Northern Moonlight (35 page)

“
Bonjour.  Je m’appelle
Sabrina Montrouge.” She replied in the native tongue, earning an even broader smile from the young employee.

“
Très bien
,
Mademoiselle
Montrouge.  Your magazine has reserved one of the private bungalows for you overlooking the sea.”

Sabrina tried to contain her excitement at the news that she would be spending her summer in a private bungalow overlooking the Caribbean Sea.  With a wry smile, she wondered to herself if this was Darlene’s way of atoning for the ghastly blind date with Donald. 

“That sounds wonderful…” Sabrina paused to read the woman’s name badge, “Mariette. 
Merci beaucoup
.”

“
Je vous en prie
.” Mariette rang a bell and moments later, a tall, dapper looking porter was at the desk, graciously taking Sabrina’s luggage from her hands.  They traversed the hotel over marble floors and around business offices decorated with vivid tropical flowers. 

The bungalow was on a steep incline, located far enough from the water that it would not likely get flooded except in the case of a severe hurricane, and close enough to the sea for Sabrina to hear the waves crashing against the shore.  The porter exited discreetly, leaving Sabrina to study her surroundings.  The bungalow’s interior was spacious and could easily fit another guest…perfect for a honeymoon, Sabrina thought, then mentally slapped herself for letting her undisciplined heart tread in that direction. 

French paintings adorned the walls, and the European flavor was offset by giant bamboo shoots and wild orchids dispersed throughout.  The bed was enormous and shaped in a perfect circle, covered with sage-toned bedding that complemented the rich oak headboard.  Upon further inspection, Sabrina was delighted to find a single chocolate, wrapped in silver foil, awaiting her on the freshly fluffed pillow.  She popped it into her mouth, savoring the peach liqueur center as she looked out the window at the enchanting Caribbean Sea.

The taste of chocolate had effectively whetted her appetite, and Sabrina wrinkled her nose remembering the cardboard cuisine she had eaten on the plane.  She picked up a room service menu from her nightstand and flipped through, torn between two succulent sounding dishes:
poulet de coco
, which was coconut chicken and a specialty of Martinique, and red snapper with white wine, garlic and lime, a dish that was noted all over the Caribbean.  Sabrina opted for the local treat, coconut chicken, and picked up the phone to order.  She was startled to find that there was no dial tone at the other end, so she set down the receiver and lifted it up again.  To her dismay, there was still no dial tone.  After fiddling with the cord and receiver for a few minutes, Sabrina decided that she should notify the front desk and request a repair before night fell.  She would not want to be alone in a seaside bungalow with no method of communication. 

Sabrina arrived at the front desk as Mariette was checking in a group of guests. After she was done, Mariette asked promptly, “Is the bungalow to your liking,
Mademoiselle
Montrouge?”

“The bungalow is absolutely beautiful, thank you. The only problem is that the telephone doesn’t work.  I tried several times, but the line was dead.”

Mariette nodded apologetically and said, “This has been a problem with the bungalows since early July when a big hurricane hit the islands.  I am sorry, but for the time being, there is no phone service in the bungalows.  If this is a problem, you may be transferred to a room inside the hotel.”

Sabrina ruminated on that for a moment, her heart sinking at the thought of switching from the organic splendor of the bungalow to the sterile atmosphere of the hotel.  Never one to turn away from adventure, Sabrina said, “I’ll stay in the bungalow.  But please let me know if there is anyone who can fix the phone.”

“Yes,
Mademoiselle
Montrouge, we will keep you apprised.  Enjoy your stay and let me know if there is anything else you need.” Mariette smiled and turned away to welcome another herd of tourists that had just arrived. 

Sabrina made her way over to the hotel’s restaurant, glad that she hadn’t been able to order room service once she sat down and began chatting with a friendly waitress. 

By the time Sabrina left the restaurant, filled to bursting with the
poulet au coco
and a papaya sorbet she had ordered for dessert, she felt much more confident about exploring the island.  The waitress had told her much about Martinique’s history and geography, leaving Sabrina fervent to get a good night’s rest and set out the next morning on a mission to take photographs of her breathtaking setting. 

Chapter 18

The shore was eerily silent and black after hours. Beating drums in the distance lulled Sabrina asleep but disappeared after midnight, leaving her feeling terribly alone.  All night she tossed in the plush round bed, trying not to let her imagination rule her, but nonetheless brewing up scary scenarios in her mind.  What if an intruder came to her bungalow?  The exterior was made of stacked hay and could easily be invaded.  She did not know a soul in Martinique, save for Mariette at the desk who worked the dayshift and could not be contacted at night. 

When the sun peeked through the windows at dawn, Sabrina was both relieved and impatient to survey the island. She had not unpacked upon arriving at the hotel and was irritated to find her clothes in disarray inside the suitcase.  The most wearable item among the garments was a stretchy cotton sundress in an abstract gold and cream print.  A pair of comfortable sandals and hoop earrings completed the outfit.  Opting not to wear any make-up, Sabrina simply smeared her body with sunscreen and applied a touch of soothing lip balm.  After a nourishing breakfast of eggs and locally grown fruits, Sabrina grabbed her camera equipment and boarded the ferry to explore Martinique.

Martinique was a tiny island, not more than fifty miles, and she was determined to photograph every scenic square inch of it before reporting back to Darlene in Vermont.  Her first stop was the town of Balata, noted for its church modeled after the Sacré Coeur Basilica in Paris.  Sabrina stood at a distance from the magnificent church, photographing it against the backdrop of the Caribbean skies that shone like sapphires in the morning sun. 

Later, she took a taxi that wound past gardens dappled with hibiscus flowers, jade vines, and stone cottages.  The driver let her off at La Savane Park in Fort-de-France, where she photographed fountains and benches, purposely including random tourists to give the pictures a realistic angle.  The park was studded with palm trees that waved back and forth, making an arresting vista of greenery.  Everywhere Sabrina roamed, she was greeted by the most brilliant forest greens and marine blues she had ever glimpsed.  Through her exploration, she learned that Martinique had lagoons, cliffs, and even an active volcano called Montagne Pelée.  Knowing that she could not do justice to Martinique in just one day, Sabrina vowed to patiently explore a different section of the island each week to take advantage of the season that she would spend there.

She decided that she would reserve one whole week just to photograph the indigenous animals of  Martinique: finches, iguanas, and maybe even a monkey if she could spy one.  Another week would be dedicated to exploring the many plantations
where avocadoes, bananas, sugar cane, and mangoes grew in abundance.  Still another week, Sabrina planned to take a cultural tour of Martinique, immersing herself in the marvelous landscape of inhabitants of French, African, Chinese, and Arab descent.  Sabrina’s mind brimmed with creative ideas, and she realized that as much as she loved Gio, this was the opportunity of a lifetime that she would not let slip away.

By the end of the day, Sabrina had taken a bold cross-section of the island, from the plains and foothills of the south to the mountainous rain forests of the north.  She felt like a happy nomad as she trekked across the island, pleasantly distracted from daydreams of Gio and capturing photographs unlike any she had ever taken.  Having been so immersed in her island odyssey that she neglected to eat lunch, Sabrina resolved to indulge in the red snapper when she got back to the hotel. 

Sabrina left the restaurant that evening as sated as she had been the night before and decided to take a long walk along the beach.  All around her, the night was closing in, and she zippered her jacket up to stave off the powerful trade winds.  As she walked on the soft sands, leisurely strolling couples passed by, reminding her of the night she and Gio had walked through New York City.  It amazed her how one moment she could be so determined to forget the man, and the next moment he was on her mind.  It was as though he lived just beneath the rims of her eyes, and when she closed her eyes, even for a minute, he would instantly appear.  Her heart seemed as fickle and untamed as the winds that blew over the Caribbean Sea. 

Sabrina walked for almost an hour along the shore, but as she veered farther away from the bustling hotel, she realized she should turn back.  In such a short time, the temperature had dipped noticeably, close to ten degrees in Sabrina’s estimation.  She quickened her pace as she looked around her for people, but there was no one in sight.  This part of the beach was strangely deserted, or perhaps she had entered private domain.  Suddenly uneasy, the blood pounded in her temples when she heard a male voice shout in French, “Hey! What are you doing here?”

Terrified, Sabrina did not turn around to face the stranger, but instead began running as fast as she could back towards the hotel.  She stumbled on a pile of shells and felt a piercing in the flesh of her foot, not bothering to look down and see if she was bleeding.  The man was running behind her in bold pursuit, calling out, “Wait a minute!”  But Sabrina would not stop running until she reached her destination.

With her heart dropped into her stomach, she flinched as the man caught up with her and touched her shoulder.  “Don’t touch me!” She cried out and then screamed, the sound echoing frightfully over the water. 

She dared to look at the man, surveying his sunburned face and touristic attire of Bermuda shorts and tee-shirt with the logo of an American soft drink company.  Barely taller than her and with a lanky build, the man looked to be young and harmless.

“What do you want?” She asked, struggling for breath.

“I am so sorry.  I guess I shouldn’t have done that.” The man apologized in authentic American English.

Sabrina was befuddled.  “You’re American?  Why did you address me in French?  Who are you?”

The young man laughed softly and explained.  “Yup, I’m American.  I spoke in French to get in the spirit of things.  I didn’t mean to frighten you.  You see, I was in the lobby when you checked into the resort yesterday.  I overheard your conversation with the clerk and…gee, I guess I should have introduced myself then, but you seemed in such a rush to get to your bungalow.  I’m Tom…didn’t Darlene tell you about me?”

Darlene! How did this man know Darlene?  Seeing the confusion in her eyes, Tom continued his explanation, “I guess she didn’t.  I’m a freelance writer and was commissioned to write the article on Martinique that will accompany your photographs.”

Sabrina was livid.  “Are you kidding me?  She never told me anything like this at all!  I always go on assignment alone…and I had planned out my whole eight weeks here, exactly what I would photograph…” she trailed off.