Island in the Sea (28 page)

“I've never seen anything like it,” Juliet said, eating artichoke hearts drizzled with olive oil. She wore a red chiffon dress and gold sandals. Her cheeks were brushed with powder and her lips were coated with red lipstick.

“The fortress was built on the Bay of Palma so the inhabitants could ward off pirates.” Lionel gazed at the black velvet sky and dark ocean. “Now all you see is twenty-foot yachts and giant catamarans. But the architecture is magnificent and the food is delicious. Victor makes a lamb cutlet with herb truffles and pear confit that is superb.”

“The earrings are breathtaking and this place is stunning.” Juliet hesitated. “But I thought you were worried about your bank account.”

“I convinced Geraldo to let me buy the earrings on credit.” Lionel sipped a glass of Montenegrin. “I'll pay him back when I sell my flat.”

“You're going to sell your flat?” Juliet asked.

“Even if I don't have to pay Gideon back, I won't have an income for a while,” Lionel replied. “I'm tired of wearing Shetland sweaters in July and always needing a raincoat. I thought I might live in Beverly Hills. Posh Beckham and I played Madison Square Garden once, and every year they send me a Christmas card. Perhaps they'll let me stay in their guest cottage.”

“I thought you didn't want to go back to Los Angeles,” Juliet said.

“It suddenly sounds more attractive. I spent the last eighteen years wandering around the globe like Don Quixote. Eventually I have to stop chasing windmills and make peace with Gideon.” Lionel's brow furrowed. “Though if I see him trying on Zegna silk blazers at Fred Hayman or eating sirloin tips at Cut, I may have to restrain myself.”

*   *   *

They ate quail with baby yams and talked about OutsideLands and Coachella. Lionel gazed at Juliet's creamy skin and pink mouth and couldn't believe he was sitting across from her.

“I stayed here during the grand opening,” he said, nibbling a slice of chocolate torte. “The rooms look like an illustration from
The Canterbury Tales
. They have canopied beds and thick brocade curtains and handwoven tapestries.”

“It sounds wonderful,” Juliet murmured.

“I don't want to be presumptuous, but I thought we could reserve a suite and sip Armagnac and read
Troilus and Cressida
and
Beowulf
. I studied Middle English at Cambridge and have a soft spot for Chaucer.”

Juliet scooped up raspberries and hazelnut ice cream. She looked at Lionel and her eyes were huge. “I'd love to.”

*   *   *

Lionel stood on the terrace and gazed at the half moon and dark ocean. He turned around and saw Juliet through the gauze curtains. Her eyes were like a young doe, and she rubbed her lips with red lipstick.

He walked inside and folded his dinner jacket over a leather armchair. He loosened his tie and dropped his cuff links in the silver ashtray. He walked over to Juliet and ran his hands over her dress.

“The thing about sex is when you climax you may as well be Einstein or Socrates, you have the whole world figured out. But the minute it's over it's like waking from a dream, you know it was good but you can't quite put your finger on it. But when you are in love you feel like that all the time, it's like walking around in a state of exquisite rapture.”

He pulled her close and kissed her softly on the lips. He took the ceramic clip out of her hair and tossed it on the desk. He felt the creamy satin of her cheeks and tasted the sweet chocolate of her mouth and moaned.

He led her to the bed and unbuttoned his shirt. She unzipped her dress and let it slip to the floor. He studied her full breasts and the alabaster stretch of thigh. He touched the wet spot between her legs and felt like an explorer discovering a sacred temple.

He gently slipped his finger inside her and saw her look of surprise. He saw her lips tremble and the sudden intake of breath. He felt the warm wetness and her body shudder and pulled her tightly against his chest.

She lay on the bed and drew him on top of her. She wrapped her arms around his back and urged him to go faster. Lionel paused for a moment, filled with the terrifying sensation that he would come and all this would end. Then he let himself go until his skin was slick and his body shattered and he collapsed on her breasts.

*   *   *

Lionel slipped on a silk robe and padded into the suite's living room. He walked onto the terrace and leaned over the railing.

He gazed at the sky full of stars and the moon glinting on the bay and felt an incredible stillness. He wanted to thank someone for something but he wasn't sure what.

He walked back inside and entered the bedroom. He lay down on the high white bed and fell asleep.

chapter twenty-nine

J
ULIET STOOD IN FRONT OF
the closet and selected a green linen dress. She paired it with a pair of beige slingbacks and slipped on a gold bangle. She brushed her hair behind her ears and coated her lips with pink lip-gloss.

The night with Lionel was magical. After they made love they slept in the high four-poster bed. She woke in the morning and gazed at the dark wood floors and thick plaster walls and felt like a princess in a storybook.

They ate Spanish omelets and grilled tomatoes on the terrace and talked about history and art. They drove leisurely back to Sóller, stopping to buy figs and plums and olives. Lionel dropped off her at Hotel Salvia and kissed her slowly on the mouth.

*   *   *

Now her phone rang and she picked it up.

“Rosemary said you called.” Gideon's voice came over the line.

“Yes, I have some news,” Juliet replied.

“Gabriella's voice is superb, it's like winning the lottery,” Gideon said. “She's going to be bigger than Mariah Carey or Beyoncé.”

Juliet thought about what Lydia said and wavered. But then she remembered Gabriella's eyes flashing when she talked about Hugo and took a deep breath.

“She's very excited, I think she wants to accept your offer.”

“That's fantastic news, tell her I'll get her a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel and a driver.”

“She'll be delighted.” Juliet clutched the phone. “There is something else. Lionel shouldn't be required to fulfill his contract, he has suffered a personal trauma.”

“What kind of trauma?” Gideon asked.

“It doesn't matter,” Juliet said. “But you must let him out of his contract. I don't want Gabriella to reconsider.”

The phone was silent and Juliet thought she went too far. She was about to say something when Gideon's voice came down the line.

“If you say so. God, he was always emotional, like a girl before her period.” Gideon paused. “But that's what made him a brilliant songwriter. He could turn simple words into poetry.”

*   *   *

Juliet hopped off the tram and strode down the promenade. She saw fishermen pulling in wooden fishing boats and couples eating ice cream cones.

She climbed the stone steps of Casa Isabella and wondered if she should have waited and talked to Gabriella first. She would ask Gabriella if she was certain this is what she wanted, and if it wasn't, she would tell Gideon she had changed her mind.

She entered the dining room and saw tables set with white china and gleaming silverware. Crystal vases were filled with yellow tulips and a fire glowed in the marble fireplace.

“Juliet,” Gabriella exclaimed. She wore a navy dress and beige pumps. Her hair was wound into a chignon and she carried a stack of ivory menus.

“It's the first time I've lit the fire this season,” she mused. “I love it when the weather grows cool. You should be here in the fall, the fog settles on the harbor and one can wear boots and sweaters. My father makes a delicious potato soup with fresh Parmesan cheese.”

“I can't believe I'm leaving soon,” Juliet said. “Lionel and I had dinner at Cap Rocat last night.”

“What happened?” Gabriella gasped.

“We spent the night in a room decorated like a medieval castle. It had a four-poster bed and beamed ceiling and terrace overlooking the bay. We sipped Armagnac and talked about books and music, and it was the best night of my life.”

Gabriella beamed. “I'm so happy. What will you do when you return to California?”

“We haven't figured it out exactly,” Juliet replied.

“I'm going to tell my parents I'm going to America tonight. My mother will be thrilled; she adored her months in Paris. My father will complain he can't find anyone to oversee the dining room, but he'll be proud.”

“What about Hugo?” Juliet asked. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“I've barely seen him; he's been working late at the hotel.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “When I think about what he did, I get so angry I can barely breathe.”

“I had lunch with Lydia,” Juliet began. “She wanted me to talk to you.”

“Excuse me.” Gabriella said. “I have to tell the pastry chef what is on the menu for dessert.”

Juliet walked over to the fireplace and gazed at the signed menus lining the walls. She saw Antonio Banderas's scrawled signature and Leonardo Di Caprio's broad cursive. She suddenly saw Lionel's name scribbled in black ink and frowned.

“Juliet, it's nice to see you.” Gabriella's father entered the dining room. He wore a white apron and carried a bottle of olive oil. “I hope you stay for dinner, I'm preparing roasted chicken breast with Mallorcan artichoke hummus.”

“I didn't know Lionel ate here.” She pointed to the ivory menu.

Felipe nodded. “He came in recently. My wife was so excited, ‘Going to Catalina' is one of her favorite songs.

“The whole dining room was abuzz,” he continued. “He was with the tennis player, Henry Adler.”

“He was with Henry?” Juliet asked. Suddenly she felt cold and a shiver ran down her spine.

“They ate grilled salmon in a citrus glaze and chocolate panacotta for dessert.”

“When were they here?” Juliet whispered.

“July fourteenth.” Felipe pointed to the menu. “I always write the date on the top corner.”

Juliet ran to the door and turned around. “Please tell Gabriella I had to leave, I had a previous appointment.”

*   *   *

Juliet sat on the tram and tried to stop her heart from racing. Why had Lionel never mentioned he knew Henry, and why did they have dinner together?

Suddenly she remembered when she and Lionel first met and he asked if she had a serious boyfriend in California. She remembered him saying she was young and single and should go dancing at Barracuda or Nikki Beach. She remembered him musing that Gideon had sent someone to make him write love songs who had never been in love.

She pictured Henry approaching her at the guest reception at Hotel Salvia. She saw his curly blond hair and blue shirt and tan slacks.

She remembered eating lamb skewers and talking about New Zealand and tennis and music. She pictured standing on her balcony, her cheeks flushed from the wine and her heart beating a little faster and thinking she met someone special.

She scrolled through the calendar on her phone and tried to remember the date of the guest reception. She gazed out the window at the green hills dotted with stone churches and the shimmering ocean filled with white sailboats and felt the air leave her lungs. She met Henry the day after Lionel and Henry had dinner at Casa Isabella.

chapter thirty

L
IONEL JUMPED UP FROM THE
piano and paced around the living room. He scooped up a handful of macadamia nuts and washed them down with a glass of orange juice. He stood at the French doors and gazed at the turquoise swimming pool and marble statues and felt like a million dollars.

He had dropped Juliet off at Hotel Salvia and come home and changed into a polo shirt and slacks. He grabbed a carton of orange juice and a green apple and sat down at the piano. He wrote all day, only getting up to refill his glass or toss the apple core in the garbage.

Now he glanced at the untouched turkey sandwich Gloria left on the glass coffee table and his unopened packet of cigarettes and couldn't remember when he had so much energy. He wanted to swim fifty laps or hike up to Valldemossa. He wanted to do a hundred sit-ups and take a cold shower.

He walked back to the piano and scanned the verses in his notebook. He had worked all day on one song, scribbling and erasing the same words. He remembered when he read
Cat's Cradle
and thought Kurt Vonnegut couldn't have arranged the sentences any other way. He let out his breath and knew the lyrics were perfect.

He entered the kitchen and inhaled the scent of garlic and butter and basil. Juliet was coming over for dinner and Gloria had made warm spinach and goat cheese salad and lobster paella.

He gazed at his reflection in the steel fridge and thought he should go upstairs and shave. He pictured the way Juliet's face lit up when she smiled and felt he had been entrusted with a priceless piece of art. God, she was beautiful and young and bright. He could spend hours nibbling sliced pineapple and discussing Frank Zappa and Henry Miller.

Then he remembered the silky smoothness of her skin and felt he didn't have a right. He should have given up such perfection years ago; it belonged to young men with business degrees and a closet full of pinstriped suits. She should marry a man who could offer her a house with a garden and a Range Rover.

He thought about Gideon and his new song and sighed. Even if Gideon let him out of his contract he would have to find a new record company. He would have to write a whole album of songs and hope someone would buy them.

He heard a knock at the door and called, “Come in.”

“You are early. I was going to go upstairs to change,” Lionel said. “Gloria left a delicious salad and I discovered a 1982 Château Lafite-Rothschild in the cellar. I thought we could eat on the balcony and go for a swim after dessert.”