The Love Detective (26 page)

‘A while!’ she snorts. ‘There must be cobwebs down there!’

I recoil in shock. I’ve always loved Diana’s honesty, but there’s honesty and . . .
cobwebs
? ‘Eww,’ I cringe, burying my face in my blanket.

‘Well seriously, you need to use it or lose it!’

Worry pricks. I venture gingerly out from the safety of my blanket. ‘You can’t lose it . . .
can you
?’

‘Muscles atrophy,’ she warns me darkly.

There’s a pause as I digest this information. Then:

‘I still can’t,’ I say resolutely.

‘This is the twenty-first century, of course you can!’ she cries. ‘There’s nothing wrong with having no-strings-attached sex. Think of it like going to the gym. You’re just exercising different muscles.’

‘No, you don’t understand, he’s with a girl.’

‘What girl?’ she demands.

‘Another tourist we met. He’s sitting with her in the bar downstairs.’

‘So what?’ she snorts dismissively. ‘You get yourself down there!’

‘She’s a bikini model.’

There’s dead silence on the other end of the line. All I can hear is traffic honking in the background, though to be honest it might as well be tumbleweed blowing. For the first time ever, my unflappable agent has been rendered speechless.

‘
A bikini model
?’ she repeats finally in a hushed voice.

It would appear these are three words that will strike fear into any woman. Even my scary agent Diana.

‘Plus-size?’ she adds hopefully.

‘’Fraid not,’ I reply flatly.

‘Well, you’ll just have to dazzle him with your sparkling wit and personality,’ she encourages, quickly recovering.

‘Thanks Diana,’ I say gratefully.

‘Either that or get him completely drunk and pounce on him.’

I raise a smile underneath my blanket.

‘That’s what I did with Eric, my first husband. It took three whisky sours and a
very
dirty martini . . .’ She breaks off and laughs throatily. Diana has one of the filthiest laughs I’ve ever heard. ‘I’m not kidding, what have you got to lose?’

‘My self-respect?’

‘Totally overrated,’ she fires back.

I raise another smile.

‘OK, well look sweetie, I’ve got to go into a meeting, but remember I’m your agent, you need to do as I say.’

It crosses my mind to point out that doing just that got me into this mess in the first place, but she’s already saying her goodbyes.

‘And just remember, she might be a bikini model, but we can eat cupcakes!’ she reminds me cheerfully, and hangs up.

Except I don’t think there are any cupcakes in Agra. Well, I haven’t seen any. If there were I’d probably sit in my room consoling myself with a dozen red velvets and be done with it. After all, not a lot comes close to a freshly baked cupcake topped with rich buttercream frosting. Not even sex.

I hold that thought, for like a second.

Oh, who I am kidding? Of course cupcakes aren’t better than sex with Jack!

Jumping determinedly out from underneath my blanket, I shake out my hair and give my teeth a quick brush. Diana is right, I tell myself firmly. I’m not going to hide away in my room because of some bikini model. So what if she has cellulite-free thighs and big boobs? I’m not going to be intimidated! I write books! (My last one even got a five-star review on Amazon, and no, it wasn’t from my mum.
At least I don’t think so.
) I can tell a good joke! (Or an even better one, depending on how much wine I’ve consumed.) And I’ve never,
ever
been beaten at Scrabble!

Filled with resolve, I reach for the door, then take one last look in the mirror. Saying that, it wouldn’t hurt to sex it up a little. I mean, personality only goes
so
far. I unzip my hoody to show a bit of cleavage, then experiment with folding my arms to give myself an extra bit of
oomph
. Standing back, I survey the results. Oh god, I look ridiculous. Especially next to Cindy, who has cleavage like the Grand Canyon. Plus it’s freezing.

And, firmly zipping myself back up, I flick off the light and go downstairs.

Jack spots me first. ‘Hey, there you are!’

‘Oh, hi,’ I smile, trying to sound all casual and surprised, as if I’ve just happened across them. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

‘I couldn’t stay away,’ quips Cindy, who’s dressed as if she’s in Aspen, in a designer fur-trimmed jacket and boots. She flashes a lip-glossed smile at Jack and flicks her hair in a way that says
hands off, he’s mine
.

For a brief moment my resolve wobbles, but Diana’s warning about cobwebs is still ringing in my ears, and I hold firm.

‘We were just having a beer, want one?’ Jack invites.

‘Yes, please, that would be great.’ I smile broadly and, ignoring Cindy’s glares, plop myself down between them.

‘So where have you been? I knocked on your door but you weren’t there,’ continues Jack.

‘I went to a local restaurant with Rocky; he taught me how to eat Indian food.’

‘
You ate local food?
’ gasps Cindy. ‘
Are you insane
? You know they won’t have washed anything in purified water and, let me tell you, if you had ice in your drink, you’re screwed.’ Giving a large shudder, she pulls out a huge bottle of hand sanitiser and starts vigorously squirting it on her hands, as if she might catch something by just talking about it. ‘I packed my own food. I mean, seriously, thank god for power bars and protein shakes!’

‘What did you eat?’ Jack asks me, looking impressed.

‘Chana Masala
. . .
Malai Kofta
. . .’ I clumsily try repeating the names.

‘I’m impressed!’ He grins.

I smile modestly, but inside I feel a flutter of pride. ‘It was all delicious.’

‘What did I tell you? India just takes a little while to get used to, and once you do—’

‘You’ll fall in love with it,’ I finish.

There’s a pause as our eyes meet and, just for a moment, I could swear—

‘I was just going to show Jack some photos of my trip,’ interrupts Cindy, brandishing her camera.

Well, whatever it was, it’s gone now, I reflect, trying not to feel disappointed as we both turn to her.

‘Oh my gawd, you’ve
so
got to see this one,’ she gasps, thrusting the camera under both our noses. ‘The hotel in Delhi was awesome – the infinity pool on the roof was
a-ma-zing
.’

It’s a picture of Cindy in a string bikini, by the pool.

‘I mean, just look at the view!’

She starts zooming in and we’re suddenly given a close-up of her impressive chest.

‘Oops,’ she laughs, before scrolling upwards to the skyline.

‘Nice,’ I murmur politely, not looking at Jack. My earlier confidence is fast waning. Trust me, it’s going to take a lot more than being able to get a seven-letter word at Scrabble to compete with
that
.

‘And what about this one?’

Needing no encouragement, she starts flicking through the photos on her camera. There’s Cindy posing with a cocktail, Cindy posing with a monkey, Cindy posing at the Taj Mahal . . . basically, lots of close-ups of Cindy. In fact, India seems to be there only as an afterthought.

‘Oh and wait, Jack, you just
have
to see me on the elephant,’ she exclaims, leaning in towards him so he can get a closer look at the screen.

And her cleavage. She went for the unzipping thing, only with a lot more success, I observe, although thankfully Jack doesn’t seem to have noticed.

‘Where was this taken?’ he asks, peering at the screen.

Cindy doesn’t look best pleased that he’s not focusing in on her. ‘Oh, that’s just some old castle-y thing in Jaipur,’ she says dismissively.

‘You mean the Amber Fort,’ he says knowledgeably. ‘One of the finest examples of Rajput architecture.’

‘Whatever,’ she shrugs. ‘It was kinda boring, to be honest, but the elephant ride up there was fun. Well, apart from the fact my folks were on one elephant, so I had to share with this girl who was kind of a downer . . .’

‘What’s so special about it?’ I ask, turning to Jack. I’m genuinely curious.

‘Well, it’s most famous for its amazing mirrored hall. It’s designed in such a way to refract light, so that you only need two candles, one at each end, to light the whole palace.’ He passes over the camera as Cindy keeps talking.

‘She’d had some fight with her boyfriend about something, she was pretty upset . . . He was the one who took the photo – really cute guy, body to die for – but I said to her, “Honey, listen, they’re just not worth it”.’

Holding the camera, I take a look at the photograph. My breath catches in the back of my throat.

‘Impressive, huh?’ says Jack.

I can see the fort in the background but I’m focused on the foreground. There’s Cindy on an elephant, and sitting next to her is a girl . . .

I zoom in, but I didn’t have to. I recognised her immediately.

Amy.

Chapter 23

Fast-forward to early the next morning, and I’m already dressed and waiting in reception for Jack to surface. I’m eager to leave. I couldn’t sleep at all last night for thinking about Amy. After the radio silence of the last few days, seeing a photograph of her is a relief. It’s alleviated my scary worst-case-scenario worries: she’s not lying dead in a ditch; she’s sitting on an elephant in a T-shirt and a sarong, looking tanned and healthy.

And upset
.

Because of that, the photograph has also managed to inflame my fears. If only she’d listened to me. I said it would all end in tears! What have they been rowing about? What’s happened? Is she all right? A million questions are racing through my head. I hate to think of Amy upset. She can be headstrong and stubborn and totally bloody selfish sometimes, but she’s still my little sister and I’m worried about her. If anything bad happened to her, I’d never forgive myself.

Which is why seeing that photograph has made me more determined than ever to find her. The picture was taken in Jaipur, which isn’t that far from here, and apparently Amy mentioned something about heading on to a town called Pushkar. At least Cindy thought so. Trying to get details out of Cindy was like asking a goldfish to remember what happened yesterday. Actually, I’d probably get more sense out of the goldfish.

Saying that, the one thing Cindy was 100 per cent sure about was that Amy wasn’t married yet. ‘I can spot a rock a mile away and there was nothing on her finger,’ she’d said categorically. ‘Trust me, girlfriend, he ain’t put a ring on it yet.’

‘There you are.’ I hear a voice and look up to see Jack walking in through the front gates. ‘I was just coming to wake you.’

‘Oh, I thought you were still in your room,’ I say, looking at him in surprise. Discovering the photograph had got my mind racing and I’d turned in soon after, leaving Jack and Cindy together. ‘I presumed you would have stayed up late drinking and still be asleep.’

‘No, I was outside talking to Rocky,’ he replies, his breath making little white clouds in the cold morning air.

‘Oh . . . well, I wanted to ask you a favour,’ I say, in the most business-like voice I can muster.

Jack raises his eyebrows.

‘I think my sister might be in Pushkar. I’m not certain; it’s hard to get information out of Cindy.’ I stop myself. Jack likes Cindy, he invited her for a drink last night, remember? ‘But anyway, I think it’s worth a shot. So I was wondering . . . I know you’re going to Udaipur, and you’ve been really kind to give me a lift this far.’ I can hear myself starting to ramble ‘ . . . and I don’t want to put you out.’
Get to the point Ruby, get to the point
, ‘ . . . but well, is there any chance . . .’

‘It’s on the way,’ he says evenly.

I stop talking and look at him in surprise. ‘It is?’

‘Well, I don’t have a map to hand, but I’m pretty sure,’ he nods.

‘Oh . . . wow,’ I smile, broadly. ‘That’s great. I really appreciate it, you’ve saved my life.’

‘What, again?’ His eyes flash with amusement.

Reminded of the train, I feel my cheeks go hot despite the chill. I’m never going to live that down. ‘So, are you ready to leave?’ I ask, briskly standing up.

‘Well actually, that’s why I was coming to find you,’ he says, his face falling serious. ‘There’s a bit of a problem.’

‘Problem?’ I feel a clutch of anxiety. It’s like my body’s on a flight-or-fight response the whole time, just bracing itself for the next disaster. ‘What problem?’

‘Something’s wrong with the car. Rocky says we won’t be able to leave for a couple of hours.’

‘Oh. OK.’ I feel a flash of disappointment. I’m eager to get on the road. Still, at least it’s nothing major.