‘What father? I don’t have any father. All my connections with this country are invented.’
‘But wait, I thought you were from Morocco, from a long line of aristocracy. Your father? This house?’ She looked around. ‘But why are we here then, if it’s not your family home?’
Granger sipped his tea, then shook his head. ‘My real name is Michael Granger. Granger Carmont doesn’t exist. It’s a name I made up before I started university. I wanted to give myself a background that was on a par with my peers at Oxford, so I invented the name and the story, and it has stuck. I don’t know who my father is, neither does my mother.’ He shrugged. ‘He could be Moroccan.’
He got up and walked towards the pool. ‘My mother was …’ He smiled, a cold smile. ‘She still is a drug addict. I was a mistake – she never wanted a child. She’s far from capable of caring for herself, let alone anyone else.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t have many memories of my childhood before I was put into care. I’ve blanked them all. I was seven when social services finally took pity on me and I was fostered by a couple who had money and a big house with a lovely garden. And toys. Finally, I had some toys. I’d never had any toys before. I didn’t know that their sort of life existed. I was so scared that they would send me back.’
‘Oh, my goodness,’ Chantelle whispered. Her hand moved to cover her mouth.
‘My foster parents had just come back from a holiday in Morocco and showed me pictures. It looked so exotic and far away. I used to dream that I lived there. From then onwards I promised myself that I would have a better life. I would work hard so I could have everything I wanted and be successful.’ Granger turned and looked at Chantelle, who was watching him wide eyed.
‘So, there you have it. I’m not Moroccan aristocracy at all. My name’s not Granger Carmont. It’s Michael Granger. Does it shock you?’ He smiled, bending down and picking up a flower head that had fallen on the grass. He walked across to the pool and dipped his hand in the water.
She watched him. ‘But then what happened? Did you stay with that family?’ Chantelle asked.
He shook his head. ‘Not for long. It was only a temporary placement. Then I was moved on somewhere else. I moved around so much, changing schools, having to make new friends each time. In the end I just gave up trying. I realised I only had myself to count on anyway.’
‘That’s terrible.’ Chantelle sighed.
‘I survived. And look at me now.’ He opened his arms and gestured around him. ‘At least I can say I made it on my own. Really on my own.’
Chantelle nodded, her eyes wide. She wanted to get up and throw her arms around him and tell him it would be OK. Tell that poor child growing up alone that it would all work out in the end. Her heart ached for the pain he’d suffered. Tears came to her eyes.
‘Shocked?’ He grinned.
‘No. I mean yes,’ she murmured, wiping her eyes. She took a sip of tea, watching as Granger paced the perimeter of the swimming pool.
‘OK?’
‘I’m just struggling to take it in. Why did you feel you had to lie? To pretend to be someone you are not?’
He laughed. ‘Because I was a loser. From a loser background, that’s why. I needed to pretend to be someone else in order to shed the past. That loser past, my drug addict, blackmailing mother and my anonymous father. I had to prove to everyone that I was better than that. I could be someone and make something. I just needed a fresh start.’
‘But it wasn’t your fault! You were a child.’
He laughed. ‘I know, but it matters. Who you are and where you come from. Different doors open for you based on it.’
‘I really I wasn’t expecting this,’ Chantelle whispered.
‘Why would you?’ He laughed.
‘I just believed you came from a rich background in Morocco.’
Granger shook his head. ‘The only family I have is my mother, and I never see her. I support her, but never see her.’
‘The letter was from your mother? It was your birth certificate she was talking about?’ Chantelle asked.
‘Letter?’ His face clouded.
‘I found a letter when I was tidying up your desk.’
‘Unfortunately, whatever I give to or do for my mother, it never seems to be enough. I’ve bought her a house, she has an allowance, but she just wants more and more. She keeps threatening to send my birth certificate to journalists to expose me for who I really am.’
‘Your own mother,’ she murmured.
‘Some mothers are better not having.’ Granger grimaced. ‘She came back into my life when I started making money. Aren’t I lucky?’ He walked back to the table and stood before her. ‘I used to care what people thought of me. I wanted respect in business and I felt as Granger Carmont, Moroccan heir, I would have more respect than as simple Michael Granger, drug addict’s son. But now, now I guess I really couldn’t care less. I am who I am, and I have achieved everything myself and I am proud.’ He touched Chantelle’s arm. ‘So, what do you say? Does it bother you?’
Chantelle breathed deeply and looked at him, trying to process what he had told her. His whole life was built on a lie.
‘I brought you here so you could see, understand who I am,’ he said, opening his arms and motioning to the villa and the gardens. ‘This is all from my own work, my work. No inheritance, no help from my parents. I founded my own company. I employ over two hundred people. It’s all down to me.’
Chantelle nodded. ‘It’s impressive. Everything you’ve done is impressive. But to lie? Did it really make a difference where you came from and what your name is?’
Granger laughed. ‘You went to the Sorbonne, didn’t you? You know how important these things are at university. How it can make the difference between acceptance and rejection. I needed it to get through.’ He sat down beside her. ‘Chantelle, I really like you. I would love to get to know you better, spend more time with you.’ He paused. ‘I guess what I’m saying, albeit somewhat awkwardly, is that I want you to be my girlfriend.’
She looked at him; he’d pulled his tie loose and his smooth hair was ruffled. His face was kind and so familiar now – she could hardly imagine not having him in her life anymore. But his life was built on a lie. How could she live with that? Was that a basis for a beginning?
‘Granger, I don’t know. I really don’t.’ She sighed. ‘I believe in honesty. I really do.’
He frowned, turned away from her and looked out at the garden. ‘But does it really matter? Now? After all these years? I’ve been Granger Carmont for years, since I was eighteen. Michael Granger is long gone. Who cares?’
‘I care,’ she whispered. ‘It’s not good to lie, not a huge fundamental lie like that. About who you are. It’s not about what your name is. Don’t you see? It’s about the lie. That you’ve not been honest. These things always come back to you – you can never hide from them.’ Tears had formed in her eyes. She didn’t want to push him away, but she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t start a new relationship like this.
Granger walked towards the illuminated garden. Chantelle sipped her tea, not tasting the mint, only feeling the heat in her mouth. She watched him, the way his body moved; she was drawn to him … her whole being ached to touch him. But her mind just couldn’t accept it.
He stopped, then turned back to her. ‘I’ll confess. I’ll tell the world. I’ll admit who I am and where I come from.’ His blue eyes were clear and fixed on hers. ‘You’re right. Lies aren’t the foundation of anything. My life is built on being Granger Carmont, and if it all crumbles when I admit to being born Michael Granger, then fine.’
She frowned. ‘Are you sure?’
He nodded. ‘I’m Granger Carmont. I won’t go back to being Michael Granger, not for anything. But I will admit where I came from. I will be honest and clear the slate. If I lose my business, I can build it again. It’s all from here,’ h
e put his hand on his chest. ‘I’ve done it once, I can do it again.’
He strode back to the table to her and stroked her shoulder, causing her skin to prickle with excitement. ‘It’s so good to be with you. I would do anything not to lose you again.’
‘Don’t do it just for me. You have to want it too. To believe it.’
‘I’ve got nothing to hide anymore. I didn’t choose my parents. I shouldn’t carry any shame about them.’
‘Oh, Granger, it must have been so hard.’ Chantelle stood up, cupping his face with her hands. She remembered the pain of losing her parents. He had never known his father. Was that worse?
He turned his face and kissed her palm. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispered.
‘I missed you too.’ Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, gently kissing her lips. Her eyes closed and the world spun, the sweet scent of flowers in her nose, the warm air on her skin and the hot urgency of Granger’s tongue probing her mouth. She sighed, her body heating with the familiar passion for him. He pulled away from her and looked at the pool.
‘The water is wonderful,’ he murmured, her face between his hands.
Chantelle turned and looked at the crystal blue water; a mosaic of a dolphin decorated the bottom of the pool. ‘But I don’t have my—’
Granger grinned and cut her off. ‘You don’t need a swimming costume here. This is my house, my pool, it’s only us here and the staff.’ He took her hand and led her around the table. She stood before him and he slipped her top over her shoulders. Then, piece by piece, he removed all her clothes, followed by his own. She watched as he stripped. Then, smiling he picked her up and carried her down the stairs into the warm water.
‘Now, only …’ he looked at his watch ‘… forty-eight hours behind schedule.’ He stroked her hair. ‘I’ve been dreaming of this moment since leaving the US. You are the only girl who belongs in my bed.’ He lowered his lips to hers. ‘Your lips are the only ones I want to kiss.’ He kissed her softly. ‘Every day, every night, every minute that I was apart from you I thought about being back with you. It’s insane. I’ve never felt anything like it.’
Chantelle’s hands moved over his chest, stroking and caressing his taut muscles. He leant down, his mouth on her throat, feathering kisses over her neck and chest. He cupped her breasts and pressing his naked chest against hers. The warm water lapped around them, the sound of crickets loud in their ears.
‘I want you so much,’ he whispered.
‘Moi aussi. I missed you too,’ she muttered, and suddenly hot tears were coursing down her cheeks.
‘I can’t believe I almost lost you.’
‘I was so upset,’ Chantelle sobbed.
‘I wouldn’t have given up, though, my darling. If I had been too late to catch you in Branford, I wouldn’t have given up. I would have followed you to the end of the earth. I would have found you. I promise you that.’ He traced his mouth over the tracks of her tears. She wrapped both her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her. He gathered her up and held her tightly.
‘We’re together now.’ He kissed her passionately again, moving between her legs.
Afterwards they clung to each over, naked in each other’s arms, allowing the warm water to carry their weight. ‘I can’t believe you pushed Neil,’ Chantelle said.
‘Ah, he deserved it. What a sleaze. I don’t know how you managed to live with him for so long.’
‘I didn’t have much choice. I needed somewhere cheap to live and that place was cheap for what it was.
‘What it was, was a dump! He should be ashamed. I told him that. And, of course, it was cheap – he was getting all the added benefits of peeping at you any chance he got.’ Granger’s body tensed again. ‘I should have hit him, not pushed him.’
Chantelle planted a kiss on his lips and used her fingertips to massage the anger out of him. ‘It’s OK, it’s done now. You’ll never see him again.’
‘It’s not me seeing him that angers me.’ He wrapped his arms around her.
‘Granger, there is something else I need to tell you.’ Chantelle propped her head on her arm and turned to him. ‘My internship is finished. I have to find a new job.’
‘Where’s your phone?’ Granger looked around.
‘My phone?’ Chantelle wiped her eyes. ‘It’s, err, I don’t know … in my bag.’
Granger climbed out of the pool and helped Chantelle out. He handed her a towel from the pile on the sun lounger. They dried themselves and pulled on bathrobes.
Granger picked up Chantelle’s handbag and passed it to her. She searched around and then pulled out her phone. ‘It’s dead, the battery is flat,’ she said.
‘Plug it in.’
‘Ah, I might just wait until tomorrow. I don’t want to talk to anyone but you at the moment.’
‘No, you have to. Plug it in,’ he said.
Feeling confused, she pushed in the lead. ‘Why? What’s so urgent?’
‘A colleague of mine has been trying to contact you. He’s looking for an analyst so I gave him your name.’ Granger smiled.
Chantelle’s face fell. ‘No, Granger.’
‘What?’
She turned away. ‘I don’t want you to get me a job. I need to find my own way. I can’t use our relationship to get me favours. No, no way.’ She shook her head.
Granger smiled, watching her. ‘You look gorgeous when you’re angry! Come here.’ He jumped up and caught her in his arms. ‘Let’s go inside to my bedroom.’
‘Arrêt. You don’t take me seriously.’ She hit him on the arm.
‘How can I take you seriously when you look so cute.’ He buried his face in her chest.
‘Stop it. This is serious. It’s my life,’ Chantelle protested, fighting against his strength.
‘OK,’ he said, guiding her inside the villa and up the marble staircase to the master bedroom. ‘Don’t overreact. This colleague of mine works for an affiliate. So not the same branch as me. He was impressed by the work you did for me on my data and he told me he needs a skilled analyst. I gave him your name and number – that’s as far as it goes. If he calls you, that’s up to him, if you take his call, that’s up to you. If the two of you get on and decide to work together, it’s none of my business. I’m out of it from now on.’ He held up his hands.
Chantelle plugged in her phone and turned it on. It immediately started beeping.
‘Don’t get overexcited. Most of those messages will be from me,’ Granger told her as she reached for the phone. He jumped up. ‘I’m going to get in the shower. You need to be ready in one hour.’
‘Ready in one hour? Ready for what?’ Chantelle was still busy checking her messages.
‘Dinner. I want to take you to a very special restaurant.’
Chapter Twelve
Chantelle looked out of the window as car sped through the Moroccan night. She adjusted her shawl on her shoulder, hoping she was dressed smartly enough. Granger wouldn’t tell her where they were going.
When her messages had filtered through on her phone, she found many from Richard Croft’s secretary. She had returned the call straight away and the lady sounded very nice. They had arranged an appointment for her to meet Richard at the earliest opportunity. She had told Chantelle that her boss was very keen to meet her. Chantelle could hardly believe it – she had an interview on Tuesday.
She glanced at Granger. They were driving down a winding road with no street lights. Darkness surrounded them and although she couldn’t see it, she knew sand dunes and desert stretched in front of them. His face was lit by the glow of the dashboard. She swallowed, overwhelmed by how attracted to him she was. His sharp jawline and clear eyes focused intensely on the road. She couldn’t believe how much her life had changed again in the space of a few hours.
The four-by-four slipped off the road and drove down a dark path, then
stopped. A high metal gate was in front of them. A guard came out of a security booth. Granger spoke to him and he nodded and walked back into the booth. Chantelle noted the gun in the holster at his belt. The gate opened slowly. Granger tapped the accelerator and they moved forward, driving up a long straight road.
‘Wow, it looks magnificent,’ she whispered as a building appeared at the end of the road. It was lit up dramatically against the night, emphasising the white walls and blue tiling and the deep purple flowers that surrounded it.
‘Nice, huh?’ Granger said. ‘And the food outshines the setting by a mile. Imagine that.’
‘It must fantastic then,’ Chantelle said, gasping at the lush green manicured lawns and flowerbeds lit by spotlights.
The car ground to a halt at the front door. Granger left the engine running and climbed out. A doorman appeared at Chantelle’s side and opened the door for her, offering his hand to help her out.
Granger handed over the keys to the car and took her hand, guiding her across the gravel.
A man greeted him. ‘Mr Carmont.’ He led the way around the house, through the lush green gardens. Chantelle could smell exotic spicy aromas; she breathed deeply, enjoying the exciting unknown.
‘I know the owner,’ Granger whispered to her.
‘Of course.’ She laughed, looking around at the outdoor restaurant. Low tables and floor seating were set out in squared sections. People were sitting and eating; waiters moved around the tables, delivering food and drinks.
‘Granger,’ Chantelle breathed. ‘This is beautiful.’ He followed her gaze out across the view. A water fountain danced in the lights and in the distance she could see the city.
‘I heard they modelled the garden and fountains on the Chateau of Versailles. The owner went there and fell in love with it.’
Chantelle looked around and nodded. ‘I can see that.’
‘Have you been to Versailles?’
She nodded. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘Perhaps you can show me some time.’ Granger smiled.
The Executive Floor Page 21
