On a sweltering Christmas evening in 1934, Digby bicycles to Claude Arnold’s Nungambakkam home, a slice of England transplanted to Madras. Feeling shabby amid wealth and pomp, he debates attending but decides absence would worsen tensions with his superior. Inside, he slips away from the boisterous crowd to cool off, privately scorning the grand but lifeless landscapes on display.

Celeste, Claude’s wife, approaches with pomegranate juice. Warm and direct, she coaxes Digby into an honest appraisal of the paintings, then leads him to a modest kalighat portrait she treasures. They bond over its economy of line and expressive power, sharing an appreciation for craft and simplicity that contrasts with the house’s ostentation.

As they talk, Celeste describes Mahabalipuram—its rock-cut temples, sacred imagery, and even ruins submerged beneath the sea—and invites Digby to visit, certain he would appreciate it. Their conversation grows intimate, moving from place and art to belonging; Celeste confides that after nearly twenty years in Madras she has come to love it, despite expectations of transfer, and that the house feels settled while she does not.

Noticing Claude’s drunken merriment nearby, Celeste and Digby remain in a quiet cocoon. She asks why she is telling him so much; Digby answers simply that she knew he would care. Celeste’s final counsel—do not choose a mate by seeing more than the evidence suggests—reveals her disappointment in marriage and foreshadows the emotional stakes of their connection.