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Kit watched her every reaction. ‘Okay, so we produce entertainment and information. I am planning to marry the two together.’
Maddison frowned. ‘And you want me to bless the happy couple?’
‘I want you to road-test them.’ He took a deep breath. He was going in. ‘I’m planning a series of new interactive guidebooks.’
‘Okay...’ Scepticism was written all over her face. ‘That’s interesting but does anyone even use guidebooks any more?’
Kit had been expecting that. ‘Guidebooks available in every format from eBook to app to good old-fashioned paper copies.’
‘I still don’t see...’
He took pity on her. ‘The difference is that they don’t tell you what to see, they give you clues. Each guidebook is a treasure hunt.’
She leaned forward, a spark of interest lighting up her face, transforming her from merely pretty to glowingly beautiful. Not that Kit was interested in her looks. It was her brains he was after; he was certainly not focusing on how her eyes lit up when she was engaged or the way her blouse dipped a little lower as she shifted forward. ‘A treasure hunt? As in X marks the spot?’
He tore his eyes away from her mouth. Focus, Buchanan. ‘In a way. Tourists can pick from one of five or so themed routes—historical, romantic, wild, fictional or a mixture of all the themes and follow a series of clues to their mystery destination, taking in places of interest on the way. Each theme will have routes of varying length ranging from an afternoon to three days, allowing people to adapt the treasure hunt to their length of stay, although I very much hope even cynical Londoners will want to have a go.’
‘Yes.’ She nodded slowly, her still-half-full plate pushed to one side as she took in every word. ‘I see, each hunt would have a unique theme depending on the place like, I don’t know, say a revolution theme in Boston? It wouldn’t just be tourists, though, would it? I mean, something like this would work for team building, bachelor and bachelorette parties, family days out...’ Satisfaction punched through him. She’d got it. ‘And what’s the prize—or is taking part enough?’
‘Hopefully the satisfaction of a job well done, but successful treasure hunters will also be able to pick up some discounts for local restaurants and attractions. I’m looking into building some partnerships. To launch it, however, I am planning real treasure—or a prize at least.’
Maddison leaned back and picked up her wine glass. ‘And you want me to what? Source the prize for you?’
Kit shook his head. ‘No, I want you to test the first few routes. The plan is to launch next year, simultaneously in five cities around the world. Each launch will open up on the same day and teams will compete against each other. But for now, in order to present a full proposal to marketing, we’ve been concentrating on drawing up the London routes—and I want to know how hard it is, especially to non-Brits, if the timings work and, crucially, if it’s fun.’
‘So, this will be part of my job?’
Kit picked up his own glass; he was about to ask a lot from her. ‘We’re still very much in concept stage at the moment. This would be in your own time at weekends. But...’ he smiled directly at her, turning up the charm ‘...you said yourself you needed to get out and about...’
‘I didn’t say that at all. For all you know I am completely happy with takeaways and box sets. Maybe that’s the whole reason I took this job,’ she protested.
He watched her carefully, looking for an advantage. ‘But you’re spending your weekends alone. I know the routes but not the clues so I want to see how it works in practice. I was going to go around on my own but here you are, new to London. A non-Brit. It’s perfect. You can follow the clues and I’ll accompany you and see how it works.’
‘I...’
‘I don’t expect you to do it for nothing,’ he broke in before she talked herself out of it or pointed out that spending every weekend with her boss was not her idea of fun. ‘Each route we complete has a prize. An experience of your choice, fully paid. Gigs, concerts, theme parks, restaurants—you name it.’
‘Anything I want?’
‘Anything.’ Now where had that come from? He would be spending all week and most of the next few weekends with her, did he really want to add in leisure time as well? But before he could backtrack Maddison held out her hand.
‘In that case you have a deal,’ she said.
In for a penny... He took her soft, cool hand in his. ‘Deal. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.’
Why had he said that? That wasn’t part of the deal. So she was proving to be a bit of an enigma, a girl who liked a challenge? They were reasons to stay away, not get closer. But this was purely business and business Kit could handle. It was all he had left, after all.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_0cf049bd-0058-5e58-bda7-e821ed4b81ab)
ALTHOUGH CLISSOLD PARK couldn’t hold a candle to her own beloved Central Park, the small London park had a quirky charm all its own. There might not be a fairy-tale castle or boats for hire on the little duck-covered lakes, but it was always buzzing with people and a circuit made for a pretty run.
Maddison increased her pace, smiling as she overtook a man pushing a baby in a jogger. Not so much difference between Clissold and Central Parks after all—and yes, right on cue, there it was: a t’ai chi ch’uan class. City parks were city parks no matter their location and size.
The biggest difference was that dogs roamed unleashed and free through the London park; in Central Park they would be allowed to walk untethered only in the doggy-exercise areas. Maddison nervously eyed a large, barrel-chested brown dog hurtling towards her, the sweat springing onto her palms nothing to do with the exercise. Could it smell her fear? She wavered, torn between increasing her pace and stopping to back away from it when it jumped, running directly...past her to retrieve a ball, slobber flying from its huge jowls. Maddison’s heart hammered and she gulped in some much-needed air. She hated dogs; they were unpredictable. She’d found that out the hard way—and had the scar on her thigh to prove it. At least her mom had dumped that particular boyfriend after his dog had attacked Maddison, but whether it was the dog bite that had precipitated the move or some other misdemeanour Maddison had never known.
Maddison increased the pace again, the pain in her chest and the ache in her thighs a welcome distraction from thoughts of the past—and the immediate future. In one hour Kit Buchanan would be knocking on her door and she would be spending the whole day with him. Whatever had possessed her to agree?
On the other hand she didn’t have anything better to do. And despite her reservations she had had fun last night. For the first time in a long time she had been able to relax, to be herself. She only needed to impress Kit professionally; what he made of her socially wasn’t at all important.
It was a long time since she hadn’t had to worry about that.
Maddison turned out of the park and began to run along the pavement, dodging the myriad small tables cluttering up the narrow pavements outside the many cafes and coffee shops that made up the main street, until she reached the small road where she was staying. Her stomach twisted as she opened the front door and stepped over the threshold, the heaviness in her chest nothing to do with the exercise.
Try as she might to ignore it, staying in Hope’s old family home was opening up old wounds, allowing the loneliness to seep through. It wasn’t the actual living alone—apart from the semesters sleeping in her college dorm Maddison had lived by herself since she was sixteen. No, she thought that this unshakeable melancholy was because Hope’s home was, well, a home. A much-loved family home with the family photos clustered on the dresser downstairs, the battered kitchen table, the scuff marks in the hallway where a generation of shoes had been kicked off to prove it.
And sure, Maddison wouldn’t have picked the violet-covered wallpaper and matching purple curtains and bedspread in her room, just as she would have stripped the whole downstairs back for a fresh white and wood open-plan finish, but she appreciated why Hope had preserved the house just the way it must have been when her parents died. There was love in every in-need-of-a-refresh corner.
Losing her parents so young must have been hard but at least Hope had grown up with them, in a house full of light and happiness.
Maddison’s childhood bedroom had no natural light and pretty near little happiness. The thin bunks and thinner walls, the sound of the TV blaring in if she was lucky, silence if she wasn’t. If she was alone. It was only temporary, her mother reassured her, just somewhere to stay until their luck changed.
Only it never did. That was when Maddison stopped believing in luck. That was when she knew it was down to her, only her.
Maddison found herself, as she often did, looking at the photos displayed on the hallway sideboard. Both girls were slim with dark hair and dark eyes but whereas Hope looked perpetually worried and careworn, Faith sparkled with vitality. Reading between the lines of Hope’s comprehensive file, Maddison got the impression that the older sister was the adult in this house, the younger protected and indulged. But Faith was nineteen! At that age Maddison had been on her own for three years and was putting herself through college, the luxury of a year spent travelling as remote as her chances of discovering a secret trust fund.
Maddison picked up her favourite photo. It was taken when their parents were still alive; the whole family were grouped on a beach at sunset, dressed in smart summery clothes. Faith must have been around six, a small, merry-faced imp with laughing eyes and a naughty smile, holding hands with her mother. Hope, a teenager all in black, was standing in front of her father, casual in his arms. She was probably at the age where she was so secure in her parents’ love and affection she took it for granted, embarrassed by any public show. It used to make Maddison mad to see how casually her schoolmates treated their parents, how dismissive they could be of their love.
One day Maddison wanted a photo like this. She and her own reliable, affectionate husband and their secure, happy children. A family of her own. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it? She’d thought she was so close with Bart and now here she was. As far away as ever. The heaviness in her chest increased until she wanted to sink to her knees under the burden.
Stop it, she told herself fiercely. Kit would be here soon and she still had to shower and change. Besides, what good had feeling sorry for herself ever done? Planning worked. Timetables worked. Things didn’t just happen because you wished for them or were good. You had to make your own destiny.
It didn’t take Maddison long to get ready or to post a few pictures of her evening’s adventures onto her various social-media accounts, captioning them ‘Birthday in London’—and if they were carefully edited to give the impression that she was a guest at the party, not working, and that there was a whole group at the pub, well, wasn’t social media all about perception?
Her phone flashed with notifications and Maddison quickly scrolled through them. It was funny to see life carrying on in New York as if she hadn’t left: the same parties, the same hook-ups and break-ups. She chewed her lip as she scrolled through another Friday night of cocktails, exclusive clubs and VIP bars. At least her bank balance was healthier during her London exile. Keeping up with the Trustafarians without a trust fund was a constant balancing act. One she was never in full control of. Thank goodness she had landed a rent-controlled apartment.
Still, she had to speculate to accumulate and if Maddison wanted the security of an Upper East Side scion with the houses, bank balance and guaranteed happy life to match, then she needed to make some sacrifices. And she didn’t just want that security, she needed it. She knew too well what the alternatives were and she had no intention of ever being that cold, that hungry, that despised ever again.
The sound of the doorbell snapped her back to reality. She stood, breathing in, trying to squash the old fears, the old feelings of inadequacy, the knowledge that she would never be good enough, back into the little box she hid them in. She should have learned from Pandora; some things were better left locked away.
The doorbell sounded again before she made it downstairs and she wrenched the front door open to find Kit leaning against the door frame, looking disturbingly casual in faded jeans and a faded red T-shirt. Morning. Recovered from your victory yet?’
Maddison felt the heat steal over her cheeks. Maybe it hadn’t been the most dignified thing in the world to fling her arms up in the air and whoop when she and Kit were declared pub-quiz champions but it had been her birthday. And they had won pretty darn convincingly. ‘Are you kidding? I want a certificate framed for my wall so I can show it to my grandkids in forty years’ time.’
She grabbed her bag and stepped out, pulling the door shut behind her.
Kit waited while she double-and then triple-locked the door as per Hope’s comprehensive instructions. ‘Right. As I mentioned yesterday we need to keep things as simple as possible. The idea is to give people a fun and unique way of seeing London, not to bamboozle them completely. Plus our target market is going to be tourists, the vast majority of whom aren’t English, so we need to make this culturally accessible to everyone whether it’s a girl from New York...’ he smiled at Maddison ‘...or a family from China or a couple from France.’
‘More of a scavenger hunt than a treasure hunt?’
‘A mix of the two. Every destination is accessible by Tube or bus to make it easier, at least to start with, and we’re putting the nearest stop with each clue with directions from that stop. On the app and on the online version you won’t get the next clue until you put in an answer for the current quest but that would be impossible on paper. The discounts you get will be linked to how many correct answers you have in the end.’
‘And what’s to stop people going online and cheating?’
‘Eventually? Nothing. But hopefully the fun of the quest will stop them wanting to find shortcuts. And the discounts will be the kind you get with most standard tourist passes so nice to have but not worth cheating for.’
‘Have you thought about randomizing it? You know, every fifth hundred correct—or completed—quest gets something extra? Just to add that bit more spice into it.’
‘No.’ He stared at her. ‘But that’s a great idea. I’ll plan that in. Good thinking, Maddison.’
‘Just doing my job.’ But that same swell of pride flared up again. ‘So, what’s the plan? Where are we starting off? Literary? History?’
Kit held up a map and grinned. ‘Neither. How do you feel about seeing the wild side of London?’
* * *
‘When you said wild...’ Maddison stood still on the path and stared ‘... I thought you meant the zoo!’
‘Nope.’ Kit shook his head solemnly but his eyes were shining with suppressed laughter. He seemed more relaxed, more boyish out and about. It was almost relaxing. But last night’s words beat a warning tattoo through her head. There was a darkness at the heart of him and she needed to make sure she wasn’t blinded by the veneer.
Not that she was attracted to Kit. Obviously not. A handsome face and a keen brain might be enough to turn some girls’ heads but she was made of stronger stuff. No being led astray by blue eyes and snug-fitting jeans for Maddison, no allowing the odd spark of attraction to flare into anything hotter. Think first, feel after, that was her motto.
Speaking of which, she was here to think. Maddison looked around. She was used to city parks—Central Park was her gym, garden, playground and sanctuary—but the sheer number of green spaces on the map Kit held loosely in one hand had taken her aback. London was surprisingly awash in nature reserves, parks, heaths, woods and cemeteries. Yes, cemeteries. Like the one lying before her, for instance. Winding paths, crumbling mausoleums and trees, branches entwining over the paths as they bent to meet each other like lovers refusing to be separated even by death. Maddison put one hand onto the wrought-iron gate and raised a speculative eyebrow. ‘Seriously? You’re sending people to graveyards? For fun?’
‘This is one of London’s most famous spots,’ Kit said as he led the way through the gates and into the ancient resting place. Maddison hesitated for a moment before following him in. It was like entering another world. She had to admit it was surprisingly peaceful in a gloomy, gothic kind of way. Birds sang in the trees overhead and the early-summer sun did its valiant best to peep through the branches and cast some light onto the grey stone fashioned into simple headstones, huge mausoleums and twisted, crumbling statues. ‘There’s a fabulous Victorian cemetery near you in Stoke Newington too but there’s no Tube link so I didn’t include it in the tour.’
‘You can save it for the future, a grave tour of London.’
‘I could.’ She couldn’t tell whether he was ignoring her sarcasm or taking her seriously. ‘There are seven great Victorian cemeteries, all fantastic in different ways. But I love disused ones best, watching nature reclaim them, real dust-to-dust, ashes-to-ashes stuff.’
‘Don’t tell me.’ She stopped still and put her hands on her hips. ‘You wore all black as a teenager and had a picture of Jim Morrison on your wall? Wrote bitter poetry about how nobody understood you and went vegetarian for six months.’
‘Naturally. Doesn’t every wannabe creative? You forgot learning two chords on a guitar and refusing to smile. Does that sum up your teen years too?’
It certainly hadn’t. She hadn’t had the luxury. People didn’t like their waitresses, babysitters, baristas and cleaners to be anything but perky and wholesome. Especially when their hired help had a background like Maddison’s. She’d had to be squeaky clean in every single way. The quintessential all-American girl, happy to help no matter how demanding her customer, demeaning the job and low the pay.
‘Not my bag,’ she said airily. ‘I like colour, light and optimism.’
Kit grinned and began to pick his way along the path. On either side mausoleums, gravestones and crumbling statues, some decorated with fading flowers, formed a curious honour guard. ‘What was your bag? Let me guess: cheerleader?’
Maddison tossed her hair back. ‘Possibly.’
‘Mall rat?’
‘I would say Mall Queen,’ she corrected him.
‘Daddy’s credit card, a cute convertible and Homecoming Queen?’
‘Were you spying on me?’ she countered. Actually it had been a rusty bike she had saved up for herself and then repaired. Not a thing of beauty but she had been grateful at the time.
He fell into step beside her, an easy lope to his stride. Her brightly patterned skirt, her neat little cashmere cardigan and elegant brogues were too bright, too alive for this hushed, grey and green world and yet Kit fitted right in, despite his casual jeans. He belonged. ‘So where did you spend your cheerleading years?’
‘You wouldn’t have heard of it. It’s just a typical New England small town.’ Maddison was always careful not to get too drawn into details; that was how a girl got caught out. She didn’t want anyone to know the sordid truth. She much preferred the fiction. The life she wished she had led. So she kept the generalities the same and the details vague. ‘How about you? Have you always lived in London?’
He looked surprised at her question. ‘No, I’m from Kilcanon. It’s by the sea, on the coast south of Glasgow on a peninsula between the mainland and the islands. Scotland,’ he clarified as she frowned.
‘You’re Scottish?’ How had she not known that?
‘You can’t tell?’
‘You don’t sound Scottish, you sound British!’
He laughed. ‘We don’t all sound like Groundskeeper Willie, well, not all the time.’
‘Do you miss it?’ She only had the haziest idea about Scotland, mostly bare-chested men in kilts and romantic countryside. It sounded pretty good; maybe she should pay it a visit.
‘Every day,’ he said so softly she almost couldn’t hear the words. ‘But this is where I live now.’
‘I love living in New York but I wouldn’t want to raise my children there.’
‘Children?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘How many are you planning?’
‘Four,’ she said promptly. ‘Two girls, two boys.’
His mouth quirked into a half-smile. ‘Naturally. Do they have names?’
‘Anne, Gilbert, Diana and Matthew. This week anyway. It depends on what I’ve been reading.’ Actually it was always those names. They gave her hope. After all, didn’t Anne Shirley start off with nothing and yet end up surrounded by laughter and love?
‘Let’s hope you’re not on a sci-fi kick when you’re actually pregnant then, or your kids could end up with some interesting names. Why so many?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Four children. That’s a lot of kids to transport around. You’ll need a big car, a big house—a huge washing machine.’
‘I’m an only child,’ she said quietly. That, for once, wasn’t a prevarication, not a stretch of the truth. And she had vowed that when she got her family, when she had kids, then everything would be different. They would be wanted, loved, praised, supported—and they would have each other. There would be no lonely nights shivering under a thin comforter and wishing that there were just one person to share it with her. One person who understood. ‘It gets kind of lonely. I want my children to have the most perfect childhood ever.’
The childhood she was meant to have had. The one she had been robbed of when her mother refused to name her father. All she had said was that he was a summer visitor. One of the golden tribe who breezed into town in expensive cars with boats and designer shades and lavish tips. Maddison could have been one of them, but instead she had been the trailer-trash daughter of an alcoholic mother. No gold, just tarnish so thick hardly anyone saw through it to the girl within. Even when she had got out, the tarnish had still clung—until she left the Cape altogether and reinvented herself.
Kit looked directly at her as she spoke, as if he could see through to the heart of her. But he couldn’t; no one could. She had made sure of that. And yet her pulse sped up under his gaze, hammering so loudly she could almost hear the beat reverberate through the cemetery. She cast about for a change of subject.
‘How about you? Do you have any brothers and sisters besides Bridget?’
Kit wandered over to a statue of a lichen-covered dog waiting patiently for eternity. Maddison shivered a little, relieved of the warmth of his gaze, pulling her cardigan a little tighter around her. ‘There were three of us.’
Were?
Her unspoken question hung in the air. ‘My sister’s a lot younger, she’s still at university, but my brother...he died. Three years ago.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘You must miss him.’
