An Imported Wife

‘Cyclones are forecast.’

Gabriella stared at the girl pleadingly.

‘There’s no sign of any cyclones yet,’ she pointed out encouragingly. ‘My boss in London rang this morning. She’s very insistent that I take a look at Rodrigues as a potential location. There are some marvellous remote areas, with dramatic waterfalls and—’

‘Not even the all-powerful Ursula Taylor can play God with the tropical weather, Gabriella.’

The deep voice was all too familiar. As she spun round, her heart sank. Rick Josephs lounged against the end of the reception desk, wickedly dark and handsome in sawn-off denims, espadrilles and a plain white T-shirt.

‘Good morning,’ she supplied briefly, shooting him a cool, repressive look. ‘Do you never mind your own business?’

‘Such gratitude. When I was about to offer my services as taxi driver?’

‘Taxi driver?’ She couldn’t help her jaw dropping slightly.

‘And guide,’ he added calmly, exchanging an enigmatic smile with the girl receptionist, who was gazing at him as if he were royalty. ‘Ignore Ursula. There is no need to go five hundred kilometres to search for locations on Rodrigues when Mauritius has everything you need.’

‘Oh, so I ignore my employer, do I?’ she countered, feeling her temper rising all over again. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to get me sacked?’

‘Paranoia will not get you very far in the fashion world, Gabriella.’ He’d sauntered closer, eyeing her appearance with casual interest. ‘How urgently do you need to explore for locations?’

‘Very urgently,’ she told him, resenting his presence but struggling with her antagonism.

‘Then since you’ll find that all the commercial helicopter operators will have shut up shop pending this cyclone, my humble jeep and I are available for hire,’ he informed her, grinning at her tightly set face. ‘At a price to be agreed.’

‘I’m sure First Flair would pay normal rates,’ she retorted stiffly. ‘If I took you up on the offer, which is unlikely!’

‘I’m sure Ursula would expect you to use your common sense,’ he purred smoothly. ‘Make use of any available help to facilitate the project.’

This was undoubtedly true. Damn the man. She felt hopelessly inexperienced suddenly, unsure how to handle the situation.

‘Well, yes. But what about this cyclone?’ She glanced back at the receptionist, praying for some other suggestion. ‘How long before it comes? Is it dangerous? Should I let First Flair know…?’

‘Bad cyclones are quite rare,’ Rick Josephs reassured her calmly. ‘Normally they are just high winds and torrential rain, over quite quickly.’

‘I see. Well, thanks for the offer, but I’m sure I can find some other means of transport…’

Torn between telling him to get lost, and possibly needing his help, she turned back to the receptionist, who’d been joined by the manager.

‘If you are in a hurry to see different places, I suppose you could get a taxi, or hire a car yourself…’ the manager began helpfully.

‘No, she couldn’t,’ Rick put in calmly. ‘The young lady is under age. Twenty-three’s the minimum, isn’t it?’

‘Ah, yes, that is true…If Monsieur Josephs is prepared to help, he knows the island very well,’ the manager confirmed. ‘And I can vouch for his integrity. I’d say it seemed the perfect solution, mademoiselle…’

‘Perfect,’ said the lazy voice at her side.

Gabriella looked round, and found his golden eyes mockingly intent on her indecision. Heart thudding as the options sank in, she capitulated with a brief, angry shrug.

‘Then I suppose I’m stuck with Monsieur Josephs,’ she agreed sweetly.

‘A wise decision, graciously made,’ he applauded softly, taking her arm and escorting her out of the hotel. ‘And may I say how delighted I am to be given the chance to spend more time in your charming company, Gabriella?’

‘They say sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,’ she reminded him, in a furious undertone.

‘Je m’excuse,’ he murmured unrepentantly, ushering her around to the car park of the hotel where a large open-topped jeep glinted in the sun. ‘You seem to have the knack of bringing out the lowest traits in my character.’

‘You have other traits?’ She met his narrowed gaze with wide, unblinking eyes, and he burst out laughing.

‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘If we are to spend the day together, perhaps we could agree on a truce.’

She chewed her lower lip, then looked away from him and sighed, feeling faintly ashamed of herself. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I suppose a spell of adult civility wouldn’t hurt.’

‘An apology? This is progress!’ The smile he shot towards her as he fired the engine was infectious, and wickedly amused, she registered uneasily. Despite everything, she supposed he did have a few likeable qualities, but she’d be crazy to trust him. She knew very little about him, but she sensed he was a renegade. A descendant of those lawless pirates who’d first colonised the island…and he was too much like Piers…

‘Did you say this was your jeep?’ she managed in a determinedly civil tone of voice.

He nodded, his eyes now hidden behind dark glasses as he concentrated on the winding road up from the beach.

‘Do you keep it at the hotel?’

‘It’s convenient, until my house is finished.’

‘Where are you building your house?’

‘On a small island off the coast.’

She found herself staring at him, speechless.

‘A small island? A private island, you mean?’ It was no good, she couldn’t keep the spark of professional interest out of her voice.

‘Private enough.’ He glanced at her quizzically, his mouth twisting. ‘I own it. Don’t tell me. You think you could use it for your fashion shoot?’

‘I didn’t say that, but…is it easily accessible?’ she countered cautiously. If Ursula Taylor knew this man so well, why hadn’t she tipped Gabriella off about the possibility of a private island for the shoot? It would be ideal, surely…?

‘It’s a short trip by motorboat. But for today I had in mind a scenic tour of the whole island, Gabriella, starting with the Savanne region in the south…’

The message seemed definite. Steer clear of his private island. Gabriella subsided reluctantly, absorbing the scenery, trying not to brood on this intriguing revelation.

It was hot and humid. The heat of the sun was like a naked flame against her face as they drove. She pulled sunglasses and a small white cotton sunhat out of her bag and jammed them firmly in place. She had a long-sleeved shirt rolled up in her bag, in case the high protection sun-lotion she’d plastered on earlier ceased to feel protective. Notebook to hand, camera round her neck, keeping up a non-stop flow of questions, she twisted and turned in fascinated interest at the ever-changing scenery. There was sugar cane in waving green abundance along the sides of the road. Palm trees, fanning their tropical fronds against the cobalt sky. Grey-white monkeys with sweet, friendly faces crouched in the twisted branches of trees. Mountains with irregular twisted peaks coated in green. Above it all swirled sporadic clouds, fluffy and innocuous to Gabriella’s mind.

This talk of cyclones seemed like unnecessary scaremongering…

‘A low-altitude helicopter flight is the best way to see the island.’ Rick glanced at her lit-up face, when she’d made an involuntary exclamation at the sight of a dramatic gorge, with tumbling water flowing seawards. ‘If the weather had been more predictable, I’d have taken you up in the Jet Ranger. From the air, you can see how the landscape changes dramatically…’

Taken her up in the Jet Ranger? Was he saying he had his own private helicopter, too? Gabriella decided to stop speculating about this man, just go with the flow. It made no difference, anyway. She didn’t like him, she didn’t trust him, and, although she knew it was unfairly prejudiced on her part, with all his casual wealth and privilege and power he was appearing more like Piers Wellington by the second…

They lunched at a restaurant with a big, thatch-roofed awning, and dramatic views over a tranquil turquoise lagoon. Beyond the distant coral reef, the Indian Ocean surged with ominous potency, and sprayed warning plumes of white foam.