by Saying Yes to the Millionaire [HR-4031, MNR-129, A Bride for All Seasons 02] (lit)
The mini-scowl eased from her face a little. He decided to carry on while there was a thaw. ‘I was planning to send them off to Scotland where they had their honeymoon. Mum’s always said how good for the soul those mountains are.’
She smiled at him. ‘That’s a lovely idea.’
‘And what about you, Fern? I’m sure you could find something sensible to spend the money on. Pay off a bit of your mortgage or something. Didn’t that Simon guy mention something about the Leukaemia Research Trust—’ at this she perked up and he knew he was on the right track ‘—some appeal they’re holding at the moment?’
‘I expect he mentioned something like that,’ she said quietly, the pull of conflicting emotions clouding her pale blue eyes.
He laid a hand on her arm, but stopped short of sliding it around her shoulders and pulling her to him as he had the urge to do. As he’d had the urge to do ever since his fingers had felt the soft curve of her waist before she’d fallen out of his hands. He suddenly felt very careless for letting her go that easily.
‘Come on, Fern. The possibility of five thousand pounds and four days in my scintillating company. What’s not to like?’
She shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. ‘You always were a bit of a big-head.’
‘And you used to say you didn’t see enough of your honorary big brother.’
She shook her head. ‘Seriously, I can’t just drop everything. I have work to do.’
‘What sort of work?’
‘Well, my job involves site visits so I can assess risk factors. The insurance company then uses my report to decide the premium.’
‘And how many visits have you got planned over the next few days?’
She unfolded and refolded her arms. ‘Well, none actually—’ she held up her hand to stop him interrupting ‘—but I’d really been looking forward to having a chance to clear my desk and catch up with the filing.’
He gave her an incredulous look. ‘Sweetheart, filing can always wait for a few more days.’
She glared back at him. ‘It’s too short notice. I can’t just not show up tomorrow.’
‘Why? Have you used up all your annual leave?’
She opened her mouth and shut it again. Then she looked at the floor. ‘Yes,’ she said with the vague hint of a question in her voice. He knew that routine.
‘Fern?’
She looked up.
‘Are you fibbing?’
She blew out an exasperated puff of air and the slightly guilty look in her eyes made him want to chuckle. ‘Yes.’
Their gazes locked and the urge to chuckle leached away. ‘You could ask your boss, couldn’t you?’
She tutted and mumbled some kind of answer as she pulled a mobile phone out of her neat little brown leather rucksack. He tried not to smile too hard as she pressed a few buttons and walked away from him, holding it to her ear. He also tried not to stare too hard at her bottom as she took slow, steady steps away from him, deep in conversation with someone else.
When had Fern started walking like that? With all that sway and fluid grace? She wiped the smile off his face completely by turning round suddenly and catching him in the act. He tried to look nonchalant. Maybe she hadn’t noticed.
He couldn’t work out how the conversation was going. Fern wasn’t looking pleased, but she was nodding more than she was shaking her head. Finally, she removed the phone from her ear, punched the button and took quick steps towards him.
‘Well? Did he say yes?’
She sighed and nodded just the once. He swore that, as she tucked her phone away back in her bag, he heard her mutter something like, ‘It must be infectious.’ When she had zipped every last zip and popped every last popper she looked up.
‘Come on, Fern. It’ll be fun. What do you say?’
Half of her answer was muffled against his chest as he dragged her into a triumphant hug, ignoring his earlier instinct to keep a bit of distance. So he kept wanting to touch her. So what? What were impulses for, if not for following?
Fern was so used to the rumbles, screeches and hoots of the London traffic that she filtered it all out as she made her way from Embankment tube station up the Strand towards Trafalgar Square. Josh had said to meet him there at eleven-thirty and it was already twenty-five past. She picked up speed.
Gone were the glorious blue skies of yesterday. The weather forecast had said it was going to be overcast and for once it was right. Pearly-white clouds hung high in the air, robbing the light of its golden quality but doing nothing to reduce its brightness. She was squinting already, which meant she would almost certainly have a headache by the end of the day.
On the Internet last night she’d done some research on the event and had found out that it was called the Secret London Treasure Hunt, organised by London City Radio to promote not only their shows, but the famous tourist attractions. It had also said something about discovering interesting nooks and crannies that even many Londoners didn’t know about. She smiled. This was really going to be her kind of thing.
She loved the history of London. Her office was in the square mile of the old city and she spent many of her lunch hours exploring the side streets, little parks and myriad churches. There was always something fascinating to find, some little adventure to go on.
There was more of a crowd in Trafalgar Square than she’d expected. She knew from the treasure hunt website that there were forty teams of two people each. As far as she could make out, that number would be reduced each day until only ten teams were racing for the finish line on Sunday. Of course, she could make life much easier for herself and lag behind, causing her team to arrive late enough to be eliminated at one of the checkpoints. She’d have done her duty to Lisette and Josh and she wouldn’t be forced to spend the next four days with him.
But deep in her heart she knew she couldn’t do that. It would be too selfish. Josh’s parents really deserved the holiday, and how could she deprive the Leukaemia Research Trust of the funds it so desperately needed?
She shifted the small backpack she was carrying so it was more comfortable on her shoulders as she crossed the road on to Trafalgar Square. The bag contained as much as she could carry for the next few days: a change of clothes, toiletries, her mini first aid kit. She thought she’d packed light but it was getting heavier by the second.
Where was Josh? She couldn’t find him anywhere in this crowd.
In the end she decided to make her way to the small booth at the edge of the square where similarly dressed people were queuing up. Red Secret London T-shirts with the radio station logo on the back had been provided for all the registered teams. The air fairly fizzled with excitement.
She checked her watch just before she signed in. Eleven-forty. And Josh’s extravagant squiggle of a signature was missing from the sign-up sheet. She took one last look over her shoulder, then neatly completed the form. There. She was committed now.
The man behind the desk offered her a sheet of paper and she absent-mindedly took it from him as she turned and walked away, scanning the crowd one more time.
Where was he?
This was typical Josh. Perhaps something more exciting had come up last-minute and he hadn’t been able to say no. One side of her mouth twisted up into a wry smile. How ironic.
A sense of disappointment bled into her body, causing sudden lethargy. Suddenly her backpack felt too heavy for her and she slid it off her shoulders and let it drop at her feet. She was starting to get really cross with Josh for making her feel like this once again. Overlooked. Not special enough.
Since she was the type of person who preferred to do things rather than sit around and mope, she decided the best thing she could do at this precise second was to be furiously angry with Josh. She yanked her backpack off the ground and started marching round the crowd, looking for him.
He’d better have a darn good explanation when he turned up.
Suddenly she stopped dead. Perhaps he did have a really good explanation. Wha
t if something had happened to his dad? She covered her mouth with her hand. He’d be devastated.
And it was as she was standing there, her heart pumping with the horror of all the possibilities, that she finally laid eyes on a familiar mop of sticky-up dark hair. She’d come full circle and was back by the registration booth. And there he was, propped up against it, a smile on his face and a familiar glint in his eye. That glint was legendary, and it meant that somewhere there was a—her eyes shifted to the right and she found what she was looking for—a woman.
How dared he be looking all calm and collected—and glinting at other women—when there was only ten minutes before the start of the race and it didn’t even look like he’d tried to find her? The anger was back, bubbling up in her throat and making her feel as if her eyes had steamed up from the inside.
Looking forward to four days with Josh? Pah! She must be out of her tiny mind! The race hadn’t even started yet and already her emotions had taken a roller coaster ride through frustration, despondency, fury, panic and back to rage again. This was what Josh did. He made life terrifying. And she’d signed up to four whole days of it!
Checking her anger, she walked deliberately up to Josh and the girl. Only as she came within six feet of him did he wrestle his attention away from the leggy brunette in a teeny-tiny Secret London T-shirt and shorts and look up. How many times must she have washed it to get it that small?
‘Fern!’ He looked at his watch, then gave her an indulgent look. ‘You’re cutting it a bit fine, aren’t you?’
Fern was tempted to throw her head back and scream out her frustration. Of course, she did nothing of the sort. ‘Actually, I’ve been here for ages, looking for you.’ She raised her eyebrows.
He gave her a smirk that said, Whoops! Sorry! She shook her head.
‘I got a little sidetracked talking to Kate here.’
She bet he had. She looked the other woman up and down. Long toned thighs, little shorts and a pair of rather obvious…assets, stretching against her tiny T-shirt. Kate had the whole Lara Croft thing going—without the thigh holsters and pistols. Of course Josh hadn’t been able to tear himself away.
Somewhere behind them there was a scraping and screeching noise as somebody tapped the microphone rigged up to a PA system. ‘Come on,’ she said. Josh jumped up from his lounging position, suddenly energised, and followed her to the back of the crowd. Why was she not surprised that, when she glanced back, she caught Kate checking out his bottom?
A forty-something with glaringly white teeth, London City Radio’s late night DJ, bounded on to a small platform set up near the base of Nelson’s Column. A ripple of applause went through the crowd. Fern edged her way closer to the front, eager not to miss any of the details.
After a few minutes of good-natured banter with the crowd, he got down to business, calling the teams entered in the treasure hunt to stand in the space directly in front of the stage.
‘Now, contestants, you all received a copy of the rules when you signed up for the treasure hunt and, just in case you’ve left them at home, we’ve supplied extra copies when you signed in this morning.’
Fern stared down at the half-crumpled piece of paper still gripped between her fingers. She’d obviously scrunched her fingers together a little too hard when she’d finally found Josh. She tried to smooth it out again between her palms. Rules. Good. One thing her life needed at the moment was a little bit of structure.
The DJ flashed another grin. ‘But, just so everyone is clear, we’re going to go through the basics right now.’
Josh pretended to yawn and she dug him in the ribs with her elbow.
‘The hunt starts at twelve o’clock today and will end at noon on Sunday. During that time, you will travel across the city, visiting both well-known tourist attractions and little-known historic sites. You will all receive a set of identical clues and a digital camera. Each time you solve a clue and reach the next destination, you will need to take a photograph to confirm you were in the right place. These photographs will then be shown to the team marshals at the end of each day. Sometimes the clue will be a riddle for you to solve in order to find the next clue…’
Fern smiled. She was good at riddles and lateral-thinking problems.
‘…sometimes you will have to complete a task or perform a challenge before you will be given the next clue.’
Now Fern scowled and squeezed her eyelids together. Please, please, don’t let there be another bungee jump!
‘Fern?’ The word was little more than a tickle of breath against her neck. ‘Are you okay?’ She nodded furiously and opened her eyes. Josh was standing right behind her, his fingertips resting on her waist as he listened to the DJ outline the rules. She missed a few sentences, too caught up in the little electrical charges travelling from the points of contact all the way up her spine.
She was reminded of that moment at the top of the crane—was it only yesterday?—when she had felt his touch and heard his reassuring whisper in such a similar way. Now, as it had done then, a peculiar sense of peace enveloped her.
The DJ was finishing up. ‘By 10 pm each evening you will have to arrive at the specified checkpoint and the number of teams will be reduced by ten. Some teams will arrive late. Some teams may not have the correct sequence of photographs. These teams, along with those arriving last, up to a total of ten teams, will be…eliminated.’
He said this with such a sense of drama that the crowd stopped fidgeting and whispering and a hush descended. Even the ever-present pigeons seemed to fall quiet. ‘Now, if the contestants can see the support team of special Secret London marshals—’he waved his arms to indicate the group of people dressed in a black version of the now familiar T-shirt ‘—we can provide you with the envelope containing the first clue and the essentials you will need for the race.’
Fern’s heart started to beat faster. Josh grabbed her hand and dragged her forward. They found one of the T-shirted marshals, a girl who seemed to be all of fifteen. ‘Mobile phones, credit cards and cash, please,’ she said in an annoyingly chirpy manner.
Fern’s hand flew to the mobile phone in her back pocket. ‘My phone? My money?’
Josh was busy emptying his pockets. ‘Weren’t you listening? It’s part of the rules. We get given Travelcards so we can have free travel on the underground and buses and we all start off with ten pounds for each team. That way, it’s an even playing field. We can’t call other people for help and those with lots of ready money can’t use it to get ahead. Seems pretty fair to me.’
Fern clutched her phone. What if there was an emergency at the office? What if her parents needed her? Taking part in this treasure hunt was going to be a bit like being cut off from the rest of the world. Odd that, when they were in the middle of a city with a population of over seven million. She reluctantly plucked the cards and cash out of her purse and dropped them, together with her mobile, into a waiting plastic folder with her name written on it.
A few minutes later the teams were standing apart from the rest of the crowd, clutching their Oyster cards, a five pound note each and an envelope containing the first clue. She quickly looked around. The Lara Croft look-alike met her gaze. She was teamed up with an equally perfect male specimen. Apart from the obligatory red T-shirt, both of them were dressed head to foot in black. Some people were taking this competition just a little too seriously.
The DJ coughed into the microphone to draw attention to himself. All the contestants’ heads swivelled towards him. Fern realised she was holding her breath.
‘You may open your red Secret London envelopes…’a long pause followed; she was sure he must be counting to one hundred inside his head, because it seemed to go on for ever ‘…now!’
She tore at the envelope in her hand, but her fingers seemed to be thick and uncooperative. Other teams were already pulling the piece of paper out and reading the clue. She shot Josh a look of desperation and handed it to him. Josh, characteristically, didn’t waste any time a
nd ripped the whole thing open, actually tearing the clue in the process too. He had to hold the two bits together so they could read it.
Make your way to Berwick Street market. There you will find ten stalls with the Secret London logo on them. Two teams may work on each stall. Your team must sell 30 worth of fruit and veg in order to receive your next clue. You may keep any money you make to help you in the treasure hunt. If all the spaces on the stalls are full when you arrive, you must wait for one of the other teams to complete the task and then take their place.
Fern looked up. A couple of teams were already running across Trafalgar Square towards the road, desperately trying to hail black cabs.
‘Berwick Street. It’s not that far from here, is it?’ Josh said.
All she could do was watch the other teams sprinting away from them in random directions. She shook her head. Josh was looking this way and that.
