One Summer Night: An Indecent Proposition / Beholden to the Throne / Hers For One Night Only?. Carol Marinelli

said nothing. She was not there for discussion, or for negotiation. Her job was to pass messages on to Nico.

      ‘Have you seen it?’ Zander asked. ‘Have you been to Xanos?’

      And here she could not stay silent, for she had been there, just for a day, and just the once, and she could see absolutely why her boss wanted a slice of it. ‘I have and it’s completely stunning.’ It was—an exclusive, private retreat for the rich and famous. Nico had, for an extremely inflated price, bought from Zander an undeveloped house but, newly married and used to the best, he wanted more for his new wife and son. For weeks now his main focus had been on securing the neighbouring land; however, Zander was reluctant to sell.

      ‘Did you put my lease option to him?’

      ‘I did,’ Charlotte said, ‘but he’s not interested. He really wants to speak with you himself.’

      ‘I rather prefer speaking with you.’

      He didn’t go far, but it was far enough to have Charlotte blushing, the little hint that he enjoyed their conversations as much as she.

      ‘I should get up,’ Zander said.

      ‘Oh.’ And she closed her eyes for always he sounded so dressed, so together, she had assumed him at a desk, but it made her toes curl to think he was lying in bed too. ‘I thought you were at work.’

      ‘I am,’ he said, and she could feel his seductive smile even if she could not see it. ‘I can work just as hard on my back.’

      He did smile then, though she could not see it. He smiled because he heard her. Heard her inhale as she did now and then, not through her nose but with a catch in her throat. Over the last days it was a sound he had come to crave—so much so that he had dropped his date at her home last night rather than bring her to his, choosing the pleasure of Charlotte’s voice to wake up to.

      ‘You sound tired, you’re in bed early.’

      ‘I am.’ And it was far easier to say she had been at a wedding the previous night than up at two a.m., chasing her mother through dark streets, trying to persuade her to come back to the house. It was easier by far to tell this glamorous, exotic man, whom she had never met, that her life was a little more fab than drab, to paint a picture, safe in the knowledge they would probably never meet. With Zander on the end of the phone, for a few precious moments she got to live the life she invented.

      ‘Was it a good wedding?’

      ‘It was lovely,’ Charlotte replied, thinking of her boss’s wedding a few weeks ago, which she had organised but not attended. ‘It went off without a hitch.’

      ‘Was it very formal? Did you wear a hat?’ His voice was so low she had to concentrate to hear it, but in the nicest of ways. ‘I did,’ Charlotte said, and that was a complete and utter lie, for Nico’s wedding had been tiny and informal, held on the beach of his bayside property on the Greek Island of Xanos, with just a couple of witnesses. Charlotte played her game, closed her eyes and imagined, escaped for a little while, safe in the knowledge she would never meet Zander. ‘Though it was a bit windy in the photos. I was worried I might lose it …’

      ‘And do you have plans for tomorrow?’

      ‘Just out for lunch with friends,’ Charlotte said, wishing badly it were true, but long lunches with girlfriends were a thing of the past now. Still, it was nice to lie here and dream, nicer still to be in bed talking to Zander and know he was doing the same. ‘Okay. Tell your boss I am still considering things.’ It was Zander who wrapped up the conversation, but at the same time he opened up her heart. ‘He is lucky to have you.’

      ‘Lucky?’ Charlotte frowned into the phone.

      ‘Were it not for how much I enjoy speaking with his PA, I would have turned him down.’

      And even if Charlotte glowed inside, she reined it in, for her boss was Nico.

      ‘You’re not just stringing him along?’

      ‘Charlotte …’ 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