It wasn’t fair.
‘What am I supposed to do now?’ she said, turning back to her mother.
Candy looked up from her stool, where she was readjusting the diamond collar on her lapdog, Dolce. ‘Honey, you live in the greatest city in the world! There’s so much to do.’
‘Like what?’
‘Shopping! And Fabrizo has opened up that new nail bar around the corner. His French manicures are to die for.’
Madison carelessly examined a perfect pink nail. ‘Whatever.’ She was so over manicures, so over her mother, so over this dumb city. It was like being a prisoner in a cage with no end in sight. Madison couldn’t believe the injustice of it all. ‘Oh my God, of all the times to get sick, Hank has to do it now. Doesn’t he know he’s ruining my life?’
Candy’s baby-blue eyes widened. ‘Madison, that’s a dreadful thing to say!’
Madison sighed. ‘You know what I mean.’
Exasperated, she turned and walked over to one of the many full-length mirrors adorning the luxury apartment. Her stepfather Hank, her mom’s third husband and a self-made millionaire, had recently been diagnosed with colon cancer and was now in one of the most prestigious hospitals in New York. The good news was that Hank was responding well to treatment…the bad news was that he was going to be in hospital all summer, ruining their annual family holiday.
Madison scrutinised herself in the mirror. Five foot eight and an American size six, she was perfectly proportioned, with a pert chest, flat stomach and shapely legs. Madison turned round, admiring her high, peachy butt, courtesy of three-hundred-dollar-an-hour Pilates sessions with the same woman who trained Sarah Jessica Parker. She was looking hot, even for her. Her brow furrowed crossly as she thought of it all going to waste. She could kill Hank!
The intercom sounded, making her mother’s little lapdog jump.
‘Go and get that will you, honey?’ asked Candy.
Sighing again, Madison made her way to the front door and looked through the peephole. Juan, the young Puerto Rican bellboy, was standing outside, smoothing down his hair. Madison pulled the door open and leant on the door frame, giving him the full benefit of her white denim hot pants. The young man’s eyes widened. He had a monster crush on Madison. She looked down at the shiny black envelope in his hand.
‘That for me?’
‘Yes, it just came by courier. I thought I would bring it up personally. I was going to—’
But Madison had already snatched the envelope out of his hand and shut the door in his face. Then she returned to the kitchen to show it to her mother.
‘It’s heavy, it must be a super dooper invite,’ said Candy approvingly, handing the envelope back to her daughter.
Madison opened the envelope quickly and threw it on the floor. Dolce jumped down and started ripping the paper apart, but both women were so engrossed in the contents they didn’t notice. Madison had only got three lines down before she started squealing.
‘Oh my God! Brad Masters! He’s invited me to his fiftieth birthday party!’ Her eyes widened. ‘In Capri! Oh my God, Brad Masters!’ She clutched the invitation to her chest. ‘I bet I get flown over in his private jet.’
Madison couldn’t believe it.
Brad Masters?
In the worldwide fame league, you had the Pope at number one, followed by Madonna, then Brad Masters in a close third place. A British-born billionaire, he spent his life jetting round the world making millions in property, running record companies and throwing lavish, high-profile parties. Despite his fame and good looks, though, Brad was still something of an enigma – a confirmed bachelor who never talked about his private life. The mystery only added to his allure.
‘The party’s at his beachfront house,’ Madison breathed excitedly, her eyes darting back and forth across the invitation. ‘Oh my God! Courtney Richard’s sister Cara went to one of his parties at Nobu last year! Cara is, like, this top model and she says Brad’s people only handpick the best guests.’ She gasped. ‘O.M.G! What if he can get me a part on The Hills?’
Her mother’s expression was less-than-pleased.
‘Why would Brad Masters invite you to his birthday party?’ Candy said. ‘If anyone should go, it should be me.’
Madison shot her a look. Her mother really had to get over herself – Candy’s partying days had ended with, like, the dinosaurs. ‘Mother, you are way too ancient. Brad’s obviously seen me on the scene, hanging with the beautifuls,’ she said, re-reading the invitation.
‘Madison, it’s entirely inappropriate. You’re not going!’
Madison looked at her mom in disbelief. Candy never said no to her! ‘Excuse me, yes, I am.’
‘No, you’re not!’
‘I’m nineteen. I can do what I like.’
Candy fixed pleading eyes on her daughter. ‘What if your father takes a turn for the worse?’
‘Stepfather,’ corrected Madison. ‘And if you hadn’t married him, I wouldn’t be stuck in this sucky city in the first place.’
‘Madison!’ Looking pained, Candy stood up. ‘I’ve got another one of my headaches coming. I need to go lie down.’ She scooped up Dolce and shot her daughter a look. ‘You’re not going and that’s it!’
‘You just don’t want me to go off and have fun,’ Madison shouted after her. ‘Hank’s your husband – you stay with him.’
Candy’s bedroom door slammed. Madison rolled her eyes; her mom was such a drama queen! She turned back to the invitation, turning it over in her hands. This was her ticket out of Dullsville – wait until Tiff and Chelsea heard about it!
It was going to be the best summer ever!
London
The doorbell of the dusty little shop tinkled. Sapphire Stevens looked up from behind the counter, where she had been gently strumming on one of the guitars. The lyrics had come to her easily, but she just couldn’t get the melody.
‘How’s it going?’
It was Jerry, back from his lunch-break. He was the friendly-faced owner of the Camden music shop where Sapphire worked part-time. Unlike other places she’d worked, Jerry didn’t mind if she practised when the shop wasn’t busy. Even though he was quite old – at least in his forties – he was really encouraging about her music and always took time out to help her or listen. Sapphire’s dad had died when she was little and she thought of Jerry as the father figure she’d never had.
Sapphire gave a rueful smile. ‘Oh, you know.’
Jerry grinned. ‘Don’t tell me, the melody again.’
‘I just can’t get it right,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t know why the words come so easily, but the tune won’t.’
‘It’ll come, don’t worry,’ he assured her. ‘Even the most successful artists struggle with one or the other. Elton John has worked with loads of lyricists, for example.’
Sapphire laughed. ‘He’s ancient!’
‘Ancient, but very rich,’ Jerry pointed out. He eyed her over the counter. ‘Why don’t you knock off? It’s really quiet today.’
‘If you’re sure? I really don’t