Jessica Gilmore’s

brand-new duet

The Life Swap

Embracing a new life … discovering a new love!

Meet Maddison Carter, New York socialite, and Hope McKenzie, English homebody. These two women couldn’t be more different, but for six months, they will be swapping jobs, swapping homes and swapping lives! And in doing so they’ll meet two men who will turn their worlds upside down …

Enjoy Maddison’s story in In the Boss’s Castle

Available now

And look for Hope’s story, coming soon!

In the Boss’s Castle
Jessica Gilmore

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A former au pair, bookseller, marketing manager and seafront trader, JESSICA GILMORE now works for an environmental charity in York. Married with one daughter, one fluffy dog and two dog-loathing cats, she spends her time avoiding housework and can usually be found with her nose in a book. Jessica writes emotional romance with a hint of humor, a splash of sunshine and a great deal of delicious food—and equally delicious heroes.

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For Audrey, Rob, Josh, Michaela and Lily.

With much love always x

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

PROLOGUE

Hi, Hope,

Truthfully I was a little shocked when they asked me to job swap with you for six months. I thought I was way too far down the food chain, especially since I changed careers and found myself back at the bottom of the ladder again. But I’ve never left the US—so my bags are packed, I actually have a passport and I’m on my way to London before they change their minds!

I guess you want to know a little about the stranger coming to take over your life? There’s no big scandals you’ll be glad to know, so no need to warn the neighbours or hide the family silver. I’m Maddison and I’ve been working for DL Media for just over three years, I started out in the PR and events team before Brenda, my boss (soon to be yours) poached me for Editorial. It’s a step down in some ways—back to making coffees and booking taxis and a lot less managing my own time, but somehow she convinced me that it’ll be worth it. It’s nice to be wanted for my brains and not my contact list, at least that’s what I tell myself when I pick up her dry cleaning. Because, in between the taxis and the coffee pick-ups, she is teaching me a lot—you’re lucky to be working with her.

She’s very focused, doesn’t see the point of any life outside work and is absolutely obsessed with glass ceilings and reaching full potential, blah-blah-blah. It’s not that I don’t want all that, I’m as ambitious as they come in some ways, but I do want more. I want it all. I want to meet the right guy and settle down, picket fence, big dog, rugrats and all. Don’t tell Brenda that!

I thought I’d found the right guy. Bart. AKA Bartholomew J Van De Grierson III. But turns out he’s not The One or rather I’m not The One for him. At least not right now. He wants a break. Thinks we should ‘explore other options’. So this opportunity has come at the right time for me. I’m exploring other options on the other side of the Atlantic and putting my career first for a change. Maybe working with Brenda has influenced me more than I knew!

I do hope he misses me at least a little, though...

So—New York! It’s the greatest city on earth, I promise. My biggest advice? Pack light! The good news is you’ll be living in the Upper East Side and it is fabulous! The bad news? No one expects to swing a cat in a New York studio, but mine...? You couldn’t swing a mouse. But, hey, location is everything, right? And when you sit on the fire escape with your morning coffee and watch the sun rise over Manhattan you won’t want to be anywhere else.

Welcome to New York. City of reinvention, city of dreams...

Maddison.

* * *

Hi, Maddison...

Welcome to London and London’s greatest borough. I’ve compiled a ‘Welcome’ file which tells you absolutely everything you need to know, in alphabetical order, from where the boiler is—and the number of a good plumber—to the best place to buy coffee locally. There’s a guide to buses and Oyster cards (no Tube here in Stokey) under T for Transport, and a comprehensive section on work (W for Work) to help you find your feet right away.

I hope you feel at home here. Stoke Newington is pretty sought-after now, but when my parents moved here it was still a scruffy, community-minded part of the East End—and even with all the swanky bars and yoga studios I miss the place I grew up in. Not so community-minded when you are more likely to bump into nannies and cleaners than neighbours, and everyone is obsessed with extending and rainforest wetrooms. But it’s still home and I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Except maybe New York, of course...

I am so excited about moving to New York for a whole six months. I’ve always wanted to travel but never had the opportunity. Faith, my younger sister, is on a gap year and seeing the world, lucky thing—but living in a new city and progressing my career? That’s an amazing opportunity.

I’ve also been at DL Media for around three years. Before that I was working at a local solicitors’ firm which fitted in with Faith’s school hours. But as soon as she was old enough for me to commute to work I came to DL, at first as a general PA, before getting the opportunity to work with Kit Buchanan as an editorial assistant.

Brenda sounds like just what I need—a real mentor. Kit, your boss-to-be, is... Well, he’s brilliant. Everyone agrees with that. It’s just I’m not sure he ever sees me. Sometimes I feel like I’m just a piece of efficient office furniture.

In fact it’s been a really long time since anyone has seen me as anyone worth knowing. It gets a little lonely, to be honest, especially now that Faith is making it very clear that now she’s grown up she doesn’t need me to fuss over her.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s time to put me first.

Starting with New York!

Enjoy London.

Love, Hope x

CHAPTER ONE

MADDISON CARTER OPENED the opaque glass door, leaned against the door frame and held up her perfectly manicured hand, a piece of paper dangling from her fingertips. ‘Messages,’ she announced.

Kit Buchanan pushed his chair away from his desk and blinked at her. His expression might seem sleepy and unconcerned to the casual observer but after just four weeks Maddison knew better. ‘You could email them to me,’ he suggested, a teasing gleam in his blue eyes. This conversation was getting as predictable as the sunrise. So she used paper and a pen and preferred her lists on thick white paper, not on an electronic device? It didn’t make her a Luddite, it made her efficient.

‘And have you ignore them? I think not.’

Kit sighed. The soft here she goes again sigh he used about this time every day. ‘But, Maddison, maybe I like ignoring messages.’ His eyes laughed up at her but she refused to smile back, even a little. She wasn’t colluding with him.

‘Then get an answering service. Or a machine or just answer your cell phone every once in a while and then I...’ she brandished the list ‘...I wouldn’t have to tell your girlfriends that you’re in a meeting twenty times a day.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘Twenty times? How very keen.’

Okay, she might have exaggerated slightly but just one conversation with the terribly polite and terribly condescending Camilla was enough and three definitely enough to drive the most precise person to hyperbole. Maddison ignored the interruption and, in a deliberately slow voice, began to read from the paper. ‘Right, your mother called and said please call her back, today, and confirm you are going to the wedding, it’s a three-line whip and if you don’t RSVP soon she will do it for you. Your sister called and said, and I quote, “Tell him if I have to go to this damn wedding on my own I will make him suffer in ways he can’t even imagine and don’t think I won’t do it...”’

Maddison paused as she reread the words. She liked the sound of Kit’s sister, Bridget, with her soft, lilting voice and steely words.

‘And Camilla called three times, can you please answer your cell, how can she expect to get ready for a wedding in just a couple of weeks if you won’t even confirm that you’re taking her, you inconsiderate bas...’ She looked up and allowed herself one brief smile. ‘I didn’t catch the rest of that sentence.’

‘The hell you didn’t,’ he said softly. The smile still curved his mouth and he was still leaning back in the vast, black leather chair but the glint had disappeared from his eyes. ‘Everyone seems very keen to make sure I attend this wedding.’

‘If you would just RSVP they’d stop calling.’ Maddison didn’t care whether he went to the darn wedding or not. She just wanted to stop fielding calls about it.

‘I will, as soon as I’ve decided.’

‘Decided?’

‘Whether I’m going or not.’

Maddison heaved a theatrical sigh. ‘Great. Can I beg you to do just one thing? Put Camilla out of her misery.’ Sure, the woman spoke to Maddison as if she were some sort of servant, and sure, she sounded like a snooty character in a Hugh Grant movie, all clipped vowels and lots of long r’s, but she was getting a little more desperate with every call. Maddison would never allow herself to beg for a man’s attention but she knew all too well what it felt like to see the spark die even as she did her best to keep it going. Knew what it felt like to see the emails and texts diminish, hear the call go straight to voicemail.

Kit stared at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘I didn’t know that advising on my personal life was in your job description.’

Maddison took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. ‘Nor did I and yet here I am, taking calls from your girlfriend eight hours a day.’

‘Ex-girlfriend.’

‘She...what?’

His eyes caught hers, the blue turned steely. ‘Ex-girlfriend. She just wants to come to the wedding. Thinks if I take her to meet the parents then things might start again between us. So you see, I’m not a total git.’

Whatever that might be. Maddison stared down at the list, her righteous indignation draining away. ‘Okay. I apologize—although in my defence it seems that Camilla doesn’t understand the ex part of your relationship. Maybe she needs reminding. And you really should call your mother.’

He didn’t respond for a long moment and Maddison kept her eyes on the list, knowing she had gone too far. She was normally so good at keeping her cool but Kit Buchanan was just so...so provoking.

She started at his unexpected laugh. ‘There are times when you remind me of my school matron. I will, I promise. How are things looking for tonight?’

The abrupt turn of subject was a relief. She had spent far too long today on Kit Buchanan’s social life; work was a much safer subject. Maddison looked at her list again, composing herself as she did so. ‘The caterers are already there and setting up, so are the bar staff. The warehouse confirmed that they have sent two hundred books across ready for the signing. I got late acceptances from five people, their names have been added to the entrance list and the door staff are primed; three people sent in late apologies, I replied on your behalf and arranged for books and goody bags to be sent to their offices. Oh, and I popped into the venue last night after work and took a last look around. Everything is in order.’

‘Very efficient, as always, thank you, Maddison.’ The words were perfect but the amusement in his tone took the edge off his praise and despite herself she could feel her cheeks flush. Kit always seemed to be laughing at her and it was...unsettling. She wanted respect, not this knowing humour. But so far, no matter what she did, respect seemed to be eluding her. And, dammit, it rankled. She was usually so much better at impressing the right people in the right ways.

She certainly wasn’t used to feeling discombobulated several times a day.

She eyed her boss. He was still lounging back in his chair, an unrepentant gleam in his eye as he waited for her response. Hoping that she would lose her cool, no doubt. Well, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction but, oh, her fingers curled; it was tempting.

It didn’t help that Kit was young—ish. Handsome if you liked brown tousled hair that needed a good cut, dark stubble and blue eyes, if you found scruffy chic, like some hipster cross between a college professor and an outdoorsman, attractive. Maddison didn’t. She liked her men clean-cut, clean-shaven and well turned out.

But, even if he wore head-to-toe couture, Kit Buchanan still wouldn’t be her type. Bart was her type: tall, athletic, with a good job in banking, a trust fund and a bloodline that ran back to Edith Wharton’s innocent age and beyond. Not to mention the brownstone. Breaking up with the brownstone was almost harder than saying goodbye to the man. She’d invested eighteen months in that relationship, spent eighteen months moulding herself into the perfect consort. All for nothing. She was back at square one.

Although, he had said a break. Maddison clung on to those words, hope soothing the worry and doubt clawing her insides. Everyone knew that taking a break wasn’t the same thing as breaking up. And if Bart saw that she was having an amazing time in London without him then surely he would realize he had made a very big mistake? Maybe this distance, this time apart was a good thing, the push he needed to take things to the next level.

She just needed to start having the amazing time. So far Maddison’s London experiences had been confined to work, takeaways and working her way through Hope McKenzie’s formidable box-set collection. Watching Sex and the City instead of living it. Surely she at least deserved to be flirting in the city?

Kit’s voice brought her back to her present surroundings—thousands of miles away from her unexpected failure. ‘Anything else on that list of yours or is it all neatly ticked and crossed out?’

Okay. This was it. She’d spent the last four weeks regrouping, licking her wounds, grateful for the opportunity to recover and plan far away from the all-too-knowing eyes of her New York social group. She’d been so sure of Bart, shown her hand too early and lost spectacularly. But it was time to reassert herself, professionally at least. Then maybe she would get her confidence—and her man—back. Maddison willed herself to sound composed, her voice not to tremble. ‘I think you should rewrite your speech for tonight.’

Kit went very still, like a predator watching his prey. ‘Oh? Why?’

‘It’s very clinical.’ She kept her eyes focused on him even as her knees trembled and every instinct screamed at her to stop talking and to back out of the door before she got her ass fired. ‘You’ve spent the whole four weeks I’ve been here absolutely absorbed in your work. You barely noticed that Hope had gone. You’ve been in before me every morning, not stopped for lunch unless you had a meeting and who knows what time you leave? But the speech? It has no passion in it at all.’

Kit didn’t take his eyes off her, his face utterly expressionless. ‘Have you read it? The book?’

Had she what? ‘I...of course.’

‘Could you do a better job?’

She flinched at the cold words, then tossed her head up and glared at him. ‘Could I write an introductory speech that sounds like I value the author, think the book is worth reading and convince the room that they need to read it too? Yes. Yes, I could.’

‘Great.’ He pulled his chair back to his desk and refocused his eyes on his screen. ‘You have an hour. Let’s see what you come up with.’

* * *

‘Great speech.’

Kit suppressed a sigh as yet another guest complimented him. It had been a great speech and he’d delivered it well, a nice mingling of humour and sincerity. Only he hadn’t written it. Embellished it, ad-libbed a little but he hadn’t written it. Maddison had been annoyingly right: his own effort had lacked passion.

Kit knew all too well why that was. Three years ago he’d lost any passion, any zest for life, any hope—and now it seemed as though he’d lost the ability to fake it as well.

Which was ridiculous. He was the king of faking it—at work, with the ever so elegant Camilla and her potential replacements, with his friends. The only place he couldn’t convincingly pretend that he was the same old Kit was with his family. Especially not with his family and with the wedding looming on the horizon like a constant reminder of all that he had lost. He needed to sort that out and fast. He knew he had to RSVP. He knew he had to attend. He just couldn’t bring himself to commit to it because once he did it would become real. Thank goodness for his new project. At least that helped him forget, for a little while at least.

Forgetting was a luxury.

He caught sight of Maddison, gliding through the crowds as untouchably serene as ever. Kit’s eyes narrowed as she stopped to murmur something in a waitress’s ear, sending the girl scurrying off with her tray. As usual Maddison had it all under control. Just look at the way she glided around the office in her monochrome uniform of black trousers and perfectly ironed white blouse like some sort of robot: efficient, calm and, until today, he could have sworn completely free of any emotion.

It was a shame. No one whose green eyes tilted upwards with such feline wickedness, no one with hair like the first hint of a shepherd’s sunset, no one with a wide, sweet mouth should be so bland.

But she hadn’t been so bland earlier today. Instead she had been bursting with opinions and, much as she had tried to stay calm, not let him see the exasperation in those thickly lashed eyes, she had let her mask slip a little.

And then she had written that speech. In an hour. Yes, she definitely had hidden depths. Not, Kit reminded himself, that he was planning to explore them. He was just intrigued, that was all. Turned out Maddison Carter was a bit of an enigma and he did so like to figure out a puzzle.

Kit excused himself from the group of guests, brushing another compliment about his speech aside with a smile and a handshake as he slowly weaved his way through the throng, checking to make sure everyone was entertained, that the buzz was sufficient to ensure the launch would be a success. The venue was inspired, an old art deco cinema perfectly complementing the novel’s historical Jazz Age setting. The seats had been removed to create a party space and a jazz band set up on the old stage entertained the crowd with a series of jaunty tunes. Neon cocktails circulated on etched silver trays as light shone down from spotlights overhead, emphasizing the huge, jewel-coloured rectangular windows; at the far end of the room the gratified author sat at a vintage desk, signing books and holding court. The right people were here having the right sort of time. Kit had done all he could—the book would stand or fall on its own merits now.

He paused as Maddison passed by again, that damn list still tucked in one hand, a couple of empty glasses clasped in the other. He leaned against the wall for a moment, enjoying watching her dispose of the glasses, ensure three guests had fresh drinks, introduce two lost-looking souls to each other, all the while directing the wait staff and ensuring the queue for signed books progressed. A one-woman event machine.

How did she do it? She looked utterly calm, still in her favourite monochrome uniform although she had changed her usual well-tailored trousers for a short skirt, which swished most pleasingly around what were, Kit had to admit, a fine pair of legs, and there was no way the silky, clingy white blouse, which dipped to a low vee just this side of respectable, was the same as the crisp shirt she had worn in the office. Her hair was no longer looped in a loose knot but allowed to curl loosely around her shoulders. She looked softer, more approachable—even though she was brandishing the dreaded list.

She was doing a great job organizing this party. He really should go and tell her so while he remembered.

By the time Kit had manoeuvred his way over to Maddison’s corner of the room she was deep in conversation with an earnest-looking man. Kit rocked back on his heels and studied her. Good gracious, was that a smile on her face? In fact, that dip of her head and the long demure look from under her eyebrows was positively flirtatious. Kit neatly collected two cocktails from a passing tray and watched as the earnest man slipped her a card. Did he know him? He knew almost every person there. Kit ran through his memory banks—yes, a reviewer for one of the broadsheets. Not a bad conquest, especially if she could talk him into positive reviews.

‘Flirting on the job?’ he said quietly into her ear as the earnest man walked away, and had the satisfaction of seeing her jump and the colour rush to her cheeks, emphasizing the curve in her heart-shaped face.

‘No. I was just...’

‘Relax, Maddison, I was teasing. It’s past eight o’clock. I think you’re on your own time now. This lot will melt away as soon as they realize that these are no longer being served.’ He handed her the pink cocktail before tasting his own blue confection and grimaced as the sweet yet medicinal taste hit his tongue. ‘Or maybe not. Is this supposed to taste like cough syrup? Anyway, cheers. Great job on the party.’

‘Thank you.’ It was as if a light had been switched on in her green eyes, turning them from pretty glass to a darker, more dangerous emerald. ‘Hope started it all. I just followed her instructions.’

‘The party favours were your idea, and the band, I believe.’

Her eyes lit up even more. ‘I didn’t know you’d noticed. It just seemed perfect, nineteen twenties and a murder mystery.’ The guests’ goody bags contained chocolate murder weapons straight out of a golden-age crime novel: hatpins and candlesticks, pearl-handled revolvers and a jar-shaped chocolate labelled Cyanide. The cute chocolates had caused quite a stir and several guests were trying to make sure they went home with a full set. Turned out even this jaded crowd could be excited by something novel and fun.

‘Excuse me.’

Kit looked around, an enquiring eyebrow raised, only for the young man hovering behind him to ignore him entirely while he thrust a card in Maddison’s direction. ‘It was lovely to meet you earlier. Do give me a call. I would love to show you around London. Oh, and happy birthday.’

‘Thank you.’ She accepted the card with a half-smile, sliding it neatly into her bag. Kit tried to sneak a look as the card disappeared into the depths. How many other cards did she have in there? And what had the young man said?

‘It’s your birthday?’

Maddison nodded. ‘Today.’

‘I didn’t realize.’ Kit felt strangely wrong-footed. How hadn’t he known? He’d always remembered Hope’s birthday although, come to think of it, that was because she made sure it was in his work calendar and lost no opportunity to remind him that flowers were always acceptable, chocolates even more so and vouchers for the local spa most acceptable of all. ‘I’m so sorry you had to work. I hope you have exciting plans for the rest of your evening and weekend?’

Maddison paused, her eyes lowered. ‘Sure.’ But her tone lacked conviction.

‘Like?’ Kit cursed himself as he pushed. She’d said she had plans so he should take her word at face value and leave her in peace. He didn’t need to know the details; she was a grown woman.

A grown woman in a new city where she knew hardly anyone.

Maddison took a visible deep breath before looking directly at him, a smile pasted on to her face. ‘A film and a takeaway. I’m going to explore the city a little more tomorrow. Low-key, you know? I don’t know many people here yet.’

‘You’re staying in alone, on your birthday?’

‘I have a cocktail.’ She waved the glass of pink liquid at him. ‘It’s okay.’

He’d heard the lady. She said she was okay—and, judging by the cards she was collecting, the room was full of men who would gladly help her celebrate any way she wished to.

Only she was new to the country... Kit had thought his conscience had died three years ago but some ghost of it was struggling back to life. ‘What about the other girls at work? None of them free?’

‘It’s a little awkward, you know? Technically I’m at the same level as all the other assistants but they all sit in the same office and I’m on the executive floor so we don’t see each other day-to-day.’ She hesitated. ‘I think Hope didn’t really socialize so there’s this assumption I’m the same.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s fine. I just haven’t prioritized making friends since I got here. There’s plenty of time.’ She attempted another full smile; this one nearly reached her eyes. ‘I’m actually quite good at it when I try.’

His conscience gave another gasp. He should have thought to check that she was settling in, but she had been so efficient from day one. Besides, the annoying ghost of conscience past whispered, if you had noticed, what would you have done about it? But she had put a lot of work in tonight and it was her birthday... Even Kit couldn’t be so callous as to abandon her to a lonely night of pizza and a romcom. ‘I can’t possibly let you go home alone to watch a film on your birthday, especially after all the hard work you put in today. The least I can do is buy you a drink.’ He looked at his blue drink and shuddered. ‘A real drink. What do you say?’

CHAPTER TWO

SHE SHOULD HAVE said no.

The last thing Maddison needed was a pity date. Even worse, a pity date with her boss. But Kit had caught her at a vulnerable moment. Nice as it was to be flirted with by not just one, or two, but several men at the party, all of whom had their own teeth, hair and impressive-sounding job titles, she couldn’t help but remember this time last year and the adorable little inn in Connecticut Bart had whisked her off to. Three months ago she was reasonably confident that this birthday he’d propose—not break up with her two months before.

Which meant she wouldn’t be married at twenty-seven and a mother by twenty-eight. Her whole, carefully planned timetable redundant. Somehow she was going to have to start again. Only she had no idea how or who or where...

Happy birthday to me. Maddison sighed, the age-long loneliness forcing its way out of the box she had buried it in, creeping back around her heart, her soul. It wasn’t that she minded the lack of cards and presents. She’d got used to that a long time ago. But she couldn’t help feeling that at twenty-six her birthday should matter to someone. Especially to her. Instead she’d been in denial all day. She wasn’t sure why she’d mentioned it to the young sales guy, maybe some pathetic need to have some kind of acknowledgement, no matter how small.

That’s enough. She wasn’t a wallower, she was a fighter and she never, ever looked back. Maddison pushed herself off the plush velvet sofa and paced the length of the room. If she did have to wait in Kit Buchanan’s house while he changed then she might as well take advantage and find out as much as she could about him. From the little she had gathered he was a constant source of speculation at work, but although the gossips were full of theories they had very few solid facts. A few juicy titbits could give her a way in with the social groups at work. She couldn’t just bury herself and her sore pride away for the whole six months like some Roman exile marooned on a cold and damp island.

After all, the weather in London was much nicer than she had expected.

At least it was just her pride that hurt. She’d never be foolish enough to give away her heart without some kind of security.

Stop thinking about it, Maddison scolded herself, looking up at the high ceiling as if in supplication. She had five months left in London; she needed to start living again so she could return to New York full of European polish and fizzing with adventure. If that didn’t bring Bart back on his knees, diamond ring in one hand, nothing would. After all, didn’t they say absence made the heart grow fonder? Think how fond he could grow if word got back to him of just how good a time she was having in London...

A piece of elaborate-looking plaster work caught her eye. Original, she’d bet, just like the tiles on the hallway floor and the ceiling roses holding the anachronistically modern lights. The huge semi-detached house overlooking a lushly green square was the last place she’d expected Kit to live; she would have laid money on some kind of trendy apartment, all glass and chrome, not the white-painted Georgian house. It was even more impressive than Bart’s brownstone.

She hadn’t seen much in the way of personal touches so far. A tiled hallway with no clutter at all, just a hat stand, a mirror and an antique sideboard with a small bowl for his keys. There was nothing left lying around in the living room either except a newspaper on the coffee table, neatly folded at the nearly completed crossword, and just one small photo on the impressive marble mantle—a black-and-white picture of two teenage boys, grinning identical smiles, hanging over the rail on a boat. She had no trouble identifying the younger one as Kit, although there was something about the smile that struck her as different from the smile she knew. Maybe it was how wide, how unadulterated, how wholehearted it was, so different from the cynically amused expression she saw every day.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs sent her scuttling back to her seat, where she grabbed the newspaper and scanned it, carefully giving the impression she had been comfortably occupied for the last ten minutes.

‘Sorry to keep you. I spilled some of that green stuff on my shirt and didn’t fancy going out smelling like the ghost of absinthe past.’ Kit walked into the room and raised an eyebrow. Maddison had kicked off her shoes and was curled up in a corner of the sofa, the newspaper on her knee, looking as studiously un-detective-like as possible. ‘Comfy?’

‘Hmm? No, I was fine. Just finishing off your crossword. I think it’s Medusa.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Six down. Petrifying snakes. Medusa.’

‘Here, give me that.’ He took the paper off her and stared at the clue. ‘Of course. I should have thought...’ He looked back up and over at her, his eyes impossibly blue as they took her in.

‘Do you like puzzles, Maddison?’

‘I’m sorry?’ It took all her resolution to stay still under such scrutiny. It was as if he were looking at her for the first time, as if he were weighing her up.

‘Puzzles, quizzes? Do you like them?’

‘Well, sure. Doesn’t everyone?’ He didn’t reply, just stared at her in that disconcertingly intense way. ‘I mean, when I was a kid I wanted to be Nancy Drew.’ When she hadn’t dreamed of being Rory Gilmore, that was. She swung her legs to the floor. ‘I believe you mentioned a drink.’

He didn’t move for a long second, his eyes still focused on her, and then smiled, the familiar amused expression sliding back on to his face like a mask. ‘Of course. It’s not far. I hope you don’t mind the walk.’

Maddison hadn’t known what to expect on a night out with Kit Buchanan: a glitzy wine bar or maybe some kind of private members’ bar, all leather seats and braying, privileged laughter. She definitely hadn’t expected the comfortable pub Kit guided her into. The walls were hung with prints by local artists, the tables solid square wood surrounded by leather sofas and chairs. It was nearly full but it didn’t feel crowded or loud; it felt homely, like a pub from a book. The man behind the bar nodded at Kit and gave Maddison a speculative look as Kit guided her to a nook by the unlit fire before heading off to order their drinks.

‘I got a sharing platter as well,’ he said as he set the bottle of Prosecco on the table and placed a glass in front of her. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m starving. I never get a chance to eat at those work parties. It’s hard to schmooze with a half-eaten filo prawn in my mouth.’

‘When I started out in events sometimes canapés were all I did eat,’ Maddison confessed, watching as he filled her glass up. ‘New York is pricey for a girl out of college and free food is free food. Some days I would long for a good old-fashioned sub or a real-sized burger rather than an assortment of finger food! Turns out a girl can have too much caviar.’

‘Happy birthday.’ Kit handed her a glass before taking the seat opposite her, raising his glass to her. ‘You worked in events?’

She nodded. ‘After I graduated I joined a friend’s PR and events company.’ It had been the perfect job, working in the heart of Manhattan with the heart of society—until her friend had decided she preferred attending parties to planning them, being in the headlines rather than creating them. ‘After that I landed a junior management role at DL Media and then Brenda poached me. I’ve only worked in editorial for the last six months,’ she added. She still wasn’t sure how Brenda had persuaded her to leave the safe world of PR for the unknown waters of editorial. It was the first unplanned move Maddison had made in a decade. It still terrified her, both the spontaneity and the starting again.

‘Six months? I did wonder why you were still at an assistant level when you are obviously so capable.’ The words were casually said but Maddison sat up a little straighter, pride swelling her chest.

She looked around the room, not wanting Kit to see just how the offhand praise had affected her. ‘It’s nice here. Is this where you bring all the girls?’

‘You’re the first.’

She turned and looked at him, laughter ready on her lips but there was no answering smile. He was serious. ‘Consider me honoured. Why not? It’s pretty convenient.’

Kit shrugged. ‘I don’t like to bring anyone home. It gives them ideas. One moment a cosy dinner, the next a sleepover and before you know it they’re rearranging the furniture and suggesting a drawer. Besides, Camilla and her ilk only like to go to places where they can see and be seen. This place isn’t anywhere near trendy enough for them.’

It sounded pretty lonely. Maddison knew all about that. ‘So if you don’t want to share your home or local with these girls, why date them?’

His eyes darkened for a stormy moment. ‘Because I am in absolutely no danger of falling in love with any of them.’

* * *

He had said too much. This was supposed to be a casual ‘thank you and by the way happy birthday’ drink, not a full-on confessional. He didn’t need or deserve absolution. Maddison stared at him, her eyes wide and mouth half-open as if he were some kind of crossword clue she could solve, and for once he couldn’t think of the right kind of quip to turn her attention aside. He breathed a sigh of relief as the waitress came over, their Mediterranean platter balanced high on one hand, and broke the mounting tension.

‘If I’d known you had overdosed on canapés I’d have ordered something more substantial,’ he said, gesturing at the bowls of olives and sundried tomatoes, hummus and aioli. ‘The bread’s reasonably sized though.’

‘No, this is good, thanks.’ But she sounded thoughtful and her eyes were still fixed disturbingly on him. Kit searched for a change of subject.

‘Have you heard from Hope?’ That was safe enough.

Maddison speared a falafel and placed it delicately onto her plate, every movement precise, just as she was in the office. ‘A couple of emails. I think she’s settled in.’ She smiled then, a completely unguarded, full-on smile, and Kit’s chest twisted at the openness of it. ‘She intimidates me a little. I thought I was organized, but Hope? She beats me every time. Did you know she left me a printed-out file, all alphabetized, with instructions on what to do if the boiler breaks and when the trash goes out? Half of it is about what I need to do if her sister, Faith, comes home early from her travels or phones or something. I mean, the girl’s nineteen. Cut her some slack!’ But although the words were mocking there was a wistfulness in Maddison’s face that belied them.

She took a deep breath and her features recomposed until she was back to her usual calm and efficient self. ‘Anyway, some of her neighbours have dropped round and been welcoming, which is very kind but they’re older and have kids. They’re nice but a night spent in talking about the cost of childcare isn’t exactly something I can contribute to.’

Kit grimaced. ‘No, I can empathize with that. It seems that every time I go out now someone is talking about nannies or the importance of organic baby food.’ Each time it was a reminder that his friendship group was moving on without him, the teasing about his bachelor status beginning to grate.

She raised her eyes to his. ‘Don’t you want kids? One day?’

He laughed shortly. ‘Why does it all come back to kids and marriage? I thought society had evolved beyond that. Why not just enjoy some company for a while and then move on?’

Maddison was frozen, her fork in her hand. ‘That’s really what you think? Poor Camilla.’

Kit frowned. ‘She knew the score. I don’t pretend to be anything different, to want anything different, Maddison. If she wants to change the rules without checking to see if I’m still playing along then that’s not my problem.’

‘People change. No one goes into a relationship expecting it to stay static. Relationships evolve. They grow or they end. It’s the way it has to be.’

‘I don’t agree. It’s perfectly possible for two people to enjoy themselves with no expectations of anything more. Look, Camilla said she was happy enough with a casual thing but it didn’t take long before she started pushing for more. If she’d been more honest with herself, with me, at the beginning, then she wouldn’t have got hurt.’

‘Wow. You’ve actually made me feel a little sorry for her.’ The colour was high on her cheeks and he opened his mouth to do what? Defend himself? No, to put her straight, but anything he might have said was drowned out as the pub’s PA system crackled into life with an announcement of that night’s quiz.

Maddison straightened and looked around, her eyes bright like a child promised a treat. ‘Oh, I haven’t done a quiz since college. Do you want to...? I mean, we’ve barely started on the wine and there’s all that bread to eat.’

Interesting. Kit sat back and looked at her; she was practically fizzing with anticipation. His mind flashed back to the completed crossword, to the way she had meticulously sorted every single problem that had come his way for the last four weeks. I wanted to be Nancy Drew, she had said.

Could he trust her? It wasn’t just that he didn’t want any of his commercial rivals getting any hint of what he was up to; he didn’t want it known internally either. He didn’t want project-management groups and focus studies and sales input. That would come, but not yet. Not while he was enjoying the thrill of the new.

‘Maddison,’ he said slowly. ‘How would you like to be my guinea pig?’

‘Your what?’ She couldn’t have looked more outraged if he’d asked her if she wanted to eat a guinea pig.

‘Guinea pig. Testing out my new product.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘How very marketing friendly of you. I was under the impression that we produced books.’

‘Oh, we do. I do.’ He considered her for a moment longer. She didn’t really know anyone to tell and didn’t strike him as the gossiping type anyway. He should trust her. He hadn’t come this far without taking some risks.

Kit had started his publishing career while still at Cambridge, republishing forgotten golden-age crime books for a nostalgic audience. Two years later he’d diversified into digital genre publishing before selling his company to DL Media for a tidy sum and an executive position. The sale had paid for his house and furnished him with a nice disposable income and a nest egg, but lately he’d been wondering if he’d sold his soul, not just his company.

He had had no idea just how different things would be. The sole guy in charge of a small but growing company was a million miles away from a cog in a huge international corporation—even an executive cog. And although the perks and salary were nice—more than nice—he missed the adrenaline rush of ownership. This project was making his blood pump in almost the same way as building up his imprint had. While he was working on it he almost forgot everything else that had changed in the last few years.

Maddison’s eyes were fixed on his face. ‘So what is this product?’

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

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.’

He turned, his smile not reaching his eyes. ‘Every day. Okay, where are we headed?’

Maddison swallowed. It was a clear change of subject. He was not going to discuss his loss with her. There was no reason why he should; they barely knew each other. And yet there had been a connection last night, and now as they wandered through the gravestones. Maybe she’d imagined it. After all, didn’t she know how powerful imagination was? How important.

She held up the piece of paper and read out the first clue once again. ‘“Take the Northern line to Archway. Walk up Highgate Hill and through Waterlow Park to the final resting place of the city. Unite at the grave where you have nothing to lose but your chains. The last words on the fourth line are...?”’ She paused and looked up at Kit. ‘Unite at the grave? What does that mean? We have to split up?’

‘See, this is where in the actual trail you’ll read the information about Highgate Cemetery in the guidebook and hopefully work the clue out from there. Here.’ He passed her his phone. ‘Read that.’

She took it carefully and squinted down at the screen, angling it away from the sun so that she could make out the words. ‘“Famous people buried here include Douglas Adams, George Eliot and Christina Rossetti, although many people bypass even these luminaries and head straight to the grave of Karl Marx...” Oh! Of course.’ She read through the rest of the list. ‘Lizzie Siddal’s buried here too? I’d love to see her grave. I did a paper on the Pre-Raphaelites at college.’

‘Take your time. The whole point of this is that it’s fun and a way to explore London, not to tear around like some kind of city-wide scavenger hunt.’

‘True, but I’m testing it, not doing it for real,’ she pointed out. ‘I can come back. I might even explore the one in Stoke Newington. Maybe you’ve converted me to gothic tourism.’

‘That’s the aim. I’ll get you on to a Ripper tour yet. Look, there’s a tour guide. Why don’t you ask him the way?’

‘Only if you take my photo when we get there.’ Maddison examined the picture of the grave in fascination. ‘I’ve seen a lot of hipster beards since I got to London but Karl Marx has them all beat. I want to capture that for posterity.’ It wasn’t quite the type of picture she had intended to fill her social-media sites with but hey. Let Bart see she had hidden depths.

And more importantly that she was out, about and having fun.

Only, Maddison reflected as she walked towards the guide to ask for directions, it wasn’t all for show. She probably wouldn’t have chosen to spend her weekend in this way but she was having fun. And even more oddly, until the last minute she hadn’t thought about Bart once all morning.

She’d been banking on absence making the heart grow fonder but in her case it seemed that out of sight really was out of mind. Well, good. Maddison Carter didn’t hang around weeping about any guy, no matter how perfect he was. And the more she made that clear, the more likely he would be banging on her door the second she got back to New York, begging for a second chance.

That was the plan, wasn’t it? But the image didn’t have its usual uplifting effect and for the first time Maddison couldn’t help wondering that if she had to go to such extraordinary efforts to persuade Bart that she was the girl for him then maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the guy for her.

And if he wasn’t, then she had no idea what to do next.

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