Island in the Sea Page 17

  He pictured Samantha’s car in Gideon’s driveway and thought about the day John Lennon died. He remembered staring at the television and seeing the bouquets of flowers in front of The Dakota and thinking there must be a mistake. The greatest songwriter in history couldn’t have been killed by a madman wanting to impress Jodie Foster. Just because he didn’t want to believe something, that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. There was no explanation for the message on the answering machine and Samantha and Gideon’s disappearance except that they were having an affair.

  He entered the bedroom and pulled his suitcase out of the closet. He folded Ralph Lauren shirts and cashmere sweaters. He picked up his copy of Shelley’s sonnets and put it down. Samantha was reading it for her Romantic lyricism class and might need it.

  He walked back into the living room and sat at the table. If he was going to perform for thousands of screaming teenyboppers, he needed his strength. He ate a small bite of toast and marmalade and put it back on his plate. He glanced at the thick sausages and bowl of cut strawberries and wondered if he would ever be hungry again.

  * * *

  Lionel glanced at Juliet. “You look a little pale. I’ll ask Gloria to make you some scrambled eggs, the Tabasco sauce will put color in your cheeks.”

  Juliet shook her head. “No thank you, I’m not hungry.”

  Lionel lit a cigarette and blew a thin smoke ring. He walked to the window and gazed at the turquoise swimming pool.

  “If I could relive that day I would have driven to Gideon’s office and demanded that Rosemary tell me where he was, I would have waited for Samantha to come home and begged her to tell me the truth.” He paused. “If you don’t love Henry, you have to tell him. It’s like putting your beloved fifteen-year-old Irish setter down. It breaks your heart but it’s the only kind thing to do.”

  “Thank you for the advice but we need to talk about your contract.” Juliet stood up and smoothed her skirt. “Gideon called me this morning, he wants to know when you’re going to deliver the new songs.”

  Lionel ground the cigarette into a glass ashtray and glanced at the copy of Rolling Stone. He looked at Juliet and his shoulders sagged.

  “Tell him he’ll get his new songs when hell bloody freezes over.”

  chapter twenty-one

  JULIET STOOD ON THE BALCONY and gazed at the green valley filled with stone churches and citrus trees. She saw the sandy cliffs and the deep blue of the Mediterranean. She gazed at the harbor full of red fishing boats and remembered when she arrived in Majorca and thought she had never seen so much color.

  She smoothed her hair and remembered thinking all she had to do for two weeks was listen to Lionel’s story. She would have plenty of time to hike to Deia and eat tapas at cafés in Sóller. She would have time to meet someone who loved F. Scott Fitzgerald and outdoor markets.

  * * *

  After she left Casa Rosa, she strolled down the narrow path and gazed at the shimmering ocean. She bought an apple from a fruit stand and thought she had a wonderful career and a handsome guy who was in love with her.

  She remembered all the times in the last few years when she’d come home from seeing one of her bands perform at a club to an empty apartment. She was on a rush from the throbbing music and sweaty crowd and the feeling she was part of something exciting.

  But the minute she entered her tiny living room, the feeling of elation was replaced by silence. She wanted to text or call someone and tell them the band got a standing ovation. But her friends who worked at law firms or PR companies were all asleep. She finally poured a cup of chamomile tea and carried it into the bedroom.

  If Lionel didn’t fulfill his contract, she might be fired and have nothing. And when she closed her eyes and pictured Henry’s wavy blond hair she felt a pit in her stomach.

  She finally walked back to Hotel Salvia and climbed the stairs to her room. Now she stood on the balcony and gazed at the pink and orange sunset.

  She was meeting Henry for dinner at Casa Isabella, and all day she tried to feel excited. But she remembered sitting across from Henry at Los Monteros and the air left her lungs. Lionel was right; she wasn’t in love with him.

  She would wait until after dinner and say she was leaving in less than a week; they should stop seeing each other. She had enjoyed his company and hoped they could stay friends.

  She walked inside and saw an e-mail from Gideon. She read it quickly and picked up her phone.

  “Juliet.” Lydia’s voice came over the line. “It’s lovely to hear from you. I was just having a glass of rosé and a bowl of lobster paella. Gigi is on television; Leslie Caron is one of my favorite actresses. She is a wonderful dancer and sings like an angel.”

  “Gideon wrote that he’s never heard a voice like Gabriella’s,” Juliet said quickly. “He wants her to come to Los Angeles and record an album. He’ll get her a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel and a driver.” She paused and took a deep breath. “He thinks she’ll be as big as Gwen Stefani or Beyoncé.”

  “That’s wonderful news,” Lydia exclaimed.

  “I’m having dinner at Casa Isabella with Henry. I’ll arrive early and tell her.” Juliet bit her lip. “What if she is furious at me for sending Gideon the recording without asking her?”

  “When I was young I dreamed of a handsome husband and wonderful children and a villa filled with elegant furniture and designer gowns,” Lydia mused. “Instead I lived on a farm and sold oranges and olive oil. I raised one little boy by myself, and though I had a closet of Carolina Herrera dresses, I mostly wore them to watch the sun set. Gabriella is young, she doesn’t know what will make her happy.” She paused and her voice was light. “How can she possibly be angry when you tell her she is going to be a star?”

  * * *

  Juliet opened the gate of Casa Isabella and climbed the stone steps. She saw the garden filled with pink azaleas and tall birds of paradise.

  “Juliet.” Gabriella appeared at the entry.

  She wore a navy dress and beige pumps and her hair was knotted in a low bun.

  “You’re early, your reservation is at seven P.M. The restaurant isn’t open yet; I just returned from the flower market. I found the most beautiful peonies and lilacs.”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” Juliet said.

  “Come inside.” Gabriella led her into the dining room. “We can talk while I fill the vases.”

  Juliet glanced at the teal silk curtains and mosaic ceiling and sighed with happiness. It was such a beautiful room; no wonder Gabriella loved working here.

  “How was Marbella?” Gabriella asked, arranging lilacs in a crystal vase.

  “The resort was gorgeous,” Juliet replied. “Henry wore a white dinner jacket and we sat at a table overlooking the garden and ate lamb and grilled vegetables. He took my hand and said he couldn’t stop thinking about me. He is going to retire and open a tennis clinic in Santa Barbara.”

  “What did you say?” Gabriella asked.

  “When I was a child, my mother and I made oatmeal cookies for Santa Claus. Every Christmas Eve we placed them on a plate next to the fireplace, and every Christmas Day they were gone.

  “One Christmas Eve I was terribly thirsty. I crept downstairs and saw my mother sliding the cookies into the garbage. The next morning my mother laughed, saying that if Santa Claus ate all the cookies he would be too heavy for his sleigh. I tried to believe her but I knew she wasn’t telling the truth.” Juliet paused. “I sat across from Henry and imagined sharing the Sunday New York Times and milky cappuccinos. I pictured romantic dinners and long walks and full days in bed.

  “You can’t make yourself believe in Santa Claus and you can’t make yourself fall in love. I want to do those things, but I don’t want to do them with Henry.”

  “What did Henry say?” Gabriella gasped.

  “I’m going to tell him tonight,” Juliet said miserably.

  “He’s a world-class tennis player, he’ll find someone else.” Gabriella placed the vase on the line
n tablecloth. “You just need to be honest, he can’t expect more than that.”

  “There’s another reason I came early.” Juliet took a deep breath. “Your grandmother recorded you singing and asked me to send it to Gideon. He’s going to fly you to Los Angeles and give you a hotel suite and a driver. He thinks you’re going to be a huge star.”

  “How could you do that without telling me?” Gabriella demanded.

  “Lydia saw Hugo with another woman at a café in Palma. They were sitting in the back and the girl was crying. She ran out of the restaurant, and Lydia saw that she was pregnant.” Juliet paused. “She didn’t want to hurt you but she didn’t want you to miss out on a wonderful opportunity.

  “Then you showed me the ruby earrings and I wondered how Hugo could afford them when he was saving for an engagement ring.” She looked at Gabriella. “I thought you’d like to have an option in case…”

  “In case Hugo left me?” Gabriella fumed. “The woman at the café is Hugo’s cousin from Barcelona. Gia is in love with an artist who refuses to marry her. She was crying because her family will disown her if she has the baby, but she doesn’t want to lose Antonio.

  “Hugo did some work for a friend and he paid him with ruby earrings. Yesterday we went to Cartier and picked out a square-cut diamond on a platinum band. Hugo is going to pay it off, and then ask my parents for my hand in marriage.

  “When he finds out I’ve been offered a recording contract, he’ll be afraid to hold me back.” She sunk onto a chair. “Who gives up jewels and limousines to live in a cramped apartment and work in a sweaty kitchen?”

  “But Lydia called Hugo and another woman answered.” Juliet frowned. “Lydia wanted to leave a message but she hung up.”

  “Gia left her cell phone at home so her family couldn’t trace her,” Gabriella explained. “She gave Hugo’s number to Antonio and her doctor.”

  Juliet’s eyes were huge. “I was trying to do the right thing. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

  Gabriella stood up and smoothed her hair. She walked to the hallway and turned around.

  “I’m going upstairs, my mother will be in the dining room tonight,” she paused. “The right thing is to tell the truth. I thought you understood that.”

  * * *

  Juliet sat at a square table and gazed at waiters carrying platters of sautéed scallops and summer vegetables. She remembered what Gabriella said and shivered. She couldn’t sit across from Henry and discuss his next exhibition match. She couldn’t savor Mallorcan turbot and wonder when she should tell him how she felt.

  She tossed her napkin on the table and ran down the steps. She opened the gate and saw Henry striding along the promenade.

  Henry approached her. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

  He wore a tan-collared shirt and beige slacks. His hair was freshly washed and his cheeks glistened with aftershave.

  He handed Juliet a bouquet of roses and orchids. “I wanted to get you flowers but the outdoor market was out of roses. I convinced the owner of a boutique to sell me the flowers in the window.”

  Juliet smiled. “They’re gorgeous. It’s such a beautiful night, I’d like to go for a walk.”

  Henry frowned. “But we’ll miss our reservation.”

  “Let’s just stroll along the promenade,” Juliet suggested. “The fishing boats are coming in and I love the smell of fresh caught salmon.”

  They walked along the pavement and Juliet saw silver boats bobbing in the harbor. She saw couples holding hands and a young man playing the guitar. His guitar case was open and he was surrounded by a group of people.

  “I attended my first concert when I was fifteen,” Juliet said. “Destiny’s Child played Madison Square Garden and I was so excited I changed my outfit three times. Beyoncé started singing and you could feel the electricity in the air. I gazed at the fans with their sweaty foreheads and glowing cheeks and knew what I wanted to do.

  “It’s not just music I love; it’s the effect it has on people. Sometimes I feel like a babysitter or an errand girl on a constant loop between Starbucks and Whole Foods. But sometimes I stand backstage and feel like a magician.

  “You were flat on your back and now you are poised to win a Grand Slam. You have plenty of time to buy a big house with a garden and golden retriever. Now you should be winning gold trophies and jetting between New York and Monaco.

  “We both love what we do and we shouldn’t give it up.” She gazed at the lights twinkling on the water. “I’ve had a wonderful time, but I think we should stop seeing each other.”

  Henry stood quietly beside her. His forehead creased and his eyes flickered.

  “But I’m in love with you and you must feel the same,” he said. “I’ve never felt this way before, I don’t want it to end.”

  “I do feel something but it’s not enough.” Juliet hesitated. “We’re in different places in our lives and that’s not going to change.”

  “But we can make it change,” Henry insisted. “We can fly and see each other a few times a month. I’m always in the air, I don’t mind stopping in California.”

  “I’m sorry.” Juliet shook her head. “I think it’s better if we make a clean break.”

  “Are you sure there isn’t someone else?” Henry asked softly.

  Juliet inhaled his scent of aftershave and musk cologne. She looked at his wavy blond hair and blue eyes and took a deep breath.

  “There isn’t anyone,” she replied. “I’m all by myself.”

  * * *

  They walked along the promenade in silence. They reached the gate of Casa Isabella and Juliet smoothed her hair.

  “I’m not really hungry,” she said. “I’ll take the tram back to Sóller.”

  “I’ll see you back to Hotel Salvia,” he offered.

  “No thank you, I’ll be fine.” She held out her hand. “I hope we can stay friends.”

  Henry shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  “Perhaps after a little time apart.” His face broke into a small smile. “How else would I get front row tickets to a Coldplay concert when they come to New Zealand?”

  * * *

  Juliet hurried to the tram stop and felt the cool breeze on her shoulders. She pictured Gabriella’s flashing green eyes and hoped she could forgive her. She thought about Lionel and wondered if he would ever write a new song.

  She stepped onto the tram and saw a familiar figure through the window. He had dark hair and wore a patterned shirt and silk slacks. She looked closer and realized it wasn’t Lionel, it was a stranger. She closed her eyes and leaned against the hardwood bench.

  chapter twenty-two

  LIONEL STOOD AT THE MARBLE bar and stirred a Bloody Mary. He added pepper and Worcestershire sauce and took a small sip. He thought about Gideon’s letter and his shoulders tightened.

  What if Gideon was serious and really wanted his money? He could sell the flat in Chelsea but then he’d be living out of a suitcase. He pictured a succession of friends’ Swiss ski chalets and New York penthouses. He imagined growing old and ending up in an efficiency in Euston.

  He pictured his old Paris apartment in the first arrondissement with its Louis XIV furniture. He remembered thinking the French kept their rooms colder than the British and it was impossible to curl up with Madame Bovary on a spindly chair.

  He sipped his drink and flashed on the day his bank manager froze his charge card. He rushed into the walnut offices on Bond Street and insisted there was a mistake. He remembered the manager pointing to the meticulous columns of debits and credits and flinched.

  One of the greatest joys of his success was helping other people. He happily wrote a childhood friend a check to open a taco store in Belgravia. He was thrilled to get in on the ground floor of a holiday resort in the Congo.

  He pictured Gideon with his Patek Philippe watch and Louis Vuitton sunglasses. Gideon didn’t need the money, all his investments turned to gold.

  He heard a knock on the door and called: “C
ome in, I’m in the living room.”

  “Would you like a Bloody Mary?” He looked up at Juliet. “Gideon collects Bloody Mary recipes from St. Regises all over the world. The Misty Mary from the St. Regis Istanbul with turnip juice and the Chilli Padi Mary from the St. Regis Singapore with gingerroot.

  “If it was up to me I’d just mix tomato juice with vodka. But he’s always adding cumin or organic celery,” he mused. “I don’t understand the benefit of exotic spices or organic vegetables when vodka rots your stomach.”

  “It’s a little early for a drink.” Juliet hesitated.

  “It’s never too early when your best friend behaves like Tiberius.” He sighed. “I remember when Gideon and I celebrated every gold record with an omelet at Spago’s.

  “Then he became consumed by power and status and started staying at the St. Regis in Moscow and New York. It’s easy to feel like God when you look down on Fifth Avenue and the taxis resemble ants.

  “But power can be dangerous, even God makes mistakes. Do you think He meant to bury Pompeii when Vesuvius erupted or wipe out an entire population with the Black Plague?

  “If Gideon knew the damage he caused he may have acted differently.” His eyes dimmed and he stretched his long legs in front of him. “Of course I’m to blame, I let him tell me what to do.”

  * * *

  Lionel tossed his overnight bag on the thick ivory carpet and poured a glass of scotch. He gazed at the cream satin sofas and pink silk drapes and original Andy Warhols lining the walls. He saw the silver platter holding imported cheeses and designer chocolates and thought he’d never been so glad to be in Los Angeles.

  He had spent three months at Best Westerns in Toledo and Chicago and Pittsburgh. He signed autographs at malls in Michigan and played at a stadium in the pouring rain in New Jersey. He felt the water seep through his shirt and ruin his leather loafers and wondered if he had been better off carrying Louis Vuitton luggage at Claridge’s.