Death in the Air E-Book

Ram Murali

• Herausgeber: Atlantic Books
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 469

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

'Glamorous, gripping, absolutely heaps of fun' LUCY FOLEY 'Crisp as a gin and tonic and delightfully wicked' KEVIN KWAN 'An old-fashioned mystery in the model of Agatha Christie' VOGUE, Best Book of 2024 ______________________ Murder. It's terrible for your karma. Even worse for your holiday. Ro Krishna has just arrived at Samsara, a world-class hotel-spa nestled in the Indian Himalayas. With his charm and Oxford education, he had it all - well, until he left his job under mysterious circumstances. At Samsara, he can relax and enjoy the hotel's various health and wellness treatments, as well as a sparkling dose of mysticism. Until one of the guests is found dead. As everyone scrambles to figure out what happened, Ro is pulled into an investigation that endangers them all. Because it turns out that it's not just heiresses and Bollywood stars who have checked in - there's a murderer in their midst . . . _______________________ READERS ARE LOVING DEATH IN THE AIR 'Spellbinding' 'Excellently paced, wonderful twists' 'I LOVED THIS' 'Hard to put down' 'Will leave you guessing until the very end'

Leseprobe

First published in the United States of America in 2024 by Harper, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

First published in hardback in Great Britain in 2024 by Atlantic Books, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

This paperback edition published in 2025 by Atlantic Books, an imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd.

Copyright © Ram Murali, 2024

The moral right of Ram Murali to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

No part of this book may be used in any manner in the learning, training or development of generative artificial intelligence technologies (including but not limited to machine learning models and large language models (LLMs)), whether by data scraping, data mining or use in any way to create or form a part of data sets or in any other way.

This Orient

Words and Music by James Andrew Smith, Edwin Thomas Congreave, Yannis Barnabus,

Emanuel Philippakis, Walter Gervers and Jack William Bevan.

Copyright © 2010 Transgressive Publishing LTD (PRS) (NS)

All rights administered by WC Music Corp.

All Rights Reserved.

Used by Permission of Alfred Music.

Punkrocker

Words and Music by Klas Frans Ahlund, Joakim Frans Ahlund, Patrik Knut Arve and James Newell Osterberg Jr.

Copyright © 2000 Madhouse Music AB and BMG Bumblebee

All Rights for Madhouse Music AB Administered by Universal Music – MGB Songs.

All Rights for BMG Bumblebee Administered by BMG Rights Management (US) LLC.

All Rights Reserved. Used by Permission.

Reprinted by Permission of Hal Leonard LLC.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities, is entirely coincidental.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

EBook ISBN: 978 1 80546 0 015

Atlantic Books

An Imprint of Atlantic Books Ltd

Ormond House

26–27 Boswell Street

London

WC1N 3JZ

www.atlantic-books.co.uk

For Vedavalli Krishna Iyengar (1926–2020)

For Buenaventura Durruti (1896–1936)

For Hector Hugh Munro (1870–1916)

For Christopher Coker (1953–2023)

For Nilanjan Banerjee (1978–2004)

For Maureen Buletti (1978–2008)

For Phatiwe Cohen (1977–2005)

For Thomas Mann (1875–1955)

For Jan Palach (1948–1969)

For Rollo (c. 860–c. 930)

For the United Kingdom

For the United States

For Dartmouth

For France

For India

Reginald closed his eyes with the elaborate weariness of one who has rather nice eyelashes and thinks it useless to conceal the fact.

“One of these days,” he said, “I shall write a really great drama. No one will understand the drift of it, but every one will go back to their homes with a vague feeling of dissatisfaction with their surroundings. Then they will put up new wall-papers and forget.”

Saki

Reginald’s Drama

“Because the murderer is always the most interesting character in the book. So you’ve got to make me the murderer, Agatha—do you understand?”

“I understand that you want to be the murderer,” I said, choosing my words carefully. In the end, in a moment of weakness, I promised that he should be the murderer.

Agatha Christie

An Autobiography

Table of Contents

Bermuda

London

Paris

India (Ten Days to a New You)

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6

Day 7

Day 8

Day 9

Day 10

Acknowledgments

BERMUDA

Ro Krishna crouched on a white wooden dock and peered into the rapidly darkening Harrington Sound. Then he straightened his back and looked up at the fading sky. He didn’t have much time. He slipped noiselessly into the water. He’d dive another day.

The water was the same temperature as the air, like in a sensory deprivation tank. He backstroked toward a large raft anchored a short distance away. Clambering on, he flopped onto his back and crossed one leg over the other at the knee. He placed his hands behind his head and lay on his back with his eyes open, studiously turning his mind blank. Ro had once read that soldiers managed to get through war by turning their minds blank. He was now uncommonly good at this, as he had been at war for some time now.

He lingered on the raft, looking at the first stars of the evening, deliberately cutting it close.

Finally, he lowered himself into the now-inky water and swam back to the dock. Pulling on his “Surf Leucadia” T-shirt, he padded barefoot up the hill. As the large Colonial-style house came into view, he saw that preparations for the party had advanced significantly while he was in the water. At least two bars were now set up on the lawn. A peculiarly international selection of food trucks had formed a queasy circle. Several people were struggling to set up a bouncy castle that was clearly too large for the space it was meant to occupy.

Ro continued up the path and entered the house via an inconspicuous side door. Walking into his room, he picked up the watch on the bedside table and saw he still had thirty minutes to get ready. He would be all right.

A shower first. He took off his T-shirt and his navy blue swim trunks. As he walked toward the bathroom, his eyes fell upon his phone, lying on the bed. He picked it up to give it a cursory glance, and then he froze. There were an unusual number of notifications, in an unusual number of ways: texts, emails, several missed calls. Other messaging apps. He decided to begin with his emails and scrolled down to the earliest unread message.

And then time stopped. Ro stared into space, his eyes vacant, his mouth hanging open. His phone dangled from his hand.

* * *

Post-shower, still toweling his hair, Ro stood in front of the closet and evaluated his options. A 40th birthday party in Bermuda in the shoulder season was a minefield in terms of attire and, whether innocently or mischievously, Rollo had not given a dress code. Every event had a theme, Ro mused. Sometimes overt, sometimes covert. He would have to figure out tonight’s theme by himself.

Fortunately, he now had all the time in the world.

The shirt he eventually chose was plain white cotton except for its collar, onto which rocket ships, rainbows, and snakes were embroidered whimsically, ostensibly justifying the shirt’s equally whimsical price. But the lower half of his body remained a problem. None of his jeans or trousers seemed right. Then his eyes fell upon a pair of sky-blue Bermuda shorts tossed over a chair.

When in Rome.

Ro added a grey-blue woven leather belt and grass-green suede moccasins. Buckling on his father’s old gold-and-steel Cartier Panthère watch, Ro looked in the mirror and nodded. With regards to the theme, he was fairly sure he’d nailed it.

Leaving the room, he turned to the left, walked two feet, then knocked on the next door.

“Come in,” a familiar voice said.

Connie was Ro’s best friend from college. She sat at a table looking into a mirror, applying makeup, her hair up in a loose chignon. She wore an emerald green dress made of pleated silk faille. The room was chaotic. Connie’s shoes were splayed gorily all over the floor of the closet. “Will you grab the gold ones?” Connie asked, applying mascara. “No, not those. The strappy ones.” Ro silently handed them over.

She placed them on the floor. Once she was done with her eyes, Connie stood up, turning her back to him. She picked up a bottle of perfume, spritzed some—Samsara, by Guerlain, although Ro didn’t know that—into the empty air in front of her, and walked into the cloud. Then she sat down on the bed and began to fasten her shoes.

“Can you hand that over?” she said, pointing to a fabric pouch Ro had bought for her in Bhutan. Opening it, she pulled out what seemed to be yards of gold and began to arrange them around her neck. The necklace was an improbably long Van Cleef & Arpels Alhambra chain made of gold, mother-of-pearl, malachite, and onyx. Connie saw Ro’s admiring look in the mirror. “My mother’s. It’s from the 70s. Can you help?” Ro fastened it for her.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Connie unpinned the chignon, shook out her long, dark, lustrous hair, and stood up. She took a shopping bag out of the closet. “Rollo’s present. Want to see?” Carefully untying the brown ribbon, she opened the orange box to reveal a large green travel wallet. “Dartmouth green,” she said, satisfied.

Ro just smiled.

“Let’s go,” Connie said, picking up her bag. She caught Ro’s eye in the mirror and sighed. “Ugh. You have the best hair.”

Ro smiled again, shrugging.

It was true.

He did have great hair.

* * *

Connie and Ro walked onto the lawn through the side door. It had gotten dark, more or less.

“Joss isn’t coming, right?”

Ro shook his head.

“He works too much. Although Bermuda’s a massive schlep from LA, I’ll give him that. Oh, there’s Masha.” She waved at a slender girl wearing a fuchsia dress, her pale blond hair scraped back into a ballerina bun.

Masha waved back frantically. “I need you guys!” she yelled.

They walked over to her. The bouncy castle waved uncertainly against the night sky. Masha gazed up at it. “I messed up. It’s way too big. Where do you think we should put it?”

“Ooh, I’m not sure.” Connie took off her shoes and started running around the lawn. “Oh, I see. You don’t want to block the view. Wait.” She ran another few feet and paused. “Maybe here?” Ro made a slashing motion with his hand. “Diagonally?” Connie added, grinning at him.

Masha came over and jumped, clapping her hands. “I think that might work!” The workers came over and huddled with her for a moment, then began to drag the castle into place. Ro grinned as he watched Masha squeal and clap her hands again, her eyes sparkling. “It does!”

She turned to Connie. “I think we deserve a Dark and Stormy.” They began moving toward the bar, chatting with each other animatedly. Ro followed them, smiling to himself. He hadn’t yet spoken the first word of his postwar life. He wondered how much longer he could go.

* * *

As it happens, he could go quite a long time. And it was delightful.

Ro bobbed around, nodded, smiled and waved, smiled and shook hands, gave and received kisses on both cheeks, shook hands without smiling, gave meaningful looks, shook his head, pointed, raised his eyebrows, sipped, chewed, made noises of appreciation, made grunts of disapprobation, sauntered, shrugged, hugged, gave a thumbs up, and gave two high fives. He was pretty sure nobody had clocked what he was up to.

He stood discreetly at the back of the lawn near one of the bars while Rollo, who was wearing a smoking jacket, a bow tie, and a kilt, gave a speech thanking his guests and welcoming them to Bermuda.

To much applause and laughter, Rollo announced the start of a limbo competition. Ro turned and walked toward the lawn’s edge. He stopped in front of the ha-ha and looked down at the sound. The now-black water lapped gently at itself.

“Ahem.”

He turned and saw someone he didn’t think he knew, a somewhat puzzled look on her face. She was maybe a few years younger, early thirties or late twenties. Her short dress was covered in gold sequins. Her blondish hair was in a ponytail. She wore large gold hoop earrings. A Swatch was on her left wrist. The only makeup Ro could see was a carelessly applied smudge of red-orange lipstick.

“Hello,” she said shyly.

Ro was charmed. He smiled and tilted his head toward her.

The woman smiled back at him, hesitant, visibly debating whether to say something.

Finally, she did. “Are you not speaking on purpose?”

Ro laughed, delighted. “Thank you. I was wondering when someone would notice.”

“Oh!” She sighed, relieved. “We noticed a while ago.” She waved toward a smiling man a few steps behind her, perhaps around Ro’s age, sandy-haired, stocky. “But we were having so much fun watching.”

“I’m glad I could be of service,” Ro said, mock-bowing.

The woman hesitated again, looking down and chewing her lip. “But it wasn’t just that,” she said. “Your aura is amazing right now. It’s remarkable.” She paused. “Apologies, I don’t mean to be a hippie. But it’s energy. Something new.”

“Don’t worry,” Ro said. “You know, it’s weird, but you’re right. My life did actually change today.” He gave her a warm smile. “I’m Ro, by the way.”

He leaned in to kiss her on both cheeks.

“Bronya. What’s Ro short for?”

“Rohan. I literally never use it, though,” Ro replied. “Is Bronya short for Bronisława?”

“Yes!” she squealed, jumping up and down. “I’m impressed. What does Rohan mean?”

“Ascending,” Ro responded, a little surprised. He usually asked that question first. “What does Bronisława mean?”

Bronya thought for a moment, then laughed. “I don’t know, actually!” She turned to the man behind her. “This is my boyfriend, Alex.”

The man approached them with a friendly grin. “Hello, Ascending. I’m Alex. Short for Alexander, which means ‘defender of men.’ And this is Novi,” he added, indicating the Pomeranian in the grey Goyard tote bag he carried. Alex was more or less the same height as Ro, a shade or two under six feet, but looked more solid, with broad shoulders. His light blue button-down shirt was tucked into pale yellow trousers. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing tanned forearms.

“Hi, Alex. And hi, Novi.” Ro leaned in and gently scratched Novi on the top of her head. “Novi, that’s a cute name.”

“It’s short for Novichok,” Bronya said. “So, how did your life change today?” she continued, looking at Ro. “If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

Ro paused. Words were fluttering on his lips, but he didn’t quite know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Bronya said, retreating a little. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

“No.” Ro shook his head. “Please, don’t worry. Really. It’s just that I haven’t talked about what happened yet.” Except to lawyers, he added to himself. Lots and lots and lots of lawyers.

“You haven’t talked about it? Not even to your girlfriend?” Bronya saw Ro’s puzzlement. “The girl in the green dress.”

“Oh, Connie. No. Connie’s my best friend, by the way,” Ro added. “More my twin sister than anything else.”

“And you haven’t even told her?” Alex asked, interested.

Ro shook his head.

A burst of applause came from farther down the lawn. “Are you planning to do the limbo?” Alex asked.

“No,” Ro said. “I’m Indian. It wouldn’t be fair to the others.”

Alex laughed. “Let’s go for a swim. Everyone will be down there soon anyway.” He looked at Ro. “You’re staying in the house, yes? Why don’t you go change? Meet us at the dock.”

How did he know that, Ro wondered. “Sure.”

* * *

It was a full moon, or almost one, anyway.

Alex dived effortlessly into the water. “The water’s so warm,” he said as he surfaced. He swam toward Bronya, who was already on the raft.

Ro peeled off his T-shirt. “I love your swimsuit,” Bronya cooed at him. “Is that Dsquared2?”

“No,” Ro laughed. “H&M.” He thought about diving, then had another idea. Walking a few steps back, he turned around and ran off the dock, jumping into the air and rolling into a ball. “Cannonball!” he heard Bronya shriek delightedly as he smashed into the water.

“What’s Leucadia?” Alex asked as Ro climbed onto the raft.

“Huh?” Ro said, settling onto his back.

“Your T-shirt.”

“Oh. It’s a town near San Diego. Just up the coast from where I’m from.”

“Oh, so it’s a place?”

“Yes. Leucadia means ‘place of refuge.’ ” Ro paused, suspicious. “What did you think it was?”

“I don’t know. It’s the sort of word that could be anything.” Alex giggled a little. “An illness. A state of mind.”

“Are you high?” Ro asked.

“No,” Alex said.

“Oh.” Ro settled back down. “Neither am I.”

They lay there for a while, listening to the sounds from the party. Music and faint laughter.

“You’re from San Diego?” Bronya asked.

“Sure am. I live in London now though. What about you guys?”

“I’m from Moravia,” Bronya said.

“And I’m from Prague,” Alex added.

“Oh.” That was a surprise.

He hesitated.

“Oh,” Ro repeated, this time meaningfully. “That’s weird.”

He flipped onto his stomach, resting his chin on his hands.

“Don’t tell me it’s about Prague,” Alex said, raising himself slightly. “Your life-changing news, that is.”

“It’s about Prague.”

Alex sat up. He looked at Ro expectantly, his arms around his knees.

Bronya sat up too.

“I don’t know where to start. I wasn’t joking. I haven’t told anyone about this. About any of it, really.”

The three of them sat in silence for a moment. Ro closed his eyes.

“You know, it feels like you need to release it.” Alex’s tone was unexpectedly gentle. “But it’s entirely up to you. If you want to talk about it, just say whatever pops into your mind. The story will come together somehow.”

Ro reflected on that.

“Also, tell me about the tattoos on your back,” Bronya added. “They’re sick.”

“Oh,” Ro said, surprised. “I always forget about them because I never actually see them myself.”

“What are they?” Alex asked, looking at Ro’s back.

“They’re Thai. They were all done at different monasteries in Thailand. Over the span of about ten years, I’d say. By monks with bamboo needles.”

“What do they mean?” Bronya asked.

“They’re supposed to give you magical protection.”

Alex smiled. “And did they work?”

Ro thought about it. “You know what? I think they did, actually.” He flopped onto his back and looked at the sky. “I’m going to try to talk about this,” he said to the stars. “Let’s start with this. It looks like I’m leaving the workforce.”

“Wow!” Bronya said. “Congratulations! How does it feel?”

Ro thought about it. How did it feel? “Like a surprise remission from cancer,” he decided.

They all processed that for a minute.

“You know,” Alex began cautiously, “maybe we should just ask you questions. And you can decide if you want to answer.”

Ro slowly nodded. “OK.”

“But if you don’t answer the question, you have to tell us a joke,” Bronya added.

“Truth or joke.” Ro laughed. “All right. It’s a deal.”

“Did you get a payout?” Alex asked.

“I will.”

“Why?” Bronya asked.

“Bad manager.”

“Was it because of discrimination?” she asked delicately.

“Joke.” Ro thought for a moment. “What’s Helen Keller’s favorite color?”

“What?” Bronya asked.

“Corduroy.”

Everyone was silent.

“Is he or she white? How old?” Alex asked.

“A couple years older than me. She. Yes.” Ro considered for a moment. “White trash,” he clarified.

“Can you describe her in five words or fewer?” Bronya asked.

“A latrine with a face,” Ro responded, counting on his fingers.

“Did she get fired?” Alex asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ro said, considering it for the first time. “Probably not, given that they’re paying me off.”

Bronya slipped back into the water. “Not to be indiscreet, but will you ever have to work again?”

“Um,” Ro said. “Not for a while. Maybe never, if I move to Honduras.”

“Ugh,” Bronya said, pouting. “I’m so jelly. I wish someone would try to discriminate against me.”

Alex laughed. “I think you’d need to get a job first.” He turned back to Ro. “So what’s the but? I feel like there’s a but here.”

“There’s a but.”

They were silent for a moment.

Ro slipped back into the water, then dived deep, feeling the increasing pressure all over his body. He eventually resurfaced, floating on his back.

“I was in charge of a huge project,” Ro continued, still looking at the stars. “A cultural center. Financed by a tech company.”

There was a long pause. Alex and Bronya waited for him to proceed.

“I was responsible for every detail. Every last one. From beginning to end. And now, all of a sudden, I’ve been offered this payout.” Ro thought about how to formulate his next words. “And I’m just realizing it. If I take it, it’ll be like I never existed. And awful people will get the credit for everything I did.”

“Such as the latrine,” Alex said quietly.

“Yes,” Ro said. “And she did nothing, by the way. The person who hired me quit, then the project got reassigned to her. She’s in corporate marketing.”

“I thought this was a cultural center,” Bronya said.

“The money came out of the marketing budget. Because it’s feel-good. She’s a bean counter.”

“What did she do to you?” Alex asked quietly.

Ro felt the rage boiling inside him. Stay calm, he told himself.

“You know, I thought everything was going well. She left me alone. Turns out she was sabotaging me internally the whole time. Spreading all kinds of lies about me to her bosses.”

He sighed.

“So that she could take all the credit for my work. I realize that now.”

“Wait,” Bronya said. “So it’s about credit? Not about race?”

“Of course it’s about race,” Ro replied. “She could never have done it if I were white.”

“Got it,” Bronya said. “My bad.”

Alex slipped into the water as well. Ro could feel him choosing his next words with care. “You said this was about Prague. Are you talking about the Radetzky Center?”

“Yes,” Ro replied, as light as possible.

“It’s opening soon,” Alex said.

“Yep. Right before Christmas. It’s funny,” he continued, floating on his back. “When I think about Prague, I always think about one person. Jan Palach.”

The air went still.

“Who’s that?” Bronya asked.

“Bronya!” Alex sounded reproachful. “You should know this.”

“He was a student in Prague,” Ro continued, serene. “Political economy. This all happened right around the Soviet invasion. And just after. Early 1969. January, I think.” He looked up at the sky. “Anyway, Jan Palach sacrificed himself as an act of protest.”

“How do you mean?” Bronya asked.

Suddenly, Ro found himself unable to speak. He continued to float in the dark.

“He lit himself on fire,” Alex finally said.

“He was only twenty,” Ro said, sending Jan Palach a silent prayer. Then, closing his eyes, he let himself sink, gradually allowing the cool water to envelop his body.

“My God,” Bronya said. “I can’t imagine a more horrible way to die.”

“I agree,” Ro said, coming back to the surface. “Almost nobody would deserve that. Anyway.” He climbed back onto the raft.

Alex and Bronya looked at each other, then Bronya nodded.

Alex turned to Ro. “Do you want to do something about all this?”

“I don’t know what you mean by that. Like what?”

“Well, you could sabotage the building,” Alex replied, his tone light. “Have it flood right before the opening. Something like that, maybe. Easy as pie.”

“No.” Ro shook his head. “No, that feels wrong. It isn’t the building’s fault. I love the building.”

“Well then, whose fault is it?” Bronya asked.

Ro considered the question. “There were systemic problems, of course, but in the end, it really was the fault of one awful person.”

Bronya climbed onto the raft, flopping down next to Ro. “So why don’t you target that person?”

“There are plenty of options,” Alex agreed. “Maybe revenge would make you feel better.”

“No.” Ro thought about it. “No,” he repeated, a little reluctant. “Revenge is basically the worst thing you can do for your karma.”

“But what if it’s justice?” Bronya asked. “Justice is good for your karma, isn’t it?”

“Interesting,” Ro said, thoughtful. “I’ll chew on that.” He listened to the sounds coming from the party. “Let’s go back.”

The three of them began to swim toward the dock.

“Have you come across any other latrines?” Alex asked unexpectedly as they were drying themselves. “With faces, I mean.”

“One or two,” Ro replied. “One was a Rhodes Scholar. That was a surprise.” Alex chuckled. “Wait, actually,” Ro continued, pulling on his T-shirt. “I feel bad. I shouldn’t have denigrated latrines. They do a thankless job. They should get more respect.”

“This is going to be a lot to process,” Bronya said. “Do you have a therapist?”

“Not really,” Ro replied, regretful. “I keep firing them for insolence. But you’re right. I should probably try again.”

“At the least, you really should get away for a while. Take a break.” Bronya looked at Alex, who nodded. “You know, there’s a great place,” she continued. “A spa. Samsara.”

“Samsara?” The name rang a bell somehow. “I think I’ve heard of it. Where is it?”

“In India.” Bronya saw the look on Ro’s face. “That’s not why I suggested it,” she added hastily. “It’s in the Himalayas, near Rishikesh.”

“Rishikesh?”

“You don’t know Rishikesh?” Bronya sounded surprised. “The Ganges runs through it. Like Varanasi.” She looked at Alex.

“The Beatles studied meditation there, actually,” Alex added.

Ro thought about it. “Good idea. Also, I haven’t been to India in a while.”

They began to walk up the hill toward the party.

“What’s one-sixteenth, by the way?” Alex asked.

“In decimals, you mean?” Ro replied, surprised. “0.0625. Why?”

“Never mind. Long story. You really didn’t confide in anyone while all this was going on? Anyone at all?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“It would have just made it worse.”

“Yes.” Alex nodded briefly. A sharp jerk. “But you must learn to recognize when help has actually arrived. Which it does, sometimes.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Ro said.

“I promise you, it does.” Alex looked at Ro. “I know we’ve just met, but I want to help make this better. Justice can come in many different forms.”

“And at a variety of price points,” Bronya interjected.

Alex elbowed her. “I’m in London next month,” he continued.

“Great,” Ro replied, only half-listening. “You should come round for a drink.”

“I will,” Alex said.

* * *

After a quick shower to rinse off the salt, Ro came back outside. Connie was with Rollo.

“Happy birthday,” Ro said, giving Rollo a hug. “I haven’t seen you all night.”

“Where were you?” Connie asked, her eyes narrowing.

“I just went for a swim. With your friends Bronya and Alex,” Ro replied, turning to Rollo.

“Oh! Nice one. They’re Masha’s friends, actually.”

“What do they do for a living, out of curiosity?”

“I’m not sure.” Rollo considered. “He’s a zillionaire. His father owns all the taxis in Eastern Europe or something. Or all the buses. Not sure about Bronya. She keeps a pretty low profile. Something with her family, maybe.” Ro thought Bronya was probably very rich. Only very rich people wore Swatches. “What about you?” Rollo turned to Ro. “Are you going to quit your job? You were thinking about it, yes?”

“Yeah,” Ro said casually. “You know, it might actually happen pretty soon. Let’s go do shots.”

“Shots?” Rollo said, surprised.

“Just one,” Ro clarified. “I don’t want to get naked wasted.”

Rollo thought about it, then shrugged. “Fine. Live it up before you die it up, that’s what I always say.”

They walked over to the open bar. “Three Jägers, please.” Ro turned to Rollo. “I’m buying.”

“Thanks,” Rollo laughed. They downed the shots. Then, suddenly, Rollo began to gurgle, his eyes opening wide. He coughed, alarmed, his hands reaching to clasp his throat. “Poison,” he choked, gasping for breath. Finally, after two or three grand spasms, he fell to the ground, still.

Ro looked at Connie. “Quick. To the safe room. Right now, before anyone notices. I know the combo.”

Lying on his back, Rollo opened his eyes, worried. “Do you really?”

“Of course not,” Ro reassured him. He was pretty sure he did, though.

“I’m going to change it anyway,” Rollo declared, standing up and dusting himself off.

“You should,” Ro agreed. Rollo drifted off.

“What should we do for our 40th?” Connie asked. Their birthdays were relatively close together.

“I don’t know. It’s not for another two years,” Ro replied. “Just not Mykonos.”

Connie shuddered at the shared memory. “Big time yikes.”

“I could totally kill some galbi right now,” Ro continued, looking over at the food trucks.

“Me too,” Connie said. “And oysters.”

“Yum.”

* * *

The next hours floated by. Ro wandered, had a drink, sat on the grass, sat on a chair, saw friends from Dartmouth, saw friends from Bermuda, played dominos, ran into a friend from Paris, helped a very drunk girl get into a taxi, spoke to the driver on the phone after he’d dropped her off, waved at a friend from Harvard of a friend from Oxford whom he cordially detested, said no to a cigarette, said yes to two cold French fries, drank an espresso that someone unexpectedly put in his hands, played a few songs at the DJ booth, informed someone that there was in fact a nonstop flight from Munich to Los Angeles, tried on a pair of sunglasses that he already knew would be too small for his face, helped Masha find her shoes, sang “La Bicicleta” in the karaoke room with Connie, who was tone deaf, ate some foie gras slathered onto a warm baguette, and refused to go back to Portugal.

He ended up in the bouncy castle with some giggling friends of Rollo’s younger sister Theresa’s as the sky slowly started to turn pink. Dawn always made Ro anxious. He forced himself to take deep, slow breaths in rhythm with the movements of the castle. After all, he said to himself, it was Sunday, and he didn’t have to go to work. Bounce. And tomorrow was Monday. He didn’t have to go to work then either. Bounce, bounce. Nor the day after that, which was Tuesday. Bounce. Nor the day after that. Nor the day after that. Bounce. Nor the day after that. Nor the day after that. He began to calm down. He would soon be mixed up in five murders, maybe more.

LONDON

Ro and Alex sat in the living room of Ro’s apartment in London a month or so later. It was Ro’s birthday, as it happens.

“It all boils down to one thing,” Alex said. “What outcome would make you feel the best?”

“This isn’t about my feeling good,” Ro reminded Alex, his tone reproachful. “This is about justice.”

“The sweet spot’s where justice and feeling good intersect. Take a look at this.”

Alex handed Ro a manila folder.

Ro opened it and began to read. It took him some time. He became emotional on several occasions and, once or twice, had to stop to collect himself. When he reached the end, he stood up and began pacing around the room.

“So she’s done this before.”

“Her whole career. Doing whatever she can to sabotage her coworkers, almost always minorities. Spreading lies to damage their credibility.” Alex took the folder from Ro, searching for a specific page, then nodded. “I think she gets pleasure from it.”

“She loves to lie. And she’s so good at it. It’s actually terrifying.” Ro paused. “How many people have gotten paid off?”

“I’ve found five so far,” Alex replied. “At five different companies.”

“And none of the people who were paid off has been able to do anything about it.” Ro flopped into his chair, closing his eyes. “Because everyone was gagged.”

“Exactly,” Alex said. “Everyone got settlements. With strict NDAs.”

Alex stood up and walked toward the window, peering outside.

“Then the latrine would change jobs—a promotion, every time—and nobody at the new job would know about what had happened before. So she’d do it all over again. And get away with it again.” Alex paused. “You know, I never did like marketing people.”

There was a long silence.

A strange energy began to fill Ro’s body. An unfamiliar feeling mixed with a familiar one. He recognized the familiar one as rage. But what was the other one?

He couldn’t put a name to it.

And then he knew.

It was powerlessness.

This would be the first and last time he felt it, he decided.

He opened his eyes. “You asked what I wanted? To start with, I’d really like her to get fired.”

Alex smiled. “Well, I think we have a few options to make that happen. At a few different price points.”

* * *

Ro lived at the unfashionable end of Chelsea in a vast apartment upon which he lavished an affection that had few other outlets at present. He had just settled back into his custom periwinkle leather Eames chair with Les Bienveillantes when his phone rang. “Oh, bother,” he said.

He looked at his watch. It was 6:00 p.m. on the dot. Which meant 10:00 a.m. in Del Mar. He picked up the phone without looking at it. “Hello, Father.”

There was a startled silence.

“Ro. I didn’t think I would catch you.” His father sounded uncertain. “I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Ro replied. He closed his eyes and sank back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Where are you? Doing anything to celebrate?”

“London, actually. Nothing special. Just dinner with some friends.”

“That sounds nice.”

There was a long pause.

“Let me buy dinner,” his father said unexpectedly. “You still have our credit card, don’t you?”

“Thank you, Father,” Ro said. “That’s very generous. Very generous indeed.”

Ro was about to wrap it up when his father cleared his throat.

“Are you coming home for Christmas?”

“No,” Ro replied, surprised. Then he mentally kicked himself. “Oh. I guess I haven’t told you yet. I’m going to India, actually. This Ayurvedic thing.”

“Oh?” his father asked, sounding mildly curious. “Where?”

“Someplace called Samsara.”

“Samsara?” Suddenly, his father’s tone was totally different. Sharp.

Ro sat up. “Yes. Why?”

“Samsara’s my friend Vijay’s place. You remember Vijay? You met him at lunch, oh, several years ago now. At the Inn. In Rancho.”

Ro only vaguely remembered lunch with Vijay but was surprised nonetheless. “Your friend owns Samsara? The Samsara near Rishikesh?”

“Yes. Apparently it’s excellent.”

“What a funny coincidence,” Ro said, shaking his head. “I’ll be sure to look him up.”

“Rishikesh is a very holy place, you know. It’s where the Beatles went to study meditation,” his father replied, nonchalant. “I’ll send Vijay a message today. Have fun tonight. Don’t forget, it’s on me.”

Ro heard his father’s chair creak as he stood up.

“Oh. Your mother says happy birthday, by the way. Her Pilates instructor is here, but she’ll try you later.”

* * *

Tonight was Ro’s birthday, and therefore he got to choose the theme. He looked in the mirror, satisfied with his choices.

He was wearing a slim-cut navy suit that he had bought in Paris a few years prior. The wrists of his white-and-pale-blue striped shirt were fastened with cuff links bearing the shield of the Oxford college where he had done his graduate studies. His tie was of woven navy silk and his shoes were black brogues. He was just about to call a taxi when his phone rang.

“Hola,” Joss said. “And happy birthday. I ended up having to go to Pine-wood today, so I can actually pick you up on the way to dinner, if you want. In like ten minutes?”

“Oh! Sure. That sounds great.” Ro paused. “You know it’s jacket and tie, right?”

Joss sighed. “Ro, I’m an agent. I’m always in a suit anyway.”

* * *

The taxi made its way sedately down the Fulham Road toward Knightsbridge.

Ro looked at Joss. Joss was wearing a sober grey suit with a white shirt, a blue Hermès tie, and a flashy watch, exactly like the talent agent he was. His dark red hair was freshly cut and precisely combed. He smiled at Ro. “Who’s coming tonight?”

“We’re just seven,” Ro replied. “Connie. My cousin Parvati. Then my friend Eliza from high school. You’ve met her before, right?” Joss nodded. “Then Rollo’s friend Alex. And a friend of his whom I haven’t met.”

“How was Rollo’s birthday? I was super bummed to miss it.”

“It was great. Connie thinks you work too much, by the way.”

Joss snorted. “She’s one to talk. She literally does nothing but work.” Connie was an investment banker. “So, who’s this Alex? Is he a prospect for me?”

“I don’t think so.” Ro considered the question. “He has a girlfriend. He and I might do some work together, I think.”

“What kind of work?”

Ro squirmed slightly. “This and that.”

“Why’d you quit so close to the opening?” Joss peered at Ro. “What happened?”

“I can’t really talk about it.” Ro kept his tone light. “Legally.”

Joss looked Ro directly in the eyes. “Ro. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Joss. Really.” It sounded mechanical, even to his own ears. “But anyway, I don’t want to talk about it. It’s my birthday.”

“You’ve changed so much over the last year.” Joss shook his head. “You’re so much more withdrawn than you used to be. Is it because of all this?”

Ro sighed. “Look, what happened wasn’t great. But it looks like justice will be served.”

After the park, the taxi turned off onto an unpretentious street, then turned left and right once or twice.

“Anyway, enough about me. What’s going on with you?”

“Well, actually,” Joss replied, flushing, “I do have big news.”

Ro grinned. Joss always flushed when he had something to spill. “Well, go on, then.” Joss looked at the driver suspiciously. Ro laughed. “He’s not listening. Spit it out.”

Joss looked at the driver again, then turned back to Ro, leaning in and lowering his voice by two octaves. “Chris wants me to quit the agency. To be his producing partner.”

“That’s amazing!” Ro beamed. Chris Forrester was Joss’s biggest client, a legitimately huge movie star. “It’s about time!”

“Thanks,” Joss said, blushing. “It’s a really cool opportunity. You know, it’s an interesting time for him. He still has the franchises, but he knows he’s not getting younger. So he wants to branch out, try some new things.”

“Like?”

Joss looked at the driver again, suspicious. Ro grinned. “Joss, he can’t hear us.”

“Fine.” Joss leaned in even closer, his voice dropping another octave. “There’s this spy novel he’s always loved. It took years, but we finally got the rights. And now it looks like it’s going to happen. Super fast. Means tons of travel, but whatever, it’s not like I’m leaving anything behind.” Joss shrugged. “First stop is India, in like a month.”

“What?” Ro exclaimed sharply. “This is crazy. Joss, I’m spending Christmas in India. I just booked it. Where are you guys going?”

“For real? That’s amazing,” Joss said, surprised. “We don’t know exactly where yet. We just need to find a place where Chris can train.”

“I’m going to this Ayurvedic spa. It sounds epic.” Ro paused, thinking. “Maybe he could train there. I bet he could.”

The taxi came to a smooth halt. Joss paid and thanked the driver.

They stood for a moment and looked up as the taxi drove off. The club, which was unmarked, looked precisely as Ro imagined it would have looked a hundred years ago: dignified, unostentatious, and quietly expensive.

The uniformed doorman stood to attention. “Good evening, Mr. Krishna,” he said, opening the door for them.

“Thank you,” Ro replied, smiling. He and Joss walked in.

* * *

“We’ll start off with three dozen oysters, please,” Ro said to the hovering server.

He looked at the reflection of the bustling room in the antique mirror above their table. The room’s comfortable, well-padded banquettes were upholstered in various jewel-toned velvets. Amethyst. Ruby. Sapphire. The odd flash of topaz or aquamarine. Although the room was large, it remained intimate, perhaps because of the columns that impeded lines of sight and made every table feel cozy and private. The dress code at Reginald’s was “smart,” and everyone there had made an effort to look nice. Perhaps counterintuitively, this formality did not lead to stuffiness. Dressing up to go to Reginald’s made every meal there feel like a special occasion.

“Well, this is certainly the Nice Department,” Connie commented, surveying the room with a practiced eye. She wore a sapphire-blue silk dress with cap sleeves, her wavy dark hair bouncing down her back. Black-pearl-and-diamond earrings glinted from her ears. Eliza wore a simple but extremely well-cut black dress. Parvati was in a printed silk jumpsuit that she had possibly made herself, her long hair piled on top of her head. Many admiring glances were being directed at Parvati, Ro observed, although she herself did not seem to notice the attention. The three women were on the emerald banquette, an empty place at one end. The men, all in dark suits, sat on ormolu chairs facing them.

“The Nice Department?” Alex inquired.

“Ro’s elder sister is notoriously difficult,” Joss explained. “She occasionally walks into a store and asks someone where their nice department is.”

Connie snorted. “That’s nothing. One time, I was at dinner with Ro and his sister and the service was slow. She flagged down a waiter and asked him about the order she’d placed with his ancestors.”

Alex whistled. “Color me impressed.”

Connie looked at Alex and scowled. She turned back to Ro. “Who’s the last person?” she asked, chomping on a parmesan breadstick.

“I don’t know.” Ro looked at Alex. “It’s a surprise. I’ve never met her.”

“It’s a friend of mine,” Alex admitted.

“You invited someone you’ve never even met to your birthday dinner? Ugh.” Connie broke the breadstick in half. “You’re such an extrovert. It’s exhausting.” She turned to Parvati, who was rummaging through an electric-green python clutch. “Was he always like this?”

“I can only vouch for him from birth, but yes.” Parvati put her clutch back on the table.

Alex turned to Ro. “You’re an extrovert?” He sounded surprised.

“He used to be one, anyway,” Joss said. “Who’s your friend?”

“She’s a friend from high school.”

“From Prague?” Ro asked. The sommelier arrived, offering him an iPad. “That’s fine,” Ro said, smiling. “We’ll start with the Chassagne-Montrachet. Two. The Drouhin.”

“That T is silent?” Joss asked.

“No,” Alex said. “Switzerland, actually.”

“You’re Swiss?” Eliza said. Connie snorted again.

“French is vicious,” Ro responded. “Allow me to remind you about Moët.”

“No,” Alex said.

“Cute,” Parvati mused. “The Chalet School.”

“Not exactly.” Alex smiled. “And there she is.”

He stood up. Ro turned his head.

A woman had come through the velvet curtains. Her long, wavy dark brown hair merged almost uncannily with the well-cut dark brown fur coat loosely belted at her hips. She looked around, charmingly at sea, until she saw Alex making his way toward her and smiled warmly. Lovely, Ro thought.

Alex hugged her and quickly helped her remove her coat, revealing a primrose yellow silk dress that fell to her knees, then handed the coat to someone behind the desk. They exchanged a few private words, then turned and walked toward the table.

“Everyone, this is Amrita Dey,” Alex said.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Amrita said with a dazzling smile. “I hate being late.”

Joss looked at his flashy watch. “Only seven minutes.”

“Even so.”

Ro stood up to greet her. “How do you do,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks. She took him warmly by the shoulders. “Happy birthday.” She looked into his eyes, and Ro had a shock. Her eyes were of a blindingly clear blue-green . . . He couldn’t find the word for their color. Ro had seen others of South Asian descent with green eyes, but hers were truly remarkable. As he pulled back from the embrace, he noticed her dangling Alhambra earrings, of diamonds and turquoise. Turquoise. That was it. That was the color of her eyes.

Facing her, he saw that she nonchalantly carried a string of diamonds around her neck that was probably worth the Earth. She wore a vintage gold Cartier Panthère with a diamond bezel on her right wrist. “Oh,” Ro said, looking down. “We’re watch twins. Sort of.”

“Oh!” She took Ro’s left hand in hers to examine his watch more closely. Ro caught a whiff of her perfume. Jasmine. “It’s vintage. 1980s?”

“Yes. It’s my father’s, actually,” he admitted. “I sort of borrowed it, then never gave it back.” He looked down at hers. “Yours is beautiful too.”

“Thank you,” Amrita said. “And such a coincidence. This was my mother’s.”

“So you two went to high school together,” Ro continued as the three of them sat down. “Eliza and I did too.” Eliza waved hello. “Do you still have a lot of high school friends?”

“A few,” Amrita replied. “I even married one once, but that didn’t work out too well.”

“I’m sorry,” Ro said reflexively.

“Don’t be,” Amrita responded, at ease. “It’s fine. We’ve both moved on with our lives.”

“And you live in London?”

“Most of the time. I also have a flat in Zürich.”

“Why’s it called Reginald’s?” Connie asked, turning over the menu.

“After the character in Saki,” Ro said. “Although Saki did write that to have reached thirty was to have failed in life. And now I’m thirty-eight.”

“You look great for your age,” Alex said.

Ro considered the oyster in his hand. “I think that’s because I’m asleep most of the time. Being awake is very aging, I find.” He slurped it down.

“Where in India is your family from?” Amrita asked.

“Tamil Nadu. What about yours?”

“Bengal. But my family was from what’s now Bangladesh. They had to leave. Partition.”

“I’m sorry.” Ro winced. “I’m afraid I don’t know all that much about Partition beyond the basics.” He looked at Parvati. “It didn’t really affect our family. Since we’re from the South.”

Parvati saw the look on Connie’s face. She leaned over, putting her hand on Connie’s forearm. “I’m sure you know this, but when the British left India, they divided it into Pakistan and India. Between Hindus and Muslims, essentially, but it’s more complicated than that. Anyway, the division’s now referred to as Partition.” She paused. “It did not go well.”

“It was a terrible time,” Amrita said. “But no need to discuss it during your birthday dinner.” She looked at Parvati. “The two of you are related?”

“First cousins, once removed,” Parvati replied. She winked at Ro.

“The Tamil Tigers are Sri Lankan, right?” Connie asked. “Not Indian?”

“Correct,” Ro confirmed. “I do have a great Tamil Tigers story, though. It involves my uncle, a kidnapping, and an amputation.” He paused, remembering. “And a fruit basket, actually. But let’s leave that for another time.” He turned back to Amrita. “Were you born and raised in Bengal?”

“No. Belgium,” she replied, smiling.

“Diamonds?” Ro asked, looking at her necklace again. It was funny. If you separated the stones and put them in a pile, it would be obscene. But together, somehow, they felt discreet.

“How’d you guess?” Amrita said with a half-smile.

“ESP,” Ro responded. Connie chortled.

“Do you guys have Indian passports?” Joss asked.

“No,” Parvati said. “India doesn’t recognize dual citizenship. So I’m an ‘Overseas Citizen of India,’” she continued, making quote marks with her fingers. “OCI, for short. Sort of like a Green Card, actually.”

Alex leaned forward. “Would India extradite someone if they had one of those?”

“Good question.” Ro considered. “Ultimately, I’d roll the dice. If someone tried to extradite me from India, I’d bet they’d get a final decision in the year 2355.” He saw Alex’s look. “Yes. I have an OCI too.”

An elegant elderly man on his way out of the restaurant saw Amrita and stopped in his tracks, surprised and delighted. “My dear,” he said, extending his arms.

“Eugène!” Amrita stood up. “So lovely to see you.” The elderly man and Amrita chatted for a moment in low tones, then she sat back down. He and his group moved away.

“Who was that?” Connie asked, taking another breadstick.

“The Duke of Scaw.”

“Fancy,” Connie muttered. Ro shot her an amused glance. Connie was allergic to Eurotrash.

“Trust me,” Amrita said, earnest, “that’s not the sort of person I normally hang around. But he’s lovely.” She paused. “For the most part, being in a family like that is really more of a curse than anything else.”

“How so?” Eliza asked, interested.

“Well, let’s see,” Amrita replied, thinking. “First of all, the eldest son usually inherits everything, including the title. So if there are any other sons, they’re generally praying for the eldest one to die. Or, at least, not to have any sons of his own.”

“Also, that eldest son’s probably constantly praying for his father to die so that he can accede to the title. Thank you,” Ro added, to the waiter delivering his main course. Ro gazed at it, slightly dismayed at how large it was. “Dear Cassoulet,” he murmured, “you may well end up too much for me.”

“And as soon as you get the title, your own son starts praying for you to die,” Connie added, giggling.

“Plus they’re never encouraged to do anything in life,” Amrita continued serenely. “It’s as if you’re taxidermized right at birth. Like something in a horrid secret room at Deyrolle. Imagine going through life knowing the only surprises you’ll ever have will be nasty ones.” She turned to Eliza. “Have we met before?”

“I think so,” Eliza said. “Were you at Tabitha’s birthday?”

“Yes,” Amrita said, satisfied. “That’s it.”

“Oh. How was it?” Connie asked them.

Amrita considered. “It was a great party, if you’d never been to a party before.”

“Oh, good,” Ro said. He saw Amrita’s surprise. “I hate her,” he explained. “It was on Halloween, right? I hate dressing up.”

“Me too,” Joss said, shuddering.

“Joss wore the same Halloween costume for at least ten years,” Connie said to Alex. “A tuxedo and a vial of insulin. Claus von Bülow.”

Joss looked at Ro. “Ro dressed up as Malala once.”

Alex choked on his wine.

“What’s India like in the winter?” Joss asked Amrita.

“Well, India’s a big place,” she responded, laughing. “But it’s not extreme. It can get chilly, but you’d never need more than a fleece or a light jacket.” She turned to Alex. “And you? Are you hibernating again this year?”

“What do you mean?” Joss asked.

“I do a meditation retreat over Christmas and New Year’s every year,” Alex explained. “A silent one.”

“He’s making it sound normal,” Amrita said, “but it’s hard-core. They go completely off the grid. No contact.”

“Where is it?” Parvati asked.

Alex smirked.

Connie scowled. “Oh, even that’s a secret?” She sounded skeptical. “It’s probably in Lamu. Or, like, Newark.”

“God is everywhere.” Alex sat back in his chair. “All around us.”

“I beg to differ,” Connie replied, terse. She looked at Ro. “Do you remember that birthday party you threw for that girl in Paris? The one where you yelled at the birthday girl because her friends were ugly?” Connie smirked back at Alex, satisfied. “God definitely wasn’t at that party.”

“Tabitha’s moving to London, right?” Eliza asked Amrita.

“Yes,” Amrita said. “I think she’s going to Lower Sloane Street.”

“She certainly will,” Ro agreed. “If she’s moving there, anyway.”

Parvati smiled, but she was the only one who’d understood.

Joss had been surreptitiously checking his phone under the table. “Wait, Ro, what’s that spa you’re going to in India?”

“Samsara,” Ro said.

Amrita put down her fork, startled. “Samsara? I go there every December.”

“Really? Joss and I were . . .” Ro trailed off, remembering that Joss’s news about Chris Forrester was still top secret. “I’m going this Christmas. Will you be there?”

“Yes!” Amrita exclaimed. “That’s wonderful news!”

“What’s it like?” Joss asked.

“Marvelous.” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps not what you’d expect. Mostly very well-to-do Indian people. It’s not at all exotic. No spices and scents and hot pink. It feels more like Switzerland. Don’t go there if you’re looking for something Bollywood.”

“Ugh.” Parvati shuddered. “I’m so sick of everyone talking about India in terms of colors and smells and noises. In the end, it’s so patronizing.” Amrita nodded. “If I ever wrote a book about India, I’d make sure that India was on top. The entire time.”

“How’s the spa?” Joss asked. “Is there a fitness center?”

Amrita nodded again. “Yes, and it’s world class. Great trainers. And probably the best yoga and meditation programs in the world.” She paused. “They would never put it this way, because it would be very ghastly, but it’s sort of ‘Ten Days to a New You.’ ”

“What’s the vibe like?” Ro asked, leaning in. “Is it quite austere?”

“Not at all,” Amrita laughed. “I’d say it’s quiet but very, very comfortable. Discreet. A bit like here,” she said, looking around the room. “There are no rules. But because there are no rules, everyone pretty much puts away their cell phones. It’s a real break.” She giggled. “My favorite part is the note cards.”

“Note cards?” Eliza leaned in.

“It’s like an Agatha Christie novel,” Amrita continued. “You communicate at Samsara through notes. The staff delivers them to everyone. A couple of weeks before you go, they send you a form and you order these cards with your name on them. You choose the color and the font.”

“Ah,” Ro said. “I get it. So that you can socialize with everyone without fear that they’re going to text you in four weeks looking for an internship for their sister’s nephew.”

“Precisely,” Amrita said, turning and beaming at him. “It’s all rather brilliant.”

Ro excused himself and walked to the front of the room. “I’d like to pay the bill for my table, please.”

“Of course,” the man behind the desk said. “With a credit card?”

“Yes.” Ro pulled out his wallet and looked at his parents’ credit card.

The man waited, discreet.

“Actually, on second thought, could you please put it on my account?”

Ro put his wallet back into his pocket. He could splurge. It was his birthday.

He wandered back to the table.

“Should we take a photo of everyone?” Eliza asked.

“Pass,” Ro replied. He thought photographs were nothing more than the murder of moments in time.

They stood up.

“Where are we going?” Connie asked.

“Groucho, maybe?” Ro said. “I may only stay for one.” As far as he was concerned, it was never too early to leave a party.

They left Reginald’s and headed toward the taxis waiting outside.

“You’re obsessed with your apartment,” Connie said. “It’s not healthy.”

“Thought I was an extrovert,” Ro said lightly.

“In all fairness, Connie,” Alex said, “it is a great apartment.”

“How would you know that?” Connie replied, suspicious.

PARIS

Like nobody ever, Ro was flying from London to Paris. This just felt wrong, like Opposite Day. But Air France had had cheap business class fares from London to India via CDG, so why not.

Also, time was running out. The grand opening of the Radetzky Center was the following day. Ro took a deep breath, surveying his disheveled bedroom. Then a secure messaging app on his phone rang. Ro picked it up. “The Vatican.”

“I think you’re literally the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” Alex responded.

“Grazie,” Ro said absently, checking that he had his passports.

“Getting ready for the trip?”

“Yeah. I should be packing, but what I’m actually doing is watching the music video for ‘Vienna Calling.’”

“You’re flying nonstop?”

“Actually, I’m stopping in Paris tonight,” Ro replied. “To see my cousin Parvati, whom you met. Then flying out from there tomorrow.”