Somehow he had to make it clear to her that she would be throwing away the business opportunity of a lifetime: of being the only pearl jewellery designer in the world producing the world’s finest pearls – on her very own island.
So, working alone, he went out in the Perfect Pearl to face the wind and the spray and the white cresting waves to bring in all the nets holding his precious harvest. He wore a wet suit this morning as he actually felt cold. Feeling cold was a rare complaint in this part of the Caribbean, where temperatures rarely dropped below thirty degrees Celsius and water temperatures were much the same all year round. He took this as a bad sign. Shivering, he worked quickly. He filled his holding tanks with sea water with his mind only half on the job. Then he secured the Perfect Pearl to the pontoon and got into his dive gear.
He sat on the side of the boat as it lifted and fell, waiting for the right wave, and then he dropped overboard. Once underwater, he found he was at the mercy of undercurrents. Visibility was very poor, as all the nets and ropes surged towards him, only to be snatched away again in the swell.
He swam around inspecting the integrity of the structure. Once he was certain it was sound, he began to cut away and gather up as many of the nets containing the harvest that he could feasibly carry, before he made for the surface.
It was hard working alone. It was difficult to get the heavy nets safely back on board. Once his holding tanks were full, he realised that in these conditions he really needed help if he was going to complete his task in the next few hours and before the weather worsened. So, dragging himself back up the rope ladder and battening down the hatches, he headed back to the harbour.
There was an option to wait it out, of course, until tomorrow or even the next day, until the storm had passed. But by then it would be too late because Isla would be gone.
Jack was at the harbour waiting for him when he got back.
‘There’s been a weather update and it’s not good. There’s a chance of this reaching tropical storm strength by noon,’ Jack yelled.
Leo checked his watch. ‘That’s only one hour from now. I’ll have to work fast to get in the rest of the harvest.’
Jack shook his head in exasperation. ‘Leo, stop and think about how crazy that sounds. There’s no way we can bring in those oysters in a categorised storm. It would be foolish to even try. How is the pontoon holding up?’
In frustration, Leo swore, because he knew Jack was right.
‘The pontoon is fine. I checked the nets and boxes and ropes. They’ve weathered storms before and they’ve survived. I’m going to take the oysters that I have here back to the farm. I’ll check the weather report again in one hour. If the winds are steady or decreasing, then I’m going out again. Will you come?’
Jack nodded. ‘Sure. I’ll come’
Leo took the oysters to his lab to open them and an hour later, he had ten more pearls. Two of them, in his opinion, classed as the highest grade for their size and sharpness of lustre, their symmetry, their colour, and in being blemish free. Perfect pearls.
An unprecedented and unbelievable yield so far.
He tightened his jaw with new resolve and checked the weather report. A few moments later, he was groaning and raking his fingers through his hair.
‘This is not good. The National Hurricane Centre says the wind speed has increased to fifty-five knots and the storm has switched track. It’s now heading south east. There’s an eighty percent chance of it becoming a hurricane in the next six hours.’
‘But we are south east,’ Anya reminded him, although he hardly needed the prompt.
Just at that moment, the electricity went off and the computer died.
‘Oh, great, now we don’t have any internet either.’ Leo sighed.
‘Or phones. The cell tower must be down.’ Anya sighed. ‘But we still have our walkie-talkies and I’d already made another pot of coffee,’ she remarked optimistically.
Leo looked outside through the rain-dashed window to see the palm trees being battered around in the wind. He was now thinking that he should prepare for the worst. But would the hurricane protection plan he’d masterminded into his business plan actually work in practice?
Theory was one thing, but actually going out to the pontoon in a tropical storm and transferring all his nets and baskets to a place of safety was going to be nothing short of a practical nightmare.
He knew he had little choice. This wasn’t just about bringing in his harvest. This was now about saving the whole damned farm. He drank his coffee down in one gulp.
‘Anya, we have to assume a hurricane is heading our way. Can you ask your brother to come over and help put the shuttering up around the filtration tanks? I have to go down to the harbour to find Jack.’
Wearing an old oilskin jacket with a broken zipper, Leo battled the wind and the rain and made his way down to the harbour. He found his uncle securing his old boathouse. The wind was howling so loud that he had to yell at him just to be heard.
‘Jack! We have to lift all the baskets and the lines from the raft and take them into the grotto.’
Jack jabbed a big dirty finger out to sea, where great waves were surging towards the bay. ‘You mean you want me to go out there with you now – in a hurricane? Are you crazy?’
Leo nodded and soon the two of them were heading out towards the pearl farm pontoon.
They stood side by side in the wheelhouse as waves with great white crests were turning the sea into a tumbling, foaming froth. The boat was being tossed around like it was inside a great washing machine, as rollers crashed over the front of the boat and lashed the windscreen, making visibility difficult. When they eventually reached the pontoon, Jack tied the Perfect Pearl to the raft and used the pump to fill the holding tanks with sea water, although most of the job was done for him by the waves crashing over the boat. Leo, now in his diving gear and with a knife strapped to his leg, gave the signal that he was going in.
Seconds later he was in the water. He swam immediately down to the first basket, which he tied to the end of his rope, then he quickly cut free several of the lines that had the nets of harvestable oysters attached to them and tied them all to his rope too. He swam back up to the surface to pass the rope to Jack, who hauled the baskets and lines and nets aboard, securing them in the tanks while Leo went down again and again.
The next time, just as he was handing the rope to Jack, a wave caught him and threw him into the side of the pontoon. Not wanting to drop the line or damage his oysters, he felt his torso smash against the bamboo structure and a sharp pain rip across his ribs. His breathing regulator was knocked from his mouth. When he gasped for air, he took in a huge mouthful of sea water.
As he surfaced, coughing and gasping, and with every breath an agony, he reached out for the next rope sling that Jack had secured and he held onto it tightly. He signalled for Jack to help him back up and onto the boat. Once aboard, nursing what felt like a couple of cracked ribs, he saw the oyster tanks were almost full.
‘We’d better head back with these and then come straight back out again.’
‘How many trips?’ Jack asked him.
‘To save them all, including the young spats, I’d say another two, maybe three, trips.’
They rode in with the incoming tide. To Leo, it was like every roller that struck the boat was punching him in the chest directly. Great waves of pain made him dizzy and took his breath away.
To their relief, at the harbour there were at least a dozen strong men who had come to their rescue. Each man had a small cart or a wheelbarrow to help transport the baskets and nets from the boat across the headland and down into the grotto cave.
The grotto was only accessible from a naturally hewn pathway in the rocks. Inside were naturally formed pools, fed from both the sea that poured in from fissures in the cave’s walls and from underground freshwater springs. The water in the grotto was much cooler than that in the sea, so not ideal for growing oysters, but it would provide a perfect holdi
ng tank for the entire farm while the seas outside threatened its safety on the reef.
While the men set to lifting the precious cargo from his tanks on board, Leo gave them specific instructions on how the oysters should be stored in the grotto pools.
‘It’s really important that the boxes and nets are placed very carefully in the water. Please remember they are fragile and they need space around them to survive!’
Then he and Jack once again took the Perfect Pearl back to the pontoon.
Jack focussed on driving the boat while Leo tried hard to ignore his pain and to concentrate on getting his task complete before the full force of the hurricane arrived to destroy his farm and his dreams.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Isla – Several hours earlier…
The old mango tree was hammering even louder on the roof as Isla peeped out through the bedroom curtains. Outside, the rain was still torrential. There were great puddles in the potholes of the driveway, and the palm trees that lined it were being driven back and forth in the wind like giant windshield wipers against the grey skies. Coconuts and mangos and breadfruits had been blown to the ground. Her stomach churned with anxiety over the possibility of her plans being thwarted. If the weather didn’t clear up soon, then the potential buyer from Grand Cayman may not arrive for their viewing this morning and her own plans to leave the island later today would be disrupted. She tried to stay optimistic as she checked her watch. It was only seven am.
Plenty of time for the sun to come out and for the wind to die down.
She decided to rethink her outfit however. Perhaps she should wear her light linen trousers and her long sleeves instead of shorts and a sleeveless shirt today? Because later, after the rain, when the sun came out, it would be hot and steamy. The biting sand flies and mosquitoes would be awful, attacking wherever they found any exposed flesh. She was already suffering as it was from insect bites, with great red welts on her arms and legs, despite rubbing on great quantities of coconut and citronella oil that Grace had prescribed. So she took all her clothes out of her suitcase again and repacked it, double-checking that the velvet bag of jewellery was safely nestled in the middle of her hand luggage.
Then, in need of a cup of tea, she made her way downstairs to the kitchen.
Grace wasn’t around yet, so she took the opportunity to set the table for breakfast. She squeezed oranges, chopped a melon and sliced a mango and also made a pot of coffee, which Grace always preferred first thing in the morning, in the hope of making a peace offering after their stand-off last night.
At eight am Grace appeared and so Isla threw herself into action at the stove.
‘Good morning. Help yourself to juice and coffee. How do you want your eggs?’
She threw several rashers of streaky bacon into a frying pan, while Grace, whose eyes were as bloodshot as if she’d been crying all night, looked neither happy nor comfortable about this morning’s role reversal. Settling on scrambled eggs, they ate breakfast together in silence while the impasse continued, staring down at their plates, chewing their food, and drinking juice or coffee. Isla felt sick by the time she’d finished eating.
When it was time to clear the table, she had to practically wrestle the plate off Grace, who insisted that she would do the washing up. It was all so awkward that Isla relented and let her.
Then she checked her watch for what might have been the hundredth time.
‘Okay, well, I’d better go and make double sure I’ve packed everything.’
‘I hear you, Miss Isla. But as you can see, the weather has taken a turn for the worse. It looks entirely unlikely that you’ll be able to leave the island today.’
‘Oh, it’s just a bit of rain,’ Isla insisted, peering out of the window again.
To pass some time, she allowed herself one last tour of the house. She lingered for a while in her old bedroom. She opened the wardrobe to find all her clothes were still inside, including her old school uniform of a navy blue skirt and white shirt. She also recognised the pale blue dress she’d worn on her sixteenth birthday. She lifted it off the hanger to press it to her face. Closing her eyes, she remembered that night so long ago. This was the dress Leo had peeled from her body, while his eyes were full of love and his body was fuelled by passion. She inhaled the silk fabric, expecting it to smell of him. It didn’t. It smelt a little musty.
That night she’d truly thought that nothing could have ever come between them or stop them from being together for the rest of their lives. If only she’d known that just twenty-four hours later they’d be parted. That, from the on there would be no more tiny seashells on her handrail for her to find. No more secret meetings or stolen kisses. No more making love. No marriage. No children. No life together as they had planned. Her heart ached all over again.
She lay down on her old single bed and tucked up her knees. With a heavy heart, she also thought about Kate, and how she’d never been able to get over losing Ernest. They all had one thing in common, she concluded. They’d never come to terms with what they had lost because they’d never got to the bottom of what had really happened to them. The truth.
And that truth, in both cases, concerned Jack Fernandez.
Did Jack Fernandez kill Ernest?
And why had Leo, not Jack, been caught on the boat by the coastguard?
She had always suspected that Jack had been on the boat that night, despite what Leo had claimed, and Kate had said in her journal that it was Jack who had brought her home unconscious that night. The scenario even matched her reoccurring dream.
She mulled over what else Kate had said about Leo.
‘It’s just a shame that while protecting you he was also protecting his uncle.’
Those words had made Leo sound like some kind of hero rather than a criminal.
Maybe if she could find the answers to those two questions, then she could finally find the closure she needed and Kate could rest in peace at last?
Watching the storm through the window, she was reminded of a time when she and Leo had been caught in a tropical storm like this one. She’d been at school when a weather warning had been issued and everyone had been told to go home to help prepare for the storm. Every man, woman and child had been called to action and was needed to batten down the hatches.
Except she’d gone straight down to the harbour to find Leo.
By the time she got down there, waves were crashing over the boatsheds and Leo had grabbed her by the hand. Together, they’d braved the gale force winds to run across the headland and down the old hewn pathway until they’d reached the grotto cave and a place to hide out from the storm.
She sighed as she remembered being alone with him in the grotto while the storm raged outside.
It had been so romantic. They had lit a fire and they’d cuddled together and laughed and teased each other with scary pirate ghost stories and tales of treasure hunting until the storm had passed.
There was trouble to face later, of course, when Kate and Grace both said they’d been worried sick about her. She’d covered her tracks, saying she had been sheltering with friends. They said they’d had men out risking their lives to look for her. Isla was just glad that they hadn’t thought to look in the grotto cave, or she would have been in worse trouble for sure.
She smiled at the memory.
Oh dear. She had been quite the rebel in those days. No wonder Kate had been at her wit’s end with her. Now, curled up comfortably on her old bed, feeling incredibly weary after a whole night reading, she felt herself drifting off into a dream-filled sleep.
Three hours later, she woke to the sound of the branches whacking the metal clad roof above her.
The wind was howling even louder now too. She got up to look out of the window, just as a table from the porch was blown right across the garden by a strong gust. It made a terrible bang as it hit a palm tree and then became part of other debris flying around outside in the wind.
Rushing back to her room, she quickly checked
her emails.
Mr Smith had messaged to say that the potential buyer had been very keen indeed to meet with her this morning, but on account of the tropical storm, would have to delay the viewing.
With a curse of disappointment and a sigh, she looked out through the window again and searched the sky, hoping to see a glimmer of blue sky in the distance, only to see even more garden furniture upended and various other debris being hurled down the driveway.
Feeling forlorn, she went downstairs to find Grace’s ample bottom sticking out of a small cupboard under the staircase.
‘What are you doing, Grace?’ she enquired.
‘We’ll need raincoats, Miss Isla. If we are to help put up the battens on the windows before the hurricane comes. I found the old radios and I’ve put them on charge and I’ve a soup on the stove.’
‘Did you say hurricane?’ Isla gasped, taking the oilskin that Grace had handed to her.
‘They say there’s a chance of this storm developing into a hurricane by this afternoon. So we better be prepared.’
‘So, they’re not certain, then? I mean, there’s still a chance of it going away? Because I have a charter plane coming to pick me up at four pm,’ Isla said, remembering Kate’s account of the hurricane that had changed direction and gone elsewhere.
For some reason, Grace seemed quite exasperated by her positive thinking.
‘Well, maybe this is God’s way of asking you to think about things a bit more. Before you go away and leave us to the mercy of others?’ she suggested.
Isla felt her whole body stiffen. ‘Really, Grace, I hardly think that He would inconvenience everyone with a hurricane just on my account!’
Grace pursed her lips and quoted the Bible to her. ‘“Behold, the storm of the Lord has gone forth in wrath, even a whirling tempest, it will swirl down on the head of the devilishly wicked.” Jeremiah, verses nineteen to twenty-three.’
Isla was just about to object to being called devilishly wicked when they saw a man on a motor scooter coming up the driveway towards the house.
Island in the Sun Page 20