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It’s almost home time. What can be so important that they’re calling Gabriel at work, not waiting for him to get home? My mind goes into overdrive. What incident? An accident? A fire?
“The sprinkler system on the twenty-sixth floor has malfunctioned,” Gabriel continues. His gaze locks on mine.
It takes my brain a moment to compute. Twenty-six... that’s my floor... Twenty-six is my floor!
I stand up, knocking my chair back in a hurry.
“But...”
“You may as well sit. There is nothing we can do. Maintenance is in the apartments pumping out the water.”
“Pumping out the water?” I squeak, sinking back down into my chair. “Exactly how much water are we talking about?”
“It looks like the system was on for quite a while. Most of the day. Apparently, one of your neighbours is away on holiday, and the others only returned from Singapore this afternoon. They raised the alarm.” Gabriel drops his elbows onto his thighs and stares at me. “They’re hoping you can get back in later this evening to retrieve any salvageable items.”
“Salvageable,” I hear myself mutter.
I run a hand down my face. And here I was, thinking life was finally looking up. I should have realised it was too good to be true.
“I’m sorry, Leah.” Gabriel looks at me. “If there is anything I can do. Of course, insurance will cover any damages. We’ll go later, together. You can stay —”
I shake my head, trying to absorb what he’s saying, but my mind is whirling, his voice muffled. I know he’s talking, so I offer him a weak smile and nod. How bad can it be?
How bad can it be? Ha! Water looks so innocuous, but there’s a reason it’s one of nature’s most destructive forces. We are eventually allowed in later that evening, and Gabriel lets me sit in his apartment until then. I make dinner for us both, needing to keep myself busy, although I point out to him how he clearly lied when stocking up my fridge and cupboards. His are all but empty. He offers to shout us a takeaway, but I tell him I need to do something, and cooking is my go-to when I need to occupy my mind. He doesn’t complain. Instead, he has the concierge send up a food parcel from one of the local stores.
When we finally gain access. I wish we hadn’t. I might have only been here a couple of weeks, but the apartment felt like home. Now there’s a strange smell in the air. One where things that shouldn’t have got wet, have. Gabriel’s beautiful furniture is ruined. My throws and pillowcases have left colour runs all over the white fabric. I gasp at the sight.
“Oh no,” I say in horror.
Gabriel places a hand on my arm and squeezes. “It’s all replaceable. Let’s just see if anything is salvageable?”
I nod, not sure I trust my voice. I leave Gabriel and make my way to the bedroom. Sliding open the wardrobe doors. My suits hang in ruins, the water having seeped in through the gaps. They will most likely dry, but I’m uncertain if the dry clean only material will ever be the same again. The three evening dresses I have are in a similar, sorry state.
I sense Gabriel behind me. He has his phone and is making notes.
“Those look?—”
“Don’t say it... please,” I say, trying to hold my voice steady. At least with the money Vince put in my bank account and Gabriel’s low rent, I can afford to replace them. It will just be finding decent replacements. Most of these were custom fit. I take pride in my work appearance. After all, I represent the firm when I speak to our clients and potential clients.
“Is it the same with everything?” Gabriel asks instead.
I move to the enormous chest of drawers. Gabriel rushes past me and hits the plug socket, switching off the television set at the mains. “Just in case,” he says. The electricity should have been turned off in the apartment, but he’s right.
I pull open the drawers, relieved to find that my jumpers and t-shirts have all been protected. I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Let’s get these packed, and they can be moved upstairs,” Gabriel says, pulling a suitcase out of the wardrobe. It’s soaking, but the inside will be dry as it’s a hard case.
“Upstairs?” I say.
“Yes, you’ll move into one of my spare rooms until the renovations are complete,” he says. He puts the case down on the mattress, and flinches as it squelches under the weight.
“Don’t argue with me,” he says. “Come on, let’s get your things packed.”
“But the concierge said they’ll arrange for me to stay in a hotel until they finish cleaning the apartment,” I say, not wanting to put him out. I know how important his privacy is. The man has an apartment purely for houseguests, for goodness sake, so they don’t have to live in his space.
Gabriel looks around him. “This is going to take more than cleaning and a dehumidifier. The furniture is a write-off. I’ve told management you’ll stay with me while it’s fixed.”
I open my mouth to argue, but Gabriel holds up a hand. I recognise that stubborn look and know I’m not going to win this argument. “My apartment is close to two and a half thousand square feet. I have a guest suite that I have never used. We already eat together. I’m kind of partial to vegetarian food now, and if you’re in a hotel, you’ll be eating takeaway or hotel meals for god knows how long.”
