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  “Let me tell you about my master plan,” he said as they sat down for breakfast.

  “Does it begin with making love in the corridor?”

  “No, but let’s do that every Friday night. I’ll stand out in the rain.”

  “And I’ll tell you to go home.”

  “Home. That reminds me, my master plan. Next weekend I want to take you down to the West Country so you can meet my parents.”

  “I’m so worried they won’t—”

  “Think I’m good enough for you? They’d be right. I suspect the real problem will be convincing your father that I’ll ever be good enough for you, but I’ll go and see him the moment he’s back in England.”

  “What will you say to him?”

  “I’ve fallen in love with your daughter, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

  “But you haven’t even proposed.”

  “I would have done at Lord’s, but I knew you’d only laugh at me.”

  “He won’t laugh. He’ll only ask you one thing,” she said softly.

  “And what will that be, my darling?”

  Her words were barely audible. “Have you slept with my daughter?”

  “If he does, I’ll tell him the truth.”

  “Then he’ll either kill you, or me, or both of us.”

  Seb took her back in his arms. “He’ll come around once he sees how much we care for each other.”

  “Not if my mother’s already chosen a suitable man for me to marry, and the two families have come to an understanding. Because just before my father flew to India, I gave him my word I was still a virgin.”

  * * *

  During the week, Seb spoke to his mother and father, and they were not only delighted by his news, but couldn’t wait to meet their future daughter-in-law. Priya was heartened by their response, but couldn’t hide how anxious she was about how her father would react. He phoned her on Thursday to say he was on his way back to England and had some exciting news to share with her.

  “And we have some exciting news to share with him,” said Seb, trying to reassure her.

  * * *

  On Friday evening, Seb left the bank early, only stopping off on the way to buy another bunch of roses. He then continued across town to the Fulham Road to pick up Priya before they traveled down to the West Country together. He couldn’t wait to introduce her to his parents. But first he must thank Jenny for all she’d done to make it possible, and this time he would give the roses to her. He parked outside the flat, jumped out of the car and rang the doorbell. It was some time before the door opened, and when it did he felt his legs give way. Jenny stood there shaking uncontrollably, a red swelling on her cheek.

  “What’s happened?” he demanded.

  “They’ve taken her away.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Her father and brother turned up about an hour ago. She put up a fight, and I tried to help, but the two of them dragged her out of the flat, threw her in the back of a car and drove off.”

  18

  “IT WAS GOOD of you to see us at such short notice, Varun,” said Giles. “Especially on a Saturday morning.”

  “My pleasure,” said the High Commissioner. “My country will always be in your debt for the role you played as foreign minister when Mrs. Gandhi visited the United Kingdom. But how can I help, Lord Barrington? You said on the phone the matter was urgent.”

  “My nephew, Sebastian Clifton, has a personal problem he’d like your advice on.”

  “Of course. If I can assist in any way, I will be happy to do so,” he said, turning to face the young man.

  “I’ve come up against what seems to be an intractable problem, sir, and I don’t know what to do about it.” Mr. Sharma nodded. “I’ve fallen in love with an Indian girl, and I want to marry her.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “But she’s a Hindu.”

  “As are eighty percent of my countrymen, Mr. Clifton, myself included. Therefore should I assume the problem is not the girl, but her parents?”

  “Yes, sir. Although Priya wants to marry me, her parents have chosen someone else to be her husband, someone she hasn’t even met.”

  “That’s not uncommon in my country, Mr. Clifton. I didn’t meet my wife until my mother had selected her. But if you think it might help, I will be happy to have a word with Priya’s parents and try to plead your case.”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir. I’d be most grateful.”

  “However, I must warn you that if the family has settled the contract with the other parties concerned, my words may well fall on deaf ears. But please,” continued the High Commissioner as he picked up a notepad from the table by his side, “tell me everything you can about Priya, before I decide how to approach the problem.”

  “Yesterday evening, Priya and I had planned to drive down to the West Country so she could meet my parents. When I arrived at her flat to pick her up, I found that she had, quite literally, been kidnapped by her father and brother.”

  “May I know their names?”

  “Sukhi and Simran Ghuman.”

  The High Commissioner shifted uneasily in his chair. “Mr. Ghuman is one of India’s leading industrialists. He has very strong business and political connections, and I should add that he also has a reputation for ruthless efficiency. I choose my words carefully, Mr. Clifton.”

  “But if Priya is still in England, surely we can prevent him from taking her back to India against her will? She is, after all, twenty-six years old.”

  “I doubt if she’s still in this country, Mr. Clifton, because I know Mr. Ghuman has a private jet. But even if she were, proving a father is holding his child against her wishes would involve a long legal process. I have experienced seven such cases since I took up this post, and although I’m convinced all seven young women wished to remain in this country, four of them were back in India long before they could be questioned, and the other three, when interviewed, said they no longer wanted to claim asylum. But if you wish to pursue the matter, I can call the chief inspector at Scotland Yard who is responsible for such cases, though I should warn you that Mr. Ghuman will be well aware of his legal rights and it won’t be the first time he’s taken the law into his own hands.”

  “Are you saying there’s nothing I can do?”

  “Not a great deal,” admitted the High Commissioner. “And I only wish I could be more helpful.”

  “It was good of you to spare us so much of your time, Varun,” said Giles as he stood up.

  “My pleasure, Giles,” said the High Commissioner. The two men shook hands. “Don’t hesitate to be in touch if you feel I can be of any assistance.”

  As Giles and Seb left Varun Sharma’s office and walked out on to the Strand, Giles said, “I’m so sorry, Seb. I know exactly what you’re going through, but I’m not sure what you can do next.”

  “Go home and try to get on with my life. But thank you, Uncle Giles, you couldn’t have done more.”

  Giles watched as his nephew strode off in the direction of the City, and wondered what he really planned to do next, because his home was in the opposite direction. Once Seb was out of sight, Giles headed back up the steps and into the High Commissioner’s office.

  * * *

  “Rachel, I need five hundred pounds in rupees, an open-ended return ticket to Bombay and an Indian visa. If you call Mr. Sharma’s secretary at the High Commission, I’m sure she’ll speed the whole process up. Oh, and I’ll need fifteen minutes with the chairman before I leave.”

  “But you have several important appointments next week, including—”

  “Clear my diary for the next few days. I’ll phone in every morning, so you can keep me fully briefed.”

  “This must be one hell of a deal you’re trying to close.”

  “The biggest of my life.”

  * * *

  The High Commissioner listened carefully to what his secretary had to say.

  “Your nephew has just ca