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Soulmate: Chapter 1

Page 2 of 7

"On her way to India."

I said "What?" again, only this time it was a croak. How long had I slept for? Georgina had partied hard all night like the rest of us. No way had she packed her bags and traipsed out the door after all those Tequila Slammers.

"You're kiddin' me, right?"

The bath guy smiled, then settled back down into the tub, beefy arms tucked behind his head, as though he was lounging in an enamel hammock. He wasn't going to put me out of my misery quickly. "I think we danced together last night," he murmured with a wink.

I tried to ignore the damp, sweat stains under his arms. "Who? You and Georgina?" I asked, hoping to get him back on the subject of my seemingly wayward cousin.

"Nah! Me and you!"

And before I could mutter a denial, he tipped his head back and erupted into the chorus of Bruce Springsteen's 'Born to Run'.

I recoiled. Nigel had one helluva voice. Deep, rich and powerful. But his timing could not have been worse. My headache exploded. His heartfelt, husky rendition drew a chorus of "Nigel!" and "Shut up, you daft bugger!" from the hallway.

The rugby-playing plumber - I remembered him now. Knowing my weakness for sportsmen and guitarists, Georgina seemed hell bent on introducing me to every available man in Oxford who fit into either of those two categories.

She also seemed intent on abandoning me with a houseful of near strangers who were soon to wake up hungry, thirsty and very hung over.

I fingered my snarled hair. "India? Are you sure?"

He nodded. "She's gone to teach some computer courses at her company's offices in Delhi. I happened to be up and about when she was looking for her knickers."

I hoped he was referring to the clean stack of underwear in the airing cupboard, but with Georgina you could never be too sure.

"She was running late. She was going to leave you a note, but she didn't have time. She said she'll ring you from the airport before the flight. She left you some money. Somewhere."

I sighed. Okay, that wasn't so bad. I would knock back some painkillers, then promise the mob one of my special American breakfasts - stacks of wheat and honey pancakes with gallons of maple syrup and huge blobs of butter - if they'd help me to clean up the place. Being a literally high-flying computer whizz meant that Georgina could always afford to be generous with my pocket money, so paying for the groceries should be no problem. She usually left enough to tide me over pretty well during her business trips.

"Any idea how long she'll be gone?"