Crime fiction: The bride-to-be, a fresh-off-the-boat English memsahib, disappears before the wedding

Furrowing my brow, I considered all that Peter had just recounted.

My every instinct raged at me, warning me that this was a waste of time. It sounded less like a mystery and more a story straight out of a bodice-ripper. And while I do take great pride in my deductive abilities, I have always thought of myself as a solver of conundrums, not a seeker of lost cats and absconding fiancées.

Before I could articulate my concerns, though, Helene chimed in yet again. “Of course, he will help you! Won’t you, Sikander? Tell him not to worry!”

I pursed my lips, annoyed by her impetuousness. Briefly, I was tempted to refuse, to tell Peter that I hadn’t the time to help him, perhaps even suggest that he forget Miss Hartley and move on with his life. Unfortunately, the hopeful look that he gave me made me realise I could not be quite that callous. This pitiful wreck of a man, he may no longer be the larger-than-life hero I remembered from my childhood, the confidante I had cherished so deeply, but he was still the man who had made me the person I was today. That meant I owed him a debt so...

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