CHAPTER NINE

      SHE was his captor.

      It felt absolutely like that.

      The vast hotel felt like a goldfish bowl. Every time she turned, even if he wasn’t there, she anticipated him.

      The only relief was the occasional visit to nursing homes and hostels for the homeless on the mainland in the search for Roula Kargas. Nico’s thorough search had already ruled out their mother being on Xanos or Lathira, but no matter how promising the lead, every time the result was same—the patient was too old, or the history wrong. Every time it was not their mother.

      ‘Anything?’ Nico asked when she rang early the next morning to report on her previous day, but they both knew it was bad news for had it been good she would immediately have told him. ‘Nothing. Her name was right …’ Charlotte gave a tense sigh. ‘I thought I had found your mother, but she was from Rhodes, and the child she had given up was a girl. It was actually really sad.’

      ‘I would have gone myself,’ Nico explained. ‘The trouble is, my father …’ He did not need to explain further.

      Both knew there was little time left. The doctors were talking in hours now. ‘I know that I am asking a lot from you, Charlotte, that this is not part of your more usual work, and it is much appreciated. You need to unwind. Ring the spa, it is world class. Have a massage …’

      She might just do that. She could feel the knots in her neck, in her shoulders, in her jaw, even in her fingers that gripped the phone.

      ‘Has Zander been in contact?’

      ‘No.’ She had told Nico about the offer to take her out on his boat and, though desperate for information, even Nico had agreed that would be too much to ask.

      ‘If you do speak with him, though …’ There was a rare pause from her boss, for their conversations were always brief. He always said what was needed and then hung up, except this was so personal and there was so much pain, it had shifted how things worked. ‘I want to find my mother, Charlotte. Any clue, any information, no matter how small.’

      ‘If he tells me anything, I shall pass it on.’ She hung up the phone, cross with Nico, yet she could not blame him for his desperation to find out about his past.

      She paced the room till she was sick of the walls and she stepped out to the balcony to breathe, to drag in some air, except there Zander was on his balcony, reading the newspaper, coffee in hand, and she raced back inside, only to hear a knock on the door. It couldn’t be him, of course, given he was on his balcony, but her heart was thumping as she opened the door. The bellboy was hidden by a huge bunch of orchids and, on reading the attached card, an apology from Zander for any indiscretions and a summons, rather than an invitation, to join him for morning tea so that he could apologise in person. To add insult to injury, the florist had signed his name incorrectly.

      Both card and flowers went in the bin.

      Unless he contacted her about work, she would have nothing to do with him, Charlotte decided.

      Indiscretions indeed! He was a brave man to request her presence.

      The smell of orchids filled the room, but she refused to open the sliding doors, deciding instead that she would have the massage that Nico had suggested.

      It was but a brief escape, although a pleasant one. Her body was smoothed and pummelled, oiled fingers massaged her scalp and she could almost feel the tension seeping out of her body and through her fingertips. As she was left alone for the lotions to work, as she lay in the warm, darkened room, her mind did not automatically drift to Zander, as it did all too often these days, for he was not the only problem she had. Neither did her thoughts drift to the constant worry about her mother. No, given this pause, for the first time in a long time there was a moment to focus on self, and the voice she had been silencing for a while now started to make itself known. It was a voice that was familiar from her childhood. It blamed others for her problems, heaped on the guilt—the voice of her mother was becoming her own and Charlotte did not like the sound of it a bit. Yes, Zander had hurt her. Yes, his behaviour had been beyond appalling, but her problems were her own and she knew they needed to be sorted out rather than shelved, knew that so much had to change.

      The massage both regenerated and soothed her, but it was a fix that Charlotte knew was only temporary for all too soon she was back in the lift, heading to her room. She swiped the card in her door, relieved to be inside, but her relief was short-lived for there he was, sitting on the chair. She didn’t jump, for she put nothing past him.

      ‘I’ll complain.’

      ‘To whom?’ Zander said. ‘I own the hotel.’ He glanced over to the bin. ‘I see that you don’t like orchids.’

      ‘I love orchids,’ Charlotte said, ‘or rather I used to.’ She gave him a very tight smile. ‘Though the scent of them will now forever make my stomach curl.’

      ‘I asked you to join me in the restaurant.’

      ‘To discuss business?’ Charlotte asked, and watched his jaw tighten. ‘Because if that was the case then a phone call would have sufficed—flowers and a secondhand apology weren’t necessary.’

      ‘Second-hand?’

      ‘They spelt Zander with an X. Anyway it’s irrelevant. I have nothing to discuss with you unless it’s about business.’ Zander was not used to being stood up or turned down and certainly not when he’d deigned to send flowers.

      ‘I wish to talk.’

      ‘You really think that you can just walk in anywhere and get whatever you want?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘You’re just a spoiled rich boy …’

      And he looked to where she stood and knew he could correct her, could tell her there had been nothing spoiled about his childhood, that the privileged life he led now had been built by his hands, but he spoke of his past with no one, although he had, occasionally, with her.

      ‘You don’t know anything about my life.’

      ‘I thought I was starting to,’ Charlotte said. ‘I thought when we walked on that beach, when we went out to dinner, when you took me to bed …’

      He was not here to discuss his past; he was here to find out about her, to put to rest the rare guilt she had generated in him, a feeling that did not sit well with him. ‘What you said about your mother, about her having to go into a home …’

      ‘I shouldn’t have.’ Charlotte’s response was instant, that precious time in the spa allowing her to speak with clarity, on that subject at least. ‘My problems are my own and they have nothing to do with what happened between us, so you can leave now.’ She went to open the door, but Zander was not going anywhere.

      ‘I want to know what is happening.’

      ‘I don’t want to discuss my mother, and I have nothing to say to you.’

      For the first time with a woman he could not leave it there, did not want to leave it there—for although their day had been engineered, although their night had started with cruel intent, it had concluded differently, and he wanted her back. He wanted the Charlotte that had spoken with him, but her stance was closed, her face a mask, and he fought with the one thing he had left.

      ‘What if I am here about business?’ Zander said.

      ‘Then