it felt was wrong—to sit in the chair at the beauty parlour and be waxed and manicured, to have foils put in her thick blonde hair. Wrong to think of her mother sobbing in a home as she transformed herself back into the glamorous flight attendant Nico had hired.
But there was a flutter of excitement there too as she pulled out her old wardrobe and packed in her efficient way.
And there was that pit-in-the-stomach thrill as she drove the familiar route to Heathrow airport, saw the jets coming in and heard the high-pitched roar as they took off.
And then, as she sat in her seat, as the plane lifted off the ground and up to the sky, as she looked at the flight attendant facing her and wished she could be her, there was that moment at take-off she would forever adore, the surreal moment where the plane seemed to quiet and you gathered your thoughts. And only then did it actually dawn on her.
She was going to meet Zander.
ATHENS had been as grey as London, but flying towards Xanos it was as if the clocks had been rewound to autumn. Certainly it would not be as warm as the summer, but the sky was as blue, as was the ocean, and Xanos lay stretched out in the distance, a vivid tapestry of greens and browns. The vineyards laced the mountains and the stunning hotel development stood on the foreshore, gorgeous buildings carved into the cliff side, glittering blue infinity pools that matched the blue jewel of the ocean. She could not wait to land, to sink her feet in the golden sands and to drink in Xanos.
The seaplane came in, not beside the small jetty her boss craved to own but to the newly built, rather more sophisticated one. A ramp made disembarking far easier than it had been the last time Charlotte had visited Xanos, and because anyone who stayed at Ravels must be someone, though she would have loved to, she was not expected to make the short walk from the jetty to the hotel. Instead, she was swallowed by a huge car and driven the short distance into the development, escorted to check in and told that her bags would be taken straight to her room.
Usually she was not intimated by grand surroundings. She had worked long enough with the airline and later with Nico to sample fine hotels and luxury travel, but, though she did her best not to show it, Charlotte found this hotel somewhat overwhelming. Some of the guests who moved through the foyer she recognised from the magazines she devoured. A huge elevator was situated beside a grand staircase, separated by a fountain. There were lavish floral displays at every turn, wealth and opulence in every view; it was hard to believe the hotel had just been in operation for a few short months.
Checking in went smoothly; there was a message from Paulo, Nico’s lawyer in Greece, asking her to contact him, and Charlotte declined the receptionist’s offer of a booking in the restaurant. She would rather eat alone in her room. Swipe card in hand, she wandered through the hotel, not quite brave enough to have a drink at the bar; instead, she headed for her room, bouncing on the huge king-sized bed and revelling for a guilty moment in the feeling that tonight she would not have to sleep with one ear open in case her mother awoke, that she had a little time to herself.
Still, she was here to work, so she rang Nico and got his voicemail. She told him she had arrived and then she rang Paulo too.
‘I’m unable to get hold of Nico,’ Paulo said. ‘I want to speak with him before this meeting on Monday.’
‘I’ve just left a message.’
‘Well, if you do get hold of him, make sure he speaks with me. He says that he doesn’t want me present on Monday, but I don’t want him speaking with this developer without me—he’s bad news.’
‘Really?’ Normally she would not pursue the conversation, would simply pass the message on, but she was far too interested in the elusive Zander, too curious about the voice she had heard on the end of the phone, to let the opportunity to know more pass by. ‘Zander certainly seems inflexible, but …’
Paulo said something in Greek that Charlotte couldn’t decipher and then he translated. ‘It’s a saying here on Xanos—this man is someone who would sell their own mother to the highest bidder. Nico needs to watch out—make sure you have him ring me.’
Paulo was always cautious, Charlotte told herself as she hung up the phone. It was his job to be cautious, she consoled herself. Anyway, she was spending far too much time thinking about a man she had never even met, a man she had spoken to only on the phone, but she didn’t want him to be a man like the one Paulo was describing. She wanted him to be every bit as gorgeous as the one she had secretly imagined.
Charlotte stepped out onto the balcony; she could hear a couple from the suite beside her, though couldn’t see them because of privacy walls, but their conversation was so exotic and glamorous it was heaven to eavesdrop while she looked out to the beach, to the azure water and gorgeous sands. For a moment she almost felt back in her old life, except there were no colleagues to meet up with, no one to explore the island with, no one to lie with her by the pool, as so often she had.
An uneasy feeling seemed to pool in her throat, tasting of bitterness and martyrdom—the food she had been fed by her mother throughout her childhood. And that was the very last thing she wanted.
She needed to think, really think about her future, and even if the neighboring conversation was intriguing, the beach beckoned more and Charlotte headed inside. She pulled on a simple shift dress, light cardigan and sandals, wanting to catch the last of the evening sun.
Still, even though she was miles from home, even though it was a relief to have a night to herself and the secret pleasure of finally coming face to face with Zander on Monday, as she walked along the golden sands of Xanos, her thoughts turned to her mum. Amanda would have loved it here. Their yearly holidays through Charlotte’s childhood were perhaps her most treasured of memories, for it was the only time she had ever really seen her mother happy; the only time Amanda had seemed at peace instead of bitter about the career she had forgone and the lover who, when Amanda had found out she was pregnant, had spurned her instead of facing up to his responsibilities.
How could Charlotte do it to her—put her in a home because it made life easier? Even all these years on, Charlotte nursed guilt for her childish selfishness, for the way she had idolised her absent father, not aware of the sacrifices her mother had made. Oh, the rows and tears that had come from her brought a sting of shame today. But once a year they had cast it aside, walked along Camber Sands or Beachy Head and, without fail, her mother would buy an extra portion of fries each evening, a ten-minute indulgence where they’d feed the seagulls and laugh and whoop as the gathered birds went wild.
There was Nico.
She looked up from her dreams and saw reality: her boss skimming stones in the water. It caught her by surprise, why she could not fathom for Nico lived here now—just along from this stretch of beach was his private residence. Something about him made her start. There was purpose to him, not idle relaxation as his wrist flicked the smooth, flat stones but an anger almost. She carried on walking, though she considered turning around, pretending she hadn’t seen him, for so dark were his features, so deep his concentration, she wondered if he and his wife Constantine had just had a row. Still, it would be worse if he saw her turning and thought she was ignoring him, and she did need to pass Paulo’s message on so, pretending she had not noticed his dark mood, she walked purposefully towards him, smiling as she called his name.
‘Nico!’ she called. ‘I’ve been trying to ring you …’ And then he turned around and her breath held in her lungs as she realised that, though he looked
