Read Online The Cambridge Curry Club by Saumya Balsari - Free Book Online

reported, the offender made no attempt to respond. This indifference is not surprising. It comes from the man Langley Tonner, who repeatedly uses this address for reasons I cannot fathom. He has never resided in this house, of which I have been the owner for the past three decades, and he is completely unknown to my family and myself. I do not know why he continues to evade the long hand of justice and the law in this manner, causing such inconvenience and harassment to my family and myself. I receive Inland Revenue tax bills and summons to bailiffs’ courts at this address on a regular basis because of this man.
    I have repeatedly contacted Royal Mail, urging them not to deliver mail to him at this address, but have been informed that it is not possible to take any action in the matter. Apparently, a letter with an address and stamp must be delivered. I urge you to find the offender without delay and prevent him from using this address henceforth.

    Yours faithfully,
    Shyamal Chatterjee
    Despite his failure to convince the DVLA and other authorities of the misdeeds of the elusive Langley Tonner, Mr Chatterjee had engineered a more recent coup of which he was proud. New kitchen units had been ordered from a leading local DIY firm; they were delivered with five items missing, including the new sink tap. Incensed, Mr Chatterjee telephoned the company.
    The girl at the other end loved her vowels less than her nail extensions, but he understood that Customer Services could do nothing, for Customer Services was not the same as Sales, and Sales Orders were at a Norwich number. After listening to Vivaldi’s
Primavera
four times, he was transferred to a queue with Westlife easing the pain. Sales had little contact with the factory near Basingstoke that delivered the items, and the factory recommended he try Customer Services instead.
    Mr. Chatterjee wrote an irate letter to the company director, sealed the envelope and carried it to the post office, where the friendly woman recommended ‘recorded delivery’. His further purchase of a weekly stamp booklet was a secret indulgence, producing the excitement generated in lesser beings by a lottery ticket.
    Seventy-two hours later, the missing units had arrived safely, although Customer Services had been unable to specify a time of delivery.
    Mr Chatterjee took the new items of unsolicited mail to his garage with an air of quiet achievement. Tying a fresh bundle, he placed it on the existing stack. It was thirty inches high and consisted of five hundred and seventy-one letters and leaflets and brochures, weighing sixty ounces. Ever since he had heard of a retiredgentleman whose photograph had appeared in the
Daily Mail
displaying seventy ounces of junk mail, Mr Chatterjee had been determined to compete, ambitiously setting his sights on a two-year record. Swarnakumari never visited the garage, and it was yet another of her husband’s secrets of which she was unaware.
    Having completed the important business at hand, Mr Chatterjee turned to the
Victoria’s Secret
catalogue that arrived with regularity in the post, requested by the rascally Langley Tonner at Mr Chatterjee’s address. He stared at the bold eyes of the models on the pages, their flirty posture as they slung their fingers casually over a bare hip or a bikini strap, bronzed bodies sheathed in tiny garments of lace and crochet. He felt unease tinged with self-disgust meeting the gaze of the young girl with the golden beach skin. She looked fourteen.
    Shortly after his retirement, Mr Chatterjee had begun to surf the Internet. Reluctantly discontinuing his subscription to the
National Geographic
, he now attempted to find material online on the tigers of the Sundarbans. His search for ‘wild animals’ led him directly to a website of girls clad in faux fur bikinis. Surprised but not unappreciative, Mr Chatterjee decided on further explorations with a click. He was confronted next by a
Teen Lusties
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