This novel, set in the immigrant Indian community in England, is both immediate and moving. It consists of two separate but  linked themes which together symbolise the tensions and preoccupations of the community. The first story revolves around Tekchand, the established leader of the Indian community in a small Midlands industrial town. Once a poor peasant from the Punjab, he is now a house-owner and the possessor of a steady job with which to support his wife and four children. The factory where he works is the scene of an ugly extortion racket, operated by Harbans, himself an immigrant, who charges new arrivals for 'introductions', and once they are employed, extorts further payments by threatening dismissal. An English shop steward joins with Tekchand in trying to stop Harbans' activities, and together they try to persuade their co-workers to give evidence.
             The second story concerns Tekchand's daughter Leela, whose relationship, at first tentative, later loving, with a young Englishman, brings to the surface age-old tensions and prejudices. The two stories, at first seemingly separate, fuse into a gripping finale.

CHAPTER ONE
             It had been summer in the morning. By early evening, it looked like autumn. The breeze was damp and cool and in the sky clouds bumped and raced each other to the horizon. Occasionally, almost like an illusion, drizzle as light as fine mist gently touched the girl's face as she stood pressed back against the door. She shivered and folded her arms. The skirt and blouse she wore were light and thin. She looked at her watch. It was ten past six. She tried the door in the hope of sheltering inside. It rattled but didn't open. Miserable, she turned to face the street.
             She was a pretty girl in spite of this momentary unhappiness. Her mouth was wide, sometimes too wide for her face, though now it seemed to have shrunk as it turned down at the corners. Her thick black hair had an added sheen as minute drops of moisture clung to the strands. The eyes were brown and serious and her eyebrows a shade thick. She was small and slim and the wind continuously snapped at her skirt which she held down with one hand. The other held her hand- bag and a large shopping basket.
              Two minutes passed. Suddenly, she moved out from the doorway. She looked up the street and saw the boy hurrying towards her. His bare blond head moved like a nervous spark as it ducked and dodged the umbrellas and bent heads. The girl smiled; though only for a moment. Her face became serious again as he neared. When he reached her they didn't embrace.
              'I'm sorry,' Roger Thomson said. ' The bus got held up.' He looked worried. She made him wait until they'd walked a few feet and then nodded acceptance of his apology. He smiled and relaxed.
              'I was just going,' she said softly. ' It was cold and I thought you may have changed your mind.' He shook his head. She caught the movement out of the corner of her eye for she was too shy to look directly at him. ' I have to do some shopping and then I have to be home by seven.'
              'That early again ?' His irritation made her hesitate. As they walked there was a gap between them which widened and closed easily for people to pass.
               'My mother doesn't like me out too late,' Leela said. , If you want to go I don't mind. Honest. Most boys don't like just going out for an hour.' She lowered her head as if waiting any moment for him to leave her side. She saw that his legs kept moving beside her. She brushed her hair off her face and tucked it behind her ear so she could look at him. He looked twenty- one, three years older than her. Half-formed strength was in his face although his body looked frail. His face was bony and his grey eyes blinked rapidly as he thought.
                 She remembered the first time they had met. It was only a week ago. Shyly, he had come to the counter at which she worked in the department store and bought a pair of socks. She had seen him before as this was his third pair. It was only the third time that he finally began to talk to her. He had been funny and made her laugh; which surprised her for he looked too unsure of himself to have humour. He had met her that same evening outside the same door and though they didn't talk much they walked a lot. All the way to her home.
                 'It's not that,' he said finally. ' There must be some evening when your mum lets you stay out.'