Hidden (Marchwood Vampire Series #1) (6 page)

‘
Not too late please. Big day tomorrow with that solicitor and
everything.’ Angie stood up and kissed her cheek. ‘Happy Birthday,
love.’

Maddy got
changed and rushed downstairs, relieved to get out of the house
into the evening air. Things had never felt stranger. She walked
towards the park, texting Keisha and Lois on the way. They arranged
to meet up in ten minutes time.

As she walked
across the tarmac, Maddy saw her friends were already there. They
were easy to spot. Keisha, a half Afro-Caribbean, half English
beauty, with long brown hair and a willowy figure. And Lois, with
her streaked blonde hair, big boobs and an attitude radiating from
every knock-off designer fibre.

When Maddy
started at Collingstone, she’d slotted into their friendship easily
and although the others had known each other since they were tots,
it felt like the three of them had always been together.

Maddy ignored
Angie’s advice and immediately told her friends what had happened
with the solicitor.

‘
You’re winding us up, right?’ Keisha raised a perfectly
plucked eyebrow.

‘
I know it sounds insane. But I’m totally serious.’

‘
Girl, that isn’t something to go joking about.’

‘
I’m not.’

‘
But then … wow! You’re like, set for life. If you’re having a
laugh, I’ll …’

‘
I’m not!’

‘
Mads, I can’t believe it.’ Lois threw her arms around her
friend and hugged her. Then all three of them started jumping up
and down, whooping and laughing.

‘
Yeah!’ Lois screeched. ‘Don’t you go forgetting your friends
though. You’ll be going out with film stars and partying with Paris
and Lindsay while we’re stuck here getting jiggy with it, to Paul
Mancini’s mobile disco.’

Mads and
Keisha laughed at her intentionally crap dance moves.

‘
Where is Gloucester anyway?’ Keisha asked. Is it in the
country? You gonna have to move there?’

‘
It’s Gloucestershire I think, some village called Tetbury or
something. I dunno where it is and I ain’t moving to the country.
Nothing going on there. Maybe I could buy a place in town and we
could all move in together.’

‘
Oh, Mads, you’re gonna live the dream.’

They spent the
rest of the evening theoretically spending sixty one million
pounds.

*

Trevor and
Angie had made an effort for their trip into town. Trevor in a
too-tight suit and Angie with flattened hair and a new skirt and
blouse. They made Ben put on a shirt and tie, but Maddy wouldn’t be
told what to wear and decided on faded stretch jeans, black wedges,
a strappy vest and lots of jewellery. She pulled her black hair
into two cute bunches and went heavy on the eyeliner.

A warm breeze
wafted a musty, oily scent into Maddy’s nostrils and she inhaled
deeply as they descended the escalator. Their tube wasn’t too busy
and they all got a seat.

‘
You excited, Maddy?’ Angie asked.

‘
Dunno. It’s a bit weird.’

‘
Weird?’ Trevor scoffed. ‘It’s everybody’s dream come true, is
what it is. Things like this just don’t happen. I’d say you’re the
luckiest girl in Britain.’

Maddy shrugged
her shoulders. Sure it was great and everything, but she certainly
didn’t feel like the luckiest girl in Britain. She just felt ...
weird.

After a couple
of changes, they reached Baker Street and stepped out into the
muggy warmth of central London. Outside the station Maddy saw a few
stalls and shops selling the usual tat of policeman’s helmets, t
shirts and postcards. The queue for Madame Tussauds and The
Planetarium snaked along for what looked like half a mile up the
road and the traffic roared past.

Trevor led the
way and within minutes, they stood outside the impressive white
mansion block that housed Hamilton Blythe Solicitors.

After taking
the wrought iron lift up to the third floor, they found themselves
in a plush reception area, a bit like the lobby of a five star
hotel. Madison looked around, trying not to feel intimidated. She
took in the pale marble floor, dark green pot plants and several
groupings of subtly mismatched sofas and armchairs. Today’s
newspapers and the latest glossy magazines adorned side tables and
an indoor water feature provided a delicate tinkling sound, making
Maddy want to pee.

They were
greeted immediately by a smartly dressed young woman who asked them
to please sit and make themselves comfortable for a few minutes. Mr
Vasey-Smith would be with them very shortly. She took drinks orders
and returned almost immediately with a tall jug of iced lemonade
and a plate of freshly baked cakes and biscuits.

‘
You better get used to this, Maddy,’ Trevor said, ‘now you’re
a lady of means.’

‘
It’s just lemonade and biscuits, Trevor.’

‘
No pleasing some people.’

‘
Mads, this is awesome,’ Ben said, eyes wide, taking it all
in.

‘
Not bad, shortie, not bad.’ She smiled and winked at her
brother.

Phones trilled
in the background and she heard low murmuring voices from the room
behind the large reception desk. Barely a couple of sips of
lemonade later, and Maddy saw Mr Vasey-Smith heading their way. He
smiled at Maddy and Ben and nodded to Trevor and Angie.

‘
Shall we?’ He gestured to them and they followed him up a
small set of stairs to the left of the reception area and then
through an unmarked door into a small conference room with an oval
walnut table and eight high-backed chairs. A briefcase lay on the
table. He sat down in front of it and wheeled the combination lock
until it clicked open. The receptionist came in behind them and set
the tray of drinks and biscuits on the table, along with a pot of
tea for Mr Vasey-Smith.

‘
Please do sit. Now, first things first. Did you bring your
birth certificate?’ Angie took the document out of her handbag and
passed it across to him. ‘I’ll take a copy of this, but it’s just a
formality, Madison. We know who you are.’ He removed a rolled-up
scroll of paper from his briefcase and slid it across to her. ‘This
is how we found you.’

Maddy unfurled the paper and laid it flat on the table. It
showed a hand-written family tree stretching back to 1764. Hers and
Ben’s were the most recent names, right at the bottom, linked to
her mother’s name. The names Swinton and Hathaway were the
predominant surnames on the document.
Her
surname, ‘Greene’, was her
father’s name and none of his ancestors were on the tree. The tree
related to her mother’s lineage.

‘
The gentleman we’re interested in is ‘Harold Swinton’. His
wife Victoria is your distant relative.’ Mr Vasey-Smith reached
across and pointed to the name, somewhere near the top of the
scroll. ‘She was the niece of your great-great-great-grandmother
and her husband left his considerable fortune to you and your
brother.’

‘
So what about all the other people here?’ Maddy asked.
‘Surely some of them must’ve had kids? Are me and Ben really the
only ones?’

‘
Yes, we’ve researched it extensively. We had to go back to
the eighteenth century to find another branch of the family, which
led us back down to you. It was only with the advent of the
internet and the release of certain classified military records,
that we were able to trace you.’

Maddy thought
for a bit. She and Ben were alone in the world. Here on a scrappy
piece of paper in black and white, was evidence of a real family,
but they were all dead. Just her luck. She knew she’d give up all
the money if she could have her mum back, but that wasn’t going to
happen. So she decided this money would be their way forward. She
would use it to make their lives safe.

‘
So let me get this straight,’ Trevor said. ‘These Swintons
were Maddy’s ancestors, but their kids are dead and there’s no
other relations anywhere apart from Maddy and Ben?’

‘
Just so.’

‘
And Maddy gets everything?’

‘
I’ll get to that in a minute.’

‘
I thought you said she gets a house and sixty one million?
Angie, you told me …’

‘
Mr Johnson,’ Mr Vasey-Smith interrupted. ‘I mean no
disrespect to you, but this meeting is for Madison and I would be
obliged if you would let me explain all the details.’

‘
Just looking out for Maddy here, that’s all. She’s only
sixteen.’

Maddy looked
at her foster father with dislike and felt an unfamiliar wash of
embarrassment at his crassness. She returned her gaze to the
solicitor and waited for him to continue.

‘
Once the paperwork is signed, you will stand to inherit the
house in Gloucestershire and will receive a very generous monthly
allowance from your trust fund. The main stipulation is that you
must make the property your permanent residence, not just in name.
You must live there for at least forty weeks in each
year.’

‘
Live there? I can’t live there.’

Chapter
Four

1881

*

Inside the
Gare du Nord, a cold March light washed down through a massive
glazed arch onto the hoards of passengers. Among them, Alexandre
and his family stood in the Salle de Depart, waiting to board the
sleeper train from Paris to the Port of Marseille.

Papa went off
to locate their platform and soon returned to guide them towards a
large black steam train which hissed and blew on the line. They
found their first class carriage easily enough, their name written
on a piece of stiff card attached to the door.

Other
passengers squeezed passed them in the corridor and Alexandre eyed
them with interest, wondering what their stories were and whether
he would have the chance to converse with any of them. The rest of
his family bustled about inside their compartment, stowing away
bags and removing overcoats.

‘
Come in, Alexandre,’ his mother chided. ‘Why are you standing
out there? You are blocking the way for the other
passengers.’

‘
Sorry, Maman,’ he replied and entered their
compartment.

‘
But where are we to sleep?’ Isobel asked.

‘
It has only just turned four o’clock, Isobel. You do not need
to worry about that just yet,’ Papa teased.

‘
Tell us more of Turkey, Papa,’ Jacques said.

‘
Let us remove our outer garments and make ourselves
comfortable first. We have a long train ride ahead of
us.’

Before long,
they were snugly ensconced in their first class compartment, all
coats and bags stowed away under their seats.

Doors slammed,
the whistle blew and great clouds of steam wheeshed into the icy
afternoon air. The carriage lurched backwards unsteadily and then,
with more confidence, rocked forwards and away, out of the station,
leaving behind the great iron roof of the Gare du Nord.

The soft
rhythmic puffing of the train took Alexandre and his family
northwards through the grimy Parisian suburbs until they were
outside the city. And then it curved back round onto the main line
that would take them south to the sea and beyond.

They travelled
down the tracks through woods of pine and larch. They climbed hills
and steamed through tunnels hollowed out of the soft limestone.
Over bridges and viaducts they steadily made their way southwards.
Through mirror-black windows Alexandre stared out into the rapidly
growing gloom at the smudged outlines of smoking cottage chimneys
until at last night finally fell and their train was a lone
speeding light through the dark french countryside.

Supper on the
train turned out to be quite a lavish affair. The Chevaliers were
shown to their table where they chatted and sipped aperitifs.

‘
I cannot believe it will actually be warm in Turkey. The
weather is so vile here,’ Isobel said, tasting her
drink.

‘
Do not forget it will still be cold at night,’ Papa
replied.

‘
If we are lucky, it will be warm in Marseille too,’ Maman
added.

‘
Do stop talking about the weather and tell us of all the
exciting discoveries we shall make in Turkey,’ Jacques
said.

‘
How can Papa tell us that, when we haven’t even discovered
them yet,’ Isobel rolled her eyes.

‘
Is it really true you do not yet know what lies in
Cappadocia? That you have no idea what manner of artefacts we are
going to uncover?’ Alexandre asked his parents.

‘
Monsieur Bouvier has made me and your mother sign a letter of
confidentiality. But I can tell you this much – you will not be
disappointed.’

‘
You mean to say, you actually know what is there? Then you
must tell us, Papa,’ Jacques said. ‘It is too unfair to make us
wait this long to find out.’

‘
If I tell you, Monsieur Bouvier will send his wife to hunt us
down and then we will all be in dire trouble.’

‘
Didier,’ Maman chided. Do not let them hear you talking this
way about Madame.’

‘
But everybody knows she is a shrew, Maman,’ Alexandre
said.

‘
They may know it, but it is not polite to say it out
loud.’

‘
Your mother is right. I should not have spoken so. Erase that
comment from your memories, children. Aah, here comes the soup -
Pigeon Bisque. It smells delicious.’