11
James was standing by Kabir’s bedroom window, quite still for once. Then he started shifting his weight from foot to foot in that idiosyncratic manner of his while staring intently at something. Curious, I went to the window and followed his gaze. On the trail four white shire horses, blinkered in the mid-afternoon light, were towing a yellow Bentley, its heavy tyres turning slowly, into the courtyard. A slow-motion surreal pageant. It seemed the Kwanon were as short of petrol as everybody else. Shorter, possibly.
While I was assimilating all this, the door of the Bentley opened and four grinning Kwanon slid out of its leather-upholstered interior. They were military men, Coldstream Guards in full dress uniform. Their insignia identified them as high-ranking officers, which meant they
