‘We’ll have to do the history tour next. That will blow your mind.’ The bus pulled in at that moment and they got on, tapping their cards on the machine by the driver before ascending the narrow, twisting staircase to the top deck. Yesterday was the first time Kit had been on a bus in a really long time, and personally he was struggling to see any hint of adventure travelling in the slow, crowded vehicle, but to test the routes properly he needed to travel the way his intended market would. However long it took.
He would taxi home though; that wouldn’t be cheating.
The bus lurched forward as he slid into a narrow seat beside Maddison. She was wearing the same brightly patterned skirt as yesterday teamed with another neat cashmere cardigan, this one in a bright blue that emphasized the red tones in her hair. She looked like a bird of paradise, far too elegant for the top deck of a bus—or a hike through a park. She had turned away to stare out the window, no doubt daydreaming of time-travelling adventures as the bus progressed slowly down a narrow street, stopping every few hundred yards to allow passengers on and off.
It was a good thing they had all day.
Kit shifted in his seat, trying to arrange his legs comfortably. ‘Did you have a nice evening? A date with one of your conquests from the party?’ Whatever she had done it had to have been better than his evening, an engagement party for an old friend. Camilla had been there, all quivering emotion and hurt eyes, his attempt to speak rationally to her thwarted by tears. It was funny, he thought grimly, how he had stuck to his word and yet somehow ended up the villain of the piece. At least she finally seemed to have accepted that they were over, had been over for some weeks and, no, he wasn’t going to change his mind.
‘A date?’ Maddison turned and stared at him. ‘I only met those men on Friday. It would be a bit early for me to accept a date off any of them even if they did ask me.’
Kit grinned at the indignation in her voice. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Do you need references and to meet the parents first?’
She didn’t smile back, her face serious. ‘No, but you never accept an invitation to a same-weekend date. Especially not for a first date.’
‘You don’t? How very unspontaneous.’
‘Of course not.’ She was sounding confused now. ‘A girl needs to make sure any potential guy understands that she’s a busy person, that she won’t just drop everything for them.’
Kit frowned. ‘But what if you don’t have plans? What if you’re turning down a night out for a box set and a takeaway?’
‘It doesn’t matter. If he doesn’t respect you enough to try and book you in advance then he never will. You’ll be relegated to a last-minute hook-up and once you’re there you never move on.’ Maddison turned to him, her eyes alight with curiosity. ‘Isn’t it like this in London?’
‘I don’t think so. Not that I’ve ever noticed. I say, “Want to grab a drink?” They say yes. Simple.’ Simple at first, anyway.
‘Or no. Surely sometimes they say no.’
Kit paused. ‘Maybe.’ But the truth was they usually said yes.
‘Wow.’ Maddison looked around as if answers were to be found somewhere on the bus. ‘There’s more than just an ocean between us, huh? Guess I’ll never get a date in London. Or I’ll end up civilizing your whole dating scene. Grateful women will build statues to me.’
The women Kit knew played enough mind games without adding some more to their repertoires. ‘Remind me never to talk to a woman of dating age in New York again; I shudder to think of all the rules I must have inadvertently broken.’ Although it must make life a little clearer, all these rules. It never failed to catch him unawares how quickly it could escalate—a coffee here, a drink there and suddenly there were expectations.
He suppressed a grin at Maddison’s appalled face and couldn’t resist shocking her a little more. ‘If you want to meet someone in London then you need to be a lot less rigid. Over here we meet someone, usually in the pub, fancy them, don’t know what to say to them, drink too much, kiss them, send some mildly flirty texts and panic that they’ll be misconstrued and repeat until you’re officially a couple.’
Maddison stared at him suspiciously. ‘That’s romantic.’
‘You’ve seen Four Weddings and a Funeral, right? Think about it. If Andie MacDowell had understood the British Way of Dating she would never have married the other man, she would have just made sure she turned up at Hugh Grant’s local pub a couple of times and that would be that.’
‘Four Weddings, Three Nights Out and a Funeral?’
‘That’s it. Now you’re ready to go. If you’re looking, that is—or is there someone with the perfect dating etiquette waiting for you back in New York?’
‘We’re on a break.’ The words were airily said but, glancing at her, Kit was surprised to see a melancholy tint to her expression. Sadness mixed with something that looked a lot like fear.
‘Because you came here?’
‘Not really.’ She shook her head, a small embarrassed laugh escaping her. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you this.’
‘I don’t mind.’
Maddison paused, as if she were weighing up whether to carry on. ‘Rule number two of dating,’ she said eventually. ‘Don’t talk about your other relationships. Always seem mysterious and desirable at all times. Remember, rejected goods are never as attractive. Rules are rules, even when you’re talking to your boss!’
‘Your way sounds like a lot of hard work.’ Kit stole a glance at her. Her face was pale, all the vibrant colour bleached out of it. He had been subjected to tears, tempers and sulks by his exes, often all three at once, and remained totally unmoved, but Maddison’s stillness tugged at him. He wanted to see the warmth return to her expression; after all, he knew all about pain and regret, what a burden it was, how it infected everything. ‘Look, if you want to talk about it forget I’m your boss. I’ve got a sister, remember? Sometimes I think she uses me as her very own Dear Diary.’
Maddison slid a long look up at him and Kit tried to look as confide-worthy as possible. It wasn’t curiosity, not exactly. He just got the impression that she didn’t let things out very often. Didn’t allow her vulnerabilities to show. ‘Rule number three, never assume you’re exclusive, not until it’s been formalized.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t assume but I let myself believe it was imminent. That he was in it for the long-term.’
‘And you were? In it for the long-term?’
She nodded. ‘When I first met him, right then, before we even spoke, before we had coffee or went for a walk or kissed. When I first met him I looked at him and I knew. Knew that I could grow old with him.’
Kit blinked. ‘Like love at first sight?’ He couldn’t keep the scepticism out of his voice.
‘No.’ She shook her head, strawberry-blonde tendrils shaking with the motion. ‘Not love. But compatibility, you know? That would grow into love? Two old people rocking on their porch at the end of a long day.’
‘You got all that before hello?’
‘The way he was standing, his hair, the cut of his suit. It said he was...’ She paused, looking up at the bus roof as if for inspiration. ‘He just looked like the way I always imagined my future to look. Does that make any sense at all? Have you never thought that way? That you could grow old with someone?’
Kit hesitated. ‘Once,’ he admitted reluctantly. ‘But not straight away.’ But the words didn’t quite ring true. The reality was that right from the start he had been so dazzled by the image Eleanor portrayed that he had failed to look beneath the carefully applied gloss to the woman underneath.
‘What happened?’
Kit tried to smile, as if it were nothing, but he knew all too well that it looked like a grimace. ‘She married my brother.’
Maddison opened her mouth then shut it again. He understood that. What was there to say, after all? Kit pulled
his phone out of his pocket and busied himself looking at emails. The subject was closed—it should never have been open at all.
Half an hour and a Tube train later they alighted at Notting Hill. He had been careful not to catch her eye, to start another conversation, knowing one more careless confession would shatter everything he worked so hard to contain. But they were here now and the game was back on. And so must he be. He switched on his usual smile, the one that was barely skin-deep.
‘Ready?’ Kit handed Maddison the first clue and, with one sweeping, comprehensive look at him, she took it. His message had been received and understood.
‘“Turn left out of the station until you reach Holland Walk. What is Henry’s man doing outside the place where East meets West and the Dutch play?”’ she read aloud. ‘How international. Are we still doing wild London?’
‘Just for today.’ After this he was planning south to the Chelsea Physic Garden and then east to Greenwich Park. Next weekend he was hoping that they could do the historical tour and literary the week after that—and then he would have enough data to put together a full proposal and Maddison could have her weekends back again.
As could he. The usual long, lonely weekends unless he buried himself with work or left London for two days of something outdoors, strenuous and a little dangerous.
Maddison repeated the clue to herself as they walked up the tree-lined splendour of Holland Park Avenue, past the white-painted, ornately decorated houses of this most exclusive of areas, breathing in a deep satisfied sigh as they turned into the park. ‘I do love the countryside.’
Kit grinned. ‘This isn’t countryside, city girl. Two minutes that way and you’re back in the heart of the city.’ He stared unseeingly at the nearest tree. ‘Back home there’s nothing but trees and grass, water and mountains. The nearest supermarket’s an hour’s drive away on single-track roads, nothing remotely urban for miles around.’
‘Sounds remote.’
‘Yes.’ He closed his eyes and pictured Kilcanon on a perfect day, the evening drawing in over the water, the vibrant greens fading to grey. Like Odysseus sitting on Circe’s island, he felt a sudden piercing longing for his home. But unlike Odysseus there would be no happy homecoming at the end of his journey. His exile was self-imposed, necessary—and permanent. ‘It’s like no place on earth. But this is my home now, there’s no going back. Not for me.’
* * *
And just like that he closed down, just as he had on the bus, and Maddison had no idea how to reach him—or even whether she should try. After all, they weren’t friends, were they? They worked together, that was all.
But she didn’t like to see anyone in pain and the darkness had returned, his eyes more navy than blue, his lips compressed as if he were holding all the emotions in the world tightly within.
‘Because of your ex? And your brother?’ The conversation from the graveyard yesterday returned to her and she stopped still, shock reverberating through her as she put the clues together. ‘Wait, she married your brother, who died?’ She regretted the words the second they snapped out of her mouth; there must have been a more sensitive way to have put it.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry. For both.’
‘Thank you.’ They began to wander along the path, following the signs to the Japanese garden, Maddison mentally ticking off part of the clue as she went.
‘It can’t have been easy for you.’ And that, she thought with a grimace, was the understatement of the century.
His mouth twisted. ‘I accepted long ago that the Eleanor I thought I was in love with doesn’t exist. I just wish I had really been able to forgive Euan while I still could. I said I had, of course, but I never did. Not because she chose him over me. But because he chose her over me.’ His mouth snapped shut and he marched along the path as if, like the White Rabbit, they were late.
Maddison walked slowly behind, giving Kit the space he needed. She didn’t know a lot about families but she understood betrayal, knew that the worst wounds were inflicted by those who should put you first. No wonder he wasted his time with women who were safe, women he would never allow in too deep.
But his wounds were festering. When had he said his brother had died? Three years ago? And he still hadn’t dealt. If she didn’t push now, maybe he never would.
But there were dangers in confidences. That was how bonds were formed, friendships forged. She should know; she’d honed her listening skills a long time ago—the right questions, a sympathetic face. She knew the drill. Used it to navigate her way into the right groups, the right cliques, the right life.
But this time she could use her skills for good. To help.
Darn altruism. She didn’t have the time or space for it.
She stood, teetering on her decision. Flip the conversation back to clues and parks and grisly tours or probe deeper. She knew which was sensible...
Kit was standing by the entrance to the Japanese garden, a scruffy silhouette, hands in pockets. Maddison picked up her pace and closed the distance between them, mind made up. Light, frivolous words prepared. Only: ‘Were you close?’ fell from her lips instead.
He turned his head to look at her, his eyes distant, granite-like in their bleakness. Maddison stepped back, the shock almost physical. Gone was the annoying, teasing boss, gone her focused if entertaining weekend companion, in his place a hard-faced stranger reeking of grief.
‘Once.’
‘Until Eleanor?’
‘Until Eleanor.’ He walked into the garden, Maddison following, taking a moment to admire the deep oranges and reds in the expertly arranged planting perfectly setting off the delicate waterfalls and sculptures. She joined Kit on the wide stone bridge and stood by him, looking at the koi as they swam in the pond.
‘She was everything I didn’t know I wanted.’
Maddison’s heart twisted at the words. Wasn’t that what she aimed to be? Hadn’t she tried to learn Bart? To be everything he didn’t know he wanted? But her intentions were more honourable; if he wanted her, offered her the security she craved, she would look after his heart as if it were her own, do her very best to give him hers. Not break him into pieces.
‘We were close, Euan and I. There’s barely a year and a half between us and he was the oldest—he never let me forget that. But he had asthma and it held him back sometimes and I, I didn’t let him forget that.’
He paused, still staring into the pond as if the koi carp could give him the answers she couldn’t. But like her they just listened.
‘I was in my last year at Cambridge when I brought Eleanor home. I’d never brought a girl back before. I couldn’t wait for my family to meet her. But he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t help making even her into a competition and this time he won. How was I supposed to forgive him for that?’
Without thinking Maddison reached across the carefully maintained space between them and laid a hand on Kit’s arm. It was firm, as she’d known it would be, warm. She wanted to leave her hand there, flesh on flesh, to allow her fingers to slip down the muscled forearm, to link around his wrist. Her heart began to hammer, every millimetre of her uncomfortably aware of his proximity, of the feel of him under her suddenly unsteady hand.
She had never experienced a visceral reaction like this over a mere touch before.
She had never had a reaction like this before. Period.
Slowly, as if her hand were an unarmed grenade and not a part of her own body, Maddison lowered her hand back to her side. Kit was continuing as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t even felt the pressure of her hand, let alone the almost explosive chemical reaction when skin touched skin.
Which was good, right? No, it was great. No awkwardness, no apologies. She’d just done what any normal person would do at a moment like this. Offered some comfort. Awkward comfort, sure. But all completel
y appropriate and above board.
‘In that moment I was exiled from my home. Came home for holidays and Christmases, pretended I was fine, that there was no problem on my side. But I couldn’t stay for long, not while they lived in Kilcanon. It’s got worse since he died. I feel it more than ever. Going back gets harder every time. His absence seems larger every time.’
Maddison took a deep breath, steadying her voice as best she could. ‘Did she love him?’ She badly wanted the answer to be yes. After all, she’d been ready to love Bart, hadn’t she? Ready to give him her body and soul in return for the security he guaranteed. She wasn’t one of those gold-digging fakes ready to barter themselves away for a lifestyle. She was just cautious, that was all. Not ready to commit her heart too soon. Not till she knew it was safe.
‘I’d like to think so, I really do. At least, I hope he believed she did. I hope he died thinking she adored him just as he adored her. Of course, her forthcoming nuptials to an older, richer and more influential man might point the other way but, hey, what do I know about grief?’
‘A fair bit from the sound of it,’ she said softly and he grimaced.
‘It’s been three years. It’s time I moved on and accepted my responsibilities to the family. That’s what my parents think. Not that they’ve really moved on. I’m not sure they’ll ever accept the fact that Euan has gone and I am all that’s left. Poor seconds.’
‘I’m sure they don’t think that.’
He laughed, a short bitter sound. ‘You’ve spoken to my mother. You must have worked out what a disappointment I am.’
‘I know she wants to hear from you, that messages through me aren’t enough.’ What would it be like to have a mother who cared? Who tried and tried to get through to you even when you were too grief-stricken and hurt to respond. ‘Wait, Eleanor’s wedding. Is that the wedding I keep getting calls about?’
‘The very same. She’s marrying a neighbour of ours and my parents are very insistent that we all go along and bless her new marriage. It’s the right thing to do. And they’re right, and yet I just can’t bring myself to accept the damn invite. It’s like if I do, that’s it. Euan has gone and it was all for nothing.’
In the Boss's Castle Page 5
