Playing the Billionaire's Game - Pippa Roscoe Page 0,26

and all finished, just in time.’

‘Not the cabins, Ajay, your family,’ Sebastian said, rolling his eyes.

‘They’re good too. Tia is teething, which is always fun.’

Sebastian turned to make an introduction, finding Sia looking at him with the ghost of a smile on her lips and intelligent assessment sparking in her eyes.

‘Sia, allow me to introduce Ajay—a man without whom none of this would be here.’ Ajay appeared embarrassed at the praise, but Sebastian had meant every word.

Sia stepped forward and greeted him warmly, ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’

‘Likewise. However, I’m afraid that we do have a little business to touch on before you can relax until the party this evening.’

‘There’s going to be a party?’ Sia asked him.

‘Yes. It’s...’ Sebastian paused, choosing his words carefully, feeling that familiar sense of mischief he couldn’t seem to stop around her. ‘It’s a pre-opening gala for VIPs,’ he concluded, avoiding the confused look Ajay was giving him. ‘Come on,’ he said, opening the door to the Jeep for Sia. He was tempted to take the long way round, extending the short fifteen-minute drive to nearly twice that, but, checking his watch, realised they didn’t have the time. Reluctantly, he pulled onto the main road—a laughable description of one of the only three roads on the island which he owned and where he’d decided to build his most recent hotel.

As the road drew closer to the shoreline, through the dense palms, flashes of azure-blue sea could be seen, golden sugary sand beckoned and sparks of fuchsia, purple and yellow from the exotic flowers exploded in his peripheral vision. In the mirror of the Jeep he caught Sia staring, her head turning from one side of the car to the other, eyes wide with wonder as the air through the open window played with the trails of her hair. He knew the feeling. He’d had that same sense of awe the first time he’d come here and knew that he had to have it.

The heat was bearable, having passed from the rainy season a few weeks before and, inhaling deeply, Sebastian felt a wave of relaxation pour over him in spite of the requirements for that evening. In too short a time they pulled up in front of the reception and Ajay jumped from the seat and was opening the door for Sia.

Sebastian had seen pictures of the reception centre going up, and now that it was complete he was impressed, but it was the centrepiece inside he was desperate to see.

‘Are they up?’ he asked Ajay, who nodded, his eyes shining with equal anticipation. ‘How do they look?’ Sebastian couldn’t help but ask.

‘See for yourself.’ Ajay gestured and Sebastian couldn’t help but race up the stairs of the only two-storey building on the whole island so that he’d have just a few moments to himself to appreciate the dramatic impact of the commissioned pieces before sharing them with Ajay and Sia.

And those moments...they were needed because, as he inhaled with awe, he realised that what Astou Ndiaye had created was nothing short of incredible. Then he heard Sia’s footsteps behind him and he turned to see her reaction.

Sia was speechless.

She’d followed Sebastian’s swift departure at a more sedate pace, instead taking in the way that the building’s thatch of rushes blended beautifully with the palms and larger trees it nestled within. Casting a quick glance further down the stony road, she could see glimpses of entrances to equally discreet buildings in a similar style. And as she pushed open the cool glass door, frigid from the power of the interior air conditioning, she peered into the gloom and came to a sudden stop.

The reception area was spacious and reached up to the ceiling above the second-floor balcony wrapping around the open area. In the middle of the ground floor stood a beautiful dark wooden desk, polished to perfection. But that was not what Sia was staring at. Two breathtakingly large paintings hung either side of the desk, from the ceiling above the second storey all the way to the floor.

Each easily more than ten metres high and maybe seven or eight in width, the impact of the abstract paintings was both powerful and humbling. There was something almost baroque about them, Sia decided, like Poussin’s mythological paintings—it was as if through the shapes and splatters, the drama of the paint Sia could almost see the mountainous pile of bodies from a war between angels and demons. Yet, within the heady mix of colour and