By Ellis Peters
As a favour to his female friend Tossa's attractive yet erratic filmstar mom, Dominic Felse concurs to escort a teenage heiress to her father in India. yet vacationing with the spoilt, precocious Anjili is not any sinecure - and the duty of offering her again to her relations proves below effortless. Dominic and Tossa locate themselves embroiled in a secret that quickly and shockingly turns into a homicide research. For in the back of the vibrant, smiling masks of India that the vacationer sees is one other kingdom - distant, mysterious - and sometimes shatteringly brutal...
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Additional resources for Mourning Raga (Felse, Book 9)
South. ” I rise to my feet and offer my hand. She shakes it, all business at first, but she can’t help herself, and her face pinches with concern. “Mr. Kropotkin, I feel I should tell you there’s no camping allowed in the park. ” She laughs. ” “I’ll keep a cautious eye out. ” She’s still smiling. “Would you like a map, Mr. Kropotkin? We have them in the orientation packages for the refugees. Someone donated a case of them. ” “None at all. They’re downstairs in the waiting room. ” “Yes,” she says.
She seems a bit overwhelmed by my enthusiasm. “I’m delighted you want to help. But you don’t even have a place to live yet, Mr. ” “I’m sure that will sort itself out. It always does. ” I bristle at the cowardly phrase. “Circumstances? You mean because I’m poor and have no place to live? I’ve been poorer, believe me, and lived worse places than no place. The sign on the door asks for volunteers. I am volunteering. These people coming to this city without the language — do you think they care about my ‘circumstances’?
Do you miss me? she asks. “Terribly,” I say aloud. And she’s gone. The illusion collapses, leaving behind a terrible void. My chest constricts, and I stumble to a stop, my eyes wide-open. Sophie is gone. I left her, I left everyone, to come here. I left her. When in the future? I asked Anchee. In your time? No, not nearly so far, he said. You couldn’t possibly adapt. Maybe this is too far. Maybe I can’t adapt to this life. Maybe I don’t want to adapt. What then? What choice do I have? I sit down on a low garden wall and stare at the street, feeling more alone than I’ve ever felt in my life.
Mourning Raga (Felse, Book 9) by Ellis Peters