Island in the Sea (19 page)

“Hugo gave them to me yesterday,” Gabriella replied. She heard the cathedral bells ring and started.

“I'm late, I promised I'd meet Hugo at the tram stop at two
P.M
.” She kissed Juliet on the cheek. “I had a lovely time. If you go to Marbella, bring me a chocolate praline truffle. The maids leave them on the pillow at night and they're delicious.”

*   *   *

Juliet spent the afternoon exploring winding alleys and quaint boutiques. She bought a packet of postcards in the gift shop and a gold bangle in a jewelry store. She admired the elegant mansions on Gran Via Avenue and spent hours studying the Picassos and Miros in the Ca'n Prunera.

She sat on the steps of the cathedral and thought again how much she loved Sóller: she loved the narrow buildings with their lacquered window boxes filled with peonies and lilacs. She loved the outdoor cafés with their striped awnings and round iron tables. Mostly she loved that everywhere you looked you saw green valleys and tall mountains and the deep blue of the Mediterranean.

She thought about the places she usually visited for work: tiny towns in New Hampshire or Virginia. She pictured eating at Denny's after a concert or joining the band at IHOP for breakfast before the bus pulled back onto the freeway. She had always loved the feeling of camaraderie, like she was part of a team.

Maybe there was more to life than being the person with a clipboard and bottles of sparkling water. She thought about the places Henry mentioned: playing the Swedish Open in Stockholm and the Rolex Masters in Shanghai. Attending the Australian Open in February and the weather being so warm, he could swim in the Pacific Ocean.

She heard the cathedral bells ring and walked back to the Hotel Salvia. She entered her suite and saw the crystal vase filled with roses and tulips. She sat on the floral love seat and felt her heart race.

How could she admit to Gabriella she wasn't sure how she felt about Henry because she'd never been in love? Then she flashed on Lionel saying people didn't change. Of course she believed in love, she just never met the right guy.

She fingered Henry's ivory card and pictured watching him play his match. She imagined sipping a bottle of Syrah and nibbling steamed mussels and poached sea bass.

She saw his blond hair and the way his eyes lit up when he talked about tennis. Of course she was falling in love with him, she just had to give herself the chance.

She picked up her phone and dialed his number.

“Hi,” she said when his voice came over the line. “I'd love to go to Marbella.”

“I'm glad,” Henry replied. “I won't have to wear my lucky socks, and after the match we'll go sailing.”

“I can't wait.” She took a deep breath. “And you don't have to reserve separate rooms.”

*   *   *

Juliet stood up and paced around the suite. She felt a little off balance, as if she stepped off an airplane. She fiddled with her gold bangle and suddenly remembered Gabriella's ruby earrings.

She thought about what Lionel said that you only give jewelry if you need to apologize. Why would Hugo splurge on ruby earrings when he was saving up for an engagement ring?

She pressed
PLAY
on Lydia's cell phone and listened to Gabriella's high, clear voice. If Gideon offered Gabriella a contract she didn't have to accept it. But at least she would have the option if Hugo were seeing another woman.

She took out her laptop and typed a quick note to Gideon. She tapped his e-mail address into Lydia's phone and pressed
SEND
. Then she walked to the balcony and let the air leave her lungs.

She gazed at the ribbons of pink and orange clouds and thought she had done two things that could change her life. She was going to Marbella with Henry and she had sent Gabriella's song to Gideon.

She poured a cup of coffee from the silver coffeepot and added cream and sugar. She glanced at the bouquet of roses and tulips and Lydia's cell phone and thought she didn't know which frightened her more.

chapter eighteen

L
IONEL PUT DOWN THE COPY
of
Huckleberry Finn
and rubbed his eyes. He scooped up a handful of pistachio nuts and washed them down with a gin and tonic. He took out his gold cigarette case and tapped a cigarette onto the Regency desk. He inhaled slowly and thought he really should go up to bed.

He pictured his dinner with Juliet and remembered why people spent hundreds of dollars at fine restaurants. It had been lovely to sit under the green trellis and eat Gloria's roasted chicken and baby potatoes. It had been delightful to savor a vintage French wine and talk about books and music. He had glanced at the turquoise swimming pool and pink hibiscus and thought even Casa Rosa had its merits.

But then Juliet mentioned Gideon's name and he felt a cool chill. He swallowed a double shot of Rémy Martin and lit a cigarette. He ground it into the glass ashtray and lit another.

*   *   *

Now he stood up and opened the crystal decanter. He refreshed his glass and hesitated. He couldn't keep dousing his liver in gin and soda water. Then he pictured Gideon's immaculate Dolce & Gabana sports jacket and platinum Patek Philippe watch and downed it in one gulp.

He ran his fingers over the stubble on his chin and remembered the year “Going to Catalina” was released. He and Gideon and Samantha did everything together like a modern-day Three Musketeers. He pictured parties at Gideon's impossibly large Beverly Hills mansion with its signed Andy Warhols and Jackson Pollocks and one perfect Van Gogh. Gideon hired Michael S. Smith and every room had lush white carpet and geometric sofas and crystal chandeliers.

He remembered smoking cigars in Gideon's study with its Bang and Olufsen stereo system. He pictured lying beside the pool and gazing at Samantha in her red swimsuit and vowing they were never going to grow old.

*   *   *

He heard a knock on the door and called. “Come in, I'm in the library.”

“It's dark in here,” Juliet said, entering the room.

She wore a navy knit dress and beige slingbacks. Her hair was held back with a ceramic clip and she wore a gold bangle.

“When I was at Cambridge, I'd get a touch of insomnia and sit in Magdalene College library,” Lionel mused. “Just staring at the bookshelves filled with centuries-old leather bindings was better than warm milk with brandy. I'd select the
Canterbury Tales
or
The Decameron
and curl up in a stuffed armchair. I'd inhale the faded ink and fall asleep before I turned the first page.”

He walked to the bookshelf and selected a thin volume. He ran his fingers over the spine and looked at Juliet.

“The first time I read
Tom Sawyer
, I was thirteen. It was my second year at boarding school and I was surrounded by wankers in public school ties and Bermuda shorts. I stayed up all night reading how Tom and Huck faced Injun Joe and dreamed of having a best friend I would do anything to defend.

“I attended Cambridge and my schoolmates were too busy making out with girls to do more than share a pack of cigarettes.” He stopped and smiled. “One couldn't blame them, most of them had never been within fifty feet of a female except for their nannies.

“Then we met Gideon and arrived in Los Angeles and everything changed.” He sat on a leather armchair. “Here was someone who appreciated a cashmere overcoat and a bottle of Martell Cognac. Someone I could play checkers with and argue whether Mick Jagger was a better songwriter than Keith Richards.

“‘Going to Catalina' stayed at number one on the charts and the album flew out of the stores. Samantha and I stayed in the bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel because she still desperately wanted to return to England. But she was at the top of her medieval literature class at UCLA and her legs became golden brown.

“We spent weekends driving up the coast to Santa Barbara and Big Sur. I glanced at her in the passenger seat with her oval sunglasses and silk scarf and felt like Dustin Hoffman and Katherine Ross in
The Graduate
.

“Then Gideon called me into his office and poured two shots of Stolichnaya. He handed one to me and presented me with a dilemma worse than in
Sophie's Choice
.” His eyes clouded over and he stretched his long legs in front of him. “And of course, I made the wrong decision.”

*   *   *

“I spent the afternoon at Harry Winston's on Rodeo Drive.” Lionel slipped on his sunglasses. No matter how much time he spent in Gideon's office, he couldn't get used to the blinding sun streaming through the windows.

“That's why I don't have a serious girlfriend.” Gideon took a green apple from the pewter fruit bowl. “Donovan keeps a safe full of sapphires earrings and diamond pendants. He says the best way to stay in a girlfriend's good graces is to give her a ruby ring or emerald necklace before she tells him what he did wrong.”

“Donovan is as likely to have a girlfriend as my mother is to go on
Star Search
,” Lionel replied. “He's as gay as they come. Have you seen the way he holds a teacup? He may as well have gone to finishing school in Switzerland.”

Lionel fished in his pocket and took a blue velvet box. He opened it and displayed an emerald cut diamond on a platinum band.

“I'm going to ask Samantha to marry me,” he continued. “We'll have the wedding at St. James followed by a luncheon at the Savoy. We'll hold the evening reception at Claridge's with a five-course sit-down dinner and a twelve-piece orchestra. I'm going to ask Elton John to perform ‘Candle in the Wind,' it's Samantha's favorite song.”

“You can't get married, you're America's sweetheart,” Gideon protested. “Do you think your female fans will throw their bras at you if you have a wedding ring on your finger?”

“My fans aren't old enough to have bloody training bras.” Lionel took a gold cigarette case out of his slacks. “And I don't care what they think. Samantha and I are getting married and moving back to London. We'll rent a flat on Belgravia Square with a dalmatian and a key to the garden. I'll write songs all day and she can attend university.”

“‘Going to Catalina' is still on top of the charts and you're about to release your second album,” Gideon protested. “You can't stop now, you'll become one of those
Jeopardy!
questions no one can answer.”

“I can write songs anywhere and I promised Samantha we would only be here for a year.” Lionel lit a cigarette with a pearl lighter. “The Beverly Hills Hotel is lovely but Samantha doesn't like having her underwear delivered with a satin bow and I'm going to gain weight from the chocolate truffles on the pillow.”

“Think about the legends of rock 'n' roll: Eric Clapton and Bryan Ferry and Paul McCartney. They couldn't retire to their country house after a year and still expect to be a success. You have to keep your face in front of your fans or they'll replace you with the next guy with dark curly hair who looks good in jeans and a T-shirt.”

Gideon finished the apple and tossed it in the silver garbage can.

“Go on tour with Amber for three months and then you can do whatever you like.”

“You're mad,” Lionel spluttered. “We can't go on tour. Amber doesn't sing a note.”

“Even real artists lip-sync. Do you think Madonna belts out ‘Like a Prayer' when she's been up all night drinking tequila?” Gideon shrugged. “The public loves Amber, the video is the longest playing clip on MTV and VHI. We need teenage girls in Atlanta to want to be her best friend and boys in Buffalo to paste her pinup over their beds.” He paused. “Can you picture Amber with her bronze skin and honey blond hair bringing a little California to Wisconsin? The new album will fly off the charts.”

“It's like hanging a forgery of the
Mona Lisa
at the Louvre. I can't stand onstage and watch her move her mouth.”

“The song is fantastic but you're hardly Leonardo da Vinci.” Gideon raised his eyebrow. “Music is a business. If you want to stay on Prada's preferred mailing list and keep sending Chanel No. 5 to Samantha's mother, you have to do some promotion.”

“How did you know I send Samantha's mother gifts?” Lionel asked.

“My secretary pays the bills,” Gideon replied. “You'd be on the road for three months, this is your chance to see Yellowstone National Park and the Grand Canyon.”

“I'm perfectly happy seeing the inside of The Polo Lounge,” Lionel grumbled. “Samantha will hate it, she gets carsick in a taxi.”

“She'd be bored sitting in the back of drafty concert halls, and she'd get sunstroke at outdoor stadiums.” Gideon fiddled with his platinum watch. “Why don't you sign her up for a French cooking course and get her tickets to
Swan Lake
. When you return you can propose and I'll throw you an engagement party at Château Marmont.”

Lionel poured another shot of vodka and drank it in one gulp. He felt the alcohol hit his stomach and wanted to throw up. “We've never been apart, and I promised we'd return to England.”

“She'll understand,” Gideon mused. “Sometimes you have to wait for the best things in life and when you get them, they are even sweeter.”

“Samantha doesn't like sugar,” Lionel grumbled. “She thinks it is bad for you.”

*   *   *

Lionel entered the hotel suite and gazed at the ivory sofas and pink silk curtains. He saw the plush white carpet and marble bar lined with brightly colored bottles. He inhaled the scent of lilacs and roses and still couldn't believe they were in Los Angeles.

The last year had been more enjoyable than he could have imagined. He loved having front row seats to the Lakers and a standing reservation at the Ivy. He loved walking into Fred Hayman's and the salesgirl knowing his shirt size. But mostly he loved curling up with Samantha at night and discussing music and poetry.