The following day, back at the office:"Have you ever taken meeting minutes, Charlotte?""No, I haven´t, Sir.""You´re starting now. I want you to sit in on this." Haswell waves me over to a chair at the far end of the conference table.As a dozen or so people gather around the table, I start jotting down a note of their names.One man sits about halfway along the table. Short and tubby, for some reason, he looks familiar, and as I look up, for a moment there is a flash of semi-recognition, then he looks away, as though he also thinks that he knows me. I chew my lip, trying to place his face, then dismiss it as the meeting assembles.Haswell sits at the head of the table, my Master beside him. The content of the meeting is mundane enough, but I find it useful and interesting, as I learn the roles of the people involved, timetables for work, scheduling for supplies and plans. It is easy enough to keep up with my note-taking.The man I think I recognise keeps glancing acros

I nod, swallowing hard."Are you still ´contracted´ to James?"Shake head."You are under no obligation to him?""No, after the week was up, I left and started at college, but I came back when I could. I wanted to see him and Michael again.""Michael?""You saw him, at the Club.""The blond man?"Nod."So, you met Michael during this week also?"Nod head.He stands, pours himself another coffee, offers me the jug. I accept, and again, gulp it down."So, you are telling me, quite clearly, that although he paid for, um, your services, during that initial week, James treated you well, and you are with him now entirely because you choose to be?"Nod head."Does he know you are here? Talking to me?"Nod head.He taps the console on his desk. "Francis, track down James Alexanders would you. Tell him I´d like a word. I suspect he´s not far away."Haswell continues. "He sent you in here? To face me alone over this?""No. I insisted. He wouldn´t be in this po

Richard raises his eyebrows, sitting back in his chair. Realising that I have just been unconscionably rude, I try to take back my words."Um, sorry. Didn´t mean it to come out like that. My apologies."Richard regards me under hooded eyelids. I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. "No apology needed, Charlotte." He speaks slowly, choosing each word. "You grew up in that area and went to foster parents...?"My throat tightens...He continues. "You were in a children´s home then? Was it by any chance, Blessingmoors?"Mumbling through my food. "That´s the one." I gulp down a mouthful of wine, and then another.Michael and my Master are both staring at me. Michael takes my hand in his. Richard continues. "You are correct, of course. We demolished that... institution... towards the end of last year. The reason we demolished it, rather than renovating and rebuilding, is that there were a number of... scandals... associated with it."I say nothing.Michael silent

On the Project site, Haswell shows me around, comparing what I see on the ground, to what the plans show.Perhaps it is his apology for misreading me earlier. He is the soul of courtesy, pointing out where old sweatshops and slums have gone, to be replaced by the upcoming, sleek and modern homes; where the bridge, designed by my Master, will span the river, the foundations and pilings already being laid. After a while, he is called away, his attention needed on some snag. "Go wherever you want, Charlotte," he says. "See everything."I trail behind surveyors and engineers, following their tracks, trying to interpret groundworks, and transform them in my head into the soaring city I saw in the model.Bulldozers are shifting huge tracts of rubble, crushing and flattening it, to lay the groundwork for the next phase of the building works. The old road layout is all but gone. Only because I know where I am, is any of it recognisable.Feeling like a spare part, I wander around a bit,

We walk, Michael holding my hand, along a wild track, high in the mountains. Rambling between forest and green meadows which slope down to the lake, just being here is a balm to my black mood. And Michael, with his unconditional support, and lack of pressure, is soothing company.We sit on an old stump. Michael pours me coffee from a flask, which I accept, then offers me a sandwich, which I do not."Thanks, I´m not hungry.""Charlotte, you´ve got to eat, or you´re no good to anyone, least of all yourself." He presses the food onto me. Reluctantly I take it, fighting my churning stomach, to choke down small bites.Nonetheless, the walk calms me. Clouds scud across the sky, casting light and shade across the meadows. The lake sparkles in the sunshine, the waters rippling with a shimmering light in the brisk breeze. Breathing deeply, the early autumn mountain air tastes good: of pine and snow."It´s real soul food, this place, isn´t it?" says Michael, lacing his fingers into min