The Love Detective

  As someone who spends her whole life head-to-toe in boring old black leggings and T-shirts, I’ve never realised clothes could be this beautiful, and for a moment it stops me in my tracks.

  ‘Hello, can I help you?’

  I snap back to see a tiny middle-aged lady appear from the back of the shop. Dressed in a beautiful peacock green sari, with a glossy black plait reaching down her back that is almost the same length as she is tall, she looks at me enquiringly through a pair of gold-rimmed glasses.

  ‘Mrs Gupta?’ I ask hopefully.

  ‘Yes, this is me,’ she nods.

  A smile of relief washes over me. ‘Hi, I’m Ruby . . . I spoke to you yesterday on the telephone,’ I begin hurriedly explaining, ‘about my sister.’

  The crease down her forehead disappears. ‘Ah yes,’ she says briskly, ‘you are the older sister of Amy Miller.’

  ‘Yes, that’s me!’ After all this time, just hearing someone say my sister’s name feels like a massive breakthrough.

  There’s a pause as Mrs Gupta peers at me and I feel jittery with expectation.

  ‘You don’t look anything alike,’ she observes, clicking her tongue.

  ‘Um . . . yes, I know . . .’ I nod, suddenly conscious that not only being heavier and darker, I’m a complete mess. Glancing down at my new clothes, I realise that after camping out in the desert they’re covered in dust and dirt. Plus, the only mirror I’ve looked in today has been a rear-view, so I dread to think what kind of state my face and hair are in. I swear, trying to keep clean and look pretty on a road trip is just impossible.

  ‘I’m more the tomboy of the family,’ I say with a weak laugh.

  Mrs Gupta nods, her lips pursed with disapproval. I have a feeling Mrs Gupta can actually be a bit scary.

  ‘So you are here because you need a sari as well? I have lots of beautiful silks.’ Walking across her shop floor, she starts pulling out rolls of the most beautiful material. ‘Or perhaps something ready-made would be better because of the time . . . Here, see, we have wonderful embroidered choli and lehenga.’ Plucking hangers off the rack, she begins briskly laying out gorgeous tops and matching skirts, ‘Beautiful salwaar kameez . . .’

  ‘Oh . . . no, no thank you,’ I say hurriedly. ‘I think there’s been some misunderstanding.’

  Mrs Gupta pauses and turns, her arms overflowing.

  ‘I’m just here to see my sister,’ I explain, ‘when she comes to collect her bridal sari.’

  She looks at me blankly. ‘But your sister has already collected her sari.’

  My heart suddenly freezes. ‘Already?’ I stammer. ‘But I thought she was coming today.’

  ‘She came very early, along with several other full-moon brides,’ nods Mrs Gupta. ‘I was almost still in my nightdress.’ She gives a little chuckle.

  I stare at her in horror, the shock and disappointment hitting me with full force.

  ‘I tell you, it is always busy at this time of year, but never like this,’ she continues chattering away, shaking her head. ‘Udaipur has become the mecca for weddings. This full moon I know of one dozen ceremonies, here alone! It is incredible – my seamstresses have been up all day and all night, the phone is ringing off the hook . . .’

  I’ve missed her, I can’t believe it. I was so close and I’ve missed her.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I snap back to see Mrs Gupta looking at me, a concerned expression on her face.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ I mumble, but I can feel tears pricking on my eyelashes and I blink them away furiously. ‘Did she leave an address perhaps, or a contact number?’

  ‘One moment, let me see . . .’ Dipping behind the counter, she pulls out a large ledger, almost as big as herself and, as she starts flicking through it, I cling onto the last bit of hope. ‘Ah yes, I have her email address. If you want I can give that to you . . .’

  But then it’s gone. ‘No, it’s OK . . . but thank you so much . . . I’m sorry to have bothered you . . .’

  ‘It is not a problem,’ she replies, waving a hand behind her head as if batting away any problems that might have been lurking, ‘and don’t forget, if you change your mind about a sari’ – plucking a card off the counter, she thrusts it at me – ‘I am the best in town.’

  Chapter 32

  Jack is leaning against the car, waiting for me, his face filled with expectation.

  ‘So? When do I get to meet this sister of yours?’ he says jokingly, but I can see the hope in his eyes.

  For a moment I can’t speak. I feel dazed by the turn in events. ‘You won’t,’ I say quietly, shaking my head.

  ‘What?’ His smile slips.

  ‘I’ve missed her. She’s already been and gone,’ I blurt out, and then unable to plug the dam a moment longer, I burst into floods of tears.

  He looks at me, almost paralysed, then groans loudly. ‘Oh god, I hate it when you do this.’ Reaching inside the car, he pulls out the toilet roll and unravels it, until there’s a long swathe of white tissue. He passes it to me and I take it gratefully.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I sniffle, ‘it’s just . . .’ I shake my head, my thoughts and emotions tumbling over each other. ‘I just don’t want her to get hurt, I don’t want her making the same mistakes as I’ve made . . .’ Everything’s jumbling together into one big sorry mess inside my head and I gulp back a lump in my throat, trying to stop the tears that are still springing from my eyes. ‘She’s my little sister, I’ve always looked after her . . .’

  ‘Look, don’t worry, we’ll find her,’ he tries to soothe me.

  I shake my head. ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘It’s never too late,’ he says, but this time his voice is firm.

  I glance up from the scrunched-up tissue in my hand and meet his gaze. I see a determination in his hazel eyes that I haven’t seen before.

  ‘What did the shopkeeper say exactly?’ he asks.

  I feel a prickle of frustration. I know he’s only trying to help, but why can’t men ever just listen and be sympathetic? Why do they always have to be practical and try and find a solution, when there isn’t one? Try and fix things that can’t be fixed?

  ‘What does it matter?’ I retort, ‘I can’t stop a wedding if I don’t know where and when it’s taking place.’

  ‘You were saying . . . about Mrs Gupta?’ he prompts again, ignoring my impatience.

  I give in. ‘Nothing much,’ I shrug, ‘just that Amy collected her sari really early this morning, along with a bunch of other full-moon brides—’

  ‘What did she call them?’ he interrupts.

  ‘Who?’ I frown. ‘Oh, you mean the other customers?’

  He nods, his brow creased as if deep in thought.

  ‘Full-moon brides. Why?’

  Jack’s face floods with realisation. ‘When’s the full moon?’

  ‘Tonight!’ exclaims a voice from the car, and we both twirl around to see Rocky spring up from the back seat like a dead man come back to life. ‘Remember what I told you? This is the most auspicious date in the astrological calendar!’ he cries excitedly, waving his arms around in the air. ‘Tonight all the planets will be in alignment! Tonight good fortune will fall on all the couples solemnising their marriage vows under these happy celestial skies! Tonight there will be so many weddings, it will be one big wedding!’ He breaks off breathlessly and beams at us, wide-eyed.

  ‘She must be getting married here in Udaipur,’ says Jack, turning to me, his eyes flashing with success.

  I feel a flash of hope, of elation, then: ‘But we’ll never find her,’ I shake my head, thinking of all the obstacles in our way. ‘We don’t know where to start looking.’

  ‘I do love a negative Brit,’ he grins, and my cheeks colour.

  ‘Look, Jack, you’ve done enough to help me already,’ I protest, ‘and I really appreciate it, but I’ll be fine on my own now. And, anyway, I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do now we’ve arrived.’

  ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong,’ he replies ev
enly. ‘I don’t have anything arranged until tomorrow.’

  As he removes one obstacle, I reach for another. ‘Mrs Gupta said there are over a dozen ceremonies taking place here in Udaipur alone.’

  ‘Well, if you’re not doing anything tonight, neither am I.’ He looks at me, challengingly.

  I feel a glimmer of possibility, and then: ‘What? You mean . . . you and me . . .?’

  He nods and flashes me a smile. ‘Wedding crashers.’

  Rocky seems to have made a remarkable and rather suspiciously fast recovery and now springs into the driving seat as we look for a place to stay. Only it’s not that easy. Udaipur, we soon discover, is fully booked. It’s not just wedding season, it’s high season, and the city is buzzing with tourists.

  Eventually we find a small guesthouse by the side of the lake. Tucked behind one of the luxury five-star hotels, it doesn’t overlook the water but it’s a fraction of the price.

  ‘Don’t worry, we have a magnificent view of Lake Pichola from our rooftop,’ the pretty teenage receptionist informs us as she leads us through the small walled courtyard and up the marble staircase, ‘and the world-famous Lake Palace Hotel. Did you know this is the setting for the James Bond movie, Octopussy?’

  ‘Yeah, I heard,’ nods Jack.

  ‘I’m sure you’ve heard this many times already,’ she laughs.

  As her face breaks into a smile, I feel a flicker of recognition. Gosh, she looks really familiar. Have I met her before?

  ‘Everywhere you go in Udaipur you will see posters saying “tonight’s movie: Octopussy” . . .’

  Don’t be silly, of course I haven’t met her.

  ‘ . . . but it is the same movie showing every night,’ she continues animatedly.

  And yet I still can’t help looking at her a little more closely. I’m usually really good with faces. I really feel as if I’ve seen her before.

  ‘But let me tell you a secret.’ She turns to me, meeting my gaze and wrinkling up her small, thin nose. ‘I never liked this movie.’

  Jack laughs and says something but I don’t catch it. I’m too distracted, rummaging through my memory, even though I know it’s impossible. Dressed in skinny jeans and a T-shirt, she looks like a million other teenagers back home. She must just remind me of someone, that’s all.

  ‘Ruby?’

  Jack’s voice snaps me back and I see him looking at me, questioningly. ‘You’re quiet, you OK?’

  ‘Yeah, fine . . . fine,’ I nod hastily, shoving the thoughts out of my mind. ‘Just a bit tired, that’s all.’

  ‘We drove from the desert,’ adds Jack for the receptionist’s benefit. ‘We camped there last night.’

  ‘Oh wow, how romantic,’ she smiles, her eyes wide.

  Jack and I exchange awkward glances. ‘Well, not exactly,’ I reply, having a flashback to me spooning Rocky – then really wishing I hadn’t.

  ‘So, this is your room.’

  As she stops by a door and unlocks it, we follow her inside. It’s perfect. Clean and light, there’s a large window with shutters and a small bathroom attached. There’s just one problem.

  ‘There’s only one bed,’ I say, my eyes going immediately to it.

  ‘Yes, is this not OK?’ she smiles, looking between us.

  ‘We’d prefer a room with twin beds,’ replies Jack tactfully, saving my blushes.

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t have any rooms like this.’ The receptionist shakes her head apologetically. ‘Only rooms with one bed.’

  ‘Well, in that case we’ll take two rooms,’ I say swiftly.

  The receptionist’s face falls. ‘I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. We only have one room left. It’s very busy – there are many tourists here, and also it is the wedding season.’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ nods Jack, catching my eye. ‘OK, well, no worries.’ He smiles one of his disarming smiles and her face relaxes. ‘This is great; thanks for all your help.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ The receptionist glances at me for reassurance.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ I smile cheerfully.

  ‘Oh, I am so glad,’ she smiles, brightening, ‘and if there is anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask,’ and, bidding us goodbye, she leaves to return to reception.

  As soon as the door closes behind her, Jack turns to me. ‘I’ll sleep on the floor.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I say dismissively, as if the thought had never crossed my mind. ‘We shared a bed in the desert, it will be fine.’

  A split second memory of Jack and me, together in the darkness, fires across my brain, and I feel my chest tighten. It was many things, but fine certainly wasn’t one of them.

  ‘That was quite something; you, me and Rocky.’ He raises an eyebrow and we both look at each other.

  Nope, definitely not fine.

  ‘We can sleep top to tail,’ I suggest.

  ‘Did you just say top to tail?’ The corners of his mouth twitch with amusement and I feel myself blush.

  ‘It’s something Amy and I used to do when we were little,’ I say hastily. Honestly, what am I? Five?

  ‘OK,’ he nods, ‘but first you have to take off your clothes.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I balk.

  ‘I said take off your clothes,’ he repeats, matter-of-factly. ‘I’ll get them laundered, we’re both filthy.’

  ‘Oh – right – yes, of course,’ I fluster. Cheeks blazing, I charge off into the bathroom and peel off my grubby trousers and T-shirt. I can’t give him my underwear; I’ll wash that myself in the sink. I re-emerge wrapped in a towel the size of a postage stamp. Trying to tug it down over the backs of my thighs whilst clutching it tightly against my chest, I awkwardly pass him my clothes.

  ‘Great, these should be ready in a couple of hours,’ he says, adding them to the large pile in the middle of the bed. ‘Anything else you need laundered? I’m taking the whole lot, it could all do with a good wash.’ Having already changed into a pair of shorts, he pulls off his T-shirt and chucks it on top.

  And then he just stands there, bare-chested, like it’s perfectly normal.

  Says me in a towel, I realise, quickly averting my eyes.

  ‘Um, well . . . actually, in that case . . .’ I end up giving him the rest of my things. I don’t have very much, but everything I do have is all dusty and dirty from the travelling. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ I offer as he scoops up the bundle of clothes into a sarong and ties it like a knapsack.

  ‘In that towel?’ he grins, and I redden. ‘No, don’t worry, chill out.’

  I smile gratefully and open the door for him.

  ‘You’ll need your energy for all that dancing we’re going to be doing later,’ he adds, pausing in the doorway. Then he’s gone, disappearing down the corridor.

  Chapter 33

  Closing the door behind him, I flop down on the bed. So, I made it. I’m here. After going on a crazy, magical mystery tour across Rajasthan, filled with forts and palaces, wonderful people and amazing experiences, I’m finally in Udaipur.

  I let out a long gratified sigh and gaze out of the window. If I crick my neck, I can just catch a glimpse of the Lake Palace hotel floating on the water. It’s immediately recognisable from the Bond movie. I smile to myself. There was me thinking I’d never been here before when in actual fact I’ve spent many a Christmas Day in Udaipur, watching Roger Moore give chase around these twisting, colourful streets.

  I yawn, a wave of tiredness washing over me. It was a long drive from the desert and I hardly slept last night. I close my eyes and am just thinking about the possibility of getting some sleep when there’s a knock on the door. It’s probably Jack; no doubt he’s forgotten something, I decide, getting up.

  ‘Don’t tell me, you’re missing a sock,’ I quip, pulling open the door.

  ‘I’m so sorry to bother you.’

  Only it’s not Jack, it’s the young girl from reception.

  ‘Oh, hi, sorry,’ I smile, slightly flustered, ‘I thought for a minute
you were someone else . . .’

  ‘Is this a bad time?’ Her eyes fall to my towel. ‘I can come back later.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I shake my head, and quickly tuck the towel in firmly around my chest. ‘My clothes are at the laundry.’

  ‘Because I wanted to ask you a question,’ she begins, then swallows hard and I realise she’s extremely nervous. ‘I was looking at you when you first arrived, as I thought I recognised you from somewhere . . .’

  ‘Oh my gosh, me too!’ I exclaim. I knew it! I never forget a face.

  ‘And I could not put my finger on it, but then when I went back downstairs it was quiet and so I started to read my book again, and I realised . . .’ She breaks off and looks at me, her eyes shining with excitement, ‘It’s you!’

  The whole time she’s had her hands folded across something she’s clutching to her chest and, as she holds it out to me, I realise it’s a book.

  My latest novel.

  ‘Ruby Miller!’ she continues, breaking into a smile as she points to my author photograph on the back cover. ‘You are my most favourite author!’

  ‘Oh . . . wow,’ I smile, both delighted and confused. It’s so great to meet one of my readers, and here in India! And yet that doesn’t explain why she looks so familiar.

  ‘I don’t want to trouble you, but would you sign it?’

  I snap back. ‘Yes, yes of course,’ I say readily, ‘please, come in.’

  ‘Thank you so much, Miss Miller—’

  ‘Please, call me Ruby,’ I insist.

  ‘Ruby,’ she nods, blushing, and follows me inside. I motion to a chair whilst I perch on the small ottoman at the foot of the bed. She smiles gratefully and, sitting down, passes me my book to sign.

  It feels so strange to see it. Here, in this little room, in a guesthouse in Rajasthan. Holding the book in my hands, I let my thumb flick through the pages. The whole time I’ve been here in India I haven’t thought of writing. For the first time in my life, I’ve been too busy living a plotline worthy of one of my own novels to want to escape into my imagination. But now sitting here, my writer’s block seems like a thing of the past. I feel a renewed energy, I feel inspired again—