My phone’s incessant burbling is stopping me thinking straight, and with my free hand I impatiently snatch it from my pocket.
It’s Diana.
‘I’m so sorry, I must have picked it up by mistake.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Your wallet. You must have left it on my desk.’
My other hand stops rummaging. I suddenly remember the person with a bucket collecting for charity outside the office and emptying my wallet of loose change. I was still holding it in my hand when I walked into Diana’s office.
‘I’m such an idiot.’
I snap to. ‘Don’t worry about it, I’m just glad it’s not been stolen!’ I say with relief. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time. ‘Where are you? I’ll come and pick it up.’
‘Would you?’ She sounds relieved. ‘Oh sweetie, that would be so helpful. I’m in a pub in Covent Garden, the red something or other, you can’t miss it – it’s the big white building right across from the Tube . . .’
‘OK, I’ll see you soon.’
‘Thing is, I’ve got to dash off from here in ten minutes to go to a publishers’ dinner.’
Ten minutes? I do a quick calculation. If I run I think I can make it. ‘Hang on. I’ll be straight over.’
Chapter 41
Apologising profusely to the vendor at the flower stall, I dash across the street and start heading towards Soho. It’s rush hour and the pavements are packed with pedestrians. Dodging people and taxis I race through the back streets, my heart thumping in my chest. God, I’m really quite unfit. In my head I try to create a mental map to work out the fastest route. Now’s one of those times I wish I had an iPhone.
No sooner has the thought fired across my brain than I think about Jack. My mind flashes back to the day we spent together in Pushkar looking for that silly phone charger, and for a moment I’m back there again. I drag myself reluctantly into the present moment. I have to stop this. It’s hopeless.
Reaching Charing Cross Road, I slow down and hit the pedestrian crossing. Two lanes of traffic are streaming past. Come on, come on . . . I hop up and down impatiently. Oh, sod it. Without waiting for the green light, I start to cross, dodging between a space in the cars. A double-decker bus lurches forwards, blocking my way, and for a moment I’m stranded in the middle of the road, caught between the lanes of traffic jostling for space.
Then suddenly it moves, revealing a little white Ambassador car.
I do a double take.
It appears, as if from nowhere, and I stare at it in disbelief. That’s so weird, it looks just like . . . but I don’t finish the thought as I raise my eyes and I suddenly get a straight view of the driver.
It’s Rocky.
Everything seems to freeze and the noise of London disappears, as if someone just hit mute. He’s staring straight ahead. I can see his side profile, the familiar outline of his glasses perched on his nose, the tufts of white hair . . . then almost as if he knows I’m here, he abruptly turns towards me. Our gazes meet and, dipping his head, he looks right at me above his glasses. His eyes are a piercing blue, bluer than I even remember, and taking a hand off his steering wheel he gives a small wave of hello – or is it goodbye?
Despite my thick woollen coat and scarf, I feel a shiver run down my spine. What the . . .? But it’s impossible. Rocky can’t be here, in his little white car. I’m seeing things. I’m going crazy.
Suddenly I can hear him speaking. ‘You must have faith, Ruby,’ he’s saying quietly. ‘Faith, Ruby, you must have faith. You must trust in the universe . . .’
Suddenly a blast of horns snaps me back. I come to, the traffic moves, there is no little white car, it’s gone, vanished as quickly as it appeared. My head spinning, I quickly make it to the other side of the road, and for a moment I lean dizzily against a wall, trying to collect my thoughts.
What just happened there? I close my eyes, my mind reeling, and I’m suddenly reminded of his prediction, him reading my palm. I’d forgotten all about it, but now it comes rushing back. What was it he said? Without any prompting, I hear him as clearly as if he were standing right next to me.
‘You will meet another man, but there will be some problem, see how the line breaks here?’
I think about Jack. Well, he was right about that.
‘A break in this line signifies a setback, a difficulty to be overcome.’
And for a split second I’m transported back to India, back to that tiny restaurant in Agra, with its vivid blue walls and aroma of exotic spices.
‘What kind of difficulty?’
‘You have said no to him once.’
I wrack my brains. But that doesn’t make any sense.
‘I see a lion, a big lion, but this lion is red . . .’
Oh for god’s sake, none of it makes any sense! Snapping to, I open my eyes. Grey inner-city London greets me and I quickly pull myself together. Come on, Ruby, what are you doing? This is crazy. I look back into the road, but the traffic has moved. The double-decker bus is far up the road and there’s no sign of any white Ambassador car. Honestly, I’m seeing things. What next? A lion in the middle of central London? I mean, come on.
Giving myself a brisk shake, I glance at my watch. Shit, and now I’m late. Setting off quickly down a street, I soon find myself in the middle of Covent Garden. I race towards the Tube. Gosh, there are so many tourists! Weaving in and out, I finally reach the station and look across the street to the large white building on the corner. I stop dead.
‘Sometimes it is difficult to understand now, but it will all make sense one day.’
There, ahead of me, is a painted sign outside the pub. ‘THE RED LION.’
My whole body breaks out in goose bumps. It’s a coincidence. A freaky coincidence. It has to be. But I don’t stop to think about it, I can’t, I don’t have time. Pushing open the door, I hurry inside. It’s one of those upmarket gastro pubs, with stripped oak floors and a recessed dining area. It’s already full and I briefly scan the tables, but I can’t see her. Or more to the point I can’t hear her.
‘Excuse me!’ Spotting a waiter, I charge over. ‘I’m looking for Diana Diamond?’
The waiter looks at me blankly.
‘Tall, grey-haired lady, American,’ I add, still catching my breath.
His face registers. ‘I’m afraid she just left.’
‘Left?’ My voice comes out a little more high-pitched than I would like and I look at him in surprise. ‘Did she leave a wallet?’
The waiter furrows his brow, doubtfully. ‘A wallet? No, I don’t think so . . .’
She must have had to dash off; she’s probably left it behind the bar or something. Still, it’s funny she didn’t text to tell me that. ‘Could you check?’ I ask urgently.
The waiter pulls an impatient expression that makes it clear, in no uncertain terms, that he’s got better things to do than look for some girl’s missing wallet, but he nods dutifully and disappears.
Meanwhile I dig out my phone. Nope, no messages.
‘Ruby?’
I hear a voice behind me. Low and distinctive, it makes the hairs on my neck stand up. I’d recognise that voice anywhere.
Jack?
I turn around. He’s standing just a couple of feet away. What the . . .?
‘I believe I just met your agent, Diana. She had to rush off to a dinner. She asked me to give you this.’ He reaches into his pocket and holds out my wallet.
My heart is thudding loudly in my ears, only this time it’s not from running. I can’t believe it. I’m seeing things again. This can’t be real.
‘Cat got your tongue?’ he jokes, but I can tell he’s nervous.
Our eyes meet. No, this is real.
‘I’m sorry.’ My words come tumbling out. ‘I didn’t mean to leave without saying goodbye—’
‘Hey, it’s fine, you don’t need to explain,’ he shrugs it off quickly, looking embarrassed.
‘No, but I do,’ I say desperately. ‘You see my sister calle
d and I was trying to find my phone and I knew you had a torch in your backpack . . .’ I’ve rehearsed this speech a million times in my head, imagined what I would say if I saw him again, but now it all comes out in one breathless stream, my words tripping over themselves. ‘I found the engagement ring,’ I blurt.
For a moment, there’s a pause, then his face floods with realisation.
‘You didn’t think . . .?’ he begins, and I nod.
‘I thought a lot of things,’ I say quietly.
And then I tell him. About how I’d jumped to all the wrong conclusions, the message from my sister, catching the bus to Jodhpur, their decision to wait to get married. In the darkened corner of a pub in Covent Garden, over several glasses of white wine and as many hours, it all comes pouring out. Then I tell him about the women on the plane . . .
‘You met them?’ He’s incredulous.
‘Yes,’ I nod, ‘isn’t that a coincidence?’
‘Or serendipity,’ he says quietly.
And then it’s his turn. He tells me about his father and how he’d learned of his secret, about the ring and how he’d arranged to meet with a jeweller in Jaipur to get the stone re-set and cleaned, ‘Because Dad wanted it to be perfect,’ and why it was important to him to travel to India to keep his promise. ‘He gave up everything for me,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘He sacrificed the woman he loved and I wanted her to know why. Not just because it was Dad’s dying wish, but because I felt somehow responsible.’
‘Responsible, how?’ I ask.
‘Because I was the reason Dad never went back to India and married the woman he loved,’ Jack replies quietly. ‘I was that unborn child.’
And all at once I understand what he meant by life being complicated, and yet love, real true love, is strong enough to withstand it all.
Then he talks about us. About how the morning after I’d gone, he’d driven around the city with Rocky for hours looking for me, ‘Until I figured you’d run out on me because you’d changed your mind about us,’ he says, his gaze meeting mine to confirm that he’s wrong. ‘Though Rocky said I shouldn’t give up, he said I had to say hello from him when I saw you again.’
I look at him, surprised. ‘He did?’
‘Yeah, he seemed pretty convinced I’d see you again,’ he smiles, almost shyly, then peers at me. ‘What is it?’
‘Oh nothing,’ I shake my head. ‘It’s just something really weird happened on my way here.’
‘Weird, how?’
‘Well, I know this is going to sound totally nuts . . .’ I pause, wondering how I can say it, then give up and just come out with it. ‘I saw Rocky driving his Ambassador through the middle of London. I mean, I know it couldn’t have been, but I could have sworn it was him . . .’ I break off with an embarrassed laugh. ‘Isn’t that bizarre?’
Jack looks at me, as if deep in thought.
‘Not as bizarre as the email I found this morning,’ he replies after a moment. ‘It was sent weeks ago but had somehow ended up in my junk folder. It was from the car rental company in India I’d booked, asking me why I’d never turned up at Delhi Railway Station to meet the driver.’
‘What? But . . .’ I break off in confusion. ‘But then who was Rocky?’
Jack shakes his head. ‘Who knows? Our fairy godmother?’
It’s a joke and I laugh. But maybe he’s right, I reflect, thinking back to our road trip across Rajasthan. If it hadn’t been for Rocky and his little white car, none of it would ever have happened: the Taj Mahal, the desert, Udaipur . . . I recall his words when he saw us together in Udaipur. ‘My job is done.’ At the time I dismissed it, but now . . .
Now I can’t help wondering if he appeared to us at Delhi Station for a reason; if we didn’t really break down in the desert; if sitting next to the women on the plane wasn’t just some bizarre coincidence; if somehow it was all part of his plan to bring me and Jack together. It sounds crazy, more than crazy, and maybe it’s just my overactive imagination blurring the lines between reality and fantasy. I mean, it must be, mustn’t it? That kind of stuff’s impossible.
And yet, there’s something about India. Something about that mystical land that makes anything and everything seem possible; a faraway place of sacred lakes and romantic legends in which you can travel back in time; of kingdoms where astrologists are able to read your fortunes in the stars, and palm readers tell you of your destiny.
‘So I hear you turned me down.’
‘What?’ I look up to see Jack smiling at me ruefully.
‘Diana wanted you to meet me for a coffee, but you said no.’
My face floods with sudden comprehension. Of course, that day Diana and I had lunch, the friend she wanted me to meet for coffee—
‘That was you?’ I gasp incredulously, but already I can feel the incredulity falling away. Of course. It all makes perfect sense now.
He laughs good-naturedly but, before I can explain, we’re interrupted by a rowdy after-work crowd, who spill over onto our table. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ he says. Standing up, he holds out my coat so I can slip my arms inside, then walking over to the bar he pulls out his wallet. ‘I just need to pay the bill.’ A waiter hands him a card terminal and, as he puts in his credit card, I glance at it. Jack Simon.
I have a flashback to the last prediction and my breath catches inside me. ‘Your last name’s Simon?’
Jack turns to look at me. ‘Yes, why?’
Inside I feel a little explosion of joy, but I just smile nonchalantly and shake my head. ‘Oh, no reason, it was just something Rocky said.’
We walk outside into the evening darkness. For once the forecasters were right, it’s started snowing, sugar-coating the pavements and whirling snowflakes around our heads.
‘So why are you in London?’ I ask, as we pause under a streetlight.
‘I’ve got a connecting flight,’ he replies evenly.
I feel a crush of disappointment. That wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.
‘What time?’
He checks his watch. ‘Oh, about an hour ago.’
You see, that’s the thing about love – just when you think you’ve got it all worked out, it has a habit of surprising you.
‘So, what else did Rocky say?’ As he moves towards me, I feel his warm breath on my cheek.
‘That I was very lucky,’ I reply, lifting my face to his.
Our eyes meet and, as he holds my gaze, he smiles. ‘Well in that case . . .’ Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me against him. ‘That makes two of us,’ he says, kissing me.
And it’s there, a million miles from India, on a snowy pavement in London, that the mystery of love finally works its magic.
The Love Detective Page 33