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black Jeep in front, you must immediately call me, Shirin.’
    *
    Gulbahar stood lost beside the marble fountain, trying to recall the chore she had forgotten.
    Face clearing, ‘Begum!’ she called. ‘Have you switched on the air conditioning in
all
the rooms? Remember my beautiful son is coming from a cold country.’
    Begum materialised from the main guest dining room, having given the last touches to the table with a vase of fresh orchids. The glass panels and mirrors in all the rooms had been thoroughly inspected for dust and smear marks.
    ‘Yes, Sahiba-ji, it’s on full blast – in all of the rooms! Ali will wheel in a water cooler near Mistress Mehreen’s bed, for her hot flushes.’
    ‘How thoughtful! What about the dinner? I wish you had let me ask Rasoola to help you!’
    Begum vigorously shook her head, face creasing in distaste at the thought of
that
woman working in her kitchen. Rasoola, Mehreen’s housekeeper, was cursed with a
complaining
disposition; about virtually everyone and everything, including her bad back. And the gravest sin of all – she had not one ounce of loyalty to her employers.
    Begum did, however, gracefully welcome the town cook, Nalu, into her kitchen. To her surprise, not only was he wonderful at cooking but fantastic company, too; he had kept her giggling all morning with tales about his simple ‘
bholi
’ wife, who continuously fell victim to the children’s pranks. Before long, Begum had forgotten about the master’s treatment of the girl and was delighted with Nalu’s gift of a bag of his special freshly ground herbs.
    ‘Sahiba-ji, please don’t worry,’ Begum reassured her mistress. ‘Nalu has already cooked two large pots of meat. The rice is done and the watermelons are drowning nicely in icy water. I’m about to slice them … Shall I use the crystal bowls, Mistress?’
    ‘Of course!’ Gulbahar gently chided. Everything had to be crystalware for her beloved son’s homecoming!
    ‘Oh, Begum!’ Gulbahar exclaimed, as another thought struck her. ‘What about the
halvie
? Did he say if the
jalebis
will be ready in the evening?’
    ‘All sorted, Mistress. Ali is collecting three baskets at six; the sweetmaker, thanks to his wife’s good nagging is punctual with the orders, unlike the horrid baker … Remember how he kept us waiting for the
chappatis
with all the hungry guests to feed on Bakra Eid.’
    ‘Great! Thanks, Begum. I must get ready. Can’t wait to see my son!’
    ‘Please, Mistress, don’t worry. Will you stand and wait outside in the street with everyone else?’
    ‘I think …’ Gulbahar frowned. ‘I’ll compromise this time, Begum, by standing inside, but peeping out of the door. You know I’m not in purdah but your master really hates men’s eyes ogling me.’
    Begum chuckled, eyes twinkling. ‘Of course, he has every right to do so – he’s very possessive about you and his family! Not surprising when he has a beautiful wife like you and a daughter …’ Begum faltered, as her mistress’s eyes automatically squeezed shut, a shadow crossing her face.
    ‘Excuse me …’ Begum stammered, cursing her stupid runaway tongue. ‘Need to thread the garland!’ she nervously added.
    Gulbahar stiffly assented with her head, mood lightening. Her sisters were on their way. Saher, her lawyer niece, had taken a day off from her office work to personally welcome her cousin home, and she, his mother, hadn’t even got changed!
    *
    ‘Mummy! Mummy! I can see the cars!’ Shirin excitedly shouted from the rooftop to her mother down below in the courtyard. ‘Are you there, Mummy?’
    Laila stepped out from under the veranda, the
kajal
stick in her hand. Her daughter was peering over the low balcony wall from the rooftop. ‘Be careful, darling. You’ll fall!’ Laila anxiously called.
    A few moments later, her body swathed in a lawn
chador
, Laila stepped into the lane and collided with Massi Fiza and her bundle of clean laundry. Laila prayed that