Chapter 16

Pasolini Island--reputed to be “The Pacific’s Most Private Paradise”--was inaccessible by boat, because of the surrounding beach of jagged rocks.   All the construction materials for the multi-million-dollar resort had been air lifted from the mainland via Sikosrsky Skycranes.  The island carried a mythological image as a piece of land reserved for the devil and the rich.  The wealthy looked upon the island as their place in the sun, a place where if you could afford to commute back and forth to the mainland by helicopter, you could afford to stay in one of the “mini castles,” as Umberto called them.  Amenities were of five-star caliber including a dry moat of rose gardens surrounding each castle and a personal Peacock that stood like a sentinel at each castle’s entrance, fanning its rainbow of colors whenever you approached. 

Inside, guests were treated to a multi-leveled suite of seven rooms, including three bedrooms, four baths, kitchen, dining, and a museum-like drawing room appointed with sunken treasure antiques befitting a world class museum.  Each castle came complete with a 24-hour room service.  Reservations were booked sometimes one year in advance for one of the twenty-six medieval escapes, even though the only surrounding recreation was watching the grass grow, of which there was little. Time seemed to have stopped here, punctuated by the occasional tortoise, iguana and finch that complimented the stark sand and boulder environment.  If unique isolation and undisturbed relaxation was what you sought, nowhere could your three thousand dollars per night buy more than on Pasolini Island.  It was the perfect place to spend a honeymoon.

 Zak, one of 6 helicopter pilots hired for the occasion, pulled back on the control stick and watched the stark sands recede as his helicopter rose, banked and headed for the island, now in silhouette before the setting sun. 

On their approach, peering out the windows, Max and Sam watched the Bentley that had arrived ahead of them via a Chinook.  It was quickly driven away by men in white to the covered parking area.

The flight was short to the island and as they stepped off the aircraft, they were greeted by a host who helped them with their luggage and escorted them to the beginning of their castle island experience; two bridled white horses and an 18^th century royal carriage.

Once they reached their mini-castle setting, some one hundred feet above the shore, the escort made sure all provisions were to their liking and reminded them of the maid/cooking service hours of six in the morning until nine at night, starting the next day.  After escorting them to their dinner awaiting them in the dining room--a sumptuous meal timed for their arrival--he bid them good evening.  His final words assured them that although isolated, a phone call could summon in a matter of minutes assistance for any additional needs they might have.  They both followed him to the double doors of heavy wood and iron.  As he drove the horse and carriage off, they stood together, waiting for the sand-smothered clopping of the hoofs to disappear into the surf lapping up against the rocky shoreline below.

Suddenly, becoming aware of the silence, Sam whispered, “My God it’s quiet, Max.”  She wrapped her arms around him and held him tight.  “Thank you for this.”

“You’re not going to get bored on me, now, are you?” said Max.

“Do I look bored?” she smiled.

“This is about as much excitement as they provide, you know,” said Max with a conspiring grin.  “Your next sight of another human, excepting the maid--who our escort assured me was available each night until nine--might not be until we go back to the mainland.  Can you handle an empty theatre for a few days?”

“Can you go without your dinner, darling,” she said with a solicitous smile.

She took his hand and led him back into the large main room.  Dominating the walls of paintings and ornate armor was a carved fireplace of Philippine mahogany.  “Would you light us a fire, while I…”

Both stopped at the coffee table, surprised to see an arrangement of white long stem roses.  Propped up against the vase was a card. “Must be a welcome bouquet from the resort,” said Max as he handed the envelope to her and proceeded to light the fire.

She opened it and lifted the card.  It was one those simple flower cards with an artist’s rendering of a bouquet and ribbon curving around the edges.  The inscription read, “Welcome.  I just noticed my whites were blooming ahead of everyone else’s.  Enjoy your stay.  Perhaps we can have some coffee together soon.  Your neighbor – Castle 3.”  Sam smiled and looked up, a bit perplexed.  “Strange little surprise.”

“What,” answered Max as he stood up from the fireplace and the small flame now beginning to rise.  “That should catch in a minute.”  He turned to her, “What strange little surprise?”

“Hopefully, just a ‘hospitality’ freak of a vacationer, and not a fan.” She handed him the card as she passed and headed for the bedroom.  “Where’s castle number three?”

Max read the card, then looked about the room’s windows.  “Well, we’re number six, so I guess it’s close by.”  He glanced at the card again, then the white roses, then walked to one of the windows and peered out.  “Probably a little further down.  It’s getting dark out there except for…  I think there’s lights down toward the beach.”  He turned back and glanced at the fire again.  The kindling had caught fast and flames now leaped high around the logs casting an orange glow about the room.  Max smiled to himself, pulled the large bear rug closer to the fire, turned down the lights and tip-toed up to the bedroom door, then disappeared with a leap.

“Max!  Damn you,” she said with a laugh.  I’m not ready yet.”

The shadows created by the flames now rolled like waves across the walls of art and tapestry.

“Yes, you are.”

“Max, put me down!”

“I will in a second,” said Max as he carried Sam in his arms, the un-cinched sash of her silk robe dropping to the floor as he gently placed her down on the rug.

***

Ari snuffed out his cigarette and drank from the pewter goblet.  His eyes reflected flames of his own fireplace along with the paintings and tapestry of Castle number three.