The Executive Floor

by Belinda Wright

  Granger smiled. ‘He’s a tough one. He survived. It’s not like he’s skin and bones anyway. But still, it wasn’t nice for him.’

  They began walking. Slower, now, the information she’d just been given sinking in. ‘But is he gone? Did she take him with her when she left again?’

  ‘Who, Rocky?’ Granger laughed. ‘No, of course not. Cynthia is all talk. She’s happy to shout that Rocky belongs to her to anyone who’ll listen, but she doesn’t care about him. The last thing she wants is anything that involves her having to think about someone other than herself.’ He took her hand. Neither spoke for a few moments.

  ‘I came back early. I changed my flight. I wanted to surprise you.’

  Chantelle shook her head. ‘But I don’t get it. It said online that you were getting back together. That Cynthia had split up with that other man, Claudio someone, because she was still in love with you.’

  ‘Chantelle, you can’t believe anything you read online. It’s all rubbish. I hadn’t spoken to Cynthia DeVere since we split up, I promise. That we were getting back together was something she made up in her own mind. I was expecting to find you in my bed. Not her. Can you imagine my shock?’

  The sky had darkened and there was crack of thunder; they were walking faster now, back in the direction of her place.

  ‘It must have been a bit surprising.’ She laughed, imagining the scene.

  ‘Surprising! Chantelle, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. And do you know what else? She only told the delivery men not to install my nice new TV because she didn’t like it and I could send it back.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘Look, Chantelle. Can you forgive me? I should never have let you go through what you did. It’s my fault. But let me make it up to you.’

  She looked at him, at his kind blue eyes. She wanted to fall into them, she really did but, how could she? She had no job, no money, and couldn’t even afford her rent. She looked at her watch. ‘I have to go. I’ve got to take my train.’ Large raindrops started falling.

  ‘Chantelle, you can’t. You’ve got to give me a chance.’

  ‘I’ve already bought my ticket.’

  ‘Change it. I’ll change it. Sod it, I’ll drive you to France myself if you still want to go after we’ve talked.’ The rain picked up and soon it was pouring down in heavy splashes, but Granger ignored it. He held her as he spoke, a hand on each of her arms. Chantelle shook her head, confused; there was so much going on in her mind.

  ‘No, you can’t, and I couldn’t take your money.’ But she didn’t have enough money of her own left for a second ticket. She didn’t have a job, either, so there would be no more money coming in; there was no way she could pay him back.

  ‘I want you, Chantelle,’ he said, ignoring the rain that was coursing down both their faces. ‘I couldn’t wait to get back to you, it was all I thought about all week. I won’t let you go.’ He caught her face in his hands, cupping her chin; he raised it up towards him. Her eyes locked on his. He plunged his mouth down on to hers, holding them together. He kissed her heatedly, passionately, parting her lips. And suddenly, she was kissing him back. He pulled her close, her warm wet body against the moist silk of his shirt. His arms wrapped around her tangling in her long, dark ponytail, pressing her to him. Nothing else mattered anymore, just the two of them alone in the moment.

  Then he pulled back and his eyes studied her, the rain running down his face in sexy rivulets. ‘Will you come back with me? We can talk, work it out. I want to get to know you, spend more time with you. Give it a chance? Give us a chance?’

  ‘Us?’ She repeated the word, studying his eyes to try to see if she understood him correctly.

  ‘Yes, us! You and me. Granger and Chantelle.’

  ‘I don’t know. I need to leave.’ She chewed her lip, her whole body torn. This was such a risk. What if it didn’t work out and she ended up with no money, job or place to live.

  ‘Chantelle, I won’t let you go!’ He held her hands.

  She could tell he meant it. There was no point fighting anymore – she didn’t want to anyway. ‘I will try to change my ticket for tomorrow.’

  He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her to him. He shook his head. ‘Not tomorrow. I have to tell you something, show you something. I haven’t been honest with you.’ His voice was grave. ‘I need to take you somewhere. Have you finished packing?’

  Chantelle froze, her hand halfway to brush a hair out of her eyes. Her stomach lurched. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘There is something I need to explain.’ Granger’s eyes were dark. His face gave nothing away. Chantelle swallowed as she remembered the letter.

  ‘You haven’t been honest with me?’ she repeated, feeling her pulse begin to speed up. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will,’ he said, placing his hand on her shoulder and guiding her forward. But she pulled away and refused to move.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘You’ll see. Please, Chantelle.’ His voice was urgent and told her he didn’t want any more questions.

  She moved forward, thoughts racing through her mind.

  ‘Have you finished packing?’ he asked again.

  ‘Almost.’

  ‘Good. We can bring all your things with us now, so you don’t have to come back here.’ He put his coat around her and they walked together back to her house. Chantelle unlocked the door.

  ‘I need to go upstairs and pack the last few things,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll wait here. Call me when you’re done, and I’ll carry your bag downstairs,’ he told her.

  While Chantelle was upstairs, Granger took out his phone.

  ‘Janet, I need the plane. No, not the corporate jet, my private one. In a few hours, with a flight path to Marrakech, as soon as they can get it cleared.’ He hung up and heard a key in the lock of the front door. A man appeared in the doorway, frowning at Granger.

  ‘Who are you?’ the man asked, coming inside and closing the door, wiping the rain off his blue anorak. His glasses were speckled with drops. He took them off, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the lenses.

  ‘I’m a friend of Chantelle’s,’ Granger said, standing tall, taller than the younger man. ‘And you are?’

  ‘I live here,’ he said.

  ‘You’re Neil?’ Granger asked. Neil nodded, standing in the hallway, seemingly unsure what to do. Granger stepped backwards to let him enter the living room. ‘Chantelle told me about you.’

  ‘You shouldn’t believe everything she says, you know,’ Neil said, moving slowly forward.

  Granger raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh really? Why’s that?’

  Neil shrugged.

  Granger stared at him. It was funny; he wasn’t as ready to bully now he was faced with someone bigger than him. ‘Is this your house?’ Granger asked, looking around him.

  Neil nodded as he unzipped his jacket. ‘I’m the landlord.’

  ‘You should be ashamed,’ Granger said, looking at the grimy state of the kitchen.

  Neil drew in a breath. ‘I really don’t like that she has invited strangers into my house. I will have to speak to her.’

  ‘You can speak to me.’ Granger moved closer to him.

  ‘No. She’s my tenant. I will discuss it with her.’

  ‘I should report you,’ Granger said. ‘You know there are laws against peeping Tom landlords who take advantage of their tenants.’

  Neil’s face flushed red; he stepped forward in a rage. ‘How dare you speak to me like that! What has she been saying? Get out of my house,’ he hissed at Granger.

  Granger shoved him so he flew back and landed on the sofa. Chantelle appeared at the top of the stairs with her bags. ‘Ready?’ Granger asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She came down the stairs. ‘Oh, Neil! What’s the matter? What happened?’

  Granger headed up the
stairs and picked up her cases.

  ‘That man assaulted me, that’s what happened! In my own home. Get out!’ Granger heard him shout. He carried the cases to the front door and laughed.

  ‘Don’t exaggerate, Neil. I didn’t assault you, just gave you a little push. And we’re leaving anyway. No, no need to get up.’ Granger took Chantelle’s arm and gently ushered to the front door. ‘Have you got your key?’ he asked her. She nodded and took out the door keys. She removed her key ring. Granger took the keys out of her hand and threw them to Neil. He tried to catch them but fumbled, and the keys landed in his lap.

  ‘It was a pleasure meeting you, Neil.’ Granger picked up the cases and opened the front door.

  ‘Err, I’m leaving now, for good,’ Chantelle said awkwardly, looking at Neil. ‘Thank you for, err, well, letting me stay.’ She gave a little wave then followed Granger to the car.

  It was still raining; he had already put the bags in the boot and was waiting by the passenger door for her to get in. He closed it behind her and ran around to the driver’s side and slid in.

  ‘What happened with Neil?’ she asked as he drove off.

  ‘Nothing. He was getting aggressive and squaring up to me. I pushed him back, that’s all. I hate bullies,’ Granger said.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Chantelle asked, looking around as Granger turned towards the ring road instead of the direction of his apartment. Her heart began beating fast. She remembered what he had said in the park.

  ‘You’ll see. There is something I have to show you.’ They continued the journey in silence. Chantelle watched the fields passing.

  ‘Granger? Can’t you tell me where we are going?’ She looked at him, studying his profile. His eyes were fixed on the road; his straight brown hair was matted on his forehead, and he looked deep in thought. He glanced at Chantelle and smiled. He put his hand across and squeezed her knee. ‘Sorry – I was in a world of my own. I’m taking you away for the weekend.’

  ‘Where to?’ Chantelle asked again. She shifted in her seat, looking out of the window. She started to feel uneasy. Granger smiled again and took her hand. ‘That didn’t come out the way it was supposed to. Let me try again.’ He steered the car down the slip road. Chantelle noticed signs for Burton airfield. ‘Chantelle, there is something I need to tell you. It will be much easier to show you what I’m talking about. I want to show you my villa in Morocco.’

  ‘Morocco? But why? I’m supposed to be taking the train to France – I can’t go to Morocco!’

  ‘Only for a few days, to give us a chance to spend time together alone without distraction. To talk, to straighten things out and just, well, relax.’ He looked at her and she swallowed. It was so hard to refuse those warm eyes.

  They pulled up at Burton airfield where a man was waiting for them. Granger shook his hand and gave him the keys to the car. Granger then came around to her side and opened the door for her. It had stopped raining but the ground was wet; she climbed carefully out. Rows of aeroplanes lined the side of the airfield.

  ‘We’re taking my plane.’ Granger pointed to a white aircraft with the door open standing near the runway. Chantelle looked at it, then back at Granger. This was all new to her – his private plane, an unplanned trip to Morocco. A big secret. She swallowed and put her hand on his arm. ‘Granger. I’m not sure. Can’t we talk here?’ She frowned; she didn’t want to be stuck in a foreign country with him if he told her something she wouldn’t like. And she feared he would.

  ‘Please, Chantelle.’ He stroked her cheek. ‘If you don’t like it there, I will bring you straight home. Back to France. Just trust me.’

  She looked at him; could she trust him? She wanted to be with him. She swallowed and nodded. ‘OK,’ she whispered.

  ‘Great.’ He grinned, took her hand and squeezed it, then led her to the plane. He guided her up the small stairs. A stewardess welcomed them on board and showed them to their seats.

  Chantelle looked around. It was like a smart sitting room, not an aeroplane. She sat down in the large cream leather chair and fasten her seat belt. She felt the seat swivel beneath her. Granger sat beside her and reached for her hand. The stewardess appeared.

  ‘Can I get you a glass of Champagne?’

  Granger frowned and glanced at Chantelle. ‘I don’t think so.’

  She bit her lip. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t mind one,’ she said with a smile. She was nervous and excited at the same time. Granger nodded to the stewardess.

  ‘You own this plane?’ Chantelle asked, peering out of the window as the engine started.

  ‘Yeah. This is my private plane. I use it mainly just to go to Morocco. Or if I’m going on holiday somewhere.’ He considered. ‘Which isn’t often, actually.’ The stewardess returned with the Champagne flutes and a dish of nuts. Chantelle sipped the ice-cold liquid, the fine bubbles bursting on her tongue. The sound of the engines increased and the plane began moving slowly, heading to the runway. She turned back to Granger who met her eyes and smiled. She smiled too but was struggling to process everything that had happened. It was all moving so fast.

  When the plane was in the air, Granger turned to her and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. ‘I missed you, you know,’ he said.

  ‘I missed you too.’

  ‘Ah, bugger …’ Granger muttered.

  ‘What?’ Chantelle asked.

  ‘I forgot about Rocky. See – I’m not used to this having a dog. I should have brought him with us. I’d better text Janet, have her organise someone to go in and feed and walk him.’ He took out his phone and Chantelle smiled, thinking about the old dog.

  The plane touched down just as the sun was setting, causing a golden pink light, heavy with darkness, to spread across the sky. In the distance were black silhouettes against the warm horizon. Chantelle had drunk two glasses of Champagne and eaten a smoked salmon sandwich, then slept for most of the flight.

  The air was warm and heavy as they stepped out of the air-conditioned jet. It made her clothes cling to her skin. A chauffeur in a dark suit was waiting for them close to the aeroplane; he hurried over and shook Granger’s hand, then led the way to a shiny black car. He opened the door and stood behind it for them to get in, then sat in the driver’s seat and the car sped off, out through the airfield security and through the town. He drove fast, and soon they were leaving the town and driving through the darkness of the desert. Granger put his hand on Chantelle’s leg and squeezed gently. She gazed out of the window watching the last rays of light fade, acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on her thigh. There were no other cars on the road, no street lights, just darkness spanning as far as she could see. Granger took Chantelle’s hand and she held on tightly; she was excited to be in this foreign country but there were nerves in her stomach. She sat back, unable to see anything out of the window anymore. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. He smelled good, of freshly applied aftershave. Her pulse sped up again and she kept her eyes glued on the darkness outside.

  Gradually they began passing other cars and saw lights from occasional houses; street lamps lined the road again. They were approaching a city. Chantelle sat forward again, staring out of the window. The car slowed and turned right towards what appeared to be a large gated compound. The gates opened for the car to enter. The drive was lit by flame torches that lined the path. Purple pink bougainvillea decorated the entrance to a courtyard. The car drove a circle around a water fountain and pulled up in front of the double doors of the villa. The doors opened and a man dressed in white came out and to greet them.

  He opened the door for Chantelle; Granger got out the other side. The warmth of the evening engulfed her again. Granger took her hand and led her into a large marble entrance hall, past a wide sweeping staircase and through open patio doors outside into lush gardens.

  It was like a tropical paradise with brightly coloured flowers.
Sprinklers buzzed, watering the dark green lawn and bushes. In the distance Chantelle could hear the noise from the city; disco music pounded faintly on the wind. In front of them was a rectangular swimming pool filled with clear blue water that sparkled in the lights.

  Granger led Chantelle to a terrace in front of the pool. A lady brought over a tray with tiny glasses and served them tea. He held the chair for Chantelle to sit down, facing the pool, then slid down on to the chair beside her.

  She could feel he was watching her as she looked around at the gardens, fascinated by the beauty of it. She turned back to him. ‘This,’ Granger gestured to the house, which was bigger than some hotels, ‘is my Moroccan home. The Carmont family residence.’

  Chantelle looked around in awe at the immense white stone building. ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘I don’t come here nearly enough, and I always come alone. You are the first guest I’ve brought to visit from England.’

  ‘Wow. I’m lucky,’ she said. She looked at the gardens. ‘Has the building been in the family a long time?’

  ‘No. No, it hasn’t. I bought this place a few years after Granger Finance was founded. I have always been fascinated by this country.’

  ‘You bought this place? But I thought …’ Chantelle felt her forehead wrinkle in confusion.

  Granger smiled, but his eyes were sad. ‘That’s why we’re here. I haven’t been honest with you. About me. About my family.’

  ‘OK,’ Chantelle said slowly, waiting to hear what would come next.

  Granger ran a hand through his light brown hair. ‘I don’t look very Moroccan, do I?’

  ‘Not really, but you’re half Moroccan … aren’t you? Your mother is from England,’ she said, studying his face, his clear blue eyes; his skin was tanned, but was that from the sun? ‘You look more like your mother?’

  ‘My family is not Moroccan.’

  Chantelle was trying to understand. ‘They’re not Moroccan? Where are they from then? Your father?’