The Love Detective

by Alexandra Potter

  And there’s now. Trying to mount a camel.

  Believe me, lots of grunting and groaning had ensued. Adding to this humiliating experience, it had taken two pairs of hands – belonging to Mohan the camel owner and Rocky – to push my backside over the top. Even worse (and, trust me, at this point I didn’t think it could get much worse), they both made such a palaver of huffing and puffing, as if I’m a total heifer. To call it mortifying doesn’t even begin to come close.

  Jack was already on his camel, of course. He’d jumped – nay, leaped – up there like a professional gymnast vaulting over a horse. I eventually followed, legs akimbo with my bottom in the air, to make it onto the funny little stool-like saddle. With my face all flushed and hair all over the place, I tried hard not to look at Jack. Well, it’s not exactly the entrance you want to make, is it?

  But anyway, I seem to be getting the hang of it now.

  ‘Come on, giddy up,’ I instruct, quickly banging my heels against the camel’s sides to try and gee him on.

  See! Now I’m up here, all those pony classes are fast coming back to me. This is going to be a doddle.

  ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ asks Jack, glancing back at me with concern.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I nod confidently. ‘I’m just getting him into a rising trot.’

  ‘Rising trot?’ repeats Jack, shooting me a quizzical look.

  ‘Oh, don’t you know the rising trot?’ I try to keep the smugness out of my voice, but I can’t help it. Finally, something I know more about than him. ‘There are two beats to the trot, so on the first you rise up out of the horse’s saddle and on the second you sit in the saddle. To keep a rhythm you count one-two, rising to one and sitting to two.’

  ‘Actually, I think a camel is a bit different to a horse—’

  ‘Nonsense,’ I dismiss. ‘So it’s one-two, one-two, one-two . . .’ I keep jabbing the camel with my heels – gosh, it’s really being stubborn. It gives a loud belch and keeps plodding along.

  ‘Ruby, look, I really think you should be careful . . .’

  I tut loudly. ‘Oh, you Americans, you’re always so careful about everything. We English are practically born in the saddle.’

  Well OK, perhaps that’s only true of the royal family. Personally I was born in the local infirmary, but still.

  The camel continues bumping along with its weird gait and I continue bumping along with it. Not for the first time do I wish I was wearing a sports bra. Wincing, I have a flashback to me at my first (and last) gymkhana and my teacher telling me to take control of my pony. I remember, I had a right little madam called Snowflake, who refused all the jumps and tried to throw me off into the sandpit. I was gutted. I really, really wanted one of those shiny satin rosettes.

  I feel a stirring of old ‘I’ll show you’ determination. I feel as if I’m on Snowflake all over again. Right, OK. Gathering strength in my thighs, I throw the scarf I bought from the market around my face, Bedouin-style, and with all the force I can muster, dig in my heels.

  Lawrence of Arabia, eat your heart out!

  Suddenly the camel lets out a loud shrieking growl and bolts. Only, it’s a bit more than the rising trot. It’s more like a gallop.

  Oh my god!

  Thrown around on the small stool, I nearly go flying and have to frantically cling onto the reins as I’m propelled forwards. Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD!

  ‘Ruby?’ shouts Jack, as I go thundering past him, hooves flying.

  ‘Jack!’ I scream at the top of my lungs, my voice being whipped away by the wind. ‘Jack!’

  But it’s hopeless. As I go tearing over the scrubland, I glance back and see a whole caravan of people behind me. Mohan is yelling and chasing after me in his long white robe and bright red turban. Rocky is following. And then there’s Jack. All seeming to blur into the distance.

  Oh Crikey Moses, this is a whole world away from Snowflake and the local gymkhana . . . I turn forwards again to see a steep sand dune looming up ahead, and feel the camel accelerate.

  Argh!

  Abandoning the reins, I throw my arms around the camel’s neck and squeeze my eyes tightly shut. At least this way I won’t see the ground as I hit it . . .

  And then, as suddenly as the camel bolted, it stops dead. Gingerly, I open my eyes and see we’re at the top of the dune, I’m still on the camel, and I’m in one piece.

  Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.

  ‘Miss Ruby!’ I hear Rocky’s voice and a few moments later he appears, scrabbling over the top of the dune, panting heavily. ‘Thank gracious me!’

  Next, the bright red turban comes into view and Mohan appears, leading the other camel, followed by a straw fedora, and Jack.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Perched up high on his camel, Jack looks at me with concern.

  ‘Erm yes, fine . . . fine, thanks,’ I reply, trying to steady my breathing. Oh lord, how embarrassing. Now I’m safe, my fear has been replaced by waves of humiliation.

  ‘So that was the rising trot, hey?’ He raises his eyebrows and I can see the flicker of a smile playing on the corners of his lips.

  ‘Just thought we’d have a little gallop there, didn’t we?’ I pat the flank of the camel, and it belches loudly. ‘It was, er, invigorating,’ I add, averting my eyes and glancing at Mohan, who’s surveying me.

  ‘Um, great camel you have here,’ I smile.

  He doesn’t reply, just continues to gaze at me steadily.

  ‘Just as long as you are safe,’ nods Rocky, ‘that is all that matters.’

  ‘Oh yes, thanks, I’m perfectly fine, it was all under control,’ I smile, trying to be all breezy and nonchalant. ‘In fact, I could tell the camel was really responding to my commands . . .’ I falter as I realise everyone is now staring at me. ‘ The, er, relationship between man and beast is quite something, isn’t it, Mohan?’

  No reply. He just keeps staring at me. I blunder on.

  ‘It’s almost symbiotic . . . a mutual respect . . . a sort of master and servant . . .’

  ‘Ruby.’

  Jack’s voice penetrates and abruptly I stop talking. ‘Yes?’

  Slowly, he raises his hand and points behind me. ‘Look.’

  ‘Huh?’ Frowning in confusion, I turn around and look in the other direction.

  And then I see it.

  On the horizon is the most amazing sunset I think I’ve ever seen. A blazing kaleidoscope of reds and oranges. It’s as if the sky is on fire.

  Wow.

  All thoughts of my sore bottom vanish as the breath catches in the back of my throat and I gaze at it, mesmerised by the colours and intensity. It’s incredible. Far into the distance, I can see other camels silhouetted against the glowing sky, their black, stick-like figures moving slowly across the horizon. I watch them with awe and wonderment. It’s so beautiful. It’s so romantic.

  Uh-oh.

  India has gone and done it again. Because, as hard as I try to resist, I can’t. It oozes romance out of its pores without even trying. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it . . .

  Chapter 30

  An hour later and we’re sitting out in the middle of the desert, a campfire burning. Food has been brought from the nearby village, along with tents, and after we’ve feasted on the most delicious thali, a woman appears in traditional tribal dress. Accompanied by two men playing instruments, she proceeds to perform a desert gypsy dance. It’s as haunting as it is thrilling.

  With nothing but the flames of the fire to illuminate her and the flash of coins on her veil, she leaps and swirls her mirrored skirts in the sand to the seductive sounds of beating drums and wailing voices. Her hands, her hips, her head, all move in a frantic feverish rhythm that becomes faster and faster, until she’s whipped into a trance-like ecstasy, as she spins around and around and around.

  Afterwards we remain around the campfire, listening to the crackle of the flames and Mohan’s low, hypnotic voice as he tells us mesmerising stories of mysticism, astrology
and reincarnation.

  ‘What is taking place on earth is nothing but a mirror to what is happening in the heavens. We are on a wheel of life, like the universe itself. This is not our first life and this is not the first universe. There have been many, more than even the grains of sand in this desert . . .’

  He pauses and gestures at the space all around us. ‘How long does one single universe last?’ He turns to me, his dark eyes shining in the light from the flames.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I answer quietly, shaking my head.

  His lined face breaks into a smile and I catch the perfumed scent of his tobacco as he exhales. ‘It is more than we can dream of . . . the universe is created by Lord Brahma, preserved by Lord Vishnu and destroyed by Lord Shiva. One day and night to Lord Brahma is more than four billion years to us, and it is only when he has lived a lifetime, that the universe is destroyed so that it can again be recreated . . .’

  I listen, trying to grapple with the timescale, but he’s right. It’s too mind-blowing to comprehend; it’s beyond even my imagination.

  ‘And so this great cycle of life goes on, like the breath in our bodies and the stars above us in the sky, we are all forever dying and being reborn . . .’ He pauses to glance around at each of us. ‘There is an amazing harmony in the universe, the stars, the planets, mankind, we are all as one. But what is most wonderful of all is that everything is perfectly timed, more so than even the most expensive watch you can find on the wrist of a rich man . . .’

  Mohan falls silent and, after a few moments, bids us goodnight and goes to tend to his camels. Rocky accompanies him, and for a little while Jack and I sit quietly, our bellies full, our minds filled with his powerful words.

  ‘It’s pretty amazing here, isn’t it?’ says Jack after a few moments.

  I turn to him and suddenly I’m aware that it’s just the two of us. I feel a familiar prickle on my skin, a fluttering in my stomach. I swallow hard. ‘Yeah . . . it’s nice,’ I add, trying to make my voice sound casual, like it’s no big deal. When, of course, the opposite is true.

  If I was intoxicated by India before, all these tales of heavens and the stars and being as one have seduced me even further. Try as you might, India will work its magic on even the hardest cynic. If it’s not the wedding season, or the Taj Mahal, it’s the dazzling colours and seductive scenery.

  But I’m determined not to have a repeat performance of what happened at the Taj Mahal. No siree. I’m not going to fall under the influence and go gaga after Jack. Not this time. And certainly not after Cindy, I remind myself firmly. I mean, if Jack thinks I’m going to be another notch on his bedpost, he’s got another think coming.

  ‘I mean, have you seen these stars?’ Flopping onto his back, Jack stares up at the glittering canopy above our heads. Despite the glow of the moon, the sky is awash with constellations.

  I nod dumbly, using every ounce of self-will not to gasp in wonderment. Out here in the desert, it feels as if we’re the only two people in the entire universe.

  ‘Look, there’s Orion,’ he says, tracing the constellation.

  ‘Hmmm,’ I say, noncommittally. This is all getting a bit too dangerously romantic for my liking. I have to do something, and quick.

  ‘You don’t think they’re amazing?’ He turns to me, and I can see the flames of the fire casting a flickering light on his dumbfounded expression.

  They’re incredible, truly incredible, I think silently, but I need to change the mood.

  ‘Yes, but all the stars are dead, aren’t they?’ I force myself to reply, ‘So in actual fact we’re looking at dead things.’

  Jack turns to look at me and shakes his head. ‘You know, you really are a total contradiction. You never cease to amaze me – I still can’t work you out.’

  I smile awkwardly. If only he knew, I’m actually pretty simple.

  ‘So tomorrow we’ll be in Udaipur,’ he says, giving up and changing the topic, ‘the end of our road trip.’

  ‘Yes,’ I nod, feeling a sense of relief. But it’s also tinged with disappointment.

  ‘What will you do?’ I ask. ‘I mean, after I’ve gone to meet my sister?’

  ‘Oh, there’s a few things I need to sort out,’ he says vaguely, looking back at the flames.

  I hesitate, then, ‘Jack,’ I say boldly, ‘can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Sure.’

  With it poised on my tongue, I hesitate again, nervously. ‘You’re not a jewel smuggler, are you?’ I finally blurt.

  Jack looks at me and suddenly lets out a roar of laughter. His mouth opens crocodile-wide, showing off rows of white American teeth. ‘That has to be the funniest thing I’ve ever heard,’ he says when he finally stops laughing.

  My cheeks flame. ‘It’s just that I don’t know anything about you, or why you’re here,’ I begin trying to explain, ‘and you were in the jeweller’s in Jaipur and I, well—’

  ‘Just put two and two together and came up with a million?’ he grins.

  I feel suddenly foolish. But still curious. ‘Well, are you?’ I persist.

  ‘No, though I almost wish I was – it sounds kind of exciting.’

  I shake my head. ‘I just don’t know anything about you.’

  ‘Yes you do,’ he disagrees, ‘I’m an architect. I have a terrible line in jokes . . . and I wear this crazy old hat.’ He tips his fedora at me, and flashes me a smile.

  ‘So why were you on that train if you can afford to fly?’ I challenge.

  ‘You really want to know?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, emboldened.

  ‘OK, well . . . I’m terrified of flying,’ he confesses. ‘There, I’ve said it.’

  I look at him in shock. ‘You? Scared of flying? But you’re not scared of anything!’

  ‘And I was in Goa overseeing the building of a new school; I do some work for a charity.’

  The surprises are coming thick and fast.

  ‘Anything else?’ He turns to me, his eyebrows raised.

  I hesitate, about to say no, nothing, and yet . . .

  ‘Why are you going to Udaipur?’ My words come out in a rush. ‘You said it was to keep a promise?’

  There’s a pause, as he seems to absorb the question. ‘That’s a little more complicated,’ he says finally.

  ‘Complicated, how?’

  ‘Life’s just complicated, that’s all,’ he shrugs, and as he turns away towards the dying flames, it’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it any more. ‘The fire’s going out, I think it’s time to go to bed.’

  I was right. Whatever it is he’s not telling me, the subject is most definitely closed.

  Bed is a tent. And one that Jack and I are sharing, I suddenly realise as, getting up from the fire, he folds back the heavy tarpaulin and motions me to follow.

  ‘Mohan and Rocky are in the one over there,’ he says, pointing to the other tent, pitched a few hundred yards away. ‘This one’s ours.’

  I don’t know why this hadn’t crossed my mind earlier, considering there are only two tents, and four people. But then maths has never been my strongest subject.

  ‘Um, great,’ I smile, suddenly feeling ridiculously nervous.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Jack catches my expression.

  ‘Oh – um, nothing,’ I say hastily. ‘I’m just a bit scared of creepy crawlies.’

  Which is true. The last time I found a spider in the shower I had to call Mrs Flannegan over to get it out. Now that’s what I call scared. Getting your elderly neighbour, who uses a walking stick, to come and rescue you, isn’t just scary, it’s pretty horrifying.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got a flashlight, I’ll check for scorpions.’

  ‘Scorpions?’ I gasp. Shit. And I thought spiders were scary. ‘There are scorpions?’

  ‘None that are deadly, as far as I know,’ he nods, digging out a torch from the pocket of the small daypack he always carries around with him. Switching it on, he shines an illuminated beam into the pitch darkness inside the tent
. ‘OK, let’s have a look . . .’

  Suddenly I’m so very happy to be sharing a tent with Jack. Relieved, actually.

  Flicking the torchlight into corners and lifting up blankets like a man who knows what he’s doing, he soon declares the tent scorpion free. ‘Nothing’s going to bite you tonight,’ he says, turning the beam towards me.

  I laugh weakly.

  ‘So, which is your side?’

  ‘Um, sorry?’

  ‘The bed,’ he says, motioning towards the layers of mattress rolls laid out on the ground sheet, on which are piled thick blankets and cushions.

  ‘Oh . . . either, I don’t mind,’ I say, trying to act all cool and casual, but inside I feel absurdly nervous. As if I’m about to sleep with someone for the first time. Which, I suppose technically I am, in a way, except—

  ‘OK, cool, well I’ll have this side then,’ he shrugs and, putting the torch between his teeth, kicks off his boots and starts unbuttoning his trousers.

  Oh my god, he’s going to take them off!

  I stare, frozen by his striptease, then snap to. ‘Um yeah, sure,’ I stammer, quickly turning around to face the other way before I see something I shouldn’t. With my back to him, I slip off my trainers and quickly dive under the blankets fully clothed.

  Behind me, I can hear Jack undressing, the sound of a belt buckle being undone, the soft thump of items of clothing landing on the ground. Then the blankets lift and he slips in next to me.

  ‘Mmm, comfy,’ he murmurs approvingly.

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ I reply, trying to sound all cheery and not in any way freaked out by the situation.

  And then we both fall silent. Neither of us speaks. There’s just the sound of us both breathing. Except, that suddenly sounds really loud. In fact, even the slightest rustle of a blanket is deafening. Every noise seems amplified somehow, every movement exaggerated. I lie very still. I daren’t move in case I touch Jack. I have no idea what clothes he’s wearing. Or if he’s wearing any clothes at all. I mean, what if he’s naked?

  Naked? Oh my god, why did I just think about Jack being naked? My stomach flutters and I try to steady my breathing. Do not think about that, Ruby; don’t even think about that.