“It was Rashmi Sahota’s third day back in the office and though she felt clammy, she also felt rejuvenated —at least in spirit. Staff at the care service observed the Wednesday morning with the faint effort given to Friday afternoons. The phones were silent, so banter lingered longer than usual, and a mindless conversation over whether the monarchy still served a purpose looked set to carry on for a while. They paused, however, to say hello to her as she passed, with a kind of trained veneration for matriarchs. And because it was a pale summer, an English June, one of them saw fit to ask if Rashmi thought she was still on her holidays. It was a nod to the light sari she wore, and the trill of thin and cheap laughter followed before they returned to the topic of the Queen, not one of them curious about what might offend.” PLOUGHSHARES