Free Cinnamon Gardens by Shyam Selvadurai

in place on the shoulder.
    Louisa, wearing a black charmeuse sari with tiny pale-pink rosebuds scattered over it and a Matara diamond set, was checking the place settings to make sure nothing had been forgotten. Philomena Barnett was fussing around her, picking up the various place cards and commenting on the genealogy of the guest and any gossip she could think of about them. For the grand occasion, she was wearing one of her flashiest saris, which featured Japanese maidens in kimonos daintily crossing butterfly bridges. She had on a set of brightly coloured Ceylon stones. Her unmarried daughter, Dolly, a jittery girl who had spent her whole life being cowed by her mother, sat on one of the chairs along the wall, nodding and blinking rapidly any time Philomena addressed a comment to her. Manohari sat by her. She was too young to be invited and, when the guests started to arrive, she would make herself scarce. Nalamma, wearing a bottle-green Benares sari with an intricate silver border and a silver set, was in conversation with one of the houseboys, givinghim last-minute instructions. Kumudini, in a printed floral French chiffon, was at a side table making some final adjustments to the table plan. Her jewellery set was one very popular at the time for young women, pearls arranged in a design of grape clusters. It had been a gift from Balendran and Sonia on her twenty-first birthday.
    Balendran noticed that his favourite niece, Annalukshmi, was not present. (He thought of the girls at Lotus Cottage as his nieces, even though their paternal grandfather and the Mudaliyar were only cousins.)
    At that moment, there was an exclamation from Philomena. She had come upon the place card with Nancy’s name on it.
    “That girl has been invited too.”
    Philomena always referred to Nancy as “that girl,” because of Nancy’s low, village origins. She thoroughly disapproved of her friendship with Annalukshmi and this extending of the invitation was the limit.
    “My husband and I felt it would be a slight to Miss Lawton not to include the girl,” Nalamma replied. “Besides, I feel sorry for her. Twenty-five years old and hardly any chance of getting married.”
    “These Europeans and their big ideas,” Philomena said. “Miss Lawton might have thought she was doing a charitable thing adopting her, but, at the end of the day, look where it’s brought that girl. Neither fish nor fowl. She has all the upbringing of one of our girls, but no decent boy would touch her for all the gold in Christendom. Better to have left her in the village.”
    Manohari, who loved nothing better than to add fuel to Philomena’s fire, said, “Nancy has gone and bobbed her hair.”
    Philomena stood still, her hand on the side of her cheek, to convey just how appalled she was.
    Sonia walked over, picked up a menu card, and read it aloud, “Hors-d’oeuvres: prawn cocktail; soup: dhall consomme” – she lifted her eyebrows slightly at the pretentiousness of the appellation – “fish: grilled seer in a white sauce; entrée: chicken vol-au-vent; main course: roast duck; dessert: charlotte russe followed by petit fours.” She looked at Philomena admiringly, “You have really outdone yourself this time, akka.”
    Philomena pursed her lips modestly, very pleased.
    Nalamma was not proficient when it came to European cooking. The task of planning and supervising the dinner thus always fell on Philomena, who had turned up this morning with her culinary bible,
Mrs. Beeton’s Cookery Book
, tucked under her arm.
    At that moment, the ballroom door opened and Annalukshmi entered. Balendran called to her and she went towards him with a smile.
    “You look very nice,” he said, glancing at her turquoise Kanjivaram silk with its purple border and her white laceworked blouse. Her jewellery was in a pattern of delicate turquoise and gold flowers. Also a gift from her aunt and uncle on her twenty-first birthday.
    She nodded her thanks.
    Nalamma had by now crossed