No,’ Sathya raised his eyebrows, ‘that crazy bitch was asking. Between you and me, she’s a bit of a stickler for timekeeping.’ He threw his head back and laughed. His voice was deep and musical, but also slightly hysterical. ‘Silly cow,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about her. I told her you were in the bathroom. Cigarette? I’m going to the gulag for one.’ Leela grinned. ‘Maybe a bit early for me. Give me half an hour.’ ‘Not a problem. If that cretin comes with the coffee, could you grab me one? Assuming he’s bothered to put any coffee in it today.’ Leela nodded. She hung her bag on her chair and turned on her computer. The processor began to whirr and gurgle; the screen thrummed into life. Tipu Sultan, the tea boy, came in. He was shortly followed by Joan, the third person who sat in the office, which was a room in the solid mock-Gothic building. ‘Ah! Leela!’ said Joan. ‘I was looking for you. Sathya said you’d –’ The pause was dramatic and indicated doubt.
