Island in the Sea

by Anita Hughes

  * * *

  “Why on earth did she marry a Frenchman?” Lionel moaned, wrapping spaghetti around his fork. “They’re trained as teenagers to never keep it in their pants. How did French courtesans become famous if it wasn’t for cheating husbands lavishing them with jewels?” He sipped his wine. “At least he’s a musician, and he had quite good taste in clothes.”

  “I couldn’t stay in London knowing she was close by, so I accepted the offer to stay at Casa Rosa,” he continued. “It could be worse, the swimming pool is lovely and I’m getting used to Gloria’s cooking.”

  “But you haven’t written any songs,” Juliet murmured.

  Lionel finished his wine and took a deep breath. “There’s something else I have to tell you.”

  He gazed at Juliet’s smooth brown bob and slender cheekbones. He saw her blue eyes and pink mouth and knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t burden her with his drinking and cigarettes and his belief that everything in life was fleeting. She needed someone young and fresh who thought anything was possible.

  He leaned back in his chair and said, “I forgot to put Gloria’s strawberry pavolva in the fridge, we don’t have any dessert.”

  * * *

  They rustled up vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup for dessert and sat under the trellis discussing Paul McCartney’s farewell performance at Wembley Stadium. Lionel gazed at the stars shimmering on the swimming pool and felt consumed by an incredible sadness.

  * * *

  Lionel placed the last dish in the sink and folded his apron. He walked into the living room and poured a glass of sherry. He sat on the striped silk sofa and stretched his long legs in front of him.

  He sipped his sherry and wondered whether Juliet would tell Gideon he shouldn’t have to fulfill his contract. He walked to the piano and sat on the hardwood bench. He lit a cigarette and blew a thin smoke ring. He ground the cigarette into the ashtray and let the air leave his lungs.

  chapter twenty-five

  JULIET SAT UNDER THE TRELLIS and gazed at the lush birds of paradise and marble fountains. She saw the green hills and quaint villages of Banyalbufar and Sa Calobra. She glanced at the sun shimmering on the blue Mediterranean and cliffs covered with daisies and wished she could stop her heart from racing.

  She woke early and swam twenty laps in the hotel pool. She wrapped herself in a fluffy white towel and lay on a chaise longue. Now she sat at a wrought iron table drinking fresh coffee and eating a warm croissant and wondered what to do about Lionel and Gideon.

  She remembered eating ice cream on the terrace with Lionel and shivered. She wanted to tell him she was in love with him but she inhaled his scent of aftershave and cigarettes and suddenly felt like a schoolgirl.

  She tore apart the croissant and wondered if she could really insist he fulfill his contract after what Gideon had done. And if she didn’t, would she lose her job?

  She heard footsteps and saw a familiar figure walk toward her. She wore a yellow linen dress and her hair was twisted into a soft plait. Her cheeks were pale and she wore red lipstick.

  “Gabriella,” Juliet exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  “The concierge said you were in the garden. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Please sit down,” Juliet said. “The croissants are delicious, and I can pour another cup of coffee.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Gabriella shook her head. “I want to apologize.”

  “I’m the one who should apologize, I sent the recording without asking you.”

  Gabriella shrugged. “You did what my grandmother requested. Have you told Gideon I’m not interested?”

  “I was going to e-mail him this afternoon.” Juliet sipped her coffee.

  “Hugo and I have a joint bank account to save up for the restaurant, we’ve been adding to it for years.” Gabriella twisted her hands. “I happened to look at the statement yesterday and he withdrew two thousand euros. He has never touched it before.”

  “Maybe he wants to pay off your engagement ring,” Juliet suggested.

  “He would never use my money to pay for the ring.” Gabriella frowned. “I looked through the check register, and a month ago he bought a plane ticket to Paris.”

  “Paris!” Juliet exclaimed.

  “It must have been the weekend he said he was seeing his cousin, Gia, in Barcelona,” Gabriella replied. “He was gone for three days; why wouldn’t he tell me he was going to Paris unless he was hiding something?”

  “There must be an explanation,” Juliet insisted.

  “I’ve changed my mind.” She took a deep breath. “Tell Gideon I’m interested in coming to Los Angeles.”

  “You can’t just leave,” Juliet spluttered. “You have to ask him why he needed the money.”

  “If he had a good reason to go to Paris he could have told me, and if he needed the money he only had to ask,” Gabriella said slowly. “You can’t keep secrets in a marriage, then you are just separate people sharing an apartment.” She stopped and her eyes filled with tears. “There was something else. I found a check written to a hotel in Paris. I called the hotel and they said they didn’t have a record of Hugo.” She paused. “They finally found it. The room was booked under the name Céline Gaspar.”

  “That’s impossible,” Juliet exclaimed. “Hugo wouldn’t go to Paris with another woman.”

  “I thought I knew everything about him,” Gabriella said. “Maybe I don’t know anything at all.”

  “But what about Casa Isabella and your family?” Juliet asked. “You love everything about Majorca, why would you want to leave?”

  “Lydia is right: just because I haven’t traveled to New York or London doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy it. And if I like singing in the kitchen with a sink full of soapsuds, maybe I’d love performing onstage.” She stopped and her lips trembled. “And when I discover why Hugo was in Paris, I might wish I was far away.”

  Juliet poured a fresh cup of coffee and added cream and sugar. She nibbled an almond croissant and they talked about Lydia and Casa Isabella.

  “My grandmother can be overbearing but she loves me more than anything,” Gabriella said. “When I was young I adored the Madeline books. I could recite every poem and wore a felt hat and Mary Janes. One Christmas all I wanted was a chocolate brown puppy like Madeline’s dog, Genevieve. Lydia invited me to Christmas dinner and in the living room there was a plaid blanket that kept squirming. I lifted the blanket and discovered a soft brown puppy.”

  Juliet nodded. “She only wants you to be happy. I visited her yesterday and she made gazpacho and a green salad. We sat on the terrace and she asked when I was bringing Henry for dinner.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I said I told Henry I was leaving soon, and we shouldn’t see each other.” Juliet stopped and looked at Gabriella. “And I told her I was falling in love with Lionel.”

  “What did you say?” Gabriella gasped.

  “I slipped in his kitchen and he helped me up, and suddenly I felt like I was shot with an electric current. I realized I couldn’t fall in love with Henry because I’m in love with Lionel. He’s witty and intelligent and loves music and books. Last night we ate spaghetti marinara and fresh bread and all I wanted was for him to kiss me.”

  “You have to tell him,” Gabriella urged.

  “He’s older and sophisticated and he’s been terribly hurt,” Juliet hesitated.

  “Being in love can be the worst feeling in the world. You can’t sleep and in the morning your cheeks are pale and your skin feels like sandpaper. You drink a cup of coffee and eat a piece of toast, but the coffee scalds your tongue and the toast gets stuck in your throat.” Gabriella’s eyes glistened. “But not being in love is worse, then you feel nothing.”

  * * *

  Juliet stood on the balcony and gazed at the turquoise swimming pool. After Gabriella left she took a bath and slipped on a cotton dress. She smoothed her hair and rubbed her lips with pink lip-gloss. Now she leaned on the railing
and inhaled the scent of lilacs and bougainvillea.

  Suddenly she felt her heart pound. If she told Gideon that Gabriella wanted to record a song he would be so thrilled he might let Lionel out of his contract. She glanced at her watch and saw it was 5 A.M. in California.

  She would go and tell Lionel the good news and then she would call Gideon. She gazed at the green inlets and wooden fishing boats and sleek white yachts. She saw the cobblestoned plaza with its quaint boutiques and elegant galleries. She saw window boxes filled with purple and yellow pansies and thought she never loved anywhere as much as Majorca.

  chapter twenty-six

  LIONEL GLANCED AT THE NOTEPAD and tapped his pencil on the piano. He crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the garbage. He walked to the bar and poured a glass of scotch. He sat on the wood bench and stared at the empty page.

  * * *

  After Juliet left he heated a snifter of brandy and climbed into bed. He tossed and turned for hours but couldn’t sleep. Finally he slipped on his silk robe and padded downstairs to the library.

  He devoured Baudelaire and Rimbaud and Descartes. He read Plato and Socrates and The Odyssey. Suddenly he saw the leather binding and raised gold letters. He drew Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe off the shelf and curled up in the leather armchair.

  He flipped through the pages and remembered when he discovered the book in boarding school. He remembered being so consumed by the knights and battles and impossible love he forgot to take a Latin test. He remembered knowing he wanted to write words that would make someone stop everything they we were doing and that would last six hundred years.

  Now he tossed the book on the walnut desk and walked to the living room. He emptied the ashtrays and collected the newspapers. Then he sat at the piano and took out his notebook.

  If he couldn’t tell Juliet he loved her, at least he could make sure she didn’t lose her job. He would write the songs and fulfill his contract. But he watched the sun rise over the hills and sighed. The words were drivel and he couldn’t write two lines without wanting a scotch or a cigarette.

  He remembered the years that lyrics came as easily as breathing. There were enough women with glossy hair and pink lips to make him think love was possible. He would come home from eating chateaubriand and drinking a full-bodied cabernet and think this was the one.

  He would scribble all night and sleep past noon. But the next night when he took the woman to Tour d’Argent or The French Laundry, he realized she laughed too loud and had never read Somerset Maugham.

  He heard a knock on the door and called, “Come in.”

  “I’m disturbing you,” Juliet said. She wore a floral dress and white sandals. Her hair was held back by a beaded headband and her eyes sparkled. “I should have called.”

  “I was doing a little cleaning.” Lionel hastily arranged magazines on the coffee table. “I gave Gloria the morning off to visit her sister.”

  “I have some wonderful news.” Juliet sat on the striped silk love seat. “I have a friend named Gabriella. Her family owns Casa Isabella in Puerto de Sóller. The first time I heard her singing in the kitchen I couldn’t catch my breath. Her voice is high and clear and I knew she could be a star.

  “But she’s been dating her boyfriend, Hugo, for five years and didn’t want a recording contract. They were going to get married and open a restaurant.

  “Her grandmother asked me to send Gideon the recording anyway so I did.” Juliet fiddled with her necklace. “I felt terrible going behind Gabriella’s back and she was furious. But yesterday she discovered Hugo might not be telling the truth so she wants to accept Gideon’s offer and go to Los Angeles.

  “When I tell Gideon he’ll be so thrilled, he’ll let you out of your contract.” Juliet’s cheeks flushed. “You won’t have to write any songs.”

  “What did Hugo do?”

  “He bought a ticket to Paris and took out half the money from their bank account without telling her,” Juliet replied.

  “Are you sure you want do that?” Lionel asked. “If I don’t fulfill my contract, you might lose your job.”

  “When you hear Gabriella’s voice, you’ll understand.” Juliet smoothed her hair. “It’s like discovering Diana Ross or Barbra Streisand.”

  Lionel placed his shot glass on the marble bar and straightened the cushions on the sofa.

  “I have to run an errand, will you join me?”

  “Where are we going?” Juliet asked.

  He slipped on his blazer and grabbed the car keys.

  “Somewhere magic.”

  * * *

  They drove into the Tramuntana Mountains past Selva and Camairi. They passed lemon orchids and churches with tall spires. Lionel turned down a gravel road and saw the huge iron gates and sandstone buildings.

  “The first time I came here I wanted to turn around and go back.” He opened Juliet’s car door. “I’ve always been afraid of heights and the air is so thin I felt like I couldn’t breathe. But I looked up and I’d never seen such a blue sky or white clouds.”

  “Where are we?” Juliet followed Lionel down an arched pathway lined with gold crosses.

  “The Lluc monastery is the oldest monastery in Majorca,” Lionel explained. “In 1242 a boy name Lluc found a black statue of the Virgin Mary in the forest. He took it to the priest in Esconca, but the next morning it was gone. He went back to the forest and discovered it in the same place. This went on for days; every time he moved the statue it found its way back to the forest.

  “In 1260 the monks built the Lluc monastery in the spot where he found the statue. It has been a monastery ever since, and people come from all over to walk in the gardens. The chapel of the Black Virgin is one of the most beautiful chapels I’ve ever seen.”

  Lionel drew her into the chapel and gazed at the domed ceiling and stained glass windows. He saw the polished mosaic floor and gold altar. He gazed at gilt candelabras and huge paintings lining the walls.

  “The statue of the Black Virgin is hidden behind the altar.” Lionel stopped in front of the statue. “Legend has it if you ask her for something she will answer.”

  Lionel led Juliet back into the hallway. They crossed the courtyard and stopped in front of a whitewashed building. He tapped on the door and waited for someone to answer.

  The door opened and he saw a man wearing a long robe and leather sandals. Lionel clapped him on the shoulder and handed him a brown parcel. He took Juliet’s hand and they walked quickly across the cobblestones.

  They emerged in an interior garden with rose bushes and a wide oak tree. Green trellises were covered with pink bougainvillea, and there was a sundial and a marble fountain.

  “Father Jorge was a serious smoker before he became a monk.” Lionel sat on a stone bench. “Once a month I bring him a carton of Marlboros and he allows me into his private garden. I love the chapel of the Black Virgin, but it’s hard to talk to God when you’re jostling tourists carrying cameras and backpacks.”

  “I didn’t know you were religious,” Juliet murmured.

  “How can anyone not believe in God? It’s like not believing in Leonardo da Vinci. Do you think the flowers and trees got here by themselves? Somebody had to have a grand vision,” Lionel asked.

  “I’ve always thought confession is ridiculous, why on earth would I tell my failings to a stranger in a black box who never gives advice? I’d much rather visit a psychiatrist. But there is nothing more humbling than sitting on this bench and contemplating the blue sky and green mountains.”

  “I just thought…” Juliet hesitated.

  “Thought what?”

  “That if you didn’t believe in love anymore, you didn’t believe in anything.”

  Lionel leaned forward and kissed Juliet softly on the lips.

  He felt her kiss him back and suddenly the earth was spinning. He felt the sun on his shoulders and a light breeze on his back. He kissed her harder and tasted honey and cinnamon.

  He tucked a hair behind her ear and took her hand
.

  “Where are we going?” Juliet asked.

  “Somewhere a little more private.” Lionel looked up at the blue sky. “I have the odd feeling someone is watching.”

  * * *

  They drove silently back to Casa Rosa, and Lionel opened the car door. They raced up the stone steps of the villa and entered the living room. Lionel walked to the closet and pulled out a basket of CDs. He put on Some Girls by the Rolling Stones and sat next to Juliet on the striped silk love seat.

  They listened to the Beatles and Foreigner and Boston. He introduced her to The Darkness and she pulled out Imagine Dragons. Lionel rustled up a carton of orange juice and two turkey sandwiches and they played John Butler and Mumford & Sons. He watched Juliet wipe mustard from her mouth with a napkin and talk about Jack Johnson and thought his heart would explode.

  Finally they moved to the library and searched through the shelves. He read verses from The Waste Land, and Absalom, Absalom! and The Raven and Other Poems. She recited the first paragraph of Lolita and read the last page of The Great Gatsby out loud. He saw the evening sun filter through the window and the smooth curve of her neck and kissed her softly on the mouth.

  “I think I have to take you home,” he murmured.

  “But we haven’t read Ethan Frome or The Old Man and the Sea,” Juliet protested.

  “If I didn’t have a conscience I would take you upstairs into the bedroom.” Lionel loosened his collar. “I would unzip that lovely floral dress and fold it carefully on the chair. I would unsnap your bra and marvel at the creamy texture of your breasts. Then I would pull you down on the bed and kiss you as if the night would last forever.” He paused and ran his hands through his hair. “But even God took six days to make the world; we can’t expect to accomplish everything in one night.”

  * * *

  Lionel walked to the marble bar and poured a glass of brandy. He twirled the snifter in his hand and inhaled deeply. He walked to the piano and sat on the wood bench.