In The Boss's Castle

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 (#ulink_99054e5f-7dbf-55a2-a613-699b018de0cc)

‘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 where, 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.’

‘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.’