“This western part of the island looks different than the eastern part,” Daniel observed, as they drove west along Windsor Field Road. “It’s much flatter.”
“It’s also less developed and a lot drier,” Stephanie added. They were passing long, low stretches of semiarid pine forest infiltrated with palmettos. The sky was a deep azure, dotted with a few wispy white clouds.
Daniel had insisted on driving, which Stephanie didn’t mind until he’d suggested she might have more trouble driving on the left than he. Her initial reaction was to challenge what seemed to her an unwarranted, chauvinistic assertion, but then she just let it go. The issue wasn’t worth an argument. Instead, she climbed into the passenger seat and contented herself with getting out the map. As had been the case when they’d fled Italy, she’d be the navigator.
Daniel drove slowly, which was fine with Stephanie, considering the reflex to bear to the right at corners and while circling roundabouts. They’d driven along the northern coast of the island, noting once again the high-rise resorts lined up like soldiers at attention along Cable Beach. After passing a number of limestone caves sculpted by prehistoric seas, they’d turned inland. Bearing right at the next intersection on Windsor Field Road, they’d caught a glimpse of the airport in the distance.
Continuing west, they had no trouble finding the turnoff to the Wingate Clinic. It was on the left side of the road and marked by a huge sign.
Stephanie leaned forward to get a better view out the windshield as they approached. “My word! Do you see the sign?”
“It would be hard to miss. It’s the size of a billboard.”
Daniel made the turn onto the newly paved, tree-lined drive.
“They must have a lot of land,” Stephanie said. She sat back. “I can’t see the building.”
After several turns through a dense copse of evergreens, the serpentine driveway was abruptly blocked by a gate. A formidable chain-link fence topped with razor wire disappeared into the pine forest in both directions. On Stephanie’s side of the car stood a small booth. A uniformed guard, complete with a holstered sidearm, a visored, military-style hat, and aviator sunglasses, stepped out. He was holding a clipboard. Daniel pulled to a stop while Stephanie lowered her window.
The guard leaned over to look at Daniel across Stephanie’s lap. “Can I help you, sir?” His voice was decidedly businesslike and devoid of emotion.
“It’s Dr. D’Agostino and Dr. Lowell,” Stephanie said. “We’re here to meet with Dr. Wingate.”
The guard checked his clipboard and then touched the brim of his hat before returning to the gatehouse. A moment later, the gate rolled open like a pocket door. Daniel accelerated forward.
It took another few minutes before the clinic came into view. Nestled among carefully landscaped shrubbery and flowering trees was a two-story, postmodern, U-shaped complex. It was composed of three separate buildings connected by arcaded covered walkways. Each building was clad in white limestone with white concrete tile roofs, the pediments of which were capped by fanciful, shell-themed acroteria reminiscent of an ancient Greek temple. Latticework was interspersed between multipaned windows along the sides of each structure. At the base of each lattice, young, brightly colored bougainvillea plants were beginning their climb skyward.
“Good grief,” Stephanie exclaimed. “I wasn’t prepared for this. It’s beautiful. It looks more like a spa than an infertility clinic.”
The driveway led to a parking area in front of a central building, the entrance of which was adorned by a columned portico. The columns were squat, with exaggerated entases and capped with simple Doric capitals.
“I hope they saved some money for their laboratory equipment,” Daniel commented. He pulled their rented Mercury Marquis in between several new BMW convertibles. Several spaces away were two limousines, their liveried drivers smoking and chatting while leaning up against their vehicles’ front fenders.
Daniel and Stephanie stepped out of the car and paused to gaze at the complex, which was dazzling in the bright Bahamian sun. “I’d heard that infertility was lucrative,” Daniel commented, “but I didn’t imagine it was this lucrative.”
“Nor did I,” Stephanie said. “But I wonder how much of this resulted from them being able to collect on their fire insurance following their flight from Massachusetts.” She shook her head. “No matter where the money came from, with the cost of healthcare, opulence and medicine are inappropriate bedfellows. There is something wrong with this picture, and my qualms about getting involved with these people are coming back big time.”
“Let’s not let our prejudices and self-righteousness run away with themselves,” Daniel warned. “We’re not here on a social crusade. We’re here to treat Butler, and that’s it.”
The large bronzed front door opened and a tall, deeply tanned, silver-haired man appeared. He was dressed in a long white doctor’s coat. He waved and called out “Welcome!” in a high, lilting voice.
“At least we’re getting a personalized greeting,” Daniel said. “Let’s go! And keep your opinions to yourself.”
Daniel and Stephanie met up at the front of the car and began walking toward the entrance. “I hope that’s not Spencer Wingate,” Stephanie whispered.
“Why not?” Daniel whispered back.
“Because he’s handsome enough to be a soap-opera doctor.”
“Oh, I forgot! You wanted him to be short, fat, and have a wart on his nose.”
“Precisely.”
“Well, we can still hope he’s a chain-smoker and has bad breath.”
“Oh, shut up!”
Daniel and Stephanie mounted the three steps to the portico. As they approached, Spencer extended his hand while keeping the door open with his foot. He introduced himself with a great flourish of smiles and handshaking. He then grandly motioned for them to precede him into the building.
In keeping with the exterior, the interior had a simple classical ambience, with plain pilasters, dentil moldings, and Doric columns. The floor was polished limestone, softened with Oriental scatter rugs. The walls were painted a very light lavender, which at first glance appeared to be pale gray. Even the varnished hardwood furniture had a classical aura, with dark green leather upholstery. A faint smell of fresh paint permeated the air-conditioned air, as a reminder of the clinic’s recent completion. For Daniel and Stephanie, the dry coolness was a welcome contrast to the moist tropical heat outdoors, which had been steadily climbing since sunrise.
“This is our main waiting room,” Spencer said as he gestured around the voluminous room. Two moderately elderly, well-dressed couples were sitting on separate sofas. They were nervously flipping through magazines and briefly looked up. The only other occupant was a receptionist with bright pink fingernail polish who was manning a half-circle desk just inside the door.
“This building serves as the initial check-in location for new patients,” Spencer explained. “It also houses our administration offices. We’re very proud of the clinic, and we’re eager to show you the entire complex, although we suspect you’re mainly interested in our laboratory facilities.”
“And the operating room,” Daniel said.
“Yes, of course, the operating room. But first, come up to my office for some coffee and meet the others.”
Spencer led the way over to a spacious elevator, even though they were only going up one floor. During the brief ride, Spencer questioned like a concerned host whether their incoming flight had been pleasant. Stephanie assured him it had been fine. On the second level, they passed a secretary who interrupted her word processing to smile cheerfully.
Spencer’s vast office was in the northeast corner of the building. The airport could be seen to the east and a blue line of the ocean to the north. “Help yourselves,” Spencer said, motioning to a coffee service spread out on a low marble table in front of an L-shaped sofa. “I’ll get the two department heads.”
For a moment, Daniel and Stephanie were alone.
; “This looks like an office of a CEO of a Fortune Five Hundred company,” Stephanie said. “I have to say, I find all of this opulence obscene.”
“Let’s hold our value judgments until we see the lab.”
“Do you think those two couples reading magazines downstairs are patients?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea, nor do I care.”
“They seemed a bit old for infertility treatment.”
“It’s not our concern.”
“Do you think the Wingate Clinic is getting older women pregnant like that maverick infertility specialist in Italy?”
Daniel flashed Stephanie an exasperated, irritated look as Spencer reappeared. The clinic founder had a man and a woman in tow, both dressed like himself in white, highly starched, long doctor’s coats. First, he introduced Paul Saunders, who was short and squat, and whose thick-necked silhouette reminded Stephanie of the columns supporting the building’s entrance portico. In keeping with his body, everything about Paul’s face was round with puffy, pasty, pale skin, all of which was in sharp contrast to Spencer’s tall, slender frame, sharply angled features, and bronzed complexion. A mat of unruly dark hair with a striking white forelock completed Paul’s eccentric image and accentuated his paleness.
As he vigorously shook hands with Daniel, Paul smiled broadly to reveal square, widely spaced, yellowed teeth. “Welcome to the Wingate, doctors,” he said. “We’re honored to have you here. I can’t tell you how excited I am about our collaboration.”
Stephanie smiled weakly as he moved to her and pumped her hand. She was mesmerized by the man’s eyes. With his broad-based nose, his eyes appeared closer together than usual. Also, she’d never seen a person with different-colored irises.
“Paul is our head of research,” Spencer announced, giving Paul a pat on the back. “He is looking forward to having you in his lab and eager to be of assistance and to learn a few things, I might add.” Spencer then draped his arm over the shoulders of the woman, who was almost as tall as he. “And this is Dr. Sheila Donaldson, head of clinical services. She’ll be making the arrangements for your use of one of our two operating rooms, as well as our inpatient facility, which we assume you’ll be taking advantage of.”
“I didn’t know you had inpatient capabilities,” Daniel said.
“We are a full-service, self-contained operation,” Spencer said proudly. “Although for long-term inpatient care, which we don’t expect, we will be referring patients to Doctors Hospital in town. Our inpatient facility is limited and more just for an occasional overnight, which should serve your needs admirably.”
Stephanie pulled her attention away from Paul Saunders and looked at Sheila Donaldson. She had a narrow face framed by lank, chestnut hair. In comparison to the exuberant men, she seemed withdrawn, almost shy. Stephanie had the feeling the woman was reluctant to look her in the eye as they shook hands.
“No coffee for you folks?” Spencer questioned.
Both Stephanie and Daniel shook their heads. “I think we’ve both had our fill of coffee,” Daniel explained. “We’re still on European time, and we’ve been up since the crack of dawn.”
“Europe?” Paul questioned enthusiastically. “Did your travel to Europe have anything to do with the Shroud of Turin?”
“Indeed it did,” Daniel responded.
“I trust it was a successful trip,” Paul said, with a conspiratorial wink.
“Withering, but successful,” Daniel remarked. “We . . .” He paused, as if trying to decide what he wanted to say.
Stephanie held her breath. She was hoping Daniel wouldn’t describe their Turin experience. She very much wanted to maintain a distance from these people. For Daniel to share their recent travail would be too personal and would cross a boundary she did not want to cross.
“We managed to get a bloodstained swatch from the shroud,” Daniel said. “In fact, I have it with me at the moment. What I’d like to do is get it into a buffered saline solution to stabilize the DNA fragments, and I’d like to do it sooner rather than later.”
“Sounds good to me,” Paul said. “Let’s head directly over to the laboratory.”
“There’s no reason the tour can’t start there,” Spencer said agreeably.
With a sense of relief that appropriate personal distance had been maintained, Stephanie let our her breath and relaxed a degree as the group trooped out of Spencer’s office.
At the elevator, Sheila excused herself by saying there were patients scheduled, and she wanted to be certain things went smoothly. She then left the group to take the stairs.
The laboratory was off to the left side of the central building and was reached by traversing one of the gracefully curved, covered walkways. “We designed the clinic as separate buildings to force ourselves to get outside, even if we work all the time,” Paul explained. “It’s good for the soul.”
“I get out a bit more than Paul,” Spencer added, with a laugh. “As if you couldn’t tell by my tan. I’m not quite the workaholic he is.”
“Is this building all laboratory?” Daniel questioned, as he stepped through the door held open by Spencer.
“Not entirely,” Paul explained, as he went ahead to stop by a periodical rack where he bent over to pick up a glossy-covered magazine from a stack. The group had entered a room that appeared to be a combination lounge and library. Bookshelves lined the walls. “This is our journal room, and I have here a copy for you of our latest issue of the Journal of Twenty-first Century Reproductive Technology.” He proudly handed the publication to Daniel. “There’s a few articles you might find interesting.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Daniel managed. He scanned the contents printed on the cover before handing it to Stephanie.
“This building has living accommodations in addition to the laboratory,” Paul said. “That includes some guest apartments, which are nothing fancy but certainly adequate. We would like to offer for you to use them if you are inclined to be near your work. We even have a cafeteria, which serves three meals a day, in the clinic building across the garden, so you wouldn’t have to leave the premises unless you wanted. You see, many of our employees live here in the complex, and their apartments are also in this building.”
“Thank you for your offer,” Stephanie responded quickly. “That’s very hospitable of you, but we have very comfortable accommodations in town.”
“Where are you staying, if I may ask?” Paul questioned.
“The Ocean Club,” Stephanie said.
“A very good choice,” Paul said. “Well, the offer holds if you decide to change your minds.”
“I don’t think so,” Stephanie said.
“Let’s get back to the tour,” Spencer suggested.
“By all means,” Paul said. He motioned for the group to move toward a pair of double doors leading into the depths of the building. “Besides the laboratory and living quarters, this building also houses some diagnostic equipment, like the PET scanner. We had it installed here because we felt we’d be using it more for research than clinical work.”
“I didn’t realize you had a PET scanner,” Daniel said. He glanced at Stephanie with raised eyebrows to communicate his contented amazement as a counterpoint to her palpable negativity. He knew a PET scanner, which uses gamma rays to study physiological function, might be handy if a problem arose with Butler after the treatment.
“We’ve planned the Wingate to be a full-service research and clinical facility,” Paul said proudly. “As long as we were putting in a CT scanner and an MRI, we thought we might as well add a PET.”
“I’m impressed,” Daniel admitted.
“I thought you’d be,” Paul said. “And as the discoverer of HTSR, you’ll surely be interested to know we plan to be a major player in stem-cell therapy as well as infertility.”
“That’s an interesting combination,” Daniel said vaguely, unsure of his reaction to this unexpected news. As with so many things about the Wingate Clinic, the idea that they were
thinking of doing stem-cell therapy was a surprise.
“We thought it a natural extension of our work,” Paul explained, “considering our access to human oocytes and our extensive experience with nuclear transfer. The irony is that we thought it was going to be a sideline, but since we’ve opened our doors, we’ve done more stem-cell treatment than infertility.”
“That’s true,” Spencer said. “In fact, those patients you saw earlier in the main waiting area are here for stem-cell therapy. Word of mouth concerning our services seems to be spreading quickly. We haven’t had to advertise at all.”
Both Daniel and Stephanie’s faces reflected their dismayed surprise.
“What kind of illnesses are you treating?” Daniel asked.
Paul laughed. “Just about anything and everything! A lot of people understand stem cells’ promise for a host of ailments, from terminal cancer and degenerative diseases to the problems of aging. Since they can’t get stem-cell treatments in the USA, they come to us.”
“But that’s absurd!” Stephanie exclaimed. She was aghast. “There are no established protocols for treating anything with stem cells.”
“We’re the first to admit we’re breaking new ground,” Spencer responded. “It’s experimental, like what you folks are planning with your patient.”
“Essentially, we’re using public demand to fund the needed research,” Paul explained. “Hell, it’s only reasonable since the U.S. government is so chary about funding the work and making it so difficult for you researchers on the mainland.”
“What kinds of cells are you using?” Daniel asked.
“Multipotent stem cells,” Paul said.
“You’re not differentiating the cells?” Daniel questioned, with mounting disbelief, since undifferentiated stem cells would not treat anything.
“No, not at all,” Paul said. “Of course, we’ll be trying that in the future, but for now we do the nuclear transfer, grow out the stem cells, and infuse them. We let the patient’s body use them as it sees fit. We’ve had some interesting results, although not with everyone, but that is the nature of research.”