“As you wish, Your Highness.”
“On second thought, I think a glass of nimbu pani might be more refreshing.”
She looks up and the second attendant comes forward, bows and leaves the room.
“So tell me about Shimla. It’s so lovely there this time of year when the heat is upon us in Jaipur like a winter cloak.” She wears a cool georgette sari printed in blue hydrangeas. Her blouse matches the blue of the flowers perfectly. Large diamond drops grace her earlobes, a heavy gold chain her neck, and diamond and sapphire rings on her fingers complete the ensemble.
“Coming back to Jaipur—and its heat—was something of a shock after living in the mountains all these years,” I laugh.
“You’re married now, I hear. It must suit you. You look well.”
“Thank you, Your Highness. You look the picture of health.”
She waves her fingers as if to dismiss my compliment. “I have too much work to do. I’m not getting the sleep I need. And I have less time to spend with the girls at the school.”
She’s referring to the classes in etiquette, tennis and Western dance she teaches at the Maharani School for Girls she established decades ago and which Radha attended for one term.
“And your son, Your Highness. How does he fare?”
There is a pause. When she speaks, her voice is hard. “He fares in Paris. I believe he’s well-known at all the drinking establishments. But you will have heard that already.”
I’m surprised by the news, and it must show in my face. From Kanta I know that her son hasn’t set foot in India recently, not even for his father’s funeral. But I thought he might come once in a while to visit his own mother.
She gives me an ironic smile. “So they don’t know all our business in Shimla...yet?”
The attendant has returned with our glasses of sugared lime water. Unlike the nimbu pani the street vendors serve, this batch has had all the pulp removed so that the brilliance of the yellow-green liquid is on display inside the crystal tumblers. I wait until she picks up her glass to lift mine. The taste is sublime. A little tart, a little sweet, a little salty, a burst of coolness all the way down my throat.
There is something more formal than I remember about the woman sitting across from me, something cold. She used to be light as a breeze, swirling in and out of activity. I know the forced separation from her son when he was eight was devastating, but his response to it has been far more catastrophic. From what Kanta tells me and what I’m also inferring in her presence, her son must blame his mother for not fighting harder on his behalf. He must feel that if she had, he would now be the maharaja of Jaipur. Perhaps he doesn’t visit Jaipur because he doesn’t want to come face-to-face with his replacement, the adopted crown prince. Niki could have had that title, too, if we’d allowed his palace adoption to go forward.
I clear my throat. “Do you have much to do with the current crown prince, Your Highness?”
She takes another sip of her drink. “He’s only twelve. A little young for anything but waving to the crowds. Luckily, I’m not expected to act as his mother, only as his guardian. Much the same way the dowager was guardian to my husband when he was waiting to come of age and assume the duties of the maharaja of Jaipur.” She levels a steely gaze at me. “But you haven’t come to chitchat.”
I set my glass on the silver tray and clasp my hands together. “No, Your Highness. I come firstly to express my sorrow over the cinema accident. I understand a few moviegoers lost their lives and many more were injured?”
She squints, takes a deep breath. “It is a most unfortunate event. No one can have foreseen it. My heart goes out to those who suffered harm. At this point, the best we can do for them is to pay for and treat their injuries.” She drops her gaze to the coffee table. “Words cannot express how terrible I feel about Rohit Seth—a dear old friend—and the young woman, both of whom had their lives cut short.” She takes another sip of her drink. “But commiseration is also not the reason you’ve come to me today.”
I rub the back of one hand with the palm of the other and study my trimmed nails. “It has come to my attention, Your Highness, that Mr. Manu Agarwal may be suspended from employment at the facilities office.”
She arches one fine eyebrow. And?
“Mr. Agarwal and his wife Kanta are good friends of mine. I do not wish to deceive you on that point. But I have information that exonerates Mr. Agarwal. He was not made aware of certain material inconsistencies during construction. If Your Highness will allow, may I introduce the deception of which he has become the target?”
“Why is Manu not presenting this information to me himself?”
“He is not yet aware of it.”
She ducks her chin. “And you are?” She sounds incredulous.
“Forgive my impertinence, Your Highness. May I speak plainly?”
“Always, Lakshmi.”
“I don’t know if you remember my young helper from my time in Jaipur. His name is Malik. Through a fortunate circumstance, he was able to come with me to Shimla and attend the Bishop Cotton School for Boys. Malik is now twenty, and as a favor to me, Mr. Agarwal agreed to take him on as a student-apprentice on his facilities staff. Malik has been helping out on the Royal Jewel Cinema project, mostly in accounting.”
I’ve got her full attention now. Her gaze is penetrating.
“During the performance of his duties, Malik has inadvertently come across receipts for substandard materials being applied to the cinema project.”
“May I see these receipts?”
I close my eyes in frustration and shake my head. “That’s just it, Your Highness. He didn’t realize what he’d seen at first. When he went back to retrieve the receipts, they’d been replaced with...different documents.”
She regards me for a long moment. “I see.”
She twirls the drink in her glass and takes a sip. “From the palace’s position, the development of the Royal Jewel Cinema was under Mr. Agarwal’s purview, and his alone. If these receipts cannot be found to prove his innocence, how am I to absolve him of responsibility? If the inquiry finds him culpable, he will be terminated.”
I see now that in the interest of settling this matter to the public’s satisfaction, a scapegoat must be sacrificed. Manu is that scapegoat. And he has not one shred of evidence in his possession to prove he shouldn’t be.
“If Mr. Agarwal is accused of something he didn’t do, it would ruin a good man’s reputation forever,” I say. “He has served this palace for fifteen years honorably. He has devoted his life to making sure the royal family’s name remains above reproach.” I tap a finger on my lips. “If I—if we could bring proof of actual culpability to you, would you be willing to consider it? Might you put Mr. Agarwal’s future on hold until then?”