The Love Detective (21 page)

‘No, not at all.’

‘I can get a bit carried away, you should have told me to shut up.’

‘No, seriously, it’s fascinating,’ I reassure him, ‘though I thought you said you only knew a bit?’

He smiles ruefully. ‘OK, I’ve been busted. I’m an architect.’

‘Unfair advantage!’ I exclaim.

He bursts out laughing. ‘Well, the hand thing didn’t work, and I had to do something to get your attention.’

My attention?

‘Well, you certainly got it,’ I laugh, but out of nowhere, I feel my stomach flutter.

‘I did?’ he asks, his eyes meeting mine.

I suddenly realise he’s stopped laughing. ‘Absolutely,’ I reply cheerfully, trying to appear normal. ‘Talk about being full of surprises!’ God, what’s wrong with me? Why do I feel so nervous all of a sudden?

‘Do you like surprises?’

Is it me or has he just moved a hair’s breadth closer?

‘Erm . . .yes . . . I do . . .’ I nod vigorously, ‘though only if they’re good ones, of course.’

‘And am I a good one?’

My breath quickens. Is he flirting with me?

‘Oh look, we’re losing the group,’ I say briskly, pointing to the crowd of people and suddenly noticing they’ve moved on ahead of us.

‘So what do you reckon, shall we make a break for it?’ He raises an eyebrow, smiling.

Feeling all flustered, I hesitate, now suddenly at a loss how to respond. ‘Actually, um . . . I think I need to use the loo,’ I blurt out.

Good one, Ruby. As always, I can be totally relied on to completely ruin a moment.

‘Oh, OK,’ he nods, his smile slipping slightly. ‘All that water you’ve been drinking, huh?’ He gestures to the bottle of water I was given along with my ticket.

At the same time we both notice it’s unopened.

‘Well, see you in a minute.’ I quickly turn away and set off towards the toilets.

‘Hey, you forgot something.’

I turn to see him pull out a few sheets of toilet paper from his backpack and waggle them at me.

I stop dead in my tracks. In the last couple of days there have been so many shocks and surprises, so many new experiences and emotions, it’s not so much a steep learning curve that I’m on, it’s a bloody rollercoaster. Yet still, it has to be one of the most curious, and quite frankly, amazing things about life, that within just 48 hours you can go from complete strangers on a train, to sharing loo roll.

Talk about a whole new meaning to the words ‘comfort zone’.

‘Thanks,’ I say gratefully, running back and taking it from him.

‘Don’t mention it,’ he nods. ‘Oh, and Ruby?’

‘Yes?’

‘Try not to pee on your feet,’ he adds, his eyes flashing with amusement.

Oh god. There’s a comfort zone and then there’s me and my big mouth. I cringe, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment, and hurry off to seek refuge in the toilets.

I had to do something to get your attention.

Washing my hands five minutes later, I stare at myself in the mirror and roll the phrase around in my head. What does that
mean
exactly? It’s so vague and ambiguous. OK, so I know what it means literally. But
why
was he trying to get my attention? And what kind of attention are we talking about? The purely
platonic
kind of attention? Or could it be he was meaning a
different
kind of attention?

Well, obviously it was the first one, I think hurriedly, as we had that whole conversation in the car about just being friends. Except . . . I feel a nagging doubt. Except, in that case, what was happening out there then? Did I imagine it? Has it been so long I can’t even read the signals any more? In fact, were there any signals in the first place?

And, more importantly, what on earth am I doing wasting time even thinking about this? Letting out a gasp of frustration, I turn off the taps. The toilet attendant in the corner glances at me and I smile self-consciously and quickly hand her a few rupees for a paper towel. Honestly, what on earth’s got into me? I swear, it’s all the Taj Mahal’s fault. However hard you try to resist all this love stuff, it rubs off. Being here makes you think all kinds of crazy romantic things.

Like, for example, that Jack might fancy me and I might secretly want him to—

I catch myself. See! Totally bonkers. Forget mutual attraction, the only thing Jack and I share is loo roll.

Finishing drying my hands, I try to freshen up a bit. Thankfully I look slightly better than I did earlier and, in the absence of any make-up, I turn my attentions to my hair. Hmmm, now shall I leave it up or put it down? I wonder which Jack prefers—

Argh! I’m doing it again! Bloody Taj Mahal!

Leaving the toilets, I go back outside and head over to where I left Jack. Only the grounds have got even busier and for a moment it’s impossible to see him amongst the hundreds of tourists. Finally, after a few minutes, I spot our guide with his umbrella over by the fountains and I start making my way towards them . . . only, that’s funny, I can’t see Jack amongst the rest of the group. I scan the heads for his old fedora . . . Where is he?

A loud shriek of laughter pierces my thoughts, disturbing the respectful hush of the Taj Mahal, and I twirl around to see where it’s coming from. Then I spot her. Just a few feet away. A tall, skinny blonde with big boobs, laughing and joking as she poses for a photograph. A small crowd of tourists are staring. Not just because she’s obnoxiously loud, but because she’s also stunningly good-looking.
And she knows it.

Wearing an old straw hat, white T-shirt and a gorgeous sparkly Indian skirt that shows off her tiny waist, she’s flashing a million-dollar smile and tossing her hair around like she’s in a shampoo advert. Automatically, I look to see who’s taking the picture. It’s probably her equally good-looking boyfriend.

My eyes land on a man, his face obscured behind one of those big, black swanky cameras.

Hang on a minute. Isn’t that . . .?

‘Oh, hey, Ruby!’

I stare open-mouthed as a familiar tousled head reappears grinning from behind the huge zoom lens.

‘
Jack?
’

‘Lemme see, lemme see,’ interrupts the blonde in a loud American accent, bounding across like an overexcited puppy.

It’s like watching Pamela Anderson in slow-mo. Transfixed, I watch as she slips a long, slim arm around Jack’s shoulder, presses her ample chest up against his back and reaches for the camera around his neck. Flicking a button, she peers into the viewfinder.

‘It’s awesome! You’re so super-smart!’ she coos.

‘Oh please, I just pointed and pressed the button,’ he shrugs.

‘Nonsense! You’re way too modest,’ she scolds teasingly, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Honestly, I’ve never seen such a display of blatant flirting, I think indignantly, looking at Jack, who’s no doubt totally embarrassed by this stranger’s antics.

Except, wait a minute.
Is he blushing?

‘Um . . . Cindy, this is my friend Ruby . . .’ He tries to extricate himself.

The blonde reluctantly unlocks her lips from his stubble and swivels her eyes towards me. ‘Oh, hi,’ she says tightly, noticing me for the first time. She doesn’t look best pleased to see me. In fact, I’ve seen cats happier to see dogs.

‘Hi,’ I smile, feeling her eyes running up and down me like laser beams. I shift uncomfortably in my unflattering outfit of combat trousers and ancient grey hoody from Gap. Up until this moment, I hadn’t given much thought to what I’m wearing, primarily because this is the only outfit I have, and since arriving in Delhi my mind’s been focused on other things.

Until now.

Now, seeing myself through Cindy’s eyes, I’m suddenly brought up short. What must I look like? For the last forty-eight hours I’ve been sleeping and travelling in these clothes. I glance down at my trousers, they’re all crumpled, my hoody has an unidentifiable stain, and – god forbid – I look down at my feet and feel my toes literally curl.

What was I thinking?
OK, so my feet were cold, but still. It’s like I’ve had a total style lobotomy. I don’t care how frozen my feet were. Even if they had frostbite. There is never,
ever
, a good enough excuse to wear socks with sandals.

‘Cindy’s from LA,’ Jack begins explaining for my benefit. ‘She asked me if I’d take her photograph.’

‘Well, you can always trust a fellow American to know what they’re doing,’ she teases.

‘Cool,’ I nod, glancing up from my red, striped woolly toes to take in Cindy, who not only looks even more stunning up close, but is effortlessly put together. I’ve never been able to do accessories; I always end up feeling like a badly decorated Christmas tree. But she makes it look so easy, with silver jewellery, strings of beads, embroidered scarves, even that straw hat . . .

Hang on.

I suddenly realise she’s wearing Jack’s fedora and do a double take. I feel a curious stab of possessiveness. I’ve never seen him without that fedora. He never takes it off. Not for anyone.

Still, I’m being ridiculous. Who cares about a silly old hat, for goodness’ sake?

‘You know there’s a self-timer,’ I can’t help adding peevishly.

Cindy’s smile freezes slightly. ‘Yes, but it is so much easier to ask someone,’ she says, smiling coyly at Jack, ‘especially awesome photographers like this guy.’

‘Aw, please,’ he protests.

Yup, he’s definitely blushing.

‘Seriously, you’re better than some of the professional photographers I work with,’ she flirts.

‘Why, are you an actress?’ I blurt, before I can stop myself.

She gives a little tinkly laugh, as if that’s the funniest thing in the world. ‘No,’ she says, casually shaking out her hair. ‘I’m a bikini model.’

For a split second I feel myself reel.
She’s. A. Bikini. Model.

‘That’s nice,’ I nod, without missing a beat.

I see Jack’s jaw drop.

He catches me looking at him. ‘Um . . . Cindy’s travelling with her parents,’ he proffers, quickly pulling himself together.

‘I don’t usually travel with my folks,’ she adds hurriedly, ‘but they’re getting a little older now, and although I had a crazy schedule I said to myself, “No, Cindy, they’ve looked after you, now it’s your turn to look after them,” and so I cancelled everything. Like, literally everything,’ she says, turning to Jack, her expression serious. ‘Yoga, acupuncture, therapy, even a colonic!’

‘
A colonic?
’ I repeat.

‘I know, right?’ she nods earnestly, seemingly misinterpreting my incredulity, ‘but when it comes to my folks, my health comes second. It was way more important for me to be a good daughter. I just
had
to come along to make sure they’re OK.’ She turns to Jack and smiles bravely.

‘That’s really nice of you,’ he nods.

I glance at Jack in disbelief. I can’t believe he’s falling for this stuff.

‘Well, I think it’s really important to be selfless and do things for others, put them first, don’t you?’

Oh please. Next she’ll be saying she wants world peace.

‘We’re on a tour of the Golden Triangle, but they went back to the hotel early. Sightseeing can get very tiring for them.’

‘We’re actually just in the middle of a tour ourselves, aren’t we, Jack?’ I say pointedly, gesturing towards our guide.

‘Yeah, right, we should get going,’ nods Jack, snapping out of some kind of daze. Unlooping the camera from around his neck, he passes it back to her.

‘Well, if you feel like meeting for a drink later, we’re staying in town,’ she says, handing him back his hat, ‘and my parents like to go to bed early,’ she adds pointedly.

‘A drink sounds great,’ grins Jack, replacing his fedora.

‘But we have to get on the road,’ I remind him with a regretful smile.

Which is a shame, as obviously I would have loved to have met Cindy and her big boobs for a nightcap.

‘Yeah, Ruby’s right,’ he nods, ‘we have to get going.’

‘Oh, OK. Well if you change your mind, give me a call,’ she shrugs, brazenly grabbing his iPhone out of his pocket and punching in her number. Then, giving a little wave, she tosses her blonde mane over her shoulder and trots off down the path, hair bouncing, sparkly skirt swishing, like a supermodel on a catwalk.

Then it’s just the two of us again.

‘She was very pretty,’ I note, trying to sound all nonchalant. Well, I don’t want him thinking I’m
bothered
or anything.

‘Was she?’ he feigns surprise. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

We turn to each other and as Jack looks at me, I look back at him.

And suddenly, out of the blue, it’s like we’ve crossed some invisible line. Something’s changed between us. I’ve looked at Jack hundreds of times before, only this time he seems different.

Or is it me that’s different?

‘Come on,’ he says, gesturing towards the tour, ‘let’s go.’