The Midnight Palace - Carlos Ruiz Zafon [10]
‘I’m afraid I’m not an expert on local history,’ Carter replied, disconcerted by the sudden twist Jawahal had given the conversation.
The visitor frowned, mutely signalling his disapproval of Carter’s confessed ignorance.
‘With only two hundred and fifty years to its name, Calcutta has so little history that the least we can do is learn about it, Mr Carter. But, returning to the subject, I’d say it was in 1799. Do you know why the move was made? Wellesley, the governor general, said that India must be ruled from a palace and not from an accountants’ office; with the ideas of a prince, not those of a spice trader. Quite a vision, I’d say.’
‘Indeed,’ Carter agreed. He stood up, ready to see the visitor out.
‘All the more so in an empire in which decadence is an art form and Calcutta its main showcase,’ Jawahal added.
Carter nodded his head, not quite sure what he was agreeing with.
‘I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time, Mr Carter,’ concluded Jawahal.
‘On the contrary,’ replied Carter. ‘I’m just sorry I haven’t been of any assistance. In such circumstances we must all do what we can to help.’
‘Absolutely,’ Jawahal agreed, also standing up. ‘Once again, I appreciate your kindness. I just wanted to ask you one more question.’
‘With pleasure,’ answered Carter, although he couldn’t wait to get rid of this man.
Jawahal smiled maliciously, as if he’d read Carter’s thoughts.
‘At what age do the children you take in leave this place, Mr Carter?’
Carter couldn’t hide his surprise.
‘I hope you don’t think I’m being tactless,’ Jawahal added hurriedly. ‘If that is the case, please ignore my question. I’m just curious.’
‘No, not at all. It’s no secret. The boarders at St Patrick’s remain under our roof until the day they turn sixteen. That’s when the guardianship period ends. At that point they are considered to be adults, or so the law says, ready to take charge of their own lives. As you can see, this is a privileged institution.’
Jawahal listened attentively and appeared to be considering the matter.
‘I imagine it must be very painful for you to see them leave after having cared for them all those years,’ Jawahal observed. ‘In a way, you’re like a father to all these children.’
‘It’s my job,’ Carter lied.
‘Of course. But – if you don’t mind my asking – how do you know the real age of a child who has no parents or family? It’s a technicality, I suppose …’
‘The age of our boarders is set from the day the child is taken in, or else the institution makes an approximate calculation,’ Carter explained, feeling uncomfortable about discussing the orphanage’s procedures with the stranger.
‘Which makes you a little god, Mr Carter.’
‘That is a view I do not share,’ Carter replied dryly. Jawahal relished the displeasure on Carter’s face.
‘Forgive my audacity, Mr Carter,’ Jawahal replied. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you. I may visit in the future and make a donation to your noble institution. Perhaps I’ll return in sixteen years’ time; that way I’ll be able to meet the youngsters who become part of your large family today …’
‘It will be a pleasure to receive you then, if that is your wish,’ said Carter, leading the stranger to the door. ‘It looks like the rain has got worse. Maybe you’d prefer to wait until it dies down?’
The man turned towards Carter and his pupils glowed like two black pearls. He seemed to have been weighing up every gesture, every expression from the moment he’d entered the office, sniffing out any cracks in the story and analysing every word. Carter regretted extending his offer of hospitality. At that precise moment the only thing Carter wanted was to see the back of this individual. He didn’t care if a hurricane was laying waste to the city.
‘The rain will stop soon, Mr Carter,’ Jawahal replied. ‘Thanks all the same.’
Right on cue, Vendela was waiting in the corridor as the meeting ended, and she escorted