“His name’s Kumaraswami Shivananda, have you heard of him? No, most people haven’t. Mama met him when he was on a lecture tour through the States, and came to Chicago. He’s absatively keen for an old man—has to be at least forty, but has those dark eyes that seem to look right through you. Anyhoo, he channels the spirits, especially one he calls The Vizier, who was something big in ancient Egypt. The Vizier sent Kumaraswami on his world tour, to gather pupils and then teach them all about enlightenment through the body. Ever so much nicer than all those skinny, unhealthy-looking characters who tell you to renounce all sensation, don’t you think?”

“Is, er, Kumaraswami Indian, then, or Egyptian?”

“Oh, no, he’s from Pittsburgh. But The Vizier spoke to him one day in a séance and told him to change his name and go to India, so that was that.”

Keeping my face straight was a struggle, but I agreed solemnly that enlightenment through the body did sound far nicer than some of the ascetic disciplines I had heard of. Sunny smiled, not knowing what I was talking about, but happy to have found what she took to be a kindred spirit.

“Have you ever been to a séance?” she asked.

“I, er, I know people who have.”

“They’re bunk, really, but tons of laughs. Everyone sitting so serious and then the channeller begins making all these squeals and groans, and you have to sit there fighting not to giggle.”

At least I shouldn’t have to warn the child not to be too gullible, I reflected, somewhat relieved.

“Come meet Mama and Tom?” she urged, jumping to her feet as if there could be no doubt that I would instantly agree.

“I should be getting back to w—” I started, but she pleaded.

“Oh, just for a jiffy! They’re right below us waiting for tea, it would be ever so nice to show Mama I’ve made a friend so that when I want to go off and flirt with those tasty young officers she won’t worry.”

Who was I to shackle a free spirit such as Sunny Goodheart? And if she had originally intended to join the “fishing fleet” of eligible young women travelling to India to hook a husband, she would need all the help she could get to make up for three months of lost time. “I’d love to meet your mother,” I said, causing her to give a little jump of pleasure before she seized my hand and led me down the deck towards the stairs. It was impossible not to smile at the creature; despite her dress and her cultivated worldly airs, she struck one as little more than a child.