“Sorry? Are you thirsty?”

“No. The expression is ‘water under the bridge,’ not ‘river.’”

Willy blushed, then thanked me for the correction. I couldn’t tell if he was onto me or if he loved me. Like a doting father loves his dimwitted son. Was he about to shoot me dead or hug me?

“I’ll pack my things and go,” I said, just as the guard opened the rusty front gate. The white Mercedes pulled into the compound, tires crunching over the gravel drive.

“Mita is home,” he said. “Danny, please don’t go. That will upset her, and she’s already cross with me about Chhotu.”

“Zadya’s not here?” she asked Willy as he kissed her on both cheeks.

“So cruel of you, Mita, to make fun of his weight. Welcome home.”

“Hello, Danny. I’m glad to see one friendly face at least. Will you meet me for a walk after I’ve had a bath?”

“Of course,” I said, then looked expectantly at Willy.

He smiled and nodded. “An excellent idea. I have work to do and will need some quiet.”

Once Sushmita had gone to her room, Willy patted me on the back. He looked troubled.

“I feel sick about Birgit,” I said, thinking I might still salvage my mission. If he didn’t suspect me, maybe it was possible. “I really should leave.”

Willy sighed and grabbed me by both shoulders. “Birgit’s not important,” he said. “Yes, I was disappointed in you, Danny. Not because I wanted you to work for me. That never was a possibility. But because I’m very fond of you. I suppose you noticed.” He smiled sadly and let go of me. “That’s why I was so hurt by your betrayal.”

“I’m sorry, Willy. I didn’t mean to do it.”

“Didn’t you?” He paused for a long beat. “I was disappointed in you about Birgit. But that’s not what hurt me. It was you and Mita.”

Having lobbed that grenade, he drifted out of the room, leaving me to wonder why he hadn’t thrown me out. Or had me killed.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

SUNDAY, AUGUST 17, 1975, 4:32 P.M.

I waited until we’d rounded the corner to tell Sushmita that Willy knew. Her reaction surprised me. She took the news with a fatalistic sigh. I asked if she was worried.

“What can he do to me?” she said. “I own the houses. He loves me. And needs me.”

On the other hand, he didn’t need me. We strolled along the lane, past more bungalows, flowers, and banyan trees.

“Do you know I kind of feel sorry for him?” I said.

“You don’t think I do? He’s been good to me. It’s not the money, Danny.”

“What is his hold on you, then?”