In the Boss's Castle

by Jessica Gilmore

  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.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘WHAT HAVE YOU got planned for me today?’ Maddison looked up at the threatening-looking sky and wrinkled her nose. ‘And what did you do with the sunshine?’

  ‘I forgot to order it.’ Kit gestured towards the end of the street. ‘Shall we?’

  ‘Okay, but there better be more transport today because, I am warning you, my feet are planning on going on strike after two miles.’

  He wasn’t surprised by her declaration. They had covered a huge amount of distance the day before, walking to Hampstead Heath from Highgate whe
re, after deciphering the clue, Maddison had found out the opening times of the famous all-season open-air pool. From there they had travelled to first Regent’s and then Hyde Park before searching for Peter Pan’s statue in Kensington Gardens. Less a leisurely treasure hunt, more a route march through London’s parks.

  And Maddison hadn’t complained once.

  She had turned all his preconceptions on their head this weekend. She had surprised him, shamed him a little, with the speech she had produced, with her sharp criticism of his own effort. Charmed him with her unabashed competitiveness in the pub quiz; and yesterday she had unflaggingly followed the clues, suggesting improvements and possible new additions. Not once had she moaned about sore feet or tried to steer him into a shop. He tried to imagine Camilla under similar circumstances and suppressed a smile. Unless her treasure hunt took her down Bond Street she was likely to give up at the first clue.

  What was he doing with women like Camilla? He’d thought he was choosing wisely, safely, but maybe he would be better off on his own. It was what he deserved, after all. Although sometimes his dating habits seemed like some eternal punishment, his own personal Hades.

  Maddison stopped. ‘The bus stop is just here. I was a bit horrified when I realized I was going to have to bus in to work but actually I love that I spend every day on a real red double-decker. It’s like an adventure. I never quite know where it might take me.’

  Kit’s mouth curled into a reluctant smile, his bitter thoughts banished by her enthusiasm. Turned out Maddison Carter had quite the imagination. ‘Doesn’t it stop at the bus stop outside work?’

  ‘Well, yeah, that’s where I choose to get off. But sometimes I wonder if it might turn an unexpected corner and poof. There I am, in Victorian London, or Tudor London. Even in New York I don’t feel that. Oh, we have some wonderful old houses back home but they’re babies compared to some of the buildings I see here.’