Lab Notes: a novel (19 page)

μ CHAPTER THIRTY THREE μ

The next morning Olimpia drove Diane to the Seaport Marina in Oranjestad where she was scheduled to meet the Carrera’s motor launch. Diane had fully charged her cell phone battery and they agreed she’d call the next day when she was approaching Aruba.

The forty-foot launch arrived precisely at eleven. The boat’s wooden hull was varnished like antique furniture. The large open cockpit had a covered forward area that served as a pilothouse with raised seats on either side of the companionway stairs that led down into a cabin. The steering wheel and instruments were located in front of the port seat. The wiry captain jumped onto the dock, tied up the boat then approached Diane. “Doc-tor Rose?”

“How did you know?”

He smiled. “By the picture,
Senora
.” He extended a weathered hand. “I am Fernando.”

Diane shook his hand. “I am happy to meet you, Fernando.” She tried not to look puzzled, but didn’t remember Gabriel ever taking a picture of her.

Fernando took Diane’s overnight bag and helped her aboard. She looked from bow to stern and experienced a feeling of well being; it was good to be on a boat again. The Carreras had offered to transport her by helicopter, but she chose the sea route to the island. Fernando untied the lines, jumped aboard and pushed off. He handled the boat with ease, steering it along the channel, following the navigational markers, giving wide berth to an arriving cruise ship.

Diane looked back at the city. The palm trees and glitz of Aruba’s capital contrasted sharply with the rugged interior. She studied the colorful resorts, casinos, restaurants and boutiques that crowded the waterfront and looked forward to doing some shopping when she returned.

Fernando exited the harbor and followed the coastline to the northwest. Diane leaned across the companionway. “You speak English very well.”

Fernando beamed. “My parents took me from Cuba to the United States when I was very young. I grew up in Miami where I learned all about boats. I met
Senor
Gabriel at a marina there when he was passing through.”

“You are very good at boat handling… I’ve had some boating experience.” She hoped for an invitation to take the wheel.

He looked over at her. “That is good,” he said, then turned back to his steering.

She’d have to be a little more direct. “Do you ever let guests steer? As long as you’re watching them, I mean.”

Fernando raised his eyebrows above his sunglasses. “You would like to take the wheel?”

“I would love to.”

Fernando clicked some controls and slid from his seat. “She is on autopilot.” He gestured for Diane to sit behind the wheel. Diane happily settled into the helmsman’s seat.

“She will be easy for you to handle now. But soon we will come out from behind the protection of the island. Then we will be exposed to the winds and waves of the open sea. So, do not get too relaxed.” He clicked off the autopilot and pointed to the compass. “Stay on a heading of two eight zero. Depending on seaway, that should take us to the south end of Carrera Island.”

Diane gripped the steering wheel, checked the compass then looked through the windshield at the expanse of sea ahead.

Fernando pointed over the port bow toward a dark mound on the horizon. “That is our destination,” he said.

The wind began whistling. The waves swelled. The boat rolled slightly. Diane tightened her grip. Fernando told her to turn up wind a little more. She corrected course.

Built for heavy weather, the boat muscled her way through the growing seas. Diane gave Fernando a thumbs-up. She could only remember being this exhilarated on a sailboat. But she shook off those memories and concentrated on her steering.

Just as the waves began spilling their crests, Diane steered the boat into the lee of Carrera Island. What a ride it had been. She looked forward to the trip back.

The island presented as a rocky mass jutting from the sea. As they neared its cliffs, Fernando took the wheel praising Diane’s “helmsmanship.” Then he became the tour guide.

He pointed to a one-story white stucco house on the cliff to their right. It was Gabriel Carrera’s house. His father Carlos lived in a hacienda on the other end by the harbor, Fernando told Diane.

They passed a settlement of small pink stucco and wood houses. “That is where I live,” he said proudly.

Now they approached the marina. It was tucked into a C-shaped curve of stone that must have been twenty-five feet high. Just then a helicopter approached from the south with the obvious intention of landing on the island.

“The pilot is Santos. He and
Senor
Gabriel are bringing the other guests who will be spending the day.”

“Other guests?”

“They are some dignitaries who were invited to meet you.”

“Oh, great,” Diane said, raking her fingers through her hair, “I need a hairbrush.” She jumped down the steps into the cabin to retrieve her overnight bag.

Fernando had turned into the harbor by the time Diane climbed back up to the cockpit. Ahead she saw the starboard side of an enormous yacht and to the left, up on the cliff, a magnificent white stone mansion overlooked the harbor.

“Wow,” she said.

Fernando pointed to the yacht. “That is the
Maria
. She is named for
Senor
Carlos’s deceased wife. They say Maria was a great lady. She is also a great ship.” His chest puffed out. “I am her captain.”

Diane smiled admiringly at Fernando. “You’re a fortunate man.”

Fernando nodded gravely as he steered toward the dock. “I was lucky to be available when Jaime, her first captain, went away. Jaime was not so lucky I guess.”

Carlos Carrera wore his tropical whites to greet Diane when she stepped from the launch. He kissed her hand and welcomed her in a near reverential tone. As in their first meeting,
Senor
Carrera’s Old World charm made her wish she had been born in another era.

Carlos escorted her up a gently curving stairway chiseled into the cliff. Huge potted palms stood on outcroppings about every four steps. Under the trees sat incredibly lifelike carvings of macaws—or so Diane thought. Then one bird squawked, then another. Startled, she jumped back.

Carlos laughed. “Do not be offended. They are our sentinels. They frighten off strangers.”

They fluttered their colorful plumage at her, showing their displeasure at her arrival.

“Very effective,” Diane said, moving to the center of a step.

When they reached the top, Diane didn’t know if it was the climb or the view that made her breathless. She stepped inside the veranda railing and looked up at Carlos Carrera’s two-story hacienda. Its architecture with its arched windows and doors surrounded with dark wood had a heavy Spanish influence. She turned around slowly and surveyed its dominion, the gleaming turquoise sea.

Carlos interrupted her sightseeing.

“Would you like to freshen up before you meet our other guests?

“Yes,
please.
”

Carlos handed her bag to a long-haired man who wore a white sarong and sandals and had the demeanor of a monk. “Banji will show you to your suite. No
ropa de etiqueta;
we are going on a picnic.” He gestured toward her white Capri pants. “Those are quite appropriate. When you are ready, please come down to the atrium garden.”

Banji held open one of the massive double doors and Diane entered the mansion. Inside, everything was stone and heavy wood supported by massive columns. Banji seemed to float ahead of her in an aura of silence. They crossed the foyer and entered an enormous atrium of plants and splashing fountains, surrounded by tall windows and ornately carved doors. Overhead, a balcony ran around the second story. They turned right just inside the atrium and headed up a stone staircase.

Diane was assigned a corner suite with balconies overlooking the marina and the sea. In addition to beautiful antique furnishings, her living room held a grand piano and a bar.

Overwhelmed, Diane flopped on her back across her canopied bed and looked through her toes at the Caribbean. To think she had resisted coming to this private paradise.

A knock at the door startled her, and Diane jumped up to answer. Two women holding stacks of peach colored towels and a crisp white bathrobe smiled and pointed toward the bathroom questioningly.

“Sure, come in, come in,” Diane said with a sweep of her arm. They went giggling through the bedroom, into the bathroom.

Diane followed them as far as the bedroom and began unpacking her bag. She unrolled a silk ankle-length wraparound skirt with a muted leafy design and a matching teal sleeveless top and shook them out. The carefully chosen blouse with its mandarin collar (she had decided against the strapless top) seemed like appropriate dinner attire, especially with the addition of the dignitaries.

From the bathroom, Diane could hear the housekeepers chatting in Spanish as they worked. She suddenly realized they were talking about her. Of course they had no way of knowing she was fluent in their language.

“She is the doctor from Texas. Her husband disappeared up there like Jaime,” one of the women said.

“Texas is not a lucky place,” the other replied.

Diane descended the stairs into the atrium to find a semicircle of people assembled in front of Gabriel Carrera. Gabriel immediately broke away to greet her. He gave her a piercing look as he shook her hand. Then he led her to the group and made the introductions.

They were the Interior Minister and the American Ambassador to Colombia and their wives. The Colombian Interior Minister greeted Diane like an old friend. She had met with him several months before when they signed the contract for jungle plant harvesting.

Gabriel led the group down a hallway and through a rear door where they found Carlos standing by two open-topped vehicles parked beside an ornate fountain. The Minister and his wife joined Carlos and his driver in one of the jeeps.

Gabriel insisted on chauffeuring his own four-wheel drive. He helped the Ambassador and his wife into the back and seated Diane in the front beside him.

As they set out across the island, Diane closed her eyes, lifted her face to the sun and let the wind have its way with her hair. She opened her eyes to view the sights up ahead that included wind-sculpted boulders like the ones on Aruba. Turning to ask Gabriel a question, she found him staring at her. She waited for him to speak. But he turned away.

At their first stop, the water desalination plant, Gabriel proudly explained how the machinery turned sea water to drinking, cooking and bathing water. Then they drove to the northeast edge of the island where they saw a wind farm that harnessed the trade winds to provide electricity.

Next they passed near Gabriel’s house on the eastern edge of the island. It was a one-story, sprawling stucco house with a red tiled roof. Double-doors all around opened it up to sea breezes. With its separate quarters for household staff and body guard, it was twice the size of Olimpia’s house and much more dramatic in its setting. But compared to Carlos’s mansion, it was understated.

Gabriel pointed out the hotels on the “big island” that could be seen from this end of Carrera Island. Then they circled around to the south and stopped at a cliff side gazebo where tables had been set for lunch.

After a five-course meal, no one complained when Carlos announced it was
siesta
time.

Diane awoke refreshed. She was surprised to see it was already six-thirty. Cocktails would be served at eight, dinner at nine. Carlos had told her to feel free to wander about the house when she awoke. She jumped up, splashed some water in her face and pulled on a sundress. She descended to the atrium. The house seemed deserted, the fountains providing the only sound. She examined the atrium garden’s exotic foliage finding it curious that pots of
aloe barbadensis
seemed to be everywhere.

She walked around the atrium’s perimeter that served as a hallway. One of the enormous sets of carved double doors stood ajar. Passing by, Diane heard a “hello” from within. She turned to see Carlos Carrera sitting at a massive desk.

He beckoned, “Please come in.”

Diane walked slowly into the study, awed by its museum-like ambience. Behind Carlos’s desk, paintings and parchment crowded the wall and spoke of Spanish conquistadors, land grants from kings, entitlement, revolution, power.

“Incredible,” Diane whispered.

Carlos glowed. “Are you interested in antiquities?”

“Yes. I have been enamored with all things Spanish since I was very young. I think it must be some genetic throwback.”

“So, you have Spanish blood?”

“I think so—from my Irish ancestors who married survivors of the Spanish Armada.”

Carlos smiled. “Ah yes, the black Irish. I have heard that tale.”

He stood up and motioned for Diane to follow as he walked toward the far wall, which held all manner of heraldry: Shields, swords and pistols bearing the family crest hung in splendiferous display. One set of dueling pistols with gold inlaid handles caught Diane’s attention. “They’re magnificent. Will they still fire?”

“They have been kept in working order for over two centuries.”