DAS May we fall silent, please. I prefer to work in silence.

FLORA I’ve spoiled everything. I’m very sorry.

DAS The shadow has moved. I must correct it.

FLORA Yes, it has moved. It cannot be corrected. We must wait for tomorrow. I’m so sorry.

Das resumes working at the easel. Flora maintains her pose, but screws the cap on to her fountain pen.

Anish stands up at the approach of Mrs Swan who comes from the bungalow with tea for two on a tray, and two kinds of cake.

ANISH Let me help you.

MRS SWAN I’ve forgotten your sugar.

ANISH Actually, I don’t take it.

MRS SWAN Oh. I thought you’d be more Indian.

They settle the tray and themselves at the garden table.

ANISH This is so kind of you.

MRS SWAN Oh no. Your letter was irresistible. Having an artist to tea was beyond my fondest hopes for my dotage. We’ll let it sit a minute. Do you think you take after your father?

ANISH I don’t know. I would like to think so. But my father was a man who suffered for his beliefs and I have never had to do that, so perhaps I will never know.

MRS SWAN I really meant being a painter. You are a painter like your father.

ANISH Oh … yes. Yes, I am a painter like my father. Though not at all like my father, of course.

MRS SWAN Your father was an Indian painter, you mean?

ANISH An Indian painter? Well, I’m as Indian as he was. But yes. I suppose I am not a particularly Indian painter … not an Indian painter particularly, or rather …

MRS SWAN Not particularly an Indian painter.

ANISH Yes. But then, nor was he. Apart from being Indian.

MRS SWAN As you are.

ANISH Yes.

MRS SWAN Though you are not at all like him.

ANISH No. Yes. My father was a quite different kind of artist, a portrait painter, as you know …

MRS SWAN I can’t say I do, Mr Das. Until I received your letter your father was unknown to me. In fact, the attribution ‘Unknown Indian Artist’ described the situation exactly …

ANISH He was not unknown in Jummapur!

MRS SWAN … if indeed it was your father who did the portrait of Flora.

ANISH Oh, the portrait is certainly my father’s work, Mrs Swan! You cannot imagine my feelings when I saw the book in the shop window—my excitement! You see, I carry my copy everywhere.

He takes The Collected Letters from his briefcase. The dustjacket has the portrait of Flora by Nirad Das.

MRS SWAN Well, I hope there’ll be lots like you, Mr Das.

ANISH There will be no one like me, Mrs Swan! It was not the book, of course, but the painting on the jacket and reproduced inside. If only he could have known that one day his portrait of Flora Crewe …

MRS SWAN He might have been more pleased to be in the window of an art gallery than a bookshop.