‘I hope he’s not unwell or something.’
‘I think he likes what we all like – to sleep on our own beds. It’s more the case as you get older, I suspect.’
‘You were born old; you’d know, Brown! I think if he sees you around long enough, he’ll give you the interview.’
Andrew shook his head. ‘I don’t want him thinking we are tailing him.’
This was a disjointed conversation, like after a few gin and tonics down. Questions that never got asked were answered minutes later.
‘Even if that’s exactly what we are doing, Brown!’ I said, joining the party. I saw him wince!
Not once during the day had Andrew asked me to contact Ravi to find out anything about Hari Rao. Not even something as lame as cross-checking his plans for the day.Ravi talked a lot about Hari Rao and Kamini but never about politics.
I called my father to let him know I’d be back for the night. He wanted to know if Andrew would be around for breakfast. I cut the call and messaged him.No. Not Andrew not me for breakfast.
A pair of blue ticks was the reply I got.
The moment Andrew heard that Hari Rao had started back for Bengaluru and that he would pass the café we were seated at in 15 minutes, he was on his feet. I paid for the coffees and sandwiches and rushed back to the car. Andrew had already fired the engine.
We had some time before Hari Rao’s cars caught up with us. ‘They are usually five minutes or so behind the time they give us,’ he said, when five black SUVs overtook us.
‘That would have to be Hari Rao’s,’ I said, ‘but why does he need five of them, especially when, as he claims, he’s working with a shoestring budget?’
‘My guess is he’s in the third,’ Andrew said, dismissing my question. It was apparently unworthy of a novice even.
‘Five black Toyota SUVs, one behind the other. How conspicuous.’
Andrew shrugged.
I wondered aloud if Hari Rao was hyper about safety after the air crash that destroyed his family. ‘I can’t imagine how that would’ve been for him,’ I said.
Andrew nodded.
‘It can’t be easy for Ravi either, sole heir of this staggering legacy, which he doesn’t even want,’ I said without thinking. I had been conscious not to mention Ravi with Andrew all day, but with caffeine in my veins, my mouth was moving on its own.
‘Not sole,’ he said.
I was so engrossed in my thoughts that I hadn’t grasped how quickly Andrew’s face had changed colour.
‘What do you mean?’
Andrew didn’t answer my question. He honked, something he doesn’t do very often.
‘Oookaaay! He’s not technically the grandson,’ I said, rolling my eyes. But he was the sole heir.
A tempo truck was on the wrong side. It was swerving all over the place. Andrew was quick on the brake, pulling off the road before getting back on it.
Chapter 20
Andrew pulled up at Maddur and parked about 100 yards from the railway station. The sky was blue, and the clouds were white. The morning sun was a bashful stream of light.
Andrew was behind me; I could feel his eyes on my back.
I settled down at the first empty table I spotted in what was a tin shed that abutted the railway station. The place was filling up quickly with anxious commuters, fieldworkers, wailing children, men shouting into their mobile phones and women managing browbeating spouses and cranky kids.
‘It’s popular,’ Andrew said, looking around him. I think he meant loud.
We were at the very stall where the Maddur vada was first formulated. A lip-smacking consequence of a late start to the day. Legend has it that the cook, an hour or so behind schedule, rustled up these delicious discs as an apology for not being ready with a full breakfast. Sliced onions, curry leaves and grated coconut were never put to better use.
