I Never Knew It Was You by Kalpana Swaminathan

Author:Kalpana Swaminathan [Swaminathan, Kalpana]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9788184756197
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2012-01-10T00:00:00+00:00

That evening, Lalli developed a severe headache and decided only Dr Kothari of Chapel Road could cure it.

As expected of his kind, Dr Kothari put down her headache to boredom (she’d told him her children were in boarding school and her husband worked late).

As he scribbled a prescription, she quickly produced a long string of gastric complaints.

‘Oh doctor, I just heard my old friend Lucy Pereira died of salmon poisoning. I ate fish last night and my complaints are just like hers!’

Dr Kothari soothed her with an easy laugh. She wasn’t suffering from what had carried away Lucy Pereira! Yes, he knew that tragic story. He had attended on the poor girl. Hers was a rare case, a very rare case. There was no possibility, none at all, that Lalli had the same problem! All she needed was a good cup of Horlicks and two of these pills.

‘Great excitement at the Pereiras this morning,’ Caroline told Lalli the next morning after she had beaten eggs to her satisfaction. ‘Stop when you get those soft peaks, dear. Never let the whites get dry.’

‘What happened, Caroline?’

‘It’s the maid, Piedade. She’s been with the Pereiras for so long, ever since Lucy went to Canada, I think. Guess what? That Annie kicked her out today. Pushed her out like a dog. The old man has been crying all morning. It’s a shame!’

‘Where will Piedade go now?’

‘Oh she lives in the village with her niece. But she’ll probably come crawling back here. She owes the Pereiras. About ten years ago, her son killed a man in a drunken brawl. Agnelo helped the boy get away. It’s an open secret. Probably the only good deed Agnelo ever did. The boy was just a kid, and it was an accident. I hope the boy has made good. Sending him to jail would have made a pukka criminal of him.’

‘Why did Annie throw her out?’

‘God knows. Can’t get a word out of those Pereiras.’

Uncharacteristically, Caroline asked for Lalli’s phone number. Lalli was happy to give it. Caroline had no family around, and friends were careful never to bother her unless they needed a cake in a hurry.

That afternoon, Lalli went looking for Aaftab Shirazi. It wasn’t difficult to find his office—in those days it was at Flora Fountain. It was much more difficult crossing the hurdles of receptionist, secretary, assistants and satellites.

Aaftab was then in his early thirties, strikingly handsome, though the soft life had begun to take its toll. He was edgy, almost aggressive, in his reserve.

‘It’s about the painting you saw in St Peter’s Church,’ Lalli came directly to the point. ‘The copy of Dali’s Corpus Hypercubus.’

His face was briefly illuminated—by pain or by interest, she couldn’t tell—but within seconds the mask was back in place.

‘Are you prepared to sell it?’ he asked.

‘No. It doesn’t belong to me. I’m here about the artist.’

‘I can’t help you, I’m afraid. I don’t know the artist.’

‘Maybelle Pereira.’

He became very still, weighing his words. He said, very deliberately, ‘I thought it might be Maybelle Pereira’s.

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