Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1)

by Gregory Gates

  As they approached the terminal’s front door Jeff stopped short. “Hold up a second.” He stepped over to Gabe and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek, “Congratulations… Dr. Frederick.”

  She smiled, a bit embarrassed, “Thank you. You remembered.”

  “Of course. I watched the webcast of your commencement exercise. Very impressive.” Turning to Abby and Susan, “In case she was too modest to mention it, last Friday Gabe received her Ph.D. in Aeronautics and Applied Physics from Caltech.”

  There were congratulations all around and Abby added, “Oh, fine. There’ll be no living with you now.”

  They piled into the Escalade, left the airport, turned onto I-95, and headed south. “It’s about a 45-minute drive down to Newport. Have any of you been here before? Abby, you’ve been here, haven’t you?”

  “No, never made it up this way.”

  Gabe, sitting next to Jeff in the front seat, said, “I have, once. Came down while I was at MIT just to look around. Interesting place. Very pretty.”

  “Did you tour any of the mansions?”

  “Yes, a couple. They kind of add a whole new dimension to ‘opulent excess’.”

  Jeff laughed, “That’s a fact.”

  A few miles down the road, Jeff pointed to the left, “About five miles east, on the bay, is Quonset State Airport. It used to be Quonset Point Naval Air Station but during a round of base closures back in the early ‘70s, the Navy handed it over to the state. I’m thinking I’ll need to get a plane pretty soon, vagaries of commercial airline scheduling being what they are. That’ll be a good place to park it.”

  Abby leaned forward from the back seat, “What kind of plane are you thinking about?”

  “Oh, probably a Citation.”

  “Those are nice. Any particular model?”

  “I’m leaning toward a CJ3, plenty of them around. Didn’t you tell me you’re rated in Citations?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Single pilot?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Have you flown a CJ3?”

  “Sure. A bit anti-climactic after F/A-18s, but fun to fly, very forgiving.”

  Susan turned to her, “What’s an… F/A-18?”

  “F/A-18E Super Hornet. It’s a multi-mission, single-seat, twin-engine fighter and ground attack jet.”

  “Is that what you did in the Navy? You were a fighter pilot?”

  “Yep. Flew Super Hornets for about five years.”

  “I didn’t think they allowed women in combat.”

  “Oh yeah. Not many in fighters but there are a few, more every year. It took the Navy a while to realize that a woman with PMS in the seat of a jet fighter could be a devastating weapon, but they finally figured it out.”

  Everyone laughed. Jeff said, “God have mercy on the bad guys.”

  Jeff turned east onto 138 and, as they crossed over the Jamestown Bridge, pointed north and south, “This is Narragansett Bay.”

  Gabe looked south, “Lot of sailboats.”

  “Oh yeah. This is one of the sailing capitols of the world. Newport is the home of the New York Yacht Club. And, no, don’t ask me why the New York Yacht Club isn’t in New York; I have no idea. Anyway, the America’s Cup was held here, I dunno, maybe a dozen times from the ‘30s clear into the early ‘80s. Do you sail?”

  “Me? No. I’ve never even been on a boat.”

  “Hmmm. We may have to rectify that discrepancy in your résumé.”

  “Oh god, I think I’d get seasick.”

  “You get used to it.”

  “Do you live on an island?” Susan asked.

  “Yeah, Aquidneck Island. But it’s pretty big, about 20 miles from end to end.”

  They crossed over the Claiborne Pell Bridge and turned south through town. “Welcome to beautiful downtown Newport.” He turned left at Mill Street, then right onto Bellevue. “There’s a quicker way to get to my place, but we’ll take the scenic route.”

  It was getting on toward 5:30 and the late-afternoon sun was giving the spring countryside a warm glow. Abby pointed out the window, “What’s that, the county courthouse?”

  “No,” Jeff said, “that’s a house, or at least it used to be. That’s called ‘The Elms’. I don’t know who originally owned it, some turn-of-the-century industrialist.”

  “That’s a house? Good lord. Gabe, I see what you mean about ‘opulent excess’. Wow.”

  Gabe chuckled, “Wait till you see what they look like inside.”

  “There are more?”

  “Oh yeah, a lot more.”

  “Have you been in there?”

  “No, not that one.”

  Jeff continued his guided tour, “Over there is Salve Regina College.”

  Susan gasped, “Oh, isn’t that beautiful.”

  “That’s ‘Chateau-sur-Mer,’ it’s one of the older mansions. It was built around 1850, I think. Most of these were built around the turn-of-the-century, give or take a decade or two. This was the playground of the very rich and famous back then.”

  They drove on in silence, punctuated with occasional gasps and “Ah!”s. “This one’s called ‘Rosecliff’,” Jeff pointed. “It was built by the daughter of one of the owners of the Comstock Load, the big Nevada silver mine. Down that road on the beach is ‘The Breakers’, one of the biggest. It was owned by Cornelius Vanderbilt. I’ll take you down there sometime this weekend.”

  “That’s one I toured,” Gabe said. “That, and this one up here, ‘Marble House’.”

  “Those would be the two biggies. ‘Marble House’ belonged to another Vanderbilt. And think of it, these were just their summer homes. Some of them were just referred to as ‘cottages’. It’s amazing. Did you take the Cliff Walk?”

  “No.”

  “Ah. It’s a paved walk that runs along the coast for a couple miles. Goes right by ‘The Breakers’. Nice place for a jog, if you’re into that.”

  Jeff turned west onto Ocean Avenue and followed along the coast.

  “This isn’t still the bay, is it? It’s huge,” Susan asked.

  “No, that’s the Atlantic Ocean. We’re down on the southern end of the island now.” Jeff drove on then turned into the drive and stopped at the front door. “Well, here we are. Home sweet home. Welcome to Wrentham House.”

  “Holy shit!” Abby gasped. “You live here?”

  “Yeah, more or less.”

  “Fuck me!”

  Gabe stared out the window her mouth hanging open, then swallowed hard. “Girl, we’re gonna have to work on your social skills.”

  Abby leaned forward and flicked Gabe in the back of the head with her finger.

  “Ouch.”

  Jeff smiled at them, “I can see you two are gonna get along just fine. Okay, everybody out. Grab your gear.”

  Gabe snapped her head around toward him, “We’re staying here?”

  “Sure. It’s convenient and there’s plenty of room. What did you think? I’d fly you out here first-class then put you up in Motel 6? Come on.”

  While collecting their bags from the back of the Escalade, Abby suddenly pointed to the corner of the drive, “Is that an Aston Martin?”

  “Good eye,” Jeff mused. “Yeah, that’s my town car.”

  “Oh my god. Is it new?”

  “No. That’s a ten year old Vanquish. But it’s only got about 12,000 miles on it, and it was cheap – compared to new ones – and I like it. This construction over here is the garage. In spite of a vast renovation a few years back, this place was on the market for several years, in part because it had no garage. So, I’m fixing that.”

  Abby stood rigid, staring at the Aston Martin. “Um, I know you’re married but, uh, can I marry you?”

  Jeff grinned. “Actually, I’m not married.”

  Abby frowned and pointed at his left hand. “Ring?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He held up his hand. “I’m widowed. My wife passed away a couple years ago. I still wear this out of habit.” He tugged at the wedding band. “Besides,�
� he chuckled, “I can’t get it off.”

  Abby cringed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Eh, don’t worry about it, you couldn’t know. Come on inside. I’ll show you to your rooms, give you a quick tour of the house, and then we’ll go out and get some supper. I imagine you’re hungry.”

  Jeff took them up to their rooms then led them around the house explaining the history and features, and what he’d had done and was doing. As they walked through the great room to the library, Gabe veered off, walked up to the piano, and gently ran her hand across the top.

  Jeff stopped and turned back to her, “Like it?”

  Gabe nodded. “A Bösendorfer Imperial Grand?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, wow. I’ve heard of these and heard a few recordings, but never actually seen one.”

  “Well, you’ll have to give us a recital later. It doesn’t get played nearly enough.”

  “It’s beautiful. Do you play?”

  Jeff laughed, “Uh, we’ll see. Depends on how well you play.”

  When the brief tour was over, he loaded them all back in the Escalade for dinner at 22 Bowen’s, “The shellfish sampler with lobster is first-rate. Highly recommended.” Jeff kept the dinner conversation to small talk, squashing any mention of the Mars mission, “Eh, let’s not talk shop, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.” Having satiated themselves on poached shrimp, native littleneck clams, East Coast oysters and New England lobster, they headed back to Wrentham House.

  “The bar’s open, if anyone wants a nightcap. There’s an assortment of wines in the fridge, help yourself.”

  They all fixed drinks and stood around the bar, on the main floor of the east tower, adjoining the large dining room, raving about supper.

  “I’m stuffed,” Abby said, “I don’t think I’ll need to eat till Thursday.”

  Gabe picked up her glass and strolled across the great room to the piano. Jeff followed her with his eyes. She seated herself on the bench and, looking around, set her glass on the floor, apparently repulsed by any thought of possibly marring the Bösendorfer’s ebony finish.

  Jeff followed her, raised and propped open the lid on the giant concert grand, “Go ahead, play something.”

  She played a couple of chords and a C major scale, getting a feel for the keyboard. “Wow. The tone is remarkable. Okay, let’s see…” She thought for a moment, then played Bach’s G major minuet from the Anna Magdalena Notebook.

  As Jeff stood beside the piano, listening critically, Abby and Susan wandered in and found seats on the sofa nearby.

  When Gabe had finished, Jeff smiled at her, “Oh my god. Well, that tells us two things. First, no, I don’t play. And second, you’re no amateur. We mere mortals don’t play that with all the grace notes. So, show us what you’ve got.” He stepped away and took a seat between Abby and Susan.

  Gabe surveyed the keyboard, “Okay. Oh, let’s see. Hmmm alright, I haven’t played this in a while so… we’ll see. Bear with me.” She stretched her fingers and began.

  Jeff recognized it instantly, gasped softly, and whispered, “Jesus!”

  Abby, sitting next to him, leaned over, “What?”

  “Rachmaninoff, the G minor prelude. Good god, she can play. Listen.”

  When Gabe finished, her small audience sat in frozen silence, mouths agape, too stunned to even applaud. After a moment Jeff jumped from his seat clapping, Abby and Susan, awe struck, immediately joining him. “My god, I’ve heard Rachmaninoff’s own piano roll recording of that, it wasn’t any better. What in the name of all that it is holy are you doing in aeronautics and physics? You belong on a concert stage.”

  Gabe smiled, “No, not really. I don’t have the temperament for it.”

  “And the world is a lesser place for that. You play magnificently.”

  She bowed her head, a little embarrassed, “Thank you.”

  “You a Rachmaninoff fan?”

  “What girl isn’t?”

  “You know the C sharp minor prelude?’

  “Uh huh.”

  “Might I make a request?”

  She smiled, “Sure.”

  Gabe bowed her head and closed her eyes, readied her hands over the keyboard, then suddenly pulled back, “There’s a popular concert pianist, Valentina Lisitsa…”

  Jeff nodded, “I have several of her recordings, she’s brilliant.”

  Gabe nodded as well, “She once said there are three kinds of music: music I’ll play for free, music I’ll play for money, and music I won’t play at all. I don’t know about her, but this one I’ll play for free. Rachmaninoff himself may have tired of it, but I never will.” And she began.

  Jeff leaned back in the sofa, closed his eyes and soaked in the Imperial Grand’s sonority as it filled the vast room.

  As the last soft chord died away, Abby said, “Jesus! How do you do that?”

  Susan joined in, “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Jeff stared at Gabe shaking his head, “I have never heard a woman play with such power. You sound like Gilels. Why? Why did you stop.”

  Gabe turned on the bench toward them, “I don’t know. One day I just decided I wanted something more than a never ending life of concert tours and recording sessions.”

  Jeff nodded, “Music and math, they do go together.”

  “But I didn’t give up entirely on it. I still play, but just because I enjoy it.”

  “I’m pretty sure I could sit here and listen to you play till the end of time but… Maybe one more, then I’ll remove the shackles?”

  She laughed, “Alright, one more. Let’s see, uh, okay, how about some Chopin? You probably know this.”

  Jeff closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. Not only could she play Chopin’s monumental exercise for the left hand, the famous etude, Opus 10 Number 12, but she could play it flawlessly and at the proper tempo.

  As she concluded the final massive chords, Jeff leaped to his feet clapping, “I’m speechless. You didn’t have to play that to impress me.”

  “Thanks. Alright, that’s enough. It’s late.”

  They all stood applauding again. Jeff walked to her with a warm glow of appreciation, “Thank you so much, that was wonderful. Well, it has been a long day for you, I’m sure you’re tired. Would breakfast at eight be alright?” They nodded and agreed that would fine.

  Gabe walked beside Jeff up the stairs toward bed, “That piano is unbelievable.”

  They said their ‘good nights’ at the top of the stairs and as Gabe started down the hall, Jeff said softly to himself, “Stick around and I’ll give it to you.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Saturday, June 16, 2012 (T minus 1375 days)

  Jeff’s alarm clock sounded at 6:00 a.m. and he gave the snooze button a solid whack; morning was never his finest hour. He lay awake in bed thinking of the previous evening: the delightful company of the three women at dinner, Gabe’s marvelous performance, even the small talk on the drive from the airport was great.

  But then the doubts began to creep in as he once again questioned his moral and ethical right to even ask this of such fine people. They were young, brilliant, talented, not to mention beautiful, women, and the thought of any of them perishing on some godforsaken rock in space horrified him. His plan for the mission brief had been to start at the beginning and, not unlike Alice, when he reached the end, stop, thus saving the two hard issues as sort of an addendum. But that just didn’t seem fair. ‘Fair’ would be to give them a way out, early. So, lying there, staring at the ceiling in what little morning light there was falling through the windows, Jeff decided to go the other route. He’d drop the bombshells first and then see who was left standing. He was fairly certain Abby was onboard no matter what, but of Gabriel and Susan, he had no idea.

  He tossed back the covers, swung out of bed, and turned off the alarm; once again thinking that he would dearly love to get his hands around the neck of whoever it was that invented such a horrid contraption. He s
howered and dressed and padded down to the kitchen.

  In the kitchen annex Jeff reviewed his meal-planning guide, pinned up on the bulletin board. He was pretty sure he had all the details worked out for the entire weekend, but there was always the unexpected. A simple breakfast was in order: scrambled eggs, sausage, fruit salad, English muffins, coffee, tea and orange juice. He went to the dining room, dug into the china closet, and laid out four place settings at the near end of the dining room table. Jeff had toyed with the idea of hiring some help for the weekend – chefs, butlers, maids, and the like – but he just wasn’t ready for that, and might never be. Wrentham House was ostentatious enough without a gaggle of servants flitting about.

  Back in the kitchen, he rolled out the serving cart, poured some water in the warming trays and plugged it in, then fired up the griddle on one the kitchen’s two commercial gas ranges. A buffet would be easiest; setup everything on the cart and, when ready, roll it through the pantry into the dining room and have at it. He setup coffee and hot water for tea on the counter, along with orange juice, and set out a few mugs and glasses.

  Shortly past seven Jeff heard the front door, and a moment later Abby appeared, sweating profusely, wearing a dark blue jogging suit with “NAVY” embroidered across the chest, her ginger tresses tied up in long ponytail.

  “Well, good morning your joggingness.”

  She grinned. “Good morning. Yeah, I got up early and jogged a couple miles down the coast road. God, it’s beautiful here.”

  “Yes it is. You slept well?”

  “Oh yeah, great. It’s so peaceful and quiet.”

  “Yeah. I found it a bit eerie at first. I’m used to the big city and traffic noise and sirens and all that, and it took a little getting used to.”

  “Well, I love it.” She tugged at her sweatshirt; “I need to go hit the showers before I pollute the atmosphere. Won’t be long.”

  “Take your time, there’s no hurry.”

  Abby trotted off upstairs and Jeff returned to his cooking. Fruit salad, already prepared, from the fridge, eggs and sausage laid out on the range end of the island, and a dozen English muffins split and arrayed in the salamander for browning at the last moment.