We came to the Naqqar Khana gate. I cleared me throat. She pulled out her Murray’s Guide and said: ‘Don’t tell me. This is where drums were beaten, right? And that red buildin’ in front is the Dear one somethin’-or-the-other where the kingee received common folk, right?’

‘Right on the mark. It is the Diwan-i-Am, the Hall of General Audience. You don’t need a guide, you know everything.’

‘No. I don’t,’ she snapped. Armed with Murray’s Guide she instructed me about Emperor Shah Jahan, when he had lived, when he had built the palaces, pointed out the figure of Orpheus behind the throne, the Rang Mahal, the ‘Dreamin’ Chamber’, the octagonal Jasmine tower and the ‘Dearonee . . . ’

‘Diwan-i-Khas.’

‘Where kingee sat on the peacock throne to receive noblemen. Right?’

‘Right.’

‘Goodee! That pearly mosque built by the kingee’s son who locked up Dad and became King Orangeade.’

‘Aurangzeb.’

‘Aren’t I clever?’

‘Very! You could make a handsome living as a professional guide.’

‘I could at that! I am thirsty. Can I get a carton of milk or a Coke some place?’

‘Coke, yes. Milk, no.’

We returned to the arcade. She drank two bottles of Coke, pressed her belly and belched. ‘Sorree! I feel good.’

It usually took me over an hour-and-a-half to take visitors round the Red Fort. Georgine did it in twenty minutes. I picked up a marble Taj Mahal encased in glass and nodded to the shopkeeper. He wagged his head to indicate I could have if for free. ‘Miss . . . . I mean Georgine, this is for you. With my compliments.’

‘Me? What for?’ she demanded blushing. She grabbed it from my hands and clasped it to her big bosom. ‘It’s lovely. Thank you.’ She gave me a peck on my nose, ‘And that’s for you bein’ so nice to a horrid girl.’

This time she took the rear seat beside me. When I asked the chauffeur to take us to the Royal Mosque, she protested: ‘Nope. One morning’ one buildin’. Okay?’

‘That would take us a whole month to do Delhi.’

‘Goodie!’ You can spend every mornin’ with me. Won’t you like that?’

We drove through Chandni Chowk, Khari Bawli and Sadar Bazaar. Georgine kept taking snapshots and making unintelligible sounds. She suddenly turned round, stared at me and giggled. ‘Gawd! You are a funny lookin’ man!’ she exclaimed. ‘If somebody had told me last week that I’d be ridin’ around with a darkie with a bandage round his head and a beard round his chin, I would have died.’ I made no comment. She sensed my resentment. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she added, ‘I am always sayin’ such dumb, stoopid things. Anyway what have you got under that bandage?’ I made no reply. She grunted ‘unh’ and said no more till we were back in Carlyle’s home. As she got out of the car she asked, ‘Can I pull your beard?’ Before I could raise my hand to protect myself she grabbed it in her hand and gave it a violent tug. She threw three ten rupee notes on the seat, jumped out with the miniature Taj in her arms, and with a jerk of her big bottom ran to the door. ‘Bye! See you tomorrow.’