Island in the Sea

 

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To my mother

chapter one

J
ULIET OPENED THE LOW GATE
and climbed the steps to the villa. She gazed at the garden filled with purple daisies and pink bougainvillea and thought she had never seen so much color. The sky was bright blue and the villa was painted pale pink and the silk curtains drifting out the open windows were turquoise and orange and yellow.

She knocked on the red wood door and instinctively tucked her hair behind her ears. She knocked again and turned to look at the view. She had only been in Majorca for two days but already she thought the whole world consisted of narrow streets and bright plazas and views of fishing boats bobbing on the Mediterranean. She saw the Tramuntana Mountains and sweeping green valleys and olive trees clinging to the cliffs.

She opened the door and smelled pine and cigarettes and garlic. She peered into the living room and saw dark wood floors and yellow plaster walls and high mosaic ceilings. The room was scattered with floral sofas and wooden coffee tables and plump striped cushions. There was a grand piano and French doors that led out onto the balcony.

She walked farther and saw a garden with a tennis court and swimming pool. There was a sundial and a stone fountain and a fishpond filled with neon-colored fish. She heard someone groan and saw a man lying on a chaise longue. He wore navy shorts and a yellow silk shirt and had a paperback book covering his face.

“I don't think Keats ever imagined his poems would be used as sunscreen,” she said, as she approached the man.

“If you're from the cleaning service I like keeping my clothes in the bathtub.” The man kept his eyes closed and his hands around a tall glass filled with ice cubes. “I hate having to walk all the way to the closet after taking a shower. I told the service I don't want another maid. It's difficult to sit around being drunk and depressed if someone is scrubbing the floors and making your underwear smell like potpourri.”

“I'm not from the cleaning service,” Juliet replied.

“If Paco sent you tell him I'll have his money next week,” the man muttered. “Though there is a nice Picasso in the library you could take as a trade. It's only a print but it's worth a pair of Zegna loafers.”

“Not from Paco's either.” Juliet smiled, enjoying the game. She glanced at the view and saw the monastery of Valldemossa and the stone farmhouses of Deia. She saw high white clouds and the sea shimmering like a sheet of diamonds.

“Well if Manuel sent you tell him I was going to come down today and pay for the fucking cigarettes,” the man grumbled. “You'd think a man's credit would stretch to a pack of Marlboros and a king-sized Cadbury Fruit & Nut bar.”

“I'm Juliet Lyman, senior executive at Yesterday Records.” Juliet moved closer so her shadow blocked the sun. “You must be Lionel Harding.”

Lionel removed the book and sat up. He put his drink on the glass side table and smoothed his hair. He studied Juliet's glossy brown bob and blue eyes and tan legs and whistled.

“I knew Gideon would send a henchman sooner or later, but I didn't think she'd be a brunette wearing a J. Crew Theory dress and Dior perfume.”

“How do you know my perfume is Dior?” Juliet demanded.

“I write love songs, I have to notice the details.” Lionel reached for his drink. “I can describe everything about a woman: her thick dark lashes, her small pink mouth, the heart-shaped mole on her neck.” He took a long sip. “Tell Gideon I haven't turned in my expense report in months because I know he doesn't approve of aged scotch and Cuban cigars. Who would have thought the owner of one of the most famous record labels would turn into an old prude? The last time I saw him he was eating stewed prunes and reading
The Economist
. I told him he might as well buy himself a plot at Forest Lawn.”

“He did, he had me pick one out for him and his wife, right next to James Stewart and Elizabeth Taylor.” Juliet nodded. “I'm not here to count the number of towels in the bathroom or limit your consumption of Courvoisier.”

“Then why are you here?” Lionel's eyes traveled over her blue knit dress and white sandals. “If Gideon thought I needed entertainment, I have a stack of Spanish
Playboy
s.”

Juliet felt her cheeks turn pink. “I'm here because you're six months late with your songs and Gideon said if he doesn't get them by the end of the month you owe him your advance.” She opened her red Coach purse and took out her phone. She flicked through the screens and looked at Lionel. “One hundred and sixty-six thousand dollars and sixty three cents plus the nine thousand dollars he sent to your tailor in London and the fifteen hundred dollars he paid for your mother's eightieth birthday present.”

“A man can still appreciate a Gieves &Hawkes single-breasted suit when he's depressed,” Lionel snorted. “And how often does a woman turn eighty? Mom fell in love with a diamond-and-sapphire Harry Winston necklace when we flew to Barcelona. Airlines deliberately delay their flights so you hang out in the duty free stores,” Lionel sighed. “I always end up with an extra bottle of cognac or a carton of Toblerone chocolate.”

“They call it an advance because they give it to you before you do the work.” Juliet shielded her eyes from the sun. “But if you don't write the songs you have to give it back.” She slipped her phone in her purse. “You've had eighteen months to complete twenty-four songs and you sent Gideon a haiku and a limerick.”

“I was experimenting with different forms.” Lionel pouted. “You don't think the Romantics changed the course of English poetry by copying Robert Burns and Sir Walter Scott? Have you ever listened to Jimi Hendrix? He was called the “warrior poet” because his lyrics touched your soul. Do you know how much time he spent sitting on a beach? Those words didn't come to him overnight.” He slipped his sunglasses over his nose. He had dark wavy hair and bright green eyes and a small cleft on his chin. “I might be forty-two but unlike Gideon I still think like a young man, and the young constantly reinvent things. Not all love songs have to sound like Simon and Garfunkel on a constant loop in the elevator.”

“Your songs are on the constant loop in the elevator.” Juliet followed him into the villa. She saw a wide kitchen with stone floors and a low-beamed ceiling. There was a large silver refrigerator and open cabinets filled with ceramic bowls and white china cups. The counters were littered with half eaten chocolate bars and a basket of tomatoes and a wilted fruit salad. “‘Going to Catalina' is the third most recorded song in history, behind ‘The Girl from Ipanema.' It won three Grammys when it was released in 1996 and went on to sell two million copies.”

Lionel opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Grey Goose. He filled two glasses with ice and added vodka and a squeeze of lime. He handed one to Juliet and raised his glass.

“Well that deserves a toast.” He drained his glass and set it on the tile counter. “All this talk about money makes me hungry. Why don't we save the threats until after lunch?”

“If I return to Los Angeles without a check for one hundred sixty-six thousand dollars or an album of new songs I won't have a job,” Juliet protested. “They better be on a laptop waiting to press
SEND
, or in a manila folder ready for me to transport through customs.”

“If you're a senior executive at Yesterday Records how come we haven't met?” Lionel opened the breadbox and took out four slices of bread. He spread them with mustard and sliced ham and Gruyère cheese. He added heirloom tomatoes and red onions and handed a plate to Juliet.

“I've only been at the label for ten months.” Juliet bit into the sandwich. “I graduated from NYU and spent the last six years at Sony Records in Manhattan.”

“Did Gideon lure you to Los Angeles with the promise of a silver convertible and your own miniature palm tree and a table at Wolfgang Puck's next to Tobey Maguire?”

“He convinced me to switch labels so I could work with Anson Smith and Juju Miles and some of the most progressive artists in the music business.”

“Instead he sent you to Majorca to babysit an aging songwriter.” Lionel dribbled tomato on his chin. “It could be worse, I could have accepted Richard Branson's offer and stayed at his hut on the Galapagos Islands. I heard the fresh sea bass is divine but you have to use an outhouse. At least Sir Bob's villa has a billiard table and a wine cellar stocked with Château Rothschild Burgundy.”

“This is Bob Geldof's villa?” Juliet spluttered, wiping her mouth with a checkered napkin.

“I think Bob offered it to me.” Lionel rubbed his forehead. “It could have been Phil Collins, we were all skiing in Gstaad and I've never been good at high altitudes. The thin air makes me forget things. Phil does have a lovely place in Montreux; I stayed there years ago. It's a pity his marriage ended, Orienne made the best chocolate fondue.”

“I thought you rented this villa,” Juliet frowned.

Lionel ate a last bite of his sandwich and laughed. “I couldn't afford the gold faucet in the guest bathroom. I have creditors in four languages: I owe Luis in Lisbon for two boxes of Cuban cigars and Sven in Copenhagen for a sterling silver Georg Jensen lighter and Riccardo in Milan for three pairs of Bruno Magli suede loafers. Not to mention my monthly order from Harrods of five jars of marmite and six packets of caramel toffees. The price of shipping these days is criminal.”

“It's so beautiful here.” Juliet gazed out the window at window boxes filled with hydrangeas and hibiscus. “I would think Majorca is the perfect place to write love songs.”

“Now you're trying to lull me into doing what you want.” Lionel took his drink and walked into the living room. He sat on a floral sofa and spread his long legs in front of him. “What if I told you Gideon did something so terrible, that if I wasn't the kind of guy who couldn't pick up a fly swatter, I would sue him for everything he had.”

“I wouldn't believe you; he's one of the most philanthropic men I've met.” Juliet removed a stack of crumpled newspapers from a red-and-white-striped love seat. “He donates thousands to charity: water to build wells in Africa and purchased computers for an entire village in Peru and gives ten percent of the label's profits to Save the Ocean Foundation.”