Cinnamon Gardens by Shyam Selvadurai

should have welcomed Annalukshmi with open arms.
    “Don’t be disheartened, cousin,” Philomena said, satisfied that Louisa was suitably chastened. “All is not lost. The Macintoshes have agreed to look at Annalukshmi.”
    The Macintoshes were the last ones Louisa had expected to be interested, given their wealth and prestige. She narrowed her eyes. “Why? Is there something wrong with the boy?”
    “Cousin?”
    “He’s not epileptic or simple, is he?”
    “Of course not.”
    Louisa was not satisfied, despite Annalukshmi’s “reputation,” that the Macintoshes had said yes. There had to be something wrong with the boy.
    “This is a golden opportunity. Let me arrange a preliminary meeting.”
    After a moment Louisa nodded reluctantly. She had to at least see the boy. Something was better than nothing. Yet she felt frightened that people did talk of Annalukshmi in this way. She had thought that they might say she was headstrong, even a little rash, but she had never expected that Annalukshmi’s behaviour had garnered her a “reputation.”
    The window-seat in the drawing room was Annalukshmi’s favourite place to read. She would switch on the lamp by the window, draw the lace curtains to cut off the world, prop a pillow behind her back, and, with her knees drawn up to her chest, the book on her thighs, she would lose herself in the world of her characters.
    That afternoon Annalukshmi was seated in the window-seat when Louisa, who was also in the drawing room sewing with Kumudini, got up and approached her. She advanced on herwith some trepidation, knowing her daughter’s dislike for these matchmaking attempts.
    Annalukshmi was completely lost in her book and did not notice her mother until a shadow fell across her page. She looked up to see Louisa on the other side of the lace curtain, an expression on her face that made her immediately draw her knees even closer to her chest.
    “Merlay,” Louisa pushed aside the curtain. “I had some news this morning. Some very good news.” She sat down on the window-seat.
    Annalukshmi simply looked at her, holding the open book to her chest as a shield.
    “It’s a possible meeting with a young man, kunju,” Louisa said. “For you. Arranged by Aunt Philomena.”
    Annalukshmi had an instant image of the boys Philomena had found for her own daughters. Young men without looks or any real brand to them but who would remain in their dull civil-service jobs and retire with a pension. “Pleasant boys” as everyone charitably described them.
    “No,” Annalukshmi said. “I will not do it. You know how I feel about proposals.”
    Kumudini, who had been following the conversation with great interest, now came and joined them. “Who is the boy, Amma?” she asked.
    “A Mr. Macintosh. You know,
the
Macintoshes on Ward Place.”
    Kumudini drew in her breath, impressed. “Akka,” she said, “this is not one of Aunt Philomena’s usual types, not some thuppai government clerk. Don’t you remember Grace Macintosh? She was in my class. In fact, she was in your house when you were house captain.”
    “She was a good sprinter?” Annalukshmi asked, not sure if they were talking about the same girl.
    Kumudini nodded. “She was lovely. Fair and pretty. And so vivacious too. A beauty spot in one eye. Like a tea leaf.”
    The little detail was what Annalukshmi needed and she promptly remembered Grace Macintosh. “Yes, her,” she said, interested now, despite herself. She had liked Grace and her witty manner.
    “The brother probably looks like Grace,” Kumudini said. “My, he must be very handsome. And they’re rich, akka. A big house on Ward Place and everything.”
    Annalukshmi recalled that a Rolls-Royce was sent to pick Grace up from school, liveried chauffeur and all. Yet, unlike a lot of rich girls, Grace was unaffected. She had also been an avid reader like herself.
    “What do you think, merlay? Shall I ask Aunt Philomena to arrange a meeting?”
    Annalukshmi