Island in the Sea

by Anita Hughes

  “You took Samantha out to dinner!” Georgina exclaimed. She had strawberry blond hair and hazel eyes. “It’s a pity you have a girlfriend in Cambridge.”

  “A girlfriend in Cambridge?” Lionel repeated.

  “Samantha said you had a lovely time, but you have a girlfriend.” Georgina fiddled with a porcelain teacup. “She said it was very nice of you to take her out and she’s sure you’ll remain friends.”

  “Do you have her phone number?” Lionel asked. “She gave it to me but I misplaced it.”

  “She has a private line in her room.” Georgina scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it to Lionel.

  He slipped it in his pocket and smiled. “I promised to lend her some books, she loves to read and doesn’t have a library card.”

  * * *

  Lionel ran up the steps above the garage and entered his room. He flung the books on the bed and picked up the phone.

  “Why did you tell Georgina I had a girlfriend in Cambridge?” he demanded.

  The phone was silent but finally Samantha’s voice came down the line. “I didn’t want her to ask if we were going out again. She means well but she’s too concerned about my happiness.”

  “How could you lie?” Lionel asked. “I thought nice Irish girls always told the truth.”

  “I’m sure with your dark curls and public school education you left a string of girls behind,” Samantha replied. “I have to go, I’m taking Abigail to her piano lesson.”

  “You won’t go out with me because my parents have a tennis court?”

  “I don’t have time to date, I have a full-time job and I’m studying for my entrance exams,” Samantha explained. “And I really don’t think we have anything in common.”

  Lionel clutched the phone and felt his heart race. He pictured Samantha’s smooth blond hair and blue eyes and knew he couldn’t let her hang up.

  “You have to give me a chance. We’ll have dinner in Mayfair and go dancing at Raffles. We’ll visit the National History Museum or see Swan Lake at Covent Garden,” Lionel insisted. “I’ll rent a car and we’ll drive into the country. We’ll have lunch at a pub and row a boat on the Thames.”

  “You have a lot of free time for someone who is determined to be a songwriter,” Samantha murmured.

  “You don’t know what you’ve done. I open a book and read the same chapter three times. I make a sandwich and forget the bread.” Lionel groaned. “Yesterday I walked to the newsagent in my dressing gown. And I sit at my desk and can’t write a word.”

  “I’m sure it’s just writer’s block,” Samantha soothed.

  “I was creating brilliant lyrics until you came along,” Lionel exclaimed. “Now I couldn’t write a jingle for laundry detergent.”

  “Maybe you should change professions,” Samantha suggested. “You could be a chef or an actor or a ski instructor.”

  “You think this is funny,” Lionel retorted. “I have to write, it’s the most important thing in the world. Without writing songs I have absolutely nothing.”

  “Then I’m sure it will come back to you,” Samantha replied. “Try vodka and tomato juice, it’s the cure for anything.”

  Lionel heard the phone click and slumped on the bed. He put his head in his hands and let out a low moan. He heard the phone ring and picked it up.

  “All right, I will go out with you.”

  “I have Thursday night off.” Lionel jumped up. “I’ll make dinner reservations at the Savoy and then we’ll see Cats. I have a friend who’s the stage manager, he’ll get us box seats.”

  “I’m taking Abigail and her friends to the puppet show at Regent’s Park this afternoon,” Samantha replied. “You can meet us at the side gate at one o’clock.”

  “You want me to chaperone a group of eight-year-old girls to a puppet show?” Lionel spluttered.

  “Wear something that doesn’t stain,” Samantha said. “The girls always want someone to hold their ice cream cones when they ride the carousel.”

  * * *

  Lionel wiped his brow and slipped his hands in his pockets. He gazed at the throng of boys and girls surrounding the puppet stage and thought he’d give anything for a scotch and a cigarette.

  He had spent the last three hours waiting in line for mince pies and fairy floss. He held Abigail’s doll when she rode the Ferris wheel and let himself be blindfolded for a game of pin the tail on the donkey. He barely saw Samantha because she was busy making sure the girls didn’t fall in the lake or eat too many bread rolls at lunch.

  Halfway through the afternoon, he was determined to tell her she could find another babysitter. But then he saw her tying Abigail’s shoelace and felt his heart melt. He studied her blue eyes and alabaster skin and wanted to run his finger over her mouth.

  * * *

  He leaned against an oak tree and waited for Lucy to come out of the bathroom.

  “Excuse me.” He stopped an older woman with silver hair. “Could you see if there’s a little girl inside, blond pigtails wearing a blue sailor dress?”

  The woman raised her eyebrows and Lionel flushed.

  “I’m watching her for a friend and I’m afraid she might be sick.”

  Lionel waited while the woman went inside.

  She appeared at the door. “There’s no one in there.”

  “She has to be.” Lionel’s pulse raced. “I’ve been guarding the entrance.”

  “Well you haven’t been doing a very good job,” she turned around. “I’m afraid you lost her.”

  Lionel raced through the park past the cricket field and the netball court. He searched the playground and the souvenir shop. Finally he reached the lake and noticed a paddleboat in the middle of the water. He saw a small blond girl hunched over the steering wheel.

  “Lucy!” he called. “What are you doing? Paddle back to shore.”

  “I can’t,” she called back.

  “Of course you can,” Lionel pleaded. “Put your feet on the pedals.”

  “I won’t.” Lucy shook her head. “I’m afraid of the water.”

  Lionel searched the dock for boats, but they were all out on the lake. He undid his leather belt and slipped off his Ferragamo loafers. He took a deep breath and dived into the water.

  He paddled Lucy’s boat back to shore and carried her on his shoulders to the puppet show. He set her gently on the ground and she flung herself against his legs. Samantha tried to be angry, but she saw his shirt collar sticking to his neck and his pants covered in mud and covered her face with her hands.

  * * *

  They sat in a café eating vanilla custard and blueberry scones with Devonshire cream. Lionel poured Earl Grey tea into a porcelain cup and added cream and sugar.

  “There were two entrances to the bathroom,” he explained. “Lucy went out one entrance while I was waiting at the other.”

  “You’re a hero, the girls thought you Prince Charming rescuing Rapunzel.” Samantha nibbled a cucumber sandwich.

  “Lucy should have remembered she was afraid of water before she climbed in the boat,” Lionel grumbled. “I ruined a Ralph Lauren shirt.”

  “At least you took off your loafers,” Samantha said. “Water is terrible for Italian leather.”

  Lionel bristled. “It’s not a crime to like nice shoes. If you invited me to spend the afternoon trailing after little girls with freckles and runny noses so I wouldn’t want to see you again, it didn’t work. I’d gladly jump in the river for you any day of the week.”

  “It’s a man-made lake, not a river,” Samantha corrected. “I invited you for two reasons. Even if I don’t agree with your goals, there’s nothing more important than having a dream. I didn’t want to be the person who ruined it.”

  “What’s the other reason?” Lionel asked.

  Samantha looked at Lionel and her face lit up in a smile. “You do have lovely curls and nice eyes.”

  * * *

  Lionel put his shot glass on the maple side table and stood up. “That’s enough for today, I ne
ed some lunch.”

  “Did Samantha go out with you again?” Juliet asked.

  “That’s the thing about a love story, everyone wants to know how it ends. Songwriters today think they have to talk about racial equality or the energy crisis but all people care about is how a boy meets a girl.”

  “I’m only interested in you fulfilling your contract or repaying Gideon one hundred sixty-six thousand dollars,” Juliet replied.

  “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

  JULIET 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.”

  “Even
tually 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.