open so you can just let yourself in.’ He could have sworn he heard another but rising to the surface when he hung up.
Rose stared at the disconnected phone for a few minutes as she tried to get her thoughts in order. She could hardly believe that Gabriel was ill. Ill enough to have taken a day off work. He was always so ferociously energetic that it was hard to imagine him ever being felled by something as small as a bug. She stared at the piece of paper with his address on it. When she thought about actually going into his house or apartment or flat or whatever he had, somewhere posh in Kensington at any rate, she felt physically faint. But what if he really was ill? She couldn’t imagine that he would take himself off to the doctor’s. Heaven only knew if he had one!
Sick foreboding made her gather her things together quickly. Whatever disks she might need, her own laptop which the company provided for her free of charge, bits of post that needed to be checked and letters that required Gabriel’s signature. Then she rearranged meetings and liaised with a couple of people in Finance who would have to cover for Gabriel at least for the day. She caught a taxi just as it was stopping to let someone off outside the office block.
Nerves kicked in as soon as she had slammed shut the door behind her and leaned forward to give the cab driver Gabriel’s address. She could feel her short-sleeved blouse clinging to her as she tried to push down the window so that some breeze could reach her heated face. The knee-length flared floral skirt, which had promised to keep her cool when it had been hanging in her wardrobe, felt horribly constricting in the back seat of a taxi. Everything clung. Even her hair seemed to cling to her skull, making her wish that she had done the sensible thing and tied it back.
When she looked out of the window, she could see that everyone was as uncomfortable as she was. Red faces, makeshift fans from bus timetables, handkerchiefs wiping backs of necks.
But at least that was where their discomfort stopped. She focused on the black computer case by her side, which was big enough to contain everything, and tried not to think about walking into his domain. She hoped that the surroundings wouldn’t be too imposing and that perhaps his thrusting, overwhelming personality found solace in a cottage-style place.
She was wrong. She knew that the moment the taxi stopped in front of an imposing Victorian townhouse in an exclusive crescent which was distinguished by the sheer volume of expensive cars parked nose to bumper outside. She paid the cab driver and asked for a receipt while scanning the pristine row of houses for anything that might look reassuringly unkempt, but no such luck.
The door, as promised, was unlocked, making her wonder how someone as sharp as Gabriel could be so trusting, but as she glanced over her shoulder she noticed Harry sitting in Gabriel’s car on the opposite side of the pavement and waved.
Then she was in his…house. Townhouse, she realised, was too unimaginative a term for the place in which she found herself. The floor was a rich dark wood, interrupted, in the hall, by a stunning blue and red geometrically patterned rug and the cream walls, which should have been bland, were a display case for works of art which looked horribly expensive.
Rose resisted the urge to peer into some of the other rooms and instead eyed the staircase dubiously.
‘I’m here!’
She jumped as his voice surprised her from behind and she spun around to see him standing in one of the doorways, Or rather, she thought, as her heartbeat quickened to a sickinducing speed, lounging indolently. Lounging indolently in a black silk robe which was loosely tied at the front and which appeared to conceal nothing more than bare skin.
Rose nearly yelped. She knew her eyes were round and startled as she made a conscious effort not to stare at the bare legs with their sprinkling of dark hair, the sliver of bronzed chest visible where the lapels of the robe failed to meet. Was he even wearing underwear? she thought.
‘I expected you a little sooner. Lock the front door, would you?’
Rose was more than happy to do that. Anything to rescue her from the sight of Gabriel Gessi in very little.
He had disappeared by the time she turned back round and she headed for the room from which he had appeared. Spot on.
Rose walked into a room that was striking not because of its size but because of its décor. Deep, rich blues provided a dramatic backdrop for the parquet floor and walls lined with bookshelves. Impressive sash windows were dressed in layers of cream muslin that fell and pooled on the floor and dominating the room was a desk on which all the modern gadgets had pride of place. The computers, one laptop and one full sized, a fax machine, two telephones. And, against the only wall that was not occupied with bookcases or windows, was a long, low couch in a rich Paisley print, the beauty of which was ruined by the pillow and sheet.
Gabriel, she realised, was lying on said couch and had been watching her with amusement as she gawped at her surroundings.
‘Blame my mother and sister,’ he said, reclining with his hands folded behind his head. ‘I wanted lots of white and just enough furniture to fit the requirements of being habitable. Well, don’t just stand there with your mouth open. Sit down!’
‘Where?’
‘Well, there’s only one chair available, isn’t there? Unless you want to come and perch on the side of the couch here with me?’ He patted the couch invitingly and Rose hurriedly went and sat behind the desk. Ready for action. She even pulled out the stack of letters she had brought with her and began sorting them into order of priority, waiting for him to tell her where he wanted to begin. In the meantime, she would not look at him because all that flesh was doing disastrous things to her nervous system.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me how I am?’
‘I’m sorry…’Rose looked at him, flustered. In her haste to avoid staring at him she had bypassed the usual pleasantries and, of course, he would pick up on that even though he himself avoided them like the plague. ‘How are you feeling, Gabriel?’
‘Terrible.’
‘You don’t look too bad,’ she risked truthfully.
‘That’s because I’m putting on a brave face. The fact is I’ve had a helluva night. Very restless. Tossing and turning.’
Rose swallowed. Her thoughts wandered to Gabriel, in a big king-sized bed, powerful, naked body thrashing about. She felt faint. ‘In that case, we should finish things here as quickly as possible so that you can get some sleep! It’s the best cure there is! Where do you want to start? I’ve brought the post. I thought you might like to have a look at it…’
‘What I’d really like,’ Gabriel said, closing his eyes, ‘is something to eat. I know it goes beyond your job specification and it’s well within your rights to refuse…but I haven’t eaten since…hmm…maybe lunch time yesterday…’
‘You got me over here to cook for you?’
Gabriel looked at her through half closed eyes and wondered whether he should inform her that that particular tone of voice was not at all attractive. Not when he was supposed to be an invalid and she was supposed to be Florence Nightingale. Anyway, what was wrong with cooking for him? He wasn’t asking her to rob a bank! He couldn’t count the number of women who had been desperate to get into his kitchen and start weaving some magic with one of his frying pans!
‘Forget it,’ Gabriel said abruptly. ‘I might have known that putting yourself out would be unthinkable. I’ll do it myself.’ He began levering
