Dwita missed him, their easy chatter, the arguments and discussions and light-hearted bantering; somehow he had brought back a taste of irresponsible living to her. Although her way of life usually left her with few free evenings or even weekends which she could call her own, she had still found time to spend as many hours as possible in his company. Separation from Christopher had been easier to bear when soothed by Barun’s flippant good humour. But those few months had soon passed and he had left again, saying he would return in the near future to take on the harness of paternal concerns. Mrs Mitra, Barun’s mother, had tried very hard to get him engaged to one of the many young female aspirants for a handsome Harvard graduate, but she had failed utterly – in the end she blamed it all on his infatuation with Dwita. She had told him in no uncertain terms that as long as she was alive she would not let her son marry a widow – a widow with the curse of three generations of widowhood on her head.
