FLORA Well, don’t be so stuffy.

DURANCE How long will you be with us?

FLORA I’m expected in Jaipur but they don’t mind when I come.

DURANCE I’m sure you’ll have a marvellous time. There are wonderful things to see. Meanwhile, please consider yourself an honorary member of the Club—mention my name, but I’ll put you in the book.

FLORA Thank you.

DURANCE Well …

He offers his hand and she shakes it.

FLORA Call again, if you like. I wish I had a lump of sugar for your horse. Next time.

DURANCE He’s my main indulgence. I wish I’d been here when a good horse went with the job.

FLORA Yes … what is your job? You mentioned your chief.

DURANCE The Resident. He represents the government here.

FLORA The British government?

DURANCE Delhi. The Viceroy, in fact. Jummapur is not British India … you understand that?

FLORA Yes … but it’s all the Empire, isn’t it?

DURANCE Oh yes. Absolutely. But there’s about five hundred Rajahs and Maharajahs and Nabobs and so on who run bits of it, well, nearly half of it, actually, by treaty. And we’re here to make sure they don’t get up to mischief.

FLORA I knew you were a kind of policeman.

Durance laughs and goes down the steps of the verandah. He hesitates shyly.

DURANCE Miss Crewe, would you have dinner with us while you are here?

FLORA With you and your wife, do you mean?

DURANCE No … at the Club. Us. With me. I don’t run to a wife, I’m afraid. But do come. We’re a reasonably civilized lot, and there’s usually dancing on Saturdays, only a gramophone but lots of fun.

FLORA I’d love to. On Saturday, then.

DURANCE Oh … splendid! I’ll come by.

FLORA I haven’t got a horse, you know.

DURANCE We have a Daimler at the Residency. I’ll see if I can wangle it. Pick you up about eight?

FLORA Yes.

DURANCE We don’t dress, normally, except on dress nights. (Laughs at himself) Obviously.

FLORA I’ll be ready.

DURANCE Jolly good.

He exits and mounts the horse which snorts.

FLORA Goodbye!

DURANCE (Offstage) Goodbye!

FLORA (Calling out) Wangle the Daimler!

Flora waves and turns aside. She sits at her table and starts to write.

Anish is drawing Mrs Swan.

MRS SWAN But Jummapur was a Native State.

ANISH Yes.

MRS SWAN So we didn’t put your father in gaol.

ANISH (Politely dissenting) Ah well …

MRS SWAN (Firmly) Whatever your father may have done, the Resident would have had no authority to imprison an Indian. The Rajah of Jummapur had his own justice.

ANISH Ah, but His Highness the Rajah …

MRS SWAN Oh, I’m not saying we wouldn’t have boxed his ears and sent him packing if he forgot which side his bread was buttered, but facts are facts. The Rajah put your father in the choky. How long for, by the way?

ANISH Six months.

MRS SWAN There you are. In British India he would have got a year at least. After the War it may have been different. With Independence round the corner, people were queuing up to go to prison, it was their ticket to the top. They’d do their bit of civil disobedience and hop into the paddy-waggon thoroughly pleased with themselves. Eric—that’s my husband—would let them off with a small fine if he thought they were Johnny-come-latelies, and they’d be furious. That was when Eric had his District. We were right up near Nepal …