Vik stepped between them. “Ash is going home, with me.”
Savage thrust his tiger cane into Uncle Vik’s chest. “I’ve paid good money for you, Professor Mistry. I expect obedience. I demand obedience.”
Uncle Vik knocked the cane away. “I am not a slave, Lord Savage.”
Savage wiped dripping saliva from his lips. “Is it more money that you want? I know what you Indians are like. Always begging. Very well. I will have another cheque drawn up in the morning.”
Savage looked Uncle Vik up and down, making no attempt to hide his contempt. It was the same look Ash had seen in that portrait of the first Lord Savage – arrogant, superior and cruel. “Do we understand one another, Mistry?”
Uncle Vik lowered his gaze. “I understand, Lord Savage. Perfectly.”
Savage smiled and summoned Mayar. The huge servant lumbered over, the ground shaking with each footfall. “Prepare the spare rooms—”
Uncle Vik pulled out a folded piece of paper: Savage’s cheque. He hadn’t banked it. He slowly tore it in half, then in half again. He gazed up at Savage. “Thank you for your hospitality, but I must decline it.”
Ash gasped as Uncle Vik threw the pieces into the air and two million pounds fluttered away in the desert wind. This was all Uncle Vik’s dreams. This was flash cars, big houses, exotic holidays, the respect of being his own man, at last. It was all that anyone could ever want.
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