For a second, fear filled his new son-in-law’s eyes, but Sanam Khan smiled, and Jia whispered in his ear, ‘It means “a blessing upon your house!”’ And he relaxed.

Akbar Khan pulled out a roll of purple banknotes from his kameez pocket and called Chilli Chacha towards him. ‘Buy some mithai and send the rest of this to your family,’ he said. ‘Tell them my daughter has found a Khan worthy of her!’ Jia kissed her father without reservation and he responded with laughter, turning to hug his new son-in-law once more.

No one even noticed the small slip of paper that made its way into the manservant’s hand and from him to Bazigh Khan.

CHAPTER 17

That unnoticed slip of paper destroyed the house that Jia built. It took two years, but at the end of it, her father-in-law was implicated in a complicated tax fraud.

A company once registered by him became one in a long line of businesses used to commit carousel fraud. Signatures had been forged, invoices drawn up for products that never existed, and VAT falsely claimed from HMRC. She had no proof of his involvement, but Jia blamed Akbar Khan. ‘Are you listening to me?’ she screamed.

He ignored her, and carried on writing on his notepad, his gaze unflinching. She could feel the pressure building up inside her, his disinterest like screws tightening her sinews. From the corner of the room, Elyas watched. He knew his father to be meticulously law-abiding, a man who had never even had a parking ticket. He had fallen under Akbar Khan’s spell and revealed personal information. Information that had taken him to the verge of a jail term.

Akbar Khan put down his pen. What his daughter did not know was that Elyas’s father had come to him for help. The man was in financial trouble, mortgage repayments long overdue. He had no stomach for business and his start-up company had swallowed up his income and more. Akbar Khan had agreed to help, but reluctantly. He’d considered this the best of a bad deal, and now his daughter blamed him.

‘These honourable men you worry about so much…I know things about them that you do not,’ he said. He turned to Zan, who was standing beside him and gestured for a glass of water. It was bitterly cold outside, and inside the central heating was drying out the air, leaving skin chapped and mouths dry.

Zan placed his hand on his father’s shoulder, to show his allegiance as much as to protect his sister. But Akbar Khan wasn’t annoyed with his daughter. He was proud of the rage that ran through her. It was a sign of her loyalty to those under her care, but she hadn’t yet learnt to win. ‘My child, life is ugly,’ he said. ‘The only people who survive it are those who make themselves its equal.’