Island in the Sea (7 page)

“You do know how to ruin a perfectly fine afternoon.” Lionel flinched. “I'm going to make a Spanish omelet, would you like to join me?”

“I had a late breakfast.” Juliet shook her head.

“I use my mother's recipe; she put milk in the frying pan.” Lionel walked to the kitchen. “It makes the eggs fluffy.”

“It sounds delicious.” Juliet followed him down the hallway. “But I have to write a report.”

“If I'm here alone I'll finish the whole omelet myself.” He opened the fridge and took out a tomato and a wedge of feta cheese and a green onion. “Gideon won't be happy if I have a heart attack from eating too much cholesterol.”

Juliet sat on a leather stool and let her shoulders relax. “I'll stay, but you have to go upstairs and change. I'm not eating lunch with someone wearing pajamas.”

*   *   *

Lionel placed ceramic plates in the sink and turned on the faucet. He draped a dishtowel over his shoulder and pictured Juliet's yellow knit dress and white sandals.

Lionel had set the table with a white linen tablecloth and crystal water glasses. He served omelets and scones with strawberry jam. They drank fresh squeezed orange juice and talked about the British music scene in the 1990s.

He told her about sharing the stage with Eric Clapton and drinking Manhattans with Robbie Williams. They talked about hip-hop and the Latin invasion and the never-ending new boy bands. Finally Juliet thanked him for a delicious lunch and said she had to run some errands.

*   *   *

Lionel tossed the dishtowel on the tile counter and walked onto the balcony. He could go down to the newsagent and buy a pack of cigarettes. But he'd have to listen to Manuel complain his shop wasn't a library and he couldn't buy everything on credit.

He could open a bottle of Château Petrus Merlot and lie on a chaise longue by the swimming pool. But the sun was too bright and his head still ached from half a bottle of bourbon.

He entered the living room and glanced at the floral sofas and marble fireplace. He saw the oak floors and baby grand piano standing by the window.

He walked to the piano and sat on the bench. The lid was open and he ran his fingers over the keys. He put his head in his hands and wept.

chapter five

J
ULIET STROLLED ALONG THE PROMENADE
of Puerto de Sóller and gazed at the cafés filled with men wearing navy blazers and women in pastel chiffon dresses. She saw waiters carrying platters of fresh scallops and warm baguettes. She inhaled the scent of tomato and garlic and remembered eating lunch in Lionel's garden.

It had been lovely to sit under the trellis and eat fluffy eggs and scones. It had been fun to hear about Elton John's costume ball at his castle in Windsor.

The moment she left Casa Rosa her shoulders tensed. Lionel wasn't any closer to writing new songs and she had nothing to show Gideon. She hurried to her hotel room and changed into a linen dress and leather sling backs. She slipped the pile of books into her Coach bag and took the tram to Puerto de Sóller.

*   *   *

She opened the gate of Casa Isabella and climbed the stone steps. She lingered in the garden, inhaling the scent of hibiscus and roses. It was almost 9
P.M.
and she heard a violin playing and glasses clinking and people laughing. She peered in the window and saw tables set with wide white plates and gleaming silverware.

“Juliet.” Gabriella appeared on the porch. She wore a green dress and beige pumps. Her hair was wound into a bun and secured with a ceramic chopstick. “I'm afraid it's too late for dinner. Our last seating was an hour ago.”

“I brought a present for Lydia.” Juliet reached into her bag. “To thank her for lunch.”

“How wonderful.” Gabriella examined the books. “She loved meeting you. She said Americans have so much energy, they make her feel lazy.”

“I want to talk to you about something,” Juliet said. “Maybe we could have a cup of coffee after the restaurant closes.”

“I would love to but the dishwasher went home early so I have to clean up,” Gabriella replied. “My father doesn't believe in automatic dishwashers, he thinks they scratch the china and smudge the wineglasses.”

“I spent two years at summer camp in the Catskills making beds and washing dishes.” Juliet grinned. “I'll stay and help you.”

“I'll get you a glass of rosé and a bowl of tiramisu while you wait.” Gabriella ushered her into the dining room.

*   *   *

Juliet sipped a smooth red wine and gazed at the high plaster ceilings and polished wood floors. She saw the turquoise silk drapes and mosaic bar and thought she'd never been anywhere so lovely. She watched Gabriella collect dessert menus and wondered how she was going to convince her. Then she remembered her high clear voice and shivered.

*   *   *

“There's always one guest who wants to stay and tell you how much he loved the quail with figs and caramelized onions,” Gabriella said, handing Juliet an apron.

The last diners finally left and Gabriella dimmed the lights in the dining room. She poured two cups of coffee from a silver urn and added cream and sugar. Now they stood in the stone kitchen, loading dishes into the sink.

“I want to say that my feet ache and all I want to do is go upstairs and take a bath. But I can't leave until they finish telling me my father is a brilliant chef and they haven't eaten such tender duck breast since Tour d'Argent in Paris.”

“You're wonderful with people.” Juliet picked up a dishtowel. “You make it look so easy.”

“My mother and I take turns overseeing the dining room. It's like hosting an elegant dinner party,” Gabriella mused. “You want people to remember the soft music and flickering candles and sparkling champagne. And you want them to long for another bite of poached salmon and confited artichoke.”

“Have you ever thought about doing anything else?” Juliet asked.

“Hugo would love to open our own café in Deia,” Gabriella replied. “A space with wood floors and whitewashed walls and huge glass windows. But we have to wait, it's expensive to start a new restaurant.”

“I know a way you could make enough money to buy almost any restaurant in Majorca,” Juliet said, as she folded her dishtowel. “You could outfit the kitchen with stainless steel appliances and stock the wine cellar with wines from France and Italy. You could serve foie gras and oysters and caviar.”

“We don't deal drugs and I don't play the lottery.” Gabriella frowned.

“I've heard Mariah Carey sing at Madison Square Garden and Coldplay perform at Wembley Stadium. I stood backstage at the Hollywood Bowl and listened to the crowd cheer for Taylor Swift, but I never felt my heart race like when I heard you singing in the kitchen.”

“Anyone can sing when your hands are immersed in bubbles and you think no one is listening.” Gabriella laughed.

“We could make a tape and send it to Gideon,” Juliet continued. “He'd fly you to Los Angeles and give you a car and an apartment in Santa Monica. I guarantee your first single will be number one on
Billboard
and iTunes.”

Gabriella rinsed the plates and piled them on the tile counter.

“I'm flattered, but I could never leave my family. In America young people go to university or get a new job and end up living on the opposite coast. In Majorca the same priest baptizes you and marries you and his son presides over your funeral.”

“You wouldn't have to be in Los Angeles forever,” Juliet urged. “You could return to Majorca and you and Hugo could do whatever you want.”

“Eventually my brothers will take over Casa Isabella and Hugo and I will open our own restaurant.” Gabriella sunk her hands into the hot water. “We'll work so late we'll fall into bed with our clothes on, but when people start clamoring for a reservation and say they've never tasted such fragrant Majorcan vegetables, we'll know we did it ourselves.”

Juliet heard footsteps and saw a young man standing in the doorway. He looked like a movie star with dark curly hair and blue eyes and a cleft on his chin. He wore jeans and a denim jacket and sneakers.

“Hugo!” Gabriella called. “This is my American friend Juliet. She offered to help me clean up.”

“You'll have to forgive us.” Hugo kissed Gabriella on the cheek. “We don't usually ask guests to do the dishes.”

“I love this kitchen, it reminds me of summer houses in the Hamptons.” Juliet smiled. “I attended a party at Billy Joel's estate and his kitchen was as big as my apartment.”

“Juliet works for a record label,” Gabriella explained. “She knows lots of famous people.”

Juliet opened her mouth to say something but she saw Gabriella's eyes sparkle and her cheeks glow. Hugo whispered in Gabriella's ear and Gabriella flushed. She took off her apron and smoothed her skirt.

“Hugo insists we sample a new tapas bar,” Gabriella said. “Would you like to join us?”

“I'm going home.” Juliet shook her head. “A warm bath and a glass of sangria suddenly sound delicious.”

*   *   *

Juliet stepped out of the porcelain bathtub and slipped on a soft cotton robe. She stood on the balcony and inhaled the crisp night air. It was almost midnight and lights twinkled on the plaza. She heard music and people laughing.

She pictured Hugo whispering in Gabriella's ear and Gabriella's cheeks turn pink. She saw Gabriella fix Hugo's collar and kiss him on the mouth. They seemed so in love, like a couple on top of a wedding cake.

She thought about Lionel's story and wondered if he saw Samantha again. How dare he ask if she ever wanted anything so badly, she couldn't eat or sleep?

She walked inside and climbed onto the four-poster bed. The comforter covered her shoulders and the cotton sheets felt smooth against her skin. She closed her eyes and let the tears spill down her cheeks.

chapter six

L
IONEL STOOD AT THE KITCHEN
counter and sprinkled sugar on fruit salad. He poured muesli into a ceramic bowl and added sliced bananas. He stirred cream into black coffee and sat at the oak kitchen table.

He had woken early and padded down the wood staircase. He collected magazines and newspapers and stuffed them in the garbage. He emptied ashtrays and dusted the glass coffee table. Then he polished the crystal vase and replaced wilted daisies with yellow sunflowers.

Now he ate a large spoonful of muesli and wondered what to do with all his energy. He could go for a swim but he had already shaved and showered. He rubbed his cheeks and felt the sheen of sandalwood shaving cream. He glanced at his reflection in the fridge and admired his patterned Robert Graham shirt.

Finally he picked up his coffee cup and entered the living room. He searched the Regency desk and found a notepad and pencil. He sat on the striped love seat and stretched his long legs in front of him. He opened the first page and began to scribble.

*   *   *

“Your new maid is wonderful.” Juliet had appeared at the door. She wore an orange blouse and beige capris and silver sandals. Her brown hair was tucked behind her ears and she wore silver earrings. “This room looks like a spread in
Architectural Digest
.”

“Most people knock before they enter someone's house.” Lionel started, stuffing the notepad beneath the cushions. “I fired the last maid, she scented my shirts with cologne. I smelled like the Armani counter at Harrods. I woke up early and cleaned the villa myself; manual labor can be therapeutic.”

“I can't imagine you lifting more than a shot glass.” Juliet smiled, sitting on the floral sofa.

“When I worked at Claridge's, I spent hours polishing shoes and stacking luggage. By the time I finished my shift I had written whole songs in my head.” Lionel glanced at Juliet and noticed her cheeks were pale and she had circles under her eyes.

“You look a little bedraggled,” he mused, pulling a gold cigarette case out of his slacks. “Let me guess, your room is next to the honeymoon suite and the walls are so thin the couple kept you awake. I told you Gideon is cheap. He'd take me to dinner at the Connaught and order lobster and truffles and Rémy Martin cognac. Then he'd examine the bill and quibble over an extra scoop of ice cream.”

“My hotel is lovely,” Juliet said, flushing. “I'm probably still jet-lagged, I tossed and turned all night.”

“You should go dancing at Barracuda's in Palma. There's no better sleeping pill than a double martini and an hour on a sweaty dance floor. You'll stumble to your hotel room and fall asleep in your stilettos.”

“I don't have time to dance. I have to think about my job,” Juliet insisted.

“That's where you're wrong. Being in love is like drinking absinthe, your mind clears and you think you can achieve anything. I remember my first proper date with Samantha, I felt like Clark Kent becoming Superman.” He lit the cigarette with a pearl lighter and blew a thin trail of smoke. “God, she was beautiful. All blond hair and creamy skin, like a figure in a Raphael painting.”

Lionel climbed the steps of the white Georgian manor and rang the doorbell. He wore a navy polo shirt and pleated slacks. He juggled a paper bag in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

He had spent an hour in Harrods's food hall, selecting Godiva chocolates and a bunch of calla lilies. But he remembered Samantha's remarks about his public school education and pictured her giving the flowers to Georgina. Finally he went home and picked peonies from Penelope's garden. Then he searched the pantry and found homemade butterscotch biscuits.

“These are for you,” he said, when she opened the door. “I wasn't sure what you liked, so I covered all bases.”

Samantha wore a green minidress and white leather sandals. Her hair was scooped into a ponytail and tied with a green ribbon. Her eyelashes were coated with mascara and she wore pink lip-gloss.