It was nearly time for lunch, so we headed back to the Koregaon Park bungalow. But first, Govind stopped at one of the twin petrol bunks on the corner of North Main and had the tank filled. He retrieved a small booklet from the glove box and noted the mileage. Then he asked me to verify the purchase and the odometer reading and to sign the ledger. I figured this was standard practice, if the long list of entries in the booklet was any indication.

Govind waited for me to sign, but I was scanning the dates and locations in the ledger instead. Most of the fill-ups had been made in Poona, Bombay, and Lonavala. But there were others mixed in. Nasik, Surat, Ahmedabad. Also Indore, Udaipur, Jaipur, and even points as far north as Amritsar and Srinagar. This car got around.

“Problem, sir?” asked Govind, calling me back to the present.

“Everything’s in order,” I said. I signed the book and handed it back to him.

There were too many people underfoot to risk a foray into Willy’s study. It was locked anyway. If I’d left a guest in my house, I wouldn’t have felt the need to lock my office. But maybe Willy didn’t want the staff rummaging through his things. I’d heard plenty of talk of mistrust of servants in my brief time in India.

So I bided my time, waiting for my host to reappear with his beautiful lover. My lover. On Thursday night, as I returned from a walk around the back lanes of Koregaon Park, I discovered a visitor.

“Hello and greetings to you, Dan,” said Chhotu. Christ, he really did sound like George Sanders with that accent. He’d already wedged himself into a chair and was enjoying a glass of sherry.

“Hello, Chhotu. I see you’ve made yourself at home.”

He didn’t even bother to chuckle. “My dear chap, I’d say the same for you, but it would be so obvious as to be risible. You’ve done quite well for yourself since getting the sack.”

Nothing I could say to that except to ask how he knew I’d lost my job.

“I keep up with the latest news.” He lowered his chin and focused a wry smile on me. “As you no doubt are aware.”

“If you’re going to ask me for money, you’ve picked the wrong time, friend. I’ve lost my job, remember?”

“Don’t give it a second’s thought,” he said. “I played my cards poorly, as you know. Never put anything in writing you wouldn’t want dear Mama to read.”

“Or dear Willy?”

“Quite right. Let’s let bygones be bygones, Dan, shall we? Have a drink with me.”