Island in the Sea (11 page)

He took a small bite and knew he should have thrown the CDs out long ago. But they were like an old teddy bear or a favorite pair of slippers; just knowing they were at the bottom of his drawers made him happy.

He heard a knock on the door and walked to the entry.

“The bloody gardeners woke me hours ago,” he grumbled. “I never understood gardening. Why do grown men spend half the day mowing the lawn and clipping the bushes when they have to come back and do it tomorrow? Kipling had the right idea, we should all live in a jungle.”

“It smells wonderful in here.” Juliet entered the kitchen.

“My mother used to make porridge when I was sick.” He filled a bowl and handed it to Juliet. “Something about holding the warm bowl always made me feel better.”

“No thank you.” She shook her head. “I'm not hungry.”

“You have circles under your eyes.” He frowned. “I hope you didn't have a relapse.”

“I had a date,” Juliet replied. “I didn't get home until midnight.”

“I knew you'd find a young Spaniard to seduce you,” Lionel exclaimed. “Does he have dark curly hair and flashing eyes and play guitar?”

“He's not Spanish and I wasn't seduced. We had a lovely dinner in Palma.” She blushed. “After dinner we discovered a street party. There was wonderful music and everyone danced.”

“Let me guess, you listened to the throbbing music and thought you never wanted to be anywhere else.” He put his spoon in the bowl. “This morning you got up and hummed the same song in the shower. By the time you dried off you realized you were in love.

“Do you know why people can tell you the name of the song they listened to when they fell in love?” he continued. “Because music is more seductive than girlie magazines and X-rated movies.

“Girls hear a song on a jukebox and think they're in love with the boy with a bad haircut sitting opposite them. They get married and play ‘their song' at the reception. It's not until their first anniversary when the guy can't get up to turn off the telly and the garbage never gets taken out she realizes she was never in love, she just got swept away by George Michael crooning ‘Careless Whisper.'”

“I'm not in love, I just enjoyed his company.” Juliet blushed. “And how can you say that about music? You wrote the greatest love songs of the last two decades.”

“They started off as mine but they got shaped and molded like a department store mannequin.” Lionel sighed.

“I met Gideon in the dining room of Claridge's. He was one of the hottest young record producers in London and every day he came in and ordered a Cobb salad and a gin and tonic.” He sat down and stretched his long legs in front of him. I slipped him Samantha's CD with the keys to his Jaguar. A few days later he called and told me to buy a Patek Philippe watch. I didn't realize when I finally heard our song on the radio that my mother wouldn't recognize it. But Gideon was right, of course; he knew exactly what made money.”

*   *   *

Lionel stood in front of the mirror and gazed at his Henry Poole white dinner jacket. He knew he should have waited until he received his advance check but he couldn't resist entering the shop on Saville Row with the plaque reading
ESTABLISHED
1860 above the door. He stood while the tailor took his measurements and felt like a prizefighter waiting to go in the ring. Now he studied the satin lapel and thought it was the most beautiful piece of clothing he owned.

He smoothed his hair and wished he had convinced Samantha to buy a dress from Givenchy or Dior. But she gave him a cool stare and said she wasn't going to spend an advance they haven't received, and when she did, she would buy a study guide for her entrance exams and send the rest to her parents in Cleggan.

Lionel shrugged and bit his tongue. He knew she was picturing his parents eating eggs Benedict on Royal Doulton china. They didn't need Lionel's checks and he already abandoned his university education. He pictured Samantha's blue eyes and small pink mouth and thought of the little things she did that drove him crazy but made him want her even more.

*   *   *

“I don't understand why we have to meet Gideon for dinner.” Samantha strode along Bond Street. “We spent all last week with him in the recording studio.”

“He has something to tell us, he probably got maximum rotation on Capital FM.” He pulled her close and kissed her on the lips. “Is it so difficult to sit in the dining room of the Connaught and eat Cornish hens and blueberry tart?”

“You're making a scene.” Samantha giggled.

“I want to shout from the rooftops.” Lionel ran his hand over her breasts. “I'm in love with the most beautiful girl in the world.”

Samantha pushed his hand away and smoothed her skirt. “Let's get to dinner without being arrested.”

*   *   *

They entered the dining room of the Connaught and Lionel saw marble pillars and thick velvet wallpaper. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling and silk tablecloths were set with gold inlaid china.

“Here are my two favorite people in the music business.” Gideon stood up. “I ordered plum foie gras and a bottle of Pouilly-Fuissé Chardonnay.”

Lionel studied Gideon's Dolce and Gabana suit and Prada shoes. He was only twenty-six and had already produced four gold records. He never mentioned his past and Lionel sometimes imagined him emerging from the womb in a Zegna suit and Gucci loafers.

“Samantha, you look ravishing.” Gideon admired her ivory crepe dress. “When are you going to convince this boy he's not Mick Jagger and needs a haircut?”

“Yesterday he gave me a list of places where we need to be seen.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her purse. “Annabel's and The Groucho and The Arts Club.”

“We don't want people to know our songs but not remember our faces,” Lionel protested.

Gideon ate rabbit and mustard cauliflower. “You better add the Viper Room and Château Marmont to that list.”

“It would be great to break into America.” Lionel nibbled grilled Dover sole. “But we're not even on the radio in England.”

“Actually, I've been asked to run the Los Angeles office,” Gideon explained. “You should see the size of the palm trees, it's like landing on Lilliput.”

“You can't go to California,” Lionel implored. “We signed a contract.”

“I'm taking you both with me.” Gideon waved his hand. “We'll rent you a bungalow in the Hollywood Hills and a Cadillac convertible. We'll even throw in driving lessons so you learn to drive on the right side of the road and don't steer straight into the Pacific.

“We'll have to change the lyrics, Americans don't want to listen to a song about dreary British weather.” Gideon rubbed his wineglass. “It will be about a girl who goes to Hollywood to become a star. She hooks up with a guy who makes soft porn and runs back to her boyfriend on Catalina Island. But he sailed away with a Greek heiress on her thirty-foot yacht.”

“But the song is about a young woman who goes to London to become a nanny,” Lionel spluttered. “She misses her family so she returns to her Irish fishing village. When she arrives she discovers her old boyfriend. He went to Argentina to make his fortune but realized he couldn't live without her.”

“I've been meaning to talk to you about that. It can't have a happy ending, you're not writing a Disney sound track. And it needs a catchy title, something Americans will love.” He tapped his gold Rolex. “We'll call it ‘Going to Catalina.'”

“I can't go to California,” Samantha interrupted. “I'm still working for Georgina and applying to university. I shouldn't have taken time off to record the song; I missed Abigail's gymkhana.”

She had been so quiet; Lionel forgot she was there. Now he gazed across the silk tablecloth and saw her cheeks were pale and her eyes flickered.

“With your voice and Lionel's lyrics, you can buy as many degrees as you like,” Gideon replied. “You'll invite Abigail to Los Angeles and take her to Disneyland and Universal Studios. Send her home with Mickey Mouse ears and a signed autograph of Harrison Ford.”

“I'm afraid we have to break the contract,” Samantha insisted. “My family is in Ireland, I can't move six thousand miles away.”

“I'm sure Gideon only means for a year or so,” Lionel said quickly. “You can still apply to university and start next fall.”

Gideon nodded, sipping his wine. “You'll record an album and do a nationwide tour and some television spots. After that I don't mind if you live in Biarritz or Monaco.”

“You see, it will work out perfectly.” Lionel picked up the dessert menu and turned to Samantha. “They serve your favorite spiced apple trifle, let's have a piece to celebrate.”

*   *   *

“How dare you tell Gideon we're moving to Los Angeles?” Samantha demanded.

They had walked back to Belgravia without saying a word. Now Samantha paced around Lionel's room, clicking her heels on the white wool rug.

“You might enjoy it. The sun actually shines in the summer and you can cross the street without getting run over.” Lionel hung up his dinner jacket. “We have to do it, it's our dream. And it's even better than I imagined, we'll be like the Rolling Stones after they appeared on Ed Sullivan. We won't be the biggest singing duo in England, we'll be the biggest in the world.”

“It's your dream,” Samantha replied. “Releasing the song might give me enough money to apply to the University of London or even Oxford, but my dream hasn't changed. I want to be a teacher.”

Lionel gazed at her glossy blond hair and high cheekbones and thought she never looked more beautiful.

“I thought…”

“You thought what? That I would stand behind you as if we were a modern-day Robert Louis Stevenson and Fanny Osbourne?” Samantha walked to the door. “It's late, I'm going home.”

Lionel stood at the window and watched her cross the driveway. He poured a glass of bourbon and drank it one gulp. He sat on the narrow bed and put his head in his hands. “I thought we were in love.”

*   *   *

Lionel climbed the steps of the Georgian Manor and rang the doorbell.

“What are you doing here?” Samantha opened the door. She wore a white cotton robe and yellow slippers. “It's one o'clock in the morning.”

“I need to speak to you,” Lionel insisted.

“Not now, you'll wake the whole house.”

“Then let me in or come outside,” he pleaded. “This can't wait until morning.”

Samantha hesitated and opened the door. She led him up the circular staircase and down a marble hallway. She entered a room with high ceilings and floral wallpaper. It had thick white carpet and a canopied bed.

Lionel gazed at her dress tossed on the quilted bedspread and her silver brush on the dressing table and felt his heart pound. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her on the mouth.

“Georgina treats you well.” He gazed at the Degas on the wall and the crystal vase of tulips on the bedside table. “I have a bloody room above the garage with a hot plate and a space heater.”

“She wants me to feel like part of the family,” Samantha explained.

“I want to apologize, I was wrong,” Lionel began. “I should never have spoken for both of us, and I shouldn't have agreed to move to Los Angeles. There's nothing more important than you, we'll find another record producer.” He looked at Samantha. “We found Gideon, it can't be so hard to find someone else.”

“You've been working toward this for months.” She hesitated. “It's the most important thing in the world.”

“I'll write Gideon a letter saying the deal is off.” He sat at the maple desk. “We'll send the CD out again tomorrow.”

He grabbed a pen and a notepad. He was about to tear off the top page when he saw Samantha's handwriting. He scanned the letter and turned to Samantha.

“What's this?” He waved it in the air.

“It's my letter of resignation to Georgina, I'm moving to California,” she said slowly. “Oxford University has survived for five hundred years, it will be here when we return.”

Lionel tossed the notepad on the desk and gathered her in his arms. He fumbled with her belt and slid his hands beneath her robe. He brushed her nipple and felt the rush of desire.

He unzipped his slacks and dropped them on the floor. He slipped the robe over her shoulders and studied her creamy skin. He took her hand and drew her onto the bed.

“I love you.” Samantha looked up at him. “I know we're going to have a wonderful life.”

She opened her thighs and pulled him close. She guided him inside her until he didn't know where he ended and she began. She kissed him on the mouth and he felt like Odysseus or Zeus. She wrapped her arms around his back and urged him to go faster. Her hands stroked his buttocks until they both tipped over the edge. He came with a brutal force and collapsed between her breasts.

“Are you really going to let Gideon change the lyrics?” Samantha asked, tucking herself against his chest.

Lionel pulled her closer and murmured. “As long as I have you, Gideon can do what he wants.”

“I hope you don't mind, but I have to go.” Juliet glanced at the ceramic clock above the fridge. “You can spend the afternoon writing songs. I promised Gideon I'd call him tomorrow with an update. It's easy writing e-mails saying you're making progress, but I can't lie over the phone.”

“It's only three o'clock,” Lionel protested. “I thought we'd have a plate of tapas and a pitcher of sangria in the garden.”

“Henry and I are going ballooning.” Juliet smoothed her hair behind her ears. “The views are spectacular, you can see clear across to Algiers. But we have to start before the wind dies.”

“How I miss the first bud of a romance, when you're sure you are going to spend the rest of your life rappelling on the Amalfi coast or motoring through Provence. Then you realize hanging off a cliff is bad for your knees and the butter they use in French restaurants will give you heart disease.” Lionel put his bowl in the sink. “One day you suggest ordering Chinese and watch
Notting Hill
on Netflix, and he discovers a six-pack of Marstons pale ale in the fridge and a packet of crisps in the pantry.”