Island in the Sea (14 page)

The maître d' approached them and whispered in Lionel's ear.

“The Polo Lounge is honored to introduce Britain's most exciting new musical duo,” he announced. “Please welcome Miss Samantha Highbridge and Mr. Lionel Harding.”

*   *   *

“California has the most delicious seafood.” Lionel ate grilled sea bass with spring vegetables. “It's because the fish spend their lives frolicking in the warm Pacific instead of freezing in the North Sea. And the produce is so tender, the chef probably picked the peas from his garden.”

The maître d' insisted they sit in a booth and eat gazpacho and lobster salad and corn tortellini. Lionel nibbled asparagus tips and sipped a Napa Valley Chardonnay and couldn't stop smiling.

“And I'm going to miss salmon burgers with avocado and bacon.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “God, how many days did I sit in my room above the garage, eating soggy salad sandwiches.”

“I do love the fresh fruit,” Samantha mused. “The apricots are sweet and the persimmons melt in your mouth.”

“We could give it a few weeks,” Lionel suggested. “Tell Donovan he can take his
Seventeen
magazine covers and toss them in the garbage.”

“I guess we could.” Samantha ate chanterelle mushrooms. “I would miss the down pillows and the lavender bath salts are heavenly.”

“We better go.” Lionel put his fork on his plate.

“We can't leave,” Samantha protested. “The chef is preparing strawberry pavlova for dessert.”

“It's ten
P.M
., we should go to bed,” he urged. “I need to study your legs if I'm going to write a song about them.”

“You know my legs very well.” Samantha giggled.

“I have a short memory.” He kissed her softly on the mouth. “You'll have to show me what I learned all over again.”

*   *   *

“It's getting late.” Juliet glanced at the ceramic clock. “Henry and I are having dinner at Casa Isabella.”

“Summer love is wonderful,” Lionel mused. “You think life will always be about dining on a terrace with a warm breeze and the scent of hyacinths and freesias.”

“I'm not in love,” Juliet protested. “We hardly know each other and I'm leaving in less than two weeks.”

Lionel walked to the marble bar and refilled his brandy snifter. He put it under his nose and inhaled. “Love is like an old Beatles' song; you don't know why the lyrics resonate but you can't get them out of your head. You think it was written just for you and every time you hear it you could burst with happiness.” He looked at Juliet. “Don't question it, it's the best feeling in the world.”

“I'll see you tomorrow.” Juliet walked to the door. “I can't wait to hear about the release of ‘Going to Catalina.'”

“Juliet, wait,” Lionel called. She turned around and he studied her blue eyes and small pink mouth. “Wear your diamond earrings. And order the roast suckling pig with Majorcan vegetables, it's a local specialty.”

*   *   *

Lionel walked to the French doors and gazed at the green trellises and tall birds of paradise. He inhaled the scent of lilacs and roses and suddenly pictured the Beverly Hills Hotel. He remembered lush palm trees and the swimming pool with its pink and white striped cabanas.

He poured another shot of brandy and sat on the striped love seat. He inhaled the brandy and suddenly thought he hated bloody sunshine. He tossed the notebook on the glass coffee table and leaned back against the silk cushions

chapter thirteen

J
ULIET STOOD ON THE BALCONY
and watched the sun dip below the horizon. It was early evening and the sky was pink and orange and yellow. She saw the rugged cliffs and shimmering Mediterranean and thought that if only Lionel delivered his songs she would be so happy.

She walked inside and stood in front of her closet. It felt wonderful to put on a silk dress and strapless sandals. And she loved sitting across from Henry at a café and eating almond cake and vanilla ice cream.

Her phone rang and she picked it up.

“Juliet, it's Gideon.” A male voice came over the line. “I get tired of corresponding by e-mail. Young people put a smiley face or a few exclamation marks after a sentence and think everything is all right. I want to know when Lionel is going to deliver the songs.”

Juliet gulped, thinking she would never put a smiley face in a business e-mail.

“We're meeting every day,” she said evasively. “He is getting very close to fulfilling his contract.”

“He's six months late. He's not Chopin and he's not writing a bloody opera,” Gideon snapped. “I sent you on a mission and I expect it to be successfully completed.”

“I'm sure I've gotten through to him.” Juliet fiddled with her earrings. “I just need more time.”

“I gave you two weeks,” Gideon replied. “If you want to keep your office with its view of the Hollywood sign and your own parking space, that better be enough.”

“You have my word,” Juliet said. “Lionel will fulfill his contract.”

She pressed
END
and sat at the dressing table. She had to convince Lionel to write the songs, she didn't have a choice. She remembered Lydia asking her to talk to Gabriella and wondered how she could interfere when Gabriella was in love.

She rubbed her lips with pink lip-gloss and thought she wasn't going to worry about Gideon or Gabriella. She suddenly remembered Lionel telling her to wear her diamond earrings, slipped them in her ears, and hurried down the wood staircase.

*   *   *

“Juliet, how wonderful to see you.” Gabriella beamed. She wore a navy dress and beige pumps. “I saved you a table next to the window, and my father prepared white truffle foie gras.”

“We're glad to be here.” Juliet gazed at the crystal chandelier and mosaic ceiling. “I told Henry he has to try the linguini with Sóller prawns.”

“My father spent all afternoon stuffing quail and sautéing vegetables.” Gabriella smiled. “When he was a boy he wanted to be a tennis player, he's more excited than when we served Prince Albert of Monaco.”

“Hitting a ball across a net hardly compares to running a principality.” Henry grinned. “But I'll do my best to eat everything on the plate.”

*   *   *

They sat at a round table and ate butter lettuce with figs and shaved Parmesan cheese. Juliet drizzled olive oil on pearl tomatoes and took a small bite

“Gabriella's grandparents started Casa Isabella and now her father is the chef and she and her mother run the dining room,” Juliet explained. “Gabriella is wonderful with people, she makes you feel like a guest at an intimate dinner party.”

“My father owns an accounting firm in Auckland,” Henry replied. “When I was fifteen I spent a summer pouring coffee and making photocopies and filing documents. But I forgot to turn off the coffeepot and I never remembered to refill the ink cartridge and sometimes I placed the documents in the wrong order.”

“I can't imagine you cooped up in an office.” Juliet smiled.

“One day my father called me into his office and fired me. He said it didn't matter what I did as long as I was passionate about it,” Henry continued. “I spent the rest of the summer hitting tennis balls, and in the fall a tennis scout gave me a Nike jersey and invited me to join the circuit.

“My parents are very supportive, my mother sends me care packages of thick white socks and tubes of suntan lotion. I buy her Belgian chocolate in Brussels and keep my father stocked with Nike running shoes.”

“My parents hoped I would be a language professor or go into publishing,” Juliet mused. “I love words but they have to have a rhythm behind them. When I listen to music, I'm like a kitten with a bowl of warm milk.”

“Have you ever thought of giving it up?” Henry asked.

“Giving it up?”

“Sometimes I wish I came home to a boiling pot of spaghetti on the stove and a pile of shirts in the laundry, instead of living in hotels with fitted sheets and baskets of fruit and cheeses.” He fiddled with his napkin. “It's hard to start a family when your passport has more stamps than a child's coloring book.”

“I hadn't really thought about it.” Juliet felt a lump in her throat.

“I didn't use to.” Henry looked at Juliet and a smile lit up his face. “But lately it's all I think about.”

*   *   *

Gabriella's father appeared and insisted they open a bottle of Ferrer Merlot. He and Henry sipped the full-bodied red wine and discussed the French Open and Forest Lawn. Juliet saw Gabriella disappear into the kitchen and strode quickly down the hallway.

“It was a delicious meal.” Juliet entered the kitchen. “The rack of lamb with plum confit was superb.”

“I hope my father didn't interrupt dessert.” Gabriella laughed. “I had to convince him not to ask Henry to sign a napkin.”

“Henry loves discussing tennis.” Juliet smiled. “He can tell you who won Wimbledon for the last thirty years.”

“He's very handsome.” Gabriella loaded dishes into the sink. “And he's in love with you.”

“Your grandmother said the same thing.” Juliet blushed. “We had dinner with her last night.”

“She told me she invited you.” Gabriella nodded. “I think she misses working all day on the farm. She said the best moment of the day was at sunset, when she slipped on a cashmere sweater and soft leather loafers and fixed herself a martini.”

“She thinks you should record a tape and send it to Gideon,” Juliet said slowly. “She doesn't want you to miss out on having beautiful clothes and fabulous jewels and owning homes all over the world.”

“When I was a girl, Lydia took me to see American movies with Spanish subtitles because she said it was a good way to learn English. But the real reason we went was because she imagined herself living on a grand estate like Grace Kelly in
High Society
.

“She read
American Vogue
and
Town & Country
and owned a black cocktail dress and pearls like Audrey Hepburn in
Breakfast at Tiffany's
. Sometimes she'd have parties and everyone would drink old-fashioneds and listen to Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby.

“But for me there is nothing more exciting than seeing Hugo walk through the door. He's more handsome than an American movie star, and when we're together, I never want to be anywhere else.”

“You have the most beautiful voice,” Juliet urged. “People should hear it.”

“I sing when I fold the laundry and do the dishes and fix my hair.” Gabriella shrugged. “I don't need to perform on a stage.”

“Lydia only wants you to be happy. She's afraid you'll regret missing a great adventure.”

“My great adventure is marrying the man I love and opening our restaurant and starting a family.” Gabriella stacked the dishes on the tile counter. “I'd never forgive myself if I missed that.”

*   *   *

“I hope I didn't miss anything.” Juliet appeared at the table. “Gabriella let me sample the caramel flan and dark chocolate and sea salt ice cream.”

Henry studied Juliet's turquoise chiffon dress and gold sandals. He saw her slender neck and small waist and long legs. “I was telling Felipe how much I love Majorca. The temperature is balmy and the food is delicious and the local scenery is gorgeous.”

Juliet blushed and picked up her wineglass.

She nodded. “I agree. I love everything about it.”

*   *   *

They sat on the tram back to Sóller and Juliet gazed at the twinkling lights of the harbor. She saw stone farmhouses and the distant outline of Cap Gros lighthouse. She remembered standing in Casa Isabella's kitchen and let her shoulders relax.

She didn't want to worry about going home in two weeks. She wanted to go wine tasting in Binisalem and visit four-hundred-year-old dairies in Porreres. She longed to sit on the back of a scooter with her arms around Henry's waist. She wanted to feel the wind in her hair and inhale the scent of oranges and never want to be anywhere else.

She wondered if her cheeks flushed and her eyes lit up when she looked at Henry the way Gabriella's did when Hugo entered a room. She remembered Lionel saying one couldn't fight love; it was the best feeling in the world. She felt Henry's hand brush her thigh and sucked in her breath.

*   *   *

“I had a wonderful time,” Juliet said, standing at the top of the staircase.

They had gotten off the tram and strolled through the plaza. They sat at a wrought iron table and drank aperitifs and nibbled pistachios. Juliet listened to soft jazz and felt warm and light and happy.

Now she gazed at his navy shirt and beige slacks and felt suddenly nervous. Was she ready to go to bed with him?

“I did too.” Henry slipped his hands in his pockets. “The prawns were succulent and the duck was tender and the lobster aubergine was perfect.”

“Would you like to come inside?” Juliet asked. “The maid always leaves a tray of hazelnut truffles and milky cappuccinos. I can't imagine drinking coffee at midnight but the concierge says a little caffeine with warm milk gives you pleasant dreams.”

“I can't. Some journalists are coming to watch me play a practice match tomorrow morning.” Henry shook his head. “Sometimes I think they want me to fail so they can write a story that I'm washed up and introduce the new, hot young thing.”

“I read an article in
Tennis Today
that your opponents are so afraid of your serve, they wish they could wear a shield like the knights in the Middle Ages.”

He reached into his pocket and drew out a black-velvet jewelry case.

“When I told Felipe I loved the scenery in Majorca, I wasn't talking about the green hills and white beaches and limestone caves,” he began. “I was picturing your blue eyes and the way your face lights up when you smile.”