She had just enough presence of mind not to retreat as he approached her.

Aakash Seth wasn’t old enough to need a cane. Not for natural causes, at any rate. Favoring his right side, he towered over her. Broad shoulders strained the seams of his white dress shirt just a smidge. Its first two buttons were undone, offering a view of his prominent Adam’s apple and a sprinkling of dark hair below. Satya’s gaze traced his grey suspenders across his powerful chest down to his trim waist. It should have been comical, yet he pulled it off with panache.

He had a long face. A coiffed mustache—likely a remnant of his military career—complemented his strong, spearhead-shaped jaw. His dark brows sat low over deep-set eyes which seemed to catch everything. And down the left side of his face, from his hairline down to his cheekbone, ran an angry scar.

Closing the distance between them, he held out his hand, unsmiling. “Ms. Roy.”

Gulping, Satya meekly shook his three middle fingers. “Mr. Seth. Hello.”

He held her gaze a long moment, reading her. Likely concluding she was an idiot. Then abruptly withdrew his hand to pivot for the dining room. “Shall we?”

Four places had been set at the long table for twenty-four. Mr. Seth took the seat at the head while Jiji and Moushumi sat on either side of him. Satya was seated next to Jiji upon the latter’s insistence.

Dinner was a posh affair with several courses and as many sets of cutlery.

“Our head cook’s forefathers worked for the Britishers who originally owned this bungalow,” Moushumi explained, waiting for the manservant to finish serving her soup, “so he can cook all their food. With better seasoning, of course. But it’s been a godsend for the Hollander Lodge.”

“Oh,” Satya said, tasting the soup. She would have moaned if she was alone. “It’s lovely. But please don’t go to any trouble on my account. I’ll eat whatever everyone else is having.”

“Yes, yes, most days it’s just plain dal and rice. But if you’re ever in the mood for a change of palette, don’t hesitate to ask,” Moushumi said with a wink.

Moushumi did most of the talking through appetizers. It being peak tourist season, she had all kinds of frustrations and whacky anecdotes to share about the Hollander Lodge’s guests. Apparently, the hotel also had a few permanent residents, one of them being the 1960s Bollywood siren Ramini.

Satya listened with delight, all the while doing her best to avoid eye contact with Mr. Seth. He’d said nothing since they sat down, yet his strong, brooding presence made her unexplainably jittery. When Moushumi turned the spotlight onto her, asking her the usual get-to-know-you-better questions, she couldn’t answer without stumbling over her words. She didn’t need to look at him to know his eyes were on her, and she didn’t need a mind-reader to tell her she wasn’t making the best impression.

“And when does your master’s program start?” Moushumi asked, carving out a slice of smoked salmon.

“Third week of July.”

“Oh wow, you’ll barely have any time after you leave us.”

“About four days,” Satya said, wheezing at the thought of how chaotic the move was going to be.

And then—

“It’s public administration, isn’t it, your chosen field of study?”

Satya forced herself to look at Mr. Seth. His posture was relaxed and rigid at the same time. Unlike the rest of them, he didn’t have to sit on the edge of the regal dining chairs to reach his food. His large frame rested against the backrest while his arms, seemingly independent of the rest of him, moved meticulously, tearing his chicken apart with sharp but elegant jabs of his fork and quick, definitive strokes of his knife. The directness of his gaze made her squeeze her legs together.

“Mm”—she cleared her throat—“Yes.”

“And your B.A. was in Political Science,” he recalled with a curt tilt of the head.

Something in his tone didn’t sit right with her. She squared her shoulders, shedding her silly jitters. “Top of my class,” she added. “With honors.”

“An admirable feat. But it doesn’t exactly qualify you to be a teacher.”

Moushumi’s cutlery clattered against her plate. “Dada, we’ve been over this,” she said, exasperated.

“Someone’s ability to teach requires more than just intelligence,” Mr. Seth said. His expression was hard. Satya couldn’t tell if it was irritation or his natural demeanor. “It needs a specific kind of temperament and outlook on life. Things only the right training and experience can get you.”

Satya fumed. “Mr. Seth, you hired me based on what you read on my CV. If you remember what I majored in, you’ll also remember I have plenty of tutoring experience. I’m not sure why you went through the trouble of bringing me here if you weren’t satisfied with my credentials to begin with.”

The bottom half of his jaw clicked askew as if he’d been slapped.

Good.

“I wasn’t the one who made that call, Ms. Roy.” He forced a smile while shooting Moushumi a scowl. “As for your ‘experience,’ your CV doesn’t mention how your students performed under your guidance. Academically, that is.”

“I mean…” This stumped Satya. “They were a mixed bag. Some of them ended up doing well. Others not so much. But everyone doesn’t function at the same wavelength.”

“So you couldn’t get through to the ones at a…shorter wavelength.”

“That’s not going to be a problem with Jiji, Mr. Seth. Your daughter is extremely bright and curious, and is quick on her feet.” She should have stopped there, but something in her snapped. “And, I’m sorry, but she’s only eight. She’s not sitting for an entrance exam or for her boards. I’m just here to ensure she doesn’t forget what she’s already learned, and maybe give her a head start for next year. Which is only Class 3, by the way.”

From the corner of her eye, she caught Moushumi suppressing a grin.

Mr. Seth sneered. Idly circling his chicken in gravy, he spoke with the calm firmness of someone who didn’t like being tested. “Ms. Roy, if I wanted someone to simply watch Jiji over the summer, I would’ve hired another maidservant. What I want is for Jiji to have everything she needs to stand on her own two feet. I’m not raising her to be some sorry chap’s trophy wife in twenty years, wasting her days attending kitty parties and arranging marriages for unsuspecting prey. She needs to grow up strong, self-assured and financially independent.”

“Like me,” Moushumi chimed in, her tone teasing.

“And as far away from Darjeeling and this cursed estate as humanly possible,” he added, his voice falling deeper. Scraping his fork against his plate unpleasantly, he muttered, “Not that that’ll be much of an issue, with the way everything’s going.”

“So like Vicky, then,” Moushumi said airily, making Jiji giggle. In a stage whisper, she said to Satya, “He’s our brother. The middle child. Free as a bird, and not a care in the world. You’d like him. Everyone does.” She clicked her tongue. “Shame he’s not in India, though. He’d have given you a proper tour of the place. Obscure, out of the way haunts and all.”

“I’m sure I’ll still be able to explore my fill.” Satya smiled, hastily adding, “Without letting it get in the way of Jiji’s lessons, of course. Six weekends is a long time.”

“And a few evenings,” Moushumi corrected. “It’s Jiji’s summer holiday too. We all owe ourselves some fun as a family.”

Mr. Seth made a face and continued eating.

Satya lowered her defenses now that the conversation had moved past her professional capabilities. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around being away from home so long. I’ve only ever stayed away for one night at a time, for sleepovers with friends and cousins.”

“Not even school trips?” Jiji asked, shocked.

“No, not even those.”

Satya pushed aside one particularly bitter memory of her parents refusing to send her camping with the rest of her class in high school. It was her last chance to profess her love to her crush at the time before exams began, and he left the country. Her parents had always been overprotective, dampening all her grand plans.

But not anymore.

She was here in Darjeeling. And at the end of the summer she was heading to New Delhi for two whole years. From here on out, she was the captain of her own ship.

Her dinner companions didn’t register the hope coursing through her, though. They pitied her. It wasn’t intentional, of course, but there they were, making her conscious of her lower social status.

That wouldn’t do. A change of topic was in order.

“You don’t really think your estate is cursed, though, do you, Mr. Seth?”

“Oh, it is!” Jiji squeaked, bouncing in her seat. “There’s a little British boy who walks through the walls upstairs late at night when Baba and Pishimoni have gone to sleep. He’s looking for his mother, but her ghost’s not here, though, because she went back to Britain after her son died. And oh, the ghosts of soldiers fire their rifles and cannons out in the tea gardens during the full moon. It makes all the stray dogs go awoo awoo awooooo!”

Mr. Seth’s brows pulled together. “Who’s telling you all these stories, mamoni?”

“No one,” Jiji answered proudly. “I make them up myself.”

His shoulders drooped. Huffing out a perplexed sigh, he locked gazes with Satya. “Take note of your company tonight, Ms. Roy. An odd bunch, isn’t it? A pair of single siblings and an eight-year-old girl. You might not have asked out of politeness, but the question has crossed your mind.”

“Not really,” Satya replied truthfully, though she understood exactly what he was talking about. “I’ve never really seen the point in prying into other people’s business. And just so you know, Mr. Seth, I may come from what’s commonly accepted as a traditional family unit, but I’m not naïve enough to think that’s the only form a family can take. If this works best for you, it’s not really my place to make judgments. Besides, I don’t plan to get married myself, so I really wouldn’t think you’re cursed for choosing this and staying unmarried. Seems like quite the dream setup, if you ask me.”

Mr. Seth dropped his cutlery. His nostrils flared as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, mincing words in his mouth. “Funny how quick you are to rebuke me for making assumptions about you when you are, yourself, making sweeping presumptions about me.”

Moushumi froze mid-chew. Her eyes flitted from Satya to Mr. Seth and back.

Uh oh.

It occurred to Satya he might be a widower.

Satya, you bloody idiot!

“Uh—I didn’t mean it like that. I – I just meant to say that I didn’t see why you’d think all of this”—she gestured at the grand dining hall—“was a curse. But of course every family has its prob—well, hardships. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

The legs of Mr. Seth’s chair screeched as he labored to his feet. Tossing his napkin onto the table, he reached for his cane.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’m not in the mood for dessert.” Balancing his weight on his stick, he fixed a stern look on Satya. “Ms. Roy, Jiji will be ready for you at her desk at 9 o’clock. If you’re keen to prove you’re capable, you’d best start by being punctual.”

He marched off without another word. His footfalls down the hall echoed back to the dining room.

“Don’t mind him,” Moushumi shrugged. She dabbed her lips with her napkin and got up. “And don’t let him steal your appetite. Jiji, be a good host and make sure Satya eats properly. I’ll just go make sure your baba doesn’t hurt himself.”

Well, thought Satya as Jiji dutifully spooned gravy over her rice, that was an inauspicious start to the trip of a lifetime.