Relaxing under the fan in the drawing room, I sipped ice water as I waited for the appointed hour. I thought back to the rest of her note. She’d written that I’d saved her life by asking her to dinner. Willy was God knows where, in Poona or Chandigarh or Kathmandu, and she was about to slit her wrists when my invitation arrived. I was happy to be her savior, even if it meant treading on Willy’s territory without first asking permission. Surely he wouldn’t object to my taking care of his precious Mita in his absence. I could be trusted, after all, couldn’t I?

Sure. As long as Sushmita said no.

Look, I told myself, I had no intention of betraying my friend with his girl. But then, how well did I know him? And even if I allowed myself wild fantasies of what might happen with Sushmita, I certainly didn’t have the guts to act on my baser instincts. It was a game. Get as close as I dared to crossing the very desirable point of no return, then step back with honor intact. The only problem was determining where the point of no return began and where honor ended.

Sushmita greeted me in a form-fitting white bell-bottomed jumpsuit that wiped out any illusions I may have entertained that I was worthy of Willy’s trust. My will and my flesh were weak, and the only thing standing between my resolve and betrayal was a crook of Sushmita’s finger.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Don’t you like it?”

I wanted to tell her no. But, God, she was gorgeous.

“You look nice,” I answered instead.

“Nice? Clearly, I overestimated my charms. I was hoping you’d swallow your tongue. Never mind, you dull man. Let’s go. Chalo.”

Bombay Gymkhana recalled the grandeur of the Raj. Once a restricted haven for the British, it was now an exclusive sporting club for well-heeled Indians who’d appropriated its elitism and snobbery for themselves after Independence in 1947. The waiting list for membership was said to be decades long. A beautiful property near the Azad Maidan, Bombay Gym offered cricket and rugby pitches, badminton and tennis courts, game rooms and dining halls. Once inside, you entered a world that, though faded, provided glimpses of a glorious and enduring history.

A long veranda, bordering the playing fields, led members and guests to the different dining halls, lounges, and changing rooms. Small tables and chairs lined the way, as well as the occasional Bombay fornicator, a low-slung seat so named for the extendable armrests that provided support for one’s legs while one … well … reclined.