Beneath Beautiful (14 page)

As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, there was a nagging doubt in Cassie's mind. A feeling that she was doing the wrong thing by Cameron. And by James. Which she wasn't, of course, so she pushed the thought aside and returned to applying her mascara.

When the doorbell finally rang, Cassie was holding up two scarves. Flinging one back on the bed, she knotted the other around her neck and ran for the front door.

“I'll be down in just a second,” she said, grabbing her bag with her other hand, then pulling on her boots as fast as she could.

Cassie ran down the stairs instead of taking the elevator, and waved at James, who she could see standing on the other side of the thick, glass and steel door.

“Hi,” she said, on opening the door. “I've just made it back in time . . .”

James came in closer to give her a kiss on one cheek, then the other.

“It's great to see you again,” he said as he pulled back, looking almost as uncomfortable as Cassie felt. “But you only just got back? Do you need a minute, or are you right to go?”

“No, it's fine. I think I've managed to pull together everything I need. Is this going to be warm enough?”

“Sure. You'll be fine.” James nodded, running that hand through his hair again, Cassie noted. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” Cassie said. “You look . . . not quite as tired as the other day,” she ended up saying with a laugh.

James nodded. “It's not because I got my interview. I'm just masking it better now with a steady supply of decent coffee and excellent bagels.”

Cassie smiled. “Well, whatever works, I guess.”

“So, should we . . .?” James turned sideways, pointing his two index fingers down the road.

“Yes, let's,” Cassie said.

“Okay, then. This way. We need to take the subway to Canal St. I have it all worked out,” James told her as the pair started off.

“That's good, because I'm still kind of scared of the subway. Which is ridiculous, because I'm absolutely fine when it comes to working my way around London on the Tube. But stick me in Paris, or New York, and I completely lose the plot. Plus, I find New York difficult. With the one big park in the middle, I never seem to be able to work out if I'm going uptown or downtown. I don't think I'll ever get it.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” James replied, nodding his head as Cassie spoke. “And it makes no sense, because London makes no sense, does it? I mean, it's sort of devoid of town planning, right? Whereas New York is all laid out in nice grids, with numbered streets and so on. But I still get lost every time I come here. And I've come a lot now.”

“I'm glad someone knows what I'm talking about,” Cassie smiled.

The pair walked in silence for a moment.

“I've got a confession to make,” James said, his eyes swiveling to meet hers.

For just a moment, Cassie held her breath.

“I read one of your books today,” he continued on.

Cassie found herself slowly exhaling. “Really? Why?” she finally replied.

James gave her an odd look. “Well, it would have been weird if I hadn't read one, right?”

Cassie thought about this for a second. “Not really. Most of my friends haven't read any of them. I mean, you're not exactly the target audience, after all.”

“No,” James said. “But I could hardly ask you out without knowing what it is you write about.”

“Well . . . that's nice. If you hated it, don't tell me.”

James paused in his step. “Hated it? That would be difficult. What's to hate about a badger and a hare?”

Cassie laughed. “You'd be surprised. I had a reviewer once who said that
Badger and Hare
came 'flat-packed' like IKEA furniture.”

“Wow.” James whistled. “That's harsh.”

“I consoled myself with the fact that people seem to like IKEA.”

“Yeah, right. Well, that's certainly true. Anyway, I did have one question.”

“What's that?” Cassie caught his eye.

“Are they gay? I mean, not that I mind either way. I was just interested to know.”

At first, Cassie thought he was joking. And when she saw that he wasn't, she had to stop in her tracks she began laughing so hard. “Are you serious?” she said, when she finally managed to catch her breath. “I've never thought about it. They're a badger and a hare in a series of books for small children. They're kind of asexual.”

James smiled. “Well, you know, there was all that talk about Ernie and Bert a couple years ago, which got me to thinking . . .”

“You should think less.” Cassie laughed again as they started off once more. “Really. And stick to journalism, because I don't think children's publishing would be a good area for you to get into. You know, for the children's sake.”

T
he pair exited the subway at Canal St, and James took a moment to check directions on his iPhone. “This way,” he said, starting off again.

As they walked, Cassie realised James had been right—the temperature was dropping. And fast. She reached up and wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. It was only then that she realised she'd chosen to wear the scarf identical to the one she'd been wearing all day—the same one she'd worn that day in
Père Lachaise
. She wondered for a moment if it had been a subconscious choice. She had, after all, stood there, not half an hour ago, and held two scarves in her hands. Was there a reason she'd chosen this one? Not for the first time, she wondered again about Cameron's sculpture and how it was shaping up in his head. She really had no idea what he was thinking of doing. There had to be something else. There just had to be. Like Freya facing the wall. The coat and the scarf just weren't very . . . well, weren't very Cameron Callahan. He had to have something up his sleeve that he wasn't telling her about.

Cameron, Cameron, Cameron
. She really needed to stop thinking about him. “Can I ask where we're going to yet?” Cassie said, focusing back in on James. She was certainly happy that they were well away from the Rockefeller Center and the ice-skating rink.

“Pier 25,” James glanced over at her.

“What's Pier 25?” Cassie asked. “Apart from perhaps being a long skinny thing sticking out into the water?”

“How did you guess?” James chuckled. “You'll see in a minute.”

Soon enough, they reached Pier 25. And when it finally became clear where they were going, Cassie was ecstatic. “Oh, wow, you are going to be sorry.” She laughed, as she saw the sign for the eighteen-hole mini-golf course. “My sister and I are practically mini-golf pros.”

“There are so many things I could say about that. But I'll only say one of the things I'm thinking.”

“And that is?” Cassie tilted her head.

“You're on,” James challenged.

J
ames watched as Cassie sunk the ball at the tenth hole. “You're going to have to slow down.” He shook his head. “I was planning on this taking more than fifteen minutes.”

Cassie propped her elbow on top of her club and grinned. “What can I say? I did warn you. They've all been par-one holes so far.”

“For you,” said James.

“The truth is,” Cassie added, looking around, “it's a little bit classy, as far as mini golf goes, isn't it? I'm still waiting for a windmill. Or a pirate ship. Or something outrageously tacky.”

“And spoil the view?” James ran one hand out in a large arc.

“I suppose,” Cassie said, slowly. “But it's not mini golf without the tacky windmills and pirate ships, is it?”

“Next time I'll bring some from my personal collection. And, before you ask, no, I don't have a personal collection. Anyway, we'll see how you go from here on in. It gets trickier from the eleventh hole.”

Cassie turned and took in the course, quickly realising James was right—it did get a bit harder from here. In order to reach the next hole, they would have to negotiate a hill and get the ball through a hole, when it would then fall down and be dropped near the real hole. It was at least a par-two. Maybe a par-three. The hole after that included a clover-leaf ramp, but it was the fifteenth hole up ahead that she knew would be the most difficult, where a narrow bridge over water needed to be navigated

“You're really over-thinking this, aren't you?” James told her, watching her intently.

“Shhh . . .” Cassie scolded him, taking a last, long look at the course. “Okay.” She turned back to him again. “Let's do this.”

“T
he word shameless comes to mind,” James said as he and Cassie handed their clubs back in. “I thought you were going to push that small child out of the way back there.”

“Me?” Cassie was all innocence.

“Yes, you.” James laughed.

“Well,” she huffed. “Really, his parents should have told us to play through.”

Now James really laughed. “Play through? It's mini golf! Alys didn't tell me you were so competitive.”

“Oh, I'm not. It's just when it comes to mini golf.” The wind blew some of Cassie's hair into her eyes, and she pushed it back behind her ear.

“Because mini golf is sacred.” James nodded sagely.

“It is!” Cassie laughed.

“Are you hungry after all that exertion?”

“I'm generally hungry, even without exertion.”

James nodded. “That makes two of us. Do you fancy a burger? I know this great place. It's probably about twenty minutes’ walk, if you're not too exhausted.”

“Sounds perfect. I'll work up an appetite.” Cassie rubbed her hands together.

“Well, you'll need it.” James smiled back at her. “Because the onion rings are compulsory.”

They started down the street, Cassie taking in the sights and sounds of the city as they went—taxis hurtling past, people having loud conversations. The differences between London and New York always came as a bit of a shock to the system. New York was brash and unafraid of the spotlight. It was a city that displayed its wares and apologized for nothing, unlike London, which shunned the limelight, preferring to hide marvelous treasures around corners in drizzly rain.

Not having had much of a chance to talk during their mini-golf tournament, Cassie and James caught up on their walk.

“So, how are your meetings with publishers going?” James asked her as they strolled slowly toward their destination, James occasionally checking his phone for directions.

“Oh,” Cassie said. “You know . . .” She shrugged slightly, hating herself for lying to James, who seemed lovely. She really needed to get him that interview somehow.

“Alys mentioned that you were trying your hand at writing something else.”

Cassie groaned. “Trying and failing dismally, more like it. I haven't written anything in . . .” She attempted to count the days. “. . . forever. I have no idea what I'm doing.” She knew she really needed to have a good think about this, and soon. “Have you ever tried writing a novel?” she asked James. She knew many journalists who had.

“I tried once. It was too hard.” He paused for a moment. “Though, come to think of it, getting this interview hasn't been much easier . . .”

Cassie chose her words carefully before uttering them. “So, um, any movement on that?”

James sighed a tired sigh. “Not much. Apparently he's busy working on some new piece, trying to slot it into the next exhibition at the last possible moment. Bit late in the day, if you ask me. Not that he has, of course.”

Cassie tried to remain calm. “Do you . . . think you won't get the interview, then? That you'll just have to go home?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” James stood still for a second.

“No! I . . .” Cassie stopped on the spot.

“I'm just joking.” James laughed, continuing on his way again. “The truth is, I really don't know. I've taken two weeks' holidays, and to be honest, I'm realising I needed the time off anyway. It's been good. I'm hanging out with the couple of friends I've got over here; it's not a huge hassle. I really do want the interview, though. And if I got it now I'd have the time to really write it up, you know? Make it something special.”

Cassie nodded. That's it, then. She would simply have to ask Cameron if he would do the interview for her as a favour.

“Let's stop talking about work,” Cassie said. “Considering it's not going well for either of us. Tell me something else. Tell me about your family. Alys says you're a quarter Jamaican, which would account for your seriously cool hair.”

Self-consciously, James ran one hand through it, which made Cassie smile. “Yeah, that's true. My grandmother's Jamaican,” he said. “She rules the family with an iron fist, and makes an out of this world goat curry.”

“Sounds good,” Cassie said, as they crossed the street. “And what about brothers and sisters and so on?”

“One of each.”

“And you're the youngest,” Cassie guessed, catching James's eye.

“I am,” he said. “How did you know that?”

Cassie smiled. “Well, Alys is the youngest, and I'm the youngest. And the truth is, a lot of my friends are the youngest children in their families. Apparently you're more attracted to people who have the same birth line-up as you.”

“Really?” James said. “I didn't know that. So, do you have one of each as well? Same as me?”