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She nodded, and admiration touched him at her calmness. Then all his focus was on the helicopter, on getting April to safety. And so, within a scant ninety minutes of leaving, they returned to Eden Island.
April scrambled out of the helicopter and headed away from the helipad at a run. Marcus was right behind her. Once a safe distance away, they stopped and turned to look at the aircraft.
‘What happened?’ she asked breathlessly, her mind scrambling to catch up with events.
‘I’m not sure. My gut reaction is that for some reason the helicopter reacted to the atmosphere in some way—something to do with the incoming storm. That, or it’s malfunctioning for other reasons. Either way, it’s not safe to fly.’
‘So what do we do now?’
‘We’re stuck here until someone can come out to get us—and that’s obviously not advisable until the storm has come and gone.’
April looked at him, horror-struck, her lips slightly parted, her green eyes wide. ‘So we’re...we’re stranded here? In a storm?’
Fear touched her along with the deep visceral sadness and pain that storms evoked in her. The association of storm and tragedy was interwoven into her very soul; the sound of thunder a portent of remembered doom that brought her a cascade of memories of the day of Edward’s death.
‘There must be something you can do!’
‘Such as what?’
‘Maybe someone could come and get us in a boat?’
Because right now an imminent storm didn’t seem possible—the early evening heat was still intense, the sand baking through the soles of her flip-flops, although the dusky sky did hold a faint scent of rain.
‘There is no way I am risking getting someone out here just because you and I can’t deal with being stuck here together.’
April closed her eyes. Marcus didn’t know about her fear of storms, or the reason why, and she wanted to keep it that way. But it wasn’t only the idea of a potential storm that bothered her right now. It was also his words of earlier. They had hit a whole plethora of nerves, and even now they fizzed around her neural network, evoking anger and hurt and horrible uncertainty.
Had she lost her objectivity? Was she really a writer motivated by her own personal experiences, made bitter and judgemental by her own horrific mistakes? The idea was so uncomfortable she was almost squirming in the sand.
‘Right now,’ Marcus continued, ‘we’d best focus on battening down the hatches in the house before the storm strikes.’
He was right. She was behaving like an idiot when it was time to act like a professional. ‘Sorry. You’re right. Let’s get back to the villa. How long do you think we’ll be stranded here? And how bad do you think it will get?’
‘It depends on when the storm hits and how badly. Best to be prepared for the worst-case scenario.’
‘In that case I’ll check food and supplies. Will the power short out, do you think?’
‘It’s probable, but I think there’s a box of candles in the wardrobe in the bedroom.’
‘I’ll check there first, then sort out food.’
‘Good. I’ll go and make sure the windows and doors are safe.’
As she headed to the bedroom she kept her eyes resolutely away from the bed; that was one item of furniture she would not be using during her enforced sojourn here.
Opening the wardrobe door, she grabbed the box of candles and carried it through to the kitchen. A quick inspection showed a well-stocked freezer and larder, alongside plenty of bottled water. The kitchen boasted a top-of-the-range oven and an all-singing, all-dancing microwave.
Panic began to surface—she was marooned with a man she was insanely attracted to and a storm was about to break. OK... The best thing to do was to keep busy—so what else could she do?
Well, if they were stuck here for more than a night or two without power they would need food...
April considered the options and then set to work, determined to show Marcus that she was a competent, objective, together person.
‘That smells good.’
She looked up as the kitchen door opened.
‘You sound surprised,’ April observed.
