Island in the Sea

by Anita Hughes

  “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.”

  “If you tell me what happened after you arrived in Los Angeles and why you are so furious at Gideon, I might be persuaded to stay,” Juliet said.

  “That can wait. I don’t want to put a crimp on young love.” Lionel shook his head. “Though I can’t understand why anyone wants to launch himself into the air in a woven basket tethered by something that belongs at a child’s birthday party.” He paused. “Make sure he brings a picnic, none of those prepackaged sandwiches that cost twenty euros. Have the hotel prepare cold veal cutlets and strawberry cheesecake.”

  “I’m allergic to strawberries,” Juliet replied.

  Lionel walked to the entry. “You should have thought of that before you accepted the invitation.”

  * * *

  After Juliet left, Lionel piled Majorcan ham and cheese on an olive baguette and lay on a chaise longue in the garden. He sipped strawberry lemonade and opened his worn copy of Spenser’s The Faerie Queen. But the sun was too bright and the sprinklers hissed and he couldn’t concentrate.

  He put the sandwich in the fridge and entered the library. He poured a glass of scotch and walked to the bookshelf. He selected a copy of Jules Verne’s Around the World in 180 Days and began to read.

  chapter eleven

  JULIET SLIPPED ON A FLORAL dress and added a wide leather belt. She smoothed her hair behind her ears and fastened it with a ceramic clip. She grabbed her red Coach purse and hurried down the wood staircase.

  She was meeting Henry in the lobby and they were driving to Valldemossa. They were going to visit the monastery where George Sand and Chopin spent a winter, and eat lamb ravioli and Majorcan spinach at Ca’n Mario.

  Juliet pictured Henry’s wavy blond hair and wide shoulders and felt a jolt of anticipation. Ballooning had been one of the most exciting things she had ever done. She looked down and saw stone gorges and green inlets filled with wooden fishing boats. She gazed at the deep valleys and shimmering ocean and thought she had never felt so free.

  Lionel called and said he had to go to Palma so she had the whole weekend to herself. Henry picked her up in the yellow Fiat, and they drove to the Mercat d’Oliver in Palma. They strolled through the stalls, sampling jams and sausages and local cheeses. They filled a shopping bag with ripe pears and figs and bunches of sunflowers.

  Juliet listened to Henry talk about competing in Tokyo and Shanghai and Amsterdam. She told him about seeing U2 perform at the Arc de Triomphe and John Legend ring in the New Year in Miami. She gazed at his thick chest and felt a shiver run down her spine.

  * * *

  “Miss Lyman,” the concierge called. “It’s lovely to see you, I hope you are enjoying the mild weather.”

  “It�
��s a gorgeous day.” Juliet nodded. “We’re going to Valldemossa to explore the monastery.”

  “You must visit the birthplace of Santa Catalina, she is Majorca’s patron saint,” the concierge said, as he handed her a piece of paper. “You had a phone call; she asked that you call her back.”

  “A phone call?” Juliet studied the unfamiliar number.

  “You can borrow the house phone,” the concierge replied. “If I may say, you look very well. Majorca agrees with you.”

  * * *

  Juliet dialed the number and waited for it to answer.

  “Juliet? This is Lydia, Gabriella’s grandmother.” A female voice came over the line. “I wanted to thank you for the books, I read them in one day. I don’t know why people say Hemingway is a man’s writer; there is nothing sexier than crisp prose. And the Danielle Steel novel was delightful, like soaking in a warm bubble bath.”

  “It’s my pleasure,” Juliet replied. “I wanted to thank you for lunch.”

  “That’s why I’m calling,” Lydia continued. “I made a vegetable casserole with aubergine and roasted potatoes and wanted to know if you’d come to dinner.”

  “Gabriella is working tonight,” Juliet replied. “She doesn’t have a day off until Monday.”

  “I didn’t ask Gabriella,” Lydia said. “There’s something I want to talk about.”

  “I’m spending the afternoon in Valldemossa.” Juliet hesitated. “But I’ll be with a male friend.”

  “That’s even better, you have to bring him,” Lydia exclaimed. “I always make too much food.”

  * * *

  “Juliet!” Lydia opened the door. She wore a patterned dress and gold sandals. Her silvery hair was pulled into a soft chignon and she wore small ruby earrings.

  “Henry is parking the car.” Juliet entered the tile foyer. “Something smells delicious, like butter and spices.”

  “You look wonderful, you are brown as a native.” Lydia ushered her into the living room. “I hope you don’t think I’m silly dressing up, but I don’t have many dinner guests. And if I go into the village for tapas wearing Lanvin, the shopkeepers think I’m going senile.”

  “That’s a beautiful dress,” Juliet replied. “And your earrings are gorgeous.”

  “I do love pretty things; when I was a girl I had a collection of dolls in satin ball gowns.” Lydia poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Juliet. “How was Valldemossa? I used to think it was so romantic that George Sand and Chopin spent a winter in the monastery. But he almost died from tuberculosis and she couldn’t stand the weather. You’re lucky you are here in the summer, our winters aren’t so welcoming.”

  “The views are spectacular and the monastery has been left exactly the same.” Juliet sat on a red sofa. “It’s like being in another century.”

  “And your male friend?” Lydia asked. “Is he American?”

  “He’s a tennis player from New Zealand.” Juliet’s cheeks flushed. “His name is Henry Adler.”

  “I love tennis players!” Lydia placed a platter of mushroom empanadas on the coffee table. “Years ago Arthur Ashe held a clinic here. He was so handsome with his coffee-colored skin and dark hair. Nothing happened, of course, but we spent a few lovely evenings making potato cakes.”

  There was a knock at the door and Lydia rose to answer it. Henry entered carrying a box of chocolate truffles and a bunch of purple lilacs.

  “We were going to bring you some wine,” he said, as he handed the chocolates and flowers to Lydia. “But Juliet told me you make your own.”

  “It’s not good enough to be served at a Michelin star restaurant but I’m quite proud of it.” She popped a hazelnut truffle in her mouth. “There’s nothing more satisfying than spending the day stomping grapes.”

  * * *

  They sat at a round table in the garden and ate asparagus soup and vegetable casserole with mascarpone cheese. Lydia filled their glasses with a smooth pinot noir, and they talked about Sóller’s art galleries and outdoor markets. Juliet remembered Henry’s kiss in the hotel lobby and a tingle ran down her spine.

  “It must be wonderful to travel the world with a tennis racquet and a pair of athletic shoes.” Lydia nibbled sweet potato and baby carrots. “One of the best things about selling the farm was getting rid of furniture gathering dust.”

  “I’ve always wanted a house with a garden and one of those big dogs who thinks he is a person.” Henry smiled. “All the hotel rooms start to look the same and I get tired of eating cereal from single boxes.”

  Juliet suddenly flashed on her galley kitchen in Santa Monica with the half empty Life cereal box. She pictured coming home from the recording studio and curling up on the floral sofa with a turkey sandwich. She remembered watching Gilmore Girls on Netflix because she was too tired to walk to the bedroom.

  “I’d love help with dessert.” Lydia glanced at Juliet. “I can’t decide whether to serve sponge cake with pistachio or raspberry ice cream.”

  Juliet followed Lydia into the tile kitchen and sat on a round stool.

  “Henry is handsome and charming.” Lydia smiled. “And he’s obviously in love with you.”

  “We just met.” Juliet blushed. “It’s nice to have company.”

  “It can be difficult living alone but one discovers the things one loves,” Lydia mused. “I never would have had time to read if I got married, and I wouldn’t have learned to hike or fish. Gabriella’s father was always wading in streams, and I was always running after him.”

  “It must have been hard raising him by yourself,” Juliet replied.

  “In some ways it was wonderful.” Lydia poured coffee into porcelain cups. “I could feed him ice cream for dinner and let him stay up until midnight. We are so careful following the rules we forget to have fun. I never regretted having a child but sometimes I wish I didn’t give up my dreams.”

  “Gabriella told me you think she has a beautiful voice,” Lydia continued. “She said you could get her a recording contract.”

  “She made it clear she wasn’t interested.” Juliet shook her head. “She said her mother went to Paris to be a dancer and returned after eight months.”

  “Sonja was a just young girl wanting to experience the cafés and boulevards.” Lydia shrugged. “Gabriella has the voice of an angel.”

  “I’ve never heard anything like it,” Juliet agreed. “She could be a huge star with homes all over the world.”

  “When I was nineteen I answered a newspaper advertisement to teach Spanish in San Francisco.” Lydia filled a pitcher with cream. “My boyfriend, Enrico, worked on a yacht and was gone for weeks at a time. We agreed I would teach for a year and when I returned we would get engaged.”

  I was so excited, I pored over photos of Chinatown and the Golden Gate Bridge. A week before I was supposed to leave I came down with a terrible flu.” Lydia paused. “My mother insisted I go to the doctor and of course I wasn’t sick, I was three months pregnant with Felipe.”

  “What happened?” Juliet gasped.

  “I spent three days hunched over the toilet wondering what to do,” she replied. “Even if I went to San Francisco, how could I teach and take care of a baby? Finally I wrote to Enrico and told him he was going to be a father.”

  A month later I received a reply saying he got a permanent job on a yacht in Cannes, he would send money when he could but he was too young to have a child.” Lydia took a carton of ice cream out of the freezer. “I’ve had a wonderful life filled with good food and wine and friends. I’ve even had heady romances with expensive perfumes and boxes of chocolates. But if I had gone to San Francisco and had the baby, who knows where I’d be now.” She looked at Juliet. “I don’t want Gabriella to miss out on a great adventure because she thinks she is in love.”

  “But it’s not just Hugo; she adores the restaurant and her family and Majorca.”

  Lydia picked up the silver tray and walked to the door. “Young birds often don’t want to leave the nest, that’s why they ha
ve to be taught to fly.”

  * * *

  They ate raspberry tarts and sponge cake and pistachio ice cream. Juliet gazed up at the velvet sky full of stars and thought she’d been transported on a magic carpet. She felt Henry’s leg brush her thigh and felt a shiver of excitement.

  “I had a wonderful evening. If I was twenty years younger, I’d insist we go dancing.” Lydia stood at the entry. “You must come again; Henry can give us tennis lessons.”

  “We’d love to.” Juliet smiled. “The casserole was delicious and I’ve never tasted such rich ice cream, I’m going to swim twenty laps in the hotel pool to work it off.”

  “Talk to Gabriella.” Lydia kissed Juliet on the cheek. “I want my only granddaughter to be happy.”

  * * *

  Juliet and Henry climbed the wood staircase to her room. She fumbled with her purse and extracted the key. She opened the door and led him inside.

  “Would you like a glass of sherry?” she asked.

  “I can’t, I finally convinced my coach it’s too hot to play at noon. Now he has me doing sprints at seven A.M.” He glanced at his watch. “I should already be in bed but I couldn’t resist saying a proper good night, these last few days have been so much fun.”

  “I agree.” Juliet nodded, feeling light-headed from the wine.

  “Usually when I’m training I just sit in a sauna and put hot towels on my back.” He touched her cheek. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. I know this is sudden and it might sound crazy but you’re bright and beautiful and I think I’m in love with you.”

  “We hardly know each other.” Juliet faltered.

  “You love swimming and hiking and strolling through outdoor markets. You’re passionate about your work and know everything about music.” He traced her palm. “I want to take you dancing in Palma and explore the caves in Puerto Cristo. But mostly I want to learn about you.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her on the lips. He fumbled with her dress and slipped his hand under her bra. She felt a pinprick of desire and caught her breath. She kissed him harder and then pulled away.

  “If you don’t mind, I think we should wait.” She smoothed her hair.