Monsoon Mists by Christina Courtenay

using him.
    It seemed clear that Miller had got himself involved in something he probably couldn’t handle. Jamie certainly wouldn’t trust him for an instant and whoever was behind the theft must be a very clever man. He’d be running rings round Miller. The Englishman would have no idea how valuable the talisman was and Jamie was sure he wouldn’t be told either. He wondered why a foreigner had been chosen for the task of sending it out of the country, and such an inept one at that? It seemed bizarre.
    He sighed. He’d have to come up with a new plan, but it might be best to wait until Sanjiv arrived. That could be days, even weeks, yet. In the meantime, Jamie would keep his eyes and ears open. It probably wouldn’t hurt to have Miller followed. He’d have to see about that.
    Jamie was relaxing in the salon of his rented house, lying back on a soft rug and a couple of cushions under a fan which a small boy was operating by pulling on a string from outside on the terrace. It was still hot, but the fan made it slightly more bearable by stirring up the air. He wondered idly whether the beautiful widow was involved in the talisman scheme as well, but dismissed the thought almost immediately.
    She had looked thoroughly puzzled when he posed the question about the monsoon mists. Whereas Miller had caught on straight away.
    And she wasn’t used to making wagers either. Jamie shook his head at himself. Why on earth had he teased her like that? He’d decided not to have anything more to do with her, hadn’t he? But she’d looked so vulnerable, so defeated, when her stepson paid over the odds for the huge diamond. It made Jamie see her in a new light – not as the haughty beauty, but as a woman trying to hold her own in a man’s world. And fighting to keep her stepson in check, a seemingly impossible task.
    He’d definitely misjudged her during their first encounter. He was sure of it now.
    That was still no excuse for flirting, which was what it amounted to. Lord, but he was losing his marbles.
    Jamie took a sip of wine and grimaced. It was lukewarm and didn’t add much to his comfort. Oh, for a glass of something cold, like Swedish spring water or strong ale … A knock interrupted his wishful thinking.
    ‘Excuse me, sahib, there is, er … someone to see you. In the hall.’ Kamal stood by the door, frowning.
    ‘Who is it?’ Jamie wasn’t in the mood for visitors of any kind. He wanted to be alone so he could think how best to go forward.
    ‘A very small person, sahib . Says she owes you something. Shall I send her away?’
    Jamie shot into a sitting position. ‘What? A little girl?’ The servant nodded, disapproval clearly written on his face, but Jamie was already on his way to the door, swearing under his breath. What did the little thief want with him now? For it couldn’t be anyone else.
    He was right. She stood very close to the front door, as if it represented an avenue of flight in case Jamie were to change his mind and decide to denounce her to the authorities, he thought. Next to her sat the mangiest little mutt Jamie had ever seen. Small, brown, with a slightly pointy nose and one ear up, the other flopping over. A thin body with a bushy tail curled neatly over its backside. The dog watched Jamie with eyes not dissimilar to those of his young mistress – large, dark and wary.
    Jamie stopped in front of them, then hunkered down so he wasn’t towering over the child. It must have taken enormous courage to come here. He didn’t want to frighten her, so he said hello in Gujarati. He’d already picked up a few phrases, as some of the words were similar to Hindi, but he added a greeting in Hindi for good measure. ‘ Namaste. To what do I owe this pleasure?’ He was just about to turn to Kamal, who was hovering behind him, to ask him to translate the rest of what he’d said, when a shy smile appeared on the little girl’s face.
    ‘You English. I speak you in English. Is good?’
    Jamie rocked