Island in the Sea (10 page)

He was going to take her to the upstairs dining room at Thomas Cubbitt, but he realized they had to be somewhere completely private. Finally he took her arm and led her down Motcomb Street. He opened the door to his room and turned on the bedside lamp. He flung open the curtains and ushered her inside.

“Everyone sang in my family.” Samantha shrugged, sitting tentatively on the brown bedspread. “My sister, Daphne, has a much better voice.”

Lionel lit a cigarette and walked to the desk. He took out a piece of paper and handed it to Samantha.

“Sing this.”

“I don't know which key,” she said, wrinkling her forehead.

“Any key,” Lionel pleaded. “Just sing it.”

He turned to the window and gazed at the cherry blossom tree. He heard Samantha sing the first line and pause. She started again and suddenly her voice lifted and climbed. He stubbed out his cigarette and tried to stop his body from shaking.

He crossed the room and gathered her in his arms. He kissed her slowly, tasting salt and beer. He unfastened her hair and let it fall down her neck. He ran his hands over her breasts and groaned.

“I've wanted to do this for so long,” he murmured. “All I want is to make you happy.”

Samantha pulled away and her eyes sparkled. “How do I know you're as good in bed as you are on the piano?”

Lionel unbuttoned his shirt and ran his hands through his hair. He traced his fingers over her lips and whispered. “I'm going to show you.”

Samantha kissed him gently on the mouth. He watched her unzip her slacks and wanted to admire her smooth thighs forever. But she clasped his firmness and stroked him until he was dizzy. She took his hand and guided it under her cotton panties. He gasped and thought he had never touched anything so exquisite. He felt the sweet wetness and knew he couldn't wait any longer.

He pulled her down on the bed and nudged her legs open. He felt her fingers press into his back and thought everything he knew about himself was wrong. Nothing mattered except the warm, wet space between her thighs and watching her expression change to one of sheer joy.

*   *   *

Lionel sat at the window and turned on his desk lamp. He gazed at Samantha asleep on the bed and saw her creamy skin and luscious breasts. He saw her eyelids flicker and her mouth form a smile.

He opened the drawer and took out a wad of notes. He counted them and leaned back in his chair. He put the notes away and whispered: “Now, it's time to find a bloody recording studio.”

*   *   *

“This muffin tastes like paper.” Lionel dusted crumbs from his pajama pants. He glanced at the enamel bowl filled with peaches and ripe figs and frowned. “Sometimes all this tropical fruit gives me a stomach ache. What I'd give for a proper English breakfast: fried eggs and sausages and black pudding, with a side of toast and grilled tomatoes.”

“Did Samantha record the song?” Juliet asked. “How did Gideon discover you?”

“We have to stop for today.” Lionel put his plate on the glass coffee table. “I have an appointment with a barber in Sóller. I used to see a barber in Mayfair who lathered my cheeks with caviar and ground pearls while he cut my hair. I can see why women love going to the spa; there's nothing more luxurious than having skin like a newborn baby.”

“But it's only one
P.M.
,” Juliet protested. “We have all afternoon.”

“You were sick, you should get some fresh air and exercise.” He glanced at her yellow linen dress and white sandals. “Go swimming or play a game of tennis. Tennis is excellent for the cardiovascular system, and I've always thought female tennis players have the best legs. When I was a teenager, I had a poster of Gabriela Sabatini above my bed.”

*   *   *

Lionel stood at the window and watched Juliet disappear through the gate. He found a compact disc and inserted it in the CD player. Samantha's high, clear voice filled the living room and he caught his breath.

He pictured his room above the garage with its narrow bed and wood desk. The cherry blossoms bloomed outside the window and the coffee table was littered with paperback books. He poured a shot of bourbon and took a long gulp.

chapter nine

J
ULIET CLIMBED OUT OF
the swimming pool and wrapped herself in a fluffy white towel. She lay on the chaise longue and slipped on oval sunglasses. She glanced at the marble statues and trellises covered with roses and thought again she had never been anywhere so beautiful.

She had left the Casa Rosa and returned to her room. She scanned an e-mail from Gideon asking when he would receive Lionel's songs and felt a lump in her throat. She finally typed a note saying she was confident Lionel would fulfill his contract and pressed
SEND
. Then she changed into a red one-piece bathing suit and jumped into the pool.

Now she inhaled the scent of jasmine and hibiscus and wondered why Gideon and Lionel had had a falling out. She thought of all the photos she had seen of them together: riding in Gideon's white Bentley to the Grammys, arriving at the Montreux Jazz Festival, dining at Nobu with Chris Martin.

Juliet remembered the articles she'd read about Lionel: Lionel at his Malibu beach house, displaying his framed Julian Schnabel. Lionel in his pied-à-terre in Manhattan, sitting at his Steinway baby grand piano. Lionel standing in front of his bookshelf in his flat in Chelsea, wearing a Gieves and Hawkes suit. She remembered his quote saying his two great indulgences were a library of signed first editions and a closet of Salvatore Ferragamo loafers.

She pictured Lionel in his rumpled silk pajamas and John Lobb suede slippers. She saw his hair uncombed and his chin covered with stubble. She saw the filled ashtrays and empty shot glasses and brightly colored candy wrappers. She remembered the sudden pain in his eyes when he told his story and shivered.

*   *   *

“You have the right idea,” a male voice said. “I spent the day getting heatstroke on the tennis court. My coach is Swedish and doesn't believe in siestas. But he sits on the sidelines with a straw hat and a pitcher of lemonade.”

Juliet looked up and saw Henry's blond hair and thick chest. He wore a blue T-shirt and white shorts. He carried his tennis racquet in one hand and a water bottle in the other.

“You have the pool to yourself, I was just drying off.” Juliet blushed, instinctively wrapping herself in the towel. “I have to go upstairs and catch up on my e-mails.”

“A friend of mine owns a restaurant in Palma,” Henry said. “It just was awarded a Michelin star, I wondered if you'd join me for dinner.”

“I'd love to but I'm meeting a friend and her boyfriend.” Juliet hesitated. “She canceled last night because she had to work.”

“Perhaps they could join us,” Henry suggested. “He makes a delicious tuna tartar and his passion fruit sorbet is famous.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Her face lit up in a smile. “I'd love to.”

*   *   *

Juliet stood in front of her closet and selected a turquoise chiffon dress. She fastened diamond earrings in her ears and spritzed her wrists with Estée Lauder Lovely.

She glanced at the ceramic fruit bowl on the coffee table and realized she was starving. She hadn't eaten all day except for Lionel's blueberry muffins. She pictured him carrying a tray of orange juice and warm muffins and pots of butter. She wondered what he'd say when she told him she had a date and giggled. Then she grabbed her purse and ran down the wood staircase.

*   *   *

They drove in Henry's yellow Fiat through the tunnel to Palma. Gabriella and Hugo sat in the back, chatting about his uncle's hotel and Casa Isabella. Juliet gripped the dashboard and felt like she was on Space Mountain. When the car emerged into the Plaza Maya she gazed up at La Seu Cathedral and finally exhaled.

Henry parked under an olive tree and they strolled along the Paseo del Borne. Juliet gazed at the wide promenade with its outdoor cafés and stone fountains and thought she was in Paris. She browsed in the windows of Céline and Gucci and felt light and young and happy.

They turned into a narrow cobblestoned street lined with art galleries and florists. She felt Henry's arm brush her elbow and a tingle ran down her spine. She watched Hugo slip his arm around Gabriella's waist and felt like she had joined some secret club.

“My grandmother brought me to Paseo del Borne every Saturday,” Gabriella said. She wore a red dress and white sandals. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders and she wore red lipstick. “She spent all morning trying on clothes at Chanel and Dior. She said even though she lived on an island she adored fashion. Afterward we had tea at the Hotel Can Alomar. I ate persimmon and yogurt and thought I was the luckiest girl in the world.”

They stopped in front of a restaurant with a striped awning and tinted windows. Henry opened the door and Juliet saw paneled walls and a beamed ceiling.

“Patrick opened the restaurant two years ago. We played on the tennis circuit together,” Henry explained. “I lost my luggage at Heathrow Airport and he leant me his lucky shirt. I won my matches 6-0, 6-1, 6-0 and qualified for the semifinals at Wimbledon.”

*   *   *

They ate cold pumpkin soup and talked about music and food and tennis. Juliet tasted baby yams and thought it was lovely not having to worry about Lionel's contract or about convincing Gabriella to record a song. It was wonderful to feel the flush of wine and inhale the scent of citrus and olives.

“When I was young all I needed was tennis,” Henry mused. “The rush of being on the court was like riding a magic carpet. But I'd go back to my hotel room and watch movies in German and Italian and realize I'd give anything to have someone to talk to.”

“I remember the first time I met Gabriella.” Hugo tore apart a baguette. “I walked up the steps of Casa Isabella and saw a young woman standing in the foyer. She had dark hair and green eyes and a smile that lit up the room.” He touched Gabriella's palm. “I know her grandmother thinks I should hurry and propose. But marriage is serious and I want the resources to make her happy. I want every day to be filled with good food and laughter and the feeling we are building something together.”

My parents have been married for thirty-one years.” Juliet nibbled scallops and avocado cream. “My father is a linguistics professor and my mother writes a column for
The New Yorker
. They met at a reading at her apartment. He saw her long brown hair and green eyes across the room and knew he was going to marry her before he introduced himself.”

“That's the great thing about love.” Henry studied her diamond earrings. “You never know when you'll find it, but when you do you feel like you've waited all your life for that moment.”

*   *   *

They paid the check and walked onto the street. The sky was dark velvet and stars twinkled like a thousand fireflies. Juliet gazed at stone buildings covered in ivy and window boxes filled with tulips and wanted to keep walking.

They entered Paseo del Boneo and saw lights strung over the plaza. A band played and couples danced on the cobblestones. Juliet heard people clapping and saw children playing hopscotch.

“What's going on?” Juliet asked.

“Every Friday night Palma has a street party,” said Gabriella, taking Hugo's hand. “Come, let's dance.”

“I'm not allowed to dance during training.” Henry stood on the pavement. “My coach is afraid I'll injure my back.”

Juliet watched Hugo put his hands on Gabriella's waist and spin her around the fountain. Gabriella and Hugo moved in perfect rhythm, as if they had danced together forever. She inhaled the scent of cigarettes and sweat and thought it must be wonderful to know someone so well you moved like one person.

She remembered Lionel describing his first proper date with Samantha. She remembered him saying he was so excited he couldn't decide between buying flowers or chocolate. She inhaled Henry's musk aftershave and felt something well up deep inside her.

*   *   *

Juliet entered the Hotel Salvia and took a deep breath. It was almost midnight and the living room was empty. She saw flickering candles and a mahogany sideboard set with a silver coffeepot and porcelain cups and a pitcher of cream.

“I had a lovely time.” She turned to Henry. “I'm going upstairs to bed.”

“You're going to think I'm old-fashioned.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I wondered if I could kiss you good night.”

“Here?” Juliet raised her eyebrow.

“The concierge has gone to bed and even the maids have gone home.” He leaned forward and touched her hair. “I'd ask to see you to your room but I don't trust myself to leave you at the door.”

Juliet glanced at the French doors and marble fireplace and brocade sofas. She studied Henry's brown eyes and wide shoulders. She nodded and moved closer.

“I'd like that.”

*   *   *

Juliet entered her room and slipped off her sandals. She tossed her purse on the glass end table and walked to the balcony. It had been delicious to feel Henry's mouth on her lips and his hands in his hair. She had wanted him to follow her up the narrow staircase, but deep down she knew it was best to wait.

She walked inside and unzipped her dress. She slipped on a cotton robe and climbed onto the four-poster bed. She leaned against the down pillows and fell asleep, a smile playing on her lips.

chapter ten

T
HE SUN GLEAMED ON THE
tile counter and Lionel stirred a bowl of porridge. He added sliced banana and nutmeg. He found a spoon and carried it to the round table.

He had stayed awake all night playing old CDs. He paced around the Oriental rug listening to Samantha's voice fill the living room. He pressed stop after each song, promising himself he'd go to bed, and then played another.