First the Den, the strip club, and now this talk of tigers – it was weird the way he always alluded to animals, she thought. What was the line he had recited, the one out of Shakespeare? Imitate the action of the tiger. He liked the idea of himself as a predator, but the truth was that he was never anything but kind. She was much more familiar than he was with the night side of the city, with men and women who behaved in predatory ways. She had come closer than she admitted to being swallowed up by that life. And if it hadn’t been for Dev, she would have been, she thought.

Sitting back on the couch, Dev was flicking channels. Pausing at some CNN footage of floods in Romania, he was prompted to mention a Romanian girl he’d met at the Den with Nitin. ‘She was working there. She was exhausted, you know? I keep thinking about her. I feel so sad for her.’

It suddenly occurred to Ana that he was talking about her. It was for her that he felt sad, equating her with the tired stripper.

‘Dev,’ she said firmly, muting the TV, ‘I was a hostess.’ On the screen, torrential rivers wrecked bridges and embankments. ‘Are you listening to me? I was a hostess, not a stripper, not a sex worker. It isn’t the same thing, which is what I told Shigeko.’

‘I know, I know. I’m an ass.’ He grinned, looking hugely relieved. Then his phone rang and he boomed, ‘Priya-san, hello. And how is your great life? Oh, ex-cellent news.’

Priya had emailed photos of the ring and her fiancé. Bringing up the files afterwards, Dev said, ‘They’re nice pictures, aren’t they, Ana? Look at them, so happy, smiling away. That rock on her finger, it looks like it’s weighing down her hand. It suits her, of course. Very expensive, very nice.’

He was silent for a while, then frowned, prodding the last dumpling. ‘Do you think it makes a difference? The material things, I mean.’

She now grasped his dilemma, which was that he needed both a yes and a no answer. Pining for Sara, he wished that his wealth and success would bring her back, while at the same time his idealistic self – the youth in overalls that Ana knew in college – hoped that love could not be bought. He looked at her trustingly, waiting.

‘Sometimes,’ she conceded. ‘But I think more often not.’