…’ His voice was very even, perhaps a little precise. ‘I have better things to do with my time than string your boss along. I was ringing to refuse his offer that first day—it was you that made me reconsider.’
He rang off then, and Charlotte lay there, replaying the conversation in her mind, trying to tell herself she was being ridiculous. He was making conversation, that was all, flirting as he probably did with most women. For maybe the hundredth time she pulled over her laptop, her intention to find out all she could about him.
To see him.
But as she had so many times before, Charlotte stopped herself.
His voice, the way he said her name, the way sometimes he asked about her, the way he made her feel … she didn’t want it to fade, didn’t want to find out he was some overweight married man, flirting on the phone. Didn’t want this feeling to end.
She dreamt of him, heard his deep, rich voice over and over, and actually awoke with a smile on her face. Getting up, Charlotte looked into the mirror. Her long, honey-blonde hair needed a serious trim, her baggy pyjamas were unfit for male eyes and all she looked was exhausted, nothing like the glamorous woman Zander thought she was. As Charlotte walked into her mother’s bedroom, the smell of wet sheets had her close her eyes for a moment. She opened them to her mother’s vacant stare.
‘Morning, Mum.’ As usual, Charlotte got no response, so she tried in her mother’s native language, which she had reverted to almost completely now. ‘Bonjour, maman.’ Still there was no response. ‘Let’s get you up for your shower.’
It was so much easier said than done. Charlotte was thumped on the side of her head, scratched on her arm, told to ‘Casse-toi’, and the screams from her mother as she washed her would, had the neighbours not known better, have had them calling the police, for it sounded as if Amanda was being attacked.
Still, it got done and even if Charlotte was still in her pyjamas, at least her mum was bathed, scented and dressed and finally sitting down in her chair in the lounge.
‘We could go for a walk on the beach.’ Her mother finally spoke, as Charlotte fed her a soft-boiled egg, mashed in with butter, in the hope of adding a few calories, for it wasn’t just her mother’s mind that was fading away. But even if her words sounded lucid, even if it sounded like a normal conversation, it was, of course, otherwise—they were miles from the beach. But it was her mother’s favourite place and when she spoke of the beach, it was always in English, as if she were truly remembering times when she had taken Charlotte there as a child.
‘We will,’ Charlotte said. ‘We could feed the seagulls, maybe?’ And she saw her mother smile, saw her eyes and face light up, and even if they would never get to the beach again, would never feed the seagulls together again, her mother’s smile was worth the fib.
And it was worth it, Charlotte told herself as she dragged herself through another week. Worth putting her life on hold to take care of her mother, although deep down she knew it couldn’t go on much longer.
That she couldn’t go on much longer.
But, then, like a lifeline came the call.
Mid-afternoon, and not at all his usual time, her heart leapt when she saw that it was Zander. She answered with a smile, anticipating the summer of his words, except his tone was brusque, businesslike.
‘Could you pass on a message to Nico?’
‘Of course.’ She glanced at the clock and tried to work out the times. It must be four in the morning where Zander was.
‘I am going to be in Xanos next week. I fly in late Sunday and my schedule is very full, but if you can arrange a meeting with your boss, I have a small window at eight a.m. on Monday. We are moving into the next stage of the development in the coming weeks. I want to discuss with him, before the purchase goes ahead, our plans for that area. He might not be so keen and I don’t want him wasting my time later with petitions.’
‘I’ll let him know.’ She waited, waited for the conversation to change as it always did, to slip back to where they spoke about them—but it didn’t. Zander rang off and Charlotte rang Nico and relayed the message, but as she hung up, she felt like crying. Knew that once Zander met with Nico, her part in this would be over—that the brief escape his calls had bought would finally come to an end. When Nico rang a few moments later she had to force herself back into business mode.
‘How good are you with Greek planning permission laws?’
‘Are there such things?’ She smiled into the phone, but it faded as Nico spoke on.
‘Exactly. Anyway, I’ve got Paulo onto it, but I’m going to need you in Xanos next week.’
‘Me?’ Charlotte blinked and then wished she hadn’t for in that instant her mother wandered out to the hall; Charlotte walked briskly, catching Amanda as she fiddled with the catch on the front door.
‘Do you really need me there?’ It wasn’t a no, but it was as close as she dared.
‘I wouldn’t ask otherwise. I’d like you to visit a couple of homes for me, go through some records …’ Since Nico had found out he was adopted, Charlotte had been helping him to find his birth mother, but it had all been through telephone calls and online. She had chosen not to tell him about her problems with her own mother: PAs dealt with their boss’s problems, not the other way around. He’d asked her to join him in Xanos a couple of months ago, but that had just been for a day. The carer she had hired had informed her on her return that her mother required too high a level of care. For any future trips Amanda would need to be cared for in a home. ‘Is there a problem?’ She knew he was frowning. Nico was not a man used to hearing the word ‘no’, and certainly not from his PA.
‘Of course not.’ Charlotte swallowed. ‘I just need to sort out a few things at this end, but I’ll do my best to be there on Monday.’
‘Actually …’ Nico sounded distracted. ‘If you can get in earlier, perhaps the weekend, we can go over a few things. Book in at Ravels and ring me when you get here.’
‘Sure,’ Charlotte said to thin air, for Nico had already rung off. She had to speak to him when she saw him, had to somehow tell her formidable boss that travel was practically impossible. But what if he insisted? Charlotte closed her eyes at the prospect. She needed this job, needed the wage, needed the flexibility working from home provided—maybe she would have to factor in an occasional trip.
She already had a list of nursing homes drawn up. Charlotte had visited several, riddled with guilt each and every time, for her mother had, on her diagnosis, pleaded with Charlotte to never put her in a home. Now she rang them, asking if there were any respite beds available, her anxiety increasing as she worked her way through the list and each time the response was the same. Far more notice was required.
Finally she found one. A resident had died overnight, and there was a spot available. It felt wrong to be relieved, wrong to be packing up her mother’s things, wrong to be driving a distressed Amanda to the place she dreaded most in the world.
‘It’s just for a few days, Mum.’
‘Please …’ Amanda sobbed. ‘Please don’t leave me. Please.’
‘I have to go to work, Mum.’ Charlotte was crying too. ‘I promise,
