By the time she comes to join us by the pool at the hotel, she’s almost back to her normal self, fussing about whether her water bottle has a tamper-proof seal and double-checking that the lunch we’ve saved for her doesn’t include salad.We all say sorry again. Harry and I just say it, but Crow also draws it in her notebook – a full-page SORRY made out of wistful dancing girls in saris that would probably sell on eBay for thousands.‘I’m sorry too,’ Edie says, in her Edie way. ‘I was just over-reacting. It’s just, you know . . . travelling.’We nod. Whatever she wants to call it.From the hotel, we can see a big, orange-coloured building on the horizon. Edie points to it.‘That’s Agra Fort,’ she says. ‘We should go there at sunset. That’s where Shah Jahan was imprisoned by his son so he could see the Taj Mahal and constantly be reminded of his dead wife, but never visit her.’What?This is the story that we’ve been begging Edie not to tell us? No wonder she’s been tearful with frustration that we didn’t want to hear.
