It was a glorious morning, blue above and green below, seen from the front window of his cozy house. It was a day to be out and about, but the doctor was laid up with a cold, the result of bidding winter adieu too soon and pacing about in the garden without a hat at night. Just what he advised all his clients not to do. Sunlight streamed in through the shut window of his bedroom and leaves on the vine overhanging it swayed gently, inviting the doctor into the cool February breeze. The portly doctor coughed and sighed. He rang the bell for a servant and raised himself a little higher in bed to get a better view out of the window. Their driver, Keshav, had slipped and broken an arm a week ago, and his son, Raju, had been filling in this while. Dr Raleigh was used to and comfortable with Keshav’s unhurried driving. While not an old man—he was hardly 35—Keshav had the air of one. He was thoughtful, even philosophical, and though a fatalist he didn’t believe in tempting fate. He was deferential towards the doctor, and respectful and considerate towards his charge, the little red car that was always going around on house calls.
