Rising Stars & It Started With… Collections. Кейт Хьюит
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but not this time. He had vowed never to return, yet here he was, and no matter how accurate the model, it was different seeing the real thing—seeing firsthand the houses that would soon be bulldozed to make way for a nightclub and more shops and restaurants. He looked to where Nico lived and knew it had once been their grandfather’s home, that their mother had been raised there. How it hurt to be back on Xanos sand. Yes, it had been a magnificent investment. Perhaps only a local could ever have envisaged the true potential of the hidden side of Xanos—the humble fishing village that was just waiting to be transformed—yet for all the prestige and profit, for all the erasure of the landscape he hated, all this place had ever brought him was pain, and it was doing so now.
His head throbbed from lack of sleep and he turned his mind to tomorrow, to the long-awaited confrontation with his twin—and Zander wondered if he had blown it, for no doubt Charlotte would have rung her boss already. He should have stayed in his suite, should have spent the weekend in isolation. Yet, Zander mused as he walked, he had enjoyed spending time with Charlotte. He glanced up at the hotel. Used to staring at the model in his office, he easily worked out which was her room, thought of her in it and wondered if she was preparing to join him.
It had not been his intention to call her this morning, but he had thought of the day that stretched ahead, the wait that that would be interminable without diversion.
‘Forget it,’ he told himself, heading back to his suite, and to the shower. He would contact her later, take her to dinner—women were for the night-time, a reward for hard work, a balm for insomnia, not for spending the day with. Still, he was curious whether she had told Nico, which, he told himself, was the reason he had called her.
Charlotte approached, and she was nervous, dressed in shorts and a strappy vest, topped with the previous day’s cardigan. Her eyes were bruised with lack of sleep courtesy of this very man. Another call to Nico had gone unanswered and, as gorgeous as the smile was as Zander turned to greet her, still she would set the ground rules.
‘Morning.’ She made herself say it. ‘I’d prefer not to speak about Nico.’
‘Of course not,’ Zander said.
‘I just don’t feel comfortable …’ She was honest with this. ‘I haven’t been able to contact him yet.’
‘You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m just glad that you joined me. Let’s see what they have prepared.’
The hotel had put on a sumptuous breakfast and they sat on the deserted beach and she drank hot chocolate, while Zander chose coffee. They both ate yoghurt drizzled with passion fruit and then pastries, which Zander thought tasted somehow sweeter this morning.
‘I love seeing new places.’ Charlotte dug her toes into the sand, looked up at the sky and to the flash of a silver plane but again, with him beside her, she did not want to be up there.
‘What do you miss most about travelling?’ He followed her gaze.
‘All of it really.’ She gave a smile. ‘Except the unpacking. I don’t know, I love airports, the excitement. I love going to new places, exploring them. My friend Shirley and I …’ She did not continue, for sometimes she choked a little when she thought of those times, and the hours between flights that had been spent so well.
‘Have you looked around Xanos?’
‘Not yet,’ Charlotte said. ‘Maybe later today.’ He was such good company, such an intriguing man, because it was not he who pushed for information. Instead, Charlotte asked the questions for he fascinated her so. When asked, he told her about his hotel chain, about the casinos he owned, about his life on the other side of the world.
‘You must have missed this, though,’ Charlotte offered, turning to watch as he stared out to the Mediterranean, just as he had yesterday.
‘Australia is hardly lacking in beaches,’ Zander pointed out. ‘I have an office and a property in Sydney that overlooks what is arguably the most beautiful harbour in the world.’ If it sounded like a boast, it had not been intended as one. More, Zander was trying to convince himself. For how could he miss a place that had brought nothing but pain—a view, this view, that as a child and later as a teenager he had wept into.
It should be hard to fathom now, strong, independent, beyond wealthy, it should be impossible to recall with precision just how afraid and confused he had once been, but when he looked out to the ocean, to a small mound of rocks a few hundred metres out where the waves crashed and broke up, he could wipe away twenty years. He could feel the fear and the confusion, the bruises on his back and legs from his father’s beating, the wrenching pain that came with true hunger and the bewilderment of being left behind—that a mother, his mother, might have left him to deal with this. It was painful to recall it even now.
Each minute that passed brought him a minute closer to his brother, to the twin his mother had chosen to take.
Each minute that passed brought him closer to the confrontation of which he had long dreamed, the moment where he would finally face the brother who had lived in the lap of luxury while he had eaten from bins, the brother who had had been given the velvet-glove treatment, while he had been ruled by a fist.
‘Every beach is different though …’ Charlotte’s voice was softer than his thoughts. ‘And this feels like a slice of heaven.’
Or hell.
‘It was not all happy.’ He heard his voice, heard his own words, and it stunned him into silence, for he never revealed anything and certainly he should not to the PA of his twin. And yet as she turned, as she did not speak, just moved her mouth into a wry smile, she offered not words but the space of her mind. She turned her attention fully to him, and for once he did not want to retreat. ‘The memories are not all good.’
‘But are there some good ones?’
And his mind shifted because, yes, there had been some. He looked back at the ocean, to the same mound of rocks, and recalled teenage boys jumping, he in the middle, egging each other on. He remembered waiting for the tourist buses before it had turned more sordid, when pretty young things would arrive and he could escape. He remembered then the happier bits, instead of later—when he had relied on his looks to secure a bed, had kissed older, drunk women, for it had meant breakfast the next day. And his mind turned to the market at the north of the island, to being chased for stealing fruit and then laughing with friends as they’d eaten. There had been no innocence in his youth, but there had been some fun.
‘We would go to the market …’ Again, he was stunned that he told her, yet it felt good to speak, to share with another. ‘We were about twelve.’ He told her of the thieving and she laughed, but not too much, for after all he had been hungry. And he told her too of the taverna that would fill with tourists at night, how he had always looked older … He did not tell her about the women, or scrabbling through the bins out the back for something to eat. He told her the better bits and smiled at the better bits, and then Zander surprised himself again.
‘I will show you Xanos,’ he offered. ‘The real Xanos.’
She thought, because it was Zander, that she would be swallowed again by a huge limo, that the island of Xanos would be revealed to her through thick darkened glass, but instead he rang ahead and by the time they had made their way back, to her surprise and nervous delight two scooters had been delivered to the foyer of the hotel.
‘I’ve never ridden a scooter …’
‘I thought you liked exploring.’
‘On foot,’ Charlotte said, and then laughed. ‘Or on camel.’
He smiled at the thought. ‘Few tourists have ridden a scooter when they come here. You’ll soon pick it up.’
She wanted him to change his mind, to offer to let her climb on his scooter, to coast the island nestled into his back, but never did he offer easy; instead, he pushed her out of her comfort zone. She was grateful for it, for after a few nervous goes she enjoyed the thrill of riding her little scooter, the absence of a helmet not the only rule that was broken.