Boardrooms of Power. Heidi Betts

was right. She had never complained before about going with him to meetings, overnighting in the same hotel as him. If she made a point of complaining now and refusing to go, his sly little brain would soon start whirring into action and he would either mistakenly assume that she had morphed into a bimbo whose private life was influencing her professional one or, worse, he would think that she was scared to be in his company.

      In the very dark recesses of her mind crept another taboo thought. The notion that the weather might defy the odds and she knew, deep down, that if he was to find himself in any trouble she would want to be by his side.

      Where that left Joe, perfect gentleman and epitome of everything a mother would like her daughter to bring home, was a question she would deal with later.

      Four days wasn’t long and it might well be less, depending on circumstances.

      It was what she told herself the following morning as she slung clothes into her pull-along suitcase. Neither of them were taking anything that would have to go into the hold. Too much opportunity with the various changes en route for it to go missing in action. Gabriel would also be bringing his laptop computer, although whether they would be able to link up to a phone line was anybody’s guess.

      In any event, Rose packed notebooks and pens. The old-fashioned tools were often the best under pressure.

      Work kept them busy for the better part of the flight to one of the bigger islands. Rose read the reports at a furious pace. Together they discussed what could be done to shore up the naked part of the site if bad weather struck. When they weren’t working, Rose feigned sleep. And then the tail-end of the journey was lost in the confusion of changing planes and finally taking a boat over with the boat man reminding them constantly that they were mad to be undertaking a trip when the weather was going to change. Hurricanes rarely affected that particular spot and the man seemed unnaturally enthusiastic about the possibility of one.

      By the time they finally hit their destination, Rose was practically dead on her feet. She had started the day at a little before five and had had very little to eat.

      Nightfall on the island, in conjunction with very few street lights, meant that she could barely appreciate the scenery. Not that it made much difference when all she wanted to do in the back of the prehistoric taxi as it bumped its way over the single track road was to nod off and go to sleep.

      How did Gabriel manage to keep going for so long without any signs of wear and tear? He didn’t even look grubby! Maybe because he had chosen his clothes cleverly.

      He was saying something to her now and, in reply, Rose yawned widely.

      ‘Not the kind of response I usually evoke in a woman,’ he murmured, to which she yawned again and he patted his shoulder, an irresistible invitation for her to rest her head on it. Which she would, she decided. Just for a minute or two, until she became accustomed to the sticky heat which was quite different from the soaring summer temperatures in England.

      She awoke to the sensation of the clanking car shuddering to a halt and her eyes flew open.

      Horror of horrors, she’d dribbled! There was a damp patch on his shoulder and when their eyes met, he shot her a crooked smile.

      ‘Don’t worry. It’s human.’

      Rose pretended to misunderstand. ‘What is?’

      ‘I actually found it quite sweet, somehow innocent, for you to be resting your head on my shoulder and dribbling ever so slightly.’

      Rose’s mortification followed her out of the car but, as soon as she gazed at the work in progress in front of her, every hesitant self-conscious emotion fell away.

      She was staring at something so ambitious and so impressive, even in its half-finished state, that she gasped aloud.

      ‘Like it?’ Gabriel was just behind her, bending down to murmur the question into her ear.

      ‘There’s still a way to go,’ she said prosaically.

      ‘Coward. Why don’t you just admit that you love it? It’s an architectural adventure.’

      ‘Who designed it?’

      ‘I did.’

      ‘You?’

      ‘No need to look so shocked.’ Gabriel lightly ushered her in with his hand under her elbow. ‘You’re not the only one with a few secrets up your sleeve.’

      Rose was too stunned by what she was seeing to argue the toss with him.

      The original gloriously opulent hotel with its sprawling network of state-of-the-art condos, which had been the original plan and which, in fact, was still accessible on the computer, along with all the other documents, had been transformed into what appeared to be three dwellings, either very close together or else linked in some way. Each had its own individual turret and encircling them was a broad patio, still in its primary stage but which, he was telling her, would eventually be weatherproof hardwood.

      The land which had originally been intended for the condos would become a nine hole golf course—a very challenging nine hold course, he hastened to add, not for the faint-hearted. A short but killer links course, benefiting from the sea breeze that blew along the coastline.

      Right at the moment, the sea breeze was still gentle, although the driver had told them that people had already started leaving the island if they could and, if they couldn’t, they were battening down the hatches and preparing for the worst, getting tinned food and bottled water in for the duration.

      Rose anxiously tried to work out how secure the structure would be in a raging hurricane. It looked pretty solid and almost completely finished in terms of its final build but, since she had no idea about foundations, she couldn’t say for sure.

      ‘Anything that can move has been stowed away safely,’ Gabriel said, reading the direction of her concern. ‘If the worst comes to the worst, there won’t be any flying benches or planks of wood.’

      ‘The sky’s so blue…it’s hard to think that a hurricane might be on the way.’

      ‘I know, but in this part of the world the weather can change in a matter of minutes. Isn’t that right, Junior?’

      Junior, the driver, was at least seventy. A very sprightly and knowledgeable seventy. They entered the building to a long, informative monologue on the weather patterns of the Caribbean.

      Rose was the first to stop and stare. The façade had been impressive enough, but inside was a fertile imagination in full flight. She had expected square, unfinished brick and cement buildings, maybe with the occasional homage to detail that would distinguish them from the run of the mill. Not so. Black and white tiles were the backdrop for a dramatic water feature that dominated the far corner of the entrance hall. The rooms on the ground floor, Gabriel was explaining to a speechless Rose, would be dedicated to the kitchens, the restaurant and all the various domestic necessities that made a place run efficiently, including a health spa. The floor above housed some of the bedrooms and sitting rooms which could be used by the guests at any time of the day or night. The feeling would be one of a home away from home.

      ‘I don’t know anyone who has a home like this,’ Rose murmured, taking in the detail in the woodwork and the artistry in the way the place had been designed. ‘You thought of this yourself?’

      ‘I’m a frustrated architect,’ Gabriel said lightly, but when Rose glanced across at him he wasn’t grinning. ‘Leave the bags, Junior, and you head back to your house. Start packing the corned beef away.’ He grinned at Junior, who launched into a protest that was swept aside. ‘We’ve got food. We’ve got drink. We’ll be fine. You can come out when the worst is over.’

      Rose was dimly aware of this exchange of conversation as she ventured further into the villa, noting that it was in a far more advanced state of completion than she had expected. So much for her fears for Gabriel as he hunkered down in a building with no roof, missing walls and absent plumbing, at the mercy of the unforgiving elements.

      At