Jeremy was gazing around the room with a disillusioned air. 'I don't see any potatoes and sausages,' he said.
Marie gave Peter a warning glance. 'I hope for your sake that you weren't just having him on, because he's set his heart on those potatoes of yours.'
He bowed. 'When I promise something I mean every word I say.' He picked up a brass bell and rang it with abandon. A few moments later an old man in a turban and dhoti came into the room bearing a large brass tray. While Jeremy watched with glee he laid the table with three plates, lit the candles and then placed some covered dishes in the centre.
'Right-ho, Ramji,' said Peter cheerfully. 'We'll do
the rest.' He waved them to their seats, then whipped the covers away. Jeremy gave a sigh of rapture. Nestling in one was a pile of small new potatoes shining with butter, faintly dusted with what appeared to be chopped chives. In the other was a mound of sausages swimming in baked beans.
'How did you do it?' Marie demanded as Peter piled the food on to Jeremy's eager plate.
'Tins,' he said succinctly.
She burst out laughing, then her eyes brightened. 'Where did you get them?' If Peter could buy tins of English food, she thought, so could they.
Peter shook his head. 'Brought them from England,' he admitted. 'They were shipped out with our heavy equipment, strictly for special occasions. We could only bring a small supply or I'd give you some.'
She sighed. 'Oh, well, it's wonderful to have a change, as Jeremy says.'
'You might be able to get them from one of the larger towns,' he suggested. 'Of course, there's no demand for such stuff in Lhalli, but in Delhi or Calcutta there's an English population who have such food imported for them.'
'It doesn't matter,' she said, enjoying the buttery taste of the potatoes.
They had fruit and custard to follow, the custard also coming from a tin, Peter informed her. Then they had coffee, strong and milky. Afterwards while Jeremy looked through some coloured books of photographs of India which Peter produced, Marie and Peter played records and talked by candlelight.
Suddenly their peace was interrupted by the tramp of feet on the verandah. Peter looked round, grimacing.
'Blast them! I might have known they wouldn't keep out…'
Then three men came into the room, eagerly looking at Marie. Peter sulkily introduced her to them. They surrounded her, talking all at once, making her laugh.
'I've discovered why you aren't allowed out near the Satmu temple,' Grant Williams, a short dark man in his thirties, said to Peter.
'Oh?' Peter asked impatiently.
'Apparently Mrs Cunningham is behind it,' said Grant, smiling at Marie.
'Jess?' Marie was puzzled.
He turned to her, his dark eyes twinkling. 'It seems she doesn't want any visitors out there for the moment in case they scare away any of the animals who visit the waterhole. The temple is just a few hundred yards away in the jungle.'
'So that's it!' Peter exploded. 'Well, it seems simple then. All I have to do is get her to take me out there with her.'
'We're going there tomorrow,' Marie told him.
Peter's face lit up. 'That's terrific! I'll come, too.'
'Oh, I don't know,' she protested. 'You'd have to ask Jess.'
'I'll come back and ask her tonight,' Peter said.
'How are you going to get back?' Grant asked him sarcastically. 'I need the Land-Rover to get into Lhalli to send some telegrams.'
'You can give me a lift back,' Peter said confidently.
Grant shook his head. 'I have a better idea. Strange as it may seem, I'm still in charge of this expedition. I'll see Mrs Cunningham for you and ask her permission for a visit to the temple.'
Peter looked at him unwillingly, and Grant grinned. 'Don't argue, old man. You can't descend on Mrs Cunningham at this hour and foist yourself on her until I get back from Lhalli. You know how long it takes to send a telegram here.'