodgers being there. She’s gifted with shy people – draws them out, makes them feel interesting and part of things. And she’s very clever. I admire her a lot for all she’s done. She had a hard time, bringing me up on her own and all that.’