Carol Marinelli - One Summer Night

‘It was,’ Zander said. ‘I was not thinking of that.’ The admission and the passion with which it was delivered surprised even him, because her words had taken him back there and, no, triumph over his brother had not been on his mind then; instead, it had all been her.

‘It was all you were thinking of?’ Charlotte sneered.

And he closed his eyes because, yes, at first it had been.

‘Those little chats …’ How it stung. How innocent she had been to lie in bed on a grey morning in London and listen to him, to recall how he had brightened her day, yet it had all been a game to him. How easily he had played her—how readily she had let him.

‘I should have heeded the warnings.’ She was furious not just at Zander but at herself, and then she threw back at him what Paulo had told her in Greek about his tawdry reputation, that he would sell his mother to the highest bidder, and she told him too how the islanders hated him.

‘I am not here for a lecture from you.’

‘Are you going to sign?’ She just wanted out of there, she wanted away, she wanted done, or she would start crying.

‘I have not decided.’ He looked at her. ‘Perhaps we go out on my yacht to discuss things, spend some time away …’

‘Never,’ Charlotte said.

‘Never?’ Zander checked.

‘I hate you.’

‘Tut tut.’ Zander smiled. ‘What would your boss say if he knew you were speaking to me like that? I thought Nico still wanted that land.’

‘I’ll resign before I have to spend a day with you.’ She was trapped, completely trapped, and the slap she had delivered had not put out the fire inside, for it was flaring again, as it had done the whole wretched morning, building and building till it could not be contained. ‘You have no idea what you’ve done to me. Because of you, I might have to put my mother in a home.’ Which was perhaps a bit harsh, for it had been heading towards that for months now. It was hardly all his fault, but Zander had made it impossible to approach her boss at this moment, impossible to negotiate for a better arrangement, when she had let him down so badly, and the words tumbled out untamed.

‘What are you talking about?’ He sneered at the hysterical female who blamed a night of passion for every last ill, but something niggled inside Zander, something unfamiliar, for he had seen her so vibrant, so happy, and now she seemed to be choking with fury and fear almost. ‘How can I be responsible for your mother’s—?’

‘Oh, what would you care about family?’ Charlotte snapped, already regretting the words that had spilled out, wishing she could somehow sink to her knees and retrieve them, gather them up and put them in her bag and pretend they had never been said. But it was far too late for that now and the best she could do was look him briefly in the eye before walking out. She looked into black eyes that had once caressed her but were unrecognisable now. ‘You’re trying to destroy yours; I’m just trying to hold onto mine. What would you know about it?’

‘The offer is there.’ Zander would not enter a discussion on family, did not want to know of her ills. ‘I will consider signing the papers when you decide to join me.’

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