by Anita Hughes
He pictured Juliet’s glossy brown hair and blue eyes and pink mouth. He remembered the way her mouth turned up at the edges when she laughed. He opened his notebook and began to write.
chapter twenty-seven
JULIET SAT AT AN OUTDOOR table in the plaza and sipped a glass of lemonade. She sprinkled pepper on a spinach salad and took a small bite. She gazed at the boutiques filled with brightly colored scarves and fruit stalls crammed with oranges and plums and felt her shoulders tighten.
She called Gideon when she woke up but Rosemary said he was out of the office with an emergency root canal. She paced around her suite and thought even if Gideon released Lionel from his contract, how would Lionel feel if she kept working for him? And would Gideon really keep her on if she didn’t return with the new songs or a check for one hundred and sixty-six thousand dollars?
The music industry was full of bright young people eager to devote themselves to demanding artists and impossible hours. What if she quit and couldn’t find another job?
She remembered sitting in the living room in Casa Rosa eating homemade ice cream and listening to Muse and never wanting the night to end. But now it was early afternoon and Lionel hadn’t called. Maybe he had been swept up by the beauty of the monastery and reconsidered in the morning. He didn’t make love to her because she was too young and they lived in different countries and it was impossible to be together.
She stood on the balcony and gazed at the green valleys and shimmering Mediterranean and suddenly needed fresh air. She slipped on a cotton dress and leather sandals and hurried to the plaza.
Now she nibbled round red tomatoes and tried to stop her heart from racing. Maybe Lionel had slept in and would call soon. She pictured him in his silk robe and John Lobb slippers and felt like an awkward schoolgirl.
“Juliet,” a female voice said. “I was going to the Hotel Salvia to see you, but now I’ve discovered you in the plaza. It’s such a gorgeous day I thought I would treat myself to a plate of tapas and a sparkling cider.”
“Lydia, you look beautiful.” Juliet admired her yellow crepe dress. “You are more stylish than any tourist in Sóller.”
“There’s a boutique on Aveneido Via Gran that receives designs straight from Paris. Maria put aside this Céline dress and silver sandals.” She paused and patted her hair. “I find there’s nothing better for working up an appetite than a little shopping.
“You are positively glowing.” Lydia sat opposite Juliet. “Have you discovered a new spa?”
“Lionel and I visited the Lluc monastery yesterday,” Juliet began. “We sat in a private garden and he kissed me. Then we went to Casa Rosa and ate turkey sandwiches and pistachio ice cream. We listened to music and read books and it was the most wonderful night of my life. But he hasn’t called and I’m afraid he thinks it’s a mistake. I work for a man he despises and we live on different continents.”
“I remember the first flush of romance when you spend hours interpreting a smile or the way someone squeezes your hand. The best thing is to distract yourself with a long walk or a good book.” She fiddled with her earrings. “I’m worried about Gabriella, she told me about Hugo.”
“I thought you would be pleased; I can’t wait to call Gideon and tell him she accepted his offer.”
“Last night I watched Sabrina with Audrey Hepburn and William Holden and Humphrey Bogart,” Lydia began. “It’s one of my favorite movies. Audrey Hepburn is the daughter of the chauffeur and has been in love with William Holden since she was a little girl. She goes to cooking school in Paris and returns with glamorous clothes and a European haircut and impossibly long eyelashes.” Lydia sighed. “Suddenly William Holden is madly in love with her.
“I sat on the sofa with a box of tissues and realized I always wanted to be Sabrina. I wanted to arrive in America and be surrounded by men in silk tuxedos and women wearing black cocktail dresses and mink stoles. I wanted to hold parties with a ten-piece orchestra and waiters in white dinner jackets serving platters of fresh oysters and French champagne.
“The problem with getting old is one confuses age with wisdom and there are fewer people who tell you when you make a mistake.” She twisted her hands. “I came so close to going to America and then it was taken away. I wanted Gabriella to fulfill my dream, not hers.”
“But she said you were right; just because she hasn’t traveled doesn’t mean she won’t enjoy it.” Juliet frowned. “And she thinks she might love singing in front of an audience.”
“What if she comes down with the flu in Brazil or is terrified by the bright lights of the stage?” Lydia paused. “I don’t want her to become a singer because she’s angry at Hugo, I want her to do it because she can’t imagine doing anything else.”
“What should I do?” Juliet asked.
“First you can help me eat aubergine with sautéed mushrooms and tell me about Lionel.” Lydia glanced at the menu and her eyes sparkled. “Then you can go to Casa Isabella and talk to Gabriella.”
* * *
Juliet felt the late afternoon breeze on her shoulders and wrapped her arms around her chest. She had done what Lydia suggested and spent hours gazing at the Miros and Picassos at Ca’n Prunera. She bought postcards at the gift shop and tried on pastel sweaters in a boutique.
But she didn’t feel like buying new clothes and couldn’t think of anyone to write to. Finally she walked back to Hotel Salvia and entered the stone lobby.
“Miss Lyman, it is lovely to see you,” the concierge called. “I have done something I’m not proud of, I let a gentleman into your room. He insisted you were friends and he had to make a personal delivery. I said it was out of the question but…”
“But what?” Juliet prompted him.
“He claimed he was friends with Bono and could get me tickets to the concert in Málaga,” the concierge admitted. “He was only in your suite for a few minutes and U2 is my wife’s favorite band.”
“How long ago was that?” Juliet asked, hurrying up the staircase.
“About an hour ago,” the concierge replied. “I feel terrible, please forgive me.”
Juliet felt her cheeks flush and her heart expand. She turned to the concierge and her face lit up in a smile. “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly all right.”
* * *
She entered the suite and gazed at the four-poster bed and mahogany desk and high-backed velvet chair. She glanced at the oak end table and saw a black velvet box and ivory envelope.
She slit open the envelope and read out loud:
Dear Juliet,
When I said jewelry always came with an agenda, I was wrong. Sometimes it as simple as trying to match the beauty of creamy skin and bright blue eyes.
I searched all day and finally found what I was looking for. I hope you will wear them tonight and join me at Cap Rocat for dinner. I will pick you up at 8 p.m. I suppose you will have to wear a dress to go with my gift, as we will be eating in public. Please don’t wear anything with complicated buttons or zippers.
Lionel
Juliet opened the box and saw diamond teardrop earrings. She held them up to the mirror and gasped. She stood at the balcony and watched the sky turn pink and orange and the sun melt into the Mediterranean and had never been so happy.
chapter twenty-eight
LIONEL STOOD IN FRONT of the closet and selected a white dinner jacket. He paired it with a silk bow tie and black slacks. He slipped on gold cuff links and padded down the staircase.
He entered the living room and grabbed his car keys. He slid his gold cigarette case in his pocket and smoothed his hair. He pictured Juliet with her dark hair and blue eyes and felt like a schoolboy attending his first cotillion.
He walked to the bar and poured a shot of scotch. He remembered the way Juliet’s eyes lit up when he recited Emily Dickinson and how her cheeks glowed when she listened to Cat Stevens and put the glass on the marble counter. They were going to sit at a table overlooking the Bay of Palma eating grilled octopus and sipping a Me
rlot, and he didn’t want to miss anything.
* * *
“Cap Rocat used to be a medieval fortress,” Lionel said. “Antonio Obrador turned it into a hotel and restaurant ten years ago, and now it’s a secret hideaway for the jet set. Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones introduced me to it. People think Catherine is reserved because she has that clipped British accent. Give her a few gin and tonics and she lets her hair down and dances on the tables.”
They sat in a courtyard surrounded by high stone walls. The tables were covered with crisp linen tablecloths and flanked by tall fir trees. Plush white sofas were scattered over the cobblestones and twinkling lights were strung between lush palm trees.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Juliet said, eating artichoke hearts drizzled with olive oil. She wore a red chiffon dress and gold sandals. Her cheeks were brushed with powder and her lips were coated with red lipstick.
“The fortress was built on the Bay of Palma so the inhabitants could ward off pirates.” Lionel gazed at the black velvet sky and dark ocean. “Now all you see is twenty-foot yachts and giant catamarans. But the architecture is magnificent and the food is delicious. Victor makes a lamb cutlet with herb truffles and pear confit that is superb.”
“The earrings are breathtaking and this place is stunning.” Juliet hesitated. “But I thought you were worried about your bank account.”
“I convinced Geraldo to let me buy the earrings on credit.” Lionel sipped a glass of Montenegrin. “I’ll pay him back when I sell my flat.”
“You’re going to sell your flat?” Juliet asked.
“Even if I don’t have to pay Gideon back, I won’t have an income for a while,” Lionel replied. “I’m tired of wearing Shetland sweaters in July and always needing a raincoat. I thought I might live in Beverly Hills. Posh Beckham and I played Madison Square Garden once, and every year they send me a Christmas card. Perhaps they’ll let me stay in their guest cottage.”
“I thought you didn’t want to go back to Los Angeles,” Juliet said.
“It suddenly sounds more attractive. I spent the last eighteen years wandering around the globe like Don Quixote. Eventually I have to stop chasing windmills and make peace with Gideon.” Lionel’s brow furrowed. “Though if I see him trying on Zegna silk blazers at Fred Hayman or eating sirloin tips at Cut, I may have to restrain myself.”
* * *
They ate quail with baby yams and talked about OutsideLands and Coachella. Lionel gazed at Juliet’s creamy skin and pink mouth and couldn’t believe he was sitting across from her.
“I stayed here during the grand opening,” he said, nibbling a slice of chocolate torte. “The rooms look like an illustration from The Canterbury Tales. They have canopied beds and thick brocade curtains and handwoven tapestries.”
“It sounds wonderful,” Juliet murmured.
“I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I thought we could reserve a suite and sip Armagnac and read Troilus and Cressida and Beowulf. I studied Middle English at Cambridge and have a soft spot for Chaucer.”
Juliet scooped up raspberries and hazelnut ice cream. She looked at Lionel and her eyes were huge. “I’d love to.”
* * *
Lionel stood on the terrace and gazed at the half moon and dark ocean. He turned around and saw Juliet through the gauze curtains. Her eyes were like a young doe, and she rubbed her lips with red lipstick.
He walked inside and folded his dinner jacket over a leather armchair. He loosened his tie and dropped his cuff links in the silver ashtray. He walked over to Juliet and ran his hands over her dress.
“The thing about sex is when you climax you may as well be Einstein or Socrates, you have the whole world figured out. But the minute it’s over it’s like waking from a dream, you know it was good but you can’t quite put your finger on it. But when you are in love you feel like that all the time, it’s like walking around in a state of exquisite rapture.”
He pulled her close and kissed her softly on the lips. He took the ceramic clip out of her hair and tossed it on the desk. He felt the creamy satin of her cheeks and tasted the sweet chocolate of her mouth and moaned.
He led her to the bed and unbuttoned his shirt. She unzipped her dress and let it slip to the floor. He studied her full breasts and the alabaster stretch of thigh. He touched the wet spot between her legs and felt like an explorer discovering a sacred temple.
He gently slipped his finger inside her and saw her look of surprise. He saw her lips tremble and the sudden intake of breath. He felt the warm wetness and her body shudder and pulled her tightly against his chest.
She lay on the bed and drew him on top of her. She wrapped her arms around his back and urged him to go faster. Lionel paused for a moment, filled with the terrifying sensation that he would come and all this would end. Then he let himself go until his skin was slick and his body shattered and he collapsed on her breasts.
* * *
Lionel slipped on a silk robe and padded into the suite’s living room. He walked onto the terrace and leaned over the railing.
He gazed at the sky full of stars and the moon glinting on the bay and felt an incredible stillness. He wanted to thank someone for something but he wasn’t sure what.
He walked back inside and entered the bedroom. He lay down on the high white bed and fell asleep.
chapter twenty-nine
JULIET STOOD IN FRONT OF the closet and selected a green linen dress. She paired it with a pair of beige slingbacks and slipped on a gold bangle. She brushed her hair behind her ears and coated her lips with pink lip-gloss.
The night with Lionel was magical. After they made love they slept in the high four-poster bed. She woke in the morning and gazed at the dark wood floors and thick plaster walls and felt like a princess in a storybook.
They ate Spanish omelets and grilled tomatoes on the terrace and talked about history and art. They drove leisurely back to Sóller, stopping to buy figs and plums and olives. Lionel dropped off her at Hotel Salvia and kissed her slowly on the mouth.
* * *
Now her phone rang and she picked it up.
“Rosemary said you called.” Gideon’s voice came over the line.
“Yes, I have some news,” Juliet replied.
“Gabriella’s voice is superb, it’s like winning the lottery,” Gideon said. “She’s going to be bigger than Mariah Carey or Beyoncé.”
Juliet thought about what Lydia said and wavered. But then she remembered Gabriella’s eyes flashing when she talked about Hugo and took a deep breath.
“She’s very excited, I think she wants to accept your offer.”
“That’s fantastic news, tell her I’ll get her a suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel and a driver.”
“She’ll be delighted.” Juliet clutched the phone. “There is something else. Lionel shouldn’t be required to fulfill his contract, he has suffered a personal trauma.”
“What kind of trauma?” Gideon asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Juliet said. “But you must let him out of his contract. I don’t want Gabriella to reconsider.”
The phone was silent and Juliet thought she went too far. She was about to say something when Gideon’s voice came down the line.
“If you say so. God, he was always emotional, like a girl before her period.” Gideon paused. “But that’s what made him a brilliant songwriter. He could turn simple words into poetry.”
* * *
Juliet hopped off the tram and strode down the promenade. She saw fishermen pulling in wooden fishing boats and couples eating ice cream cones.
She climbed the stone steps of Casa Isabella and wondered if she should have waited and talked to Gabriella first. She would ask Gabriella if she was certain this is what she wanted, and if it wasn’t, she would tell Gideon she had changed her mind.
She entered the dining room and saw tables set with white china and gleaming silverware. Crystal vases were filled with yellow tulips and a fire glowed in the marble fireplac
e.
“Juliet,” Gabriella exclaimed. She wore a navy dress and beige pumps. Her hair was wound into a chignon and she carried a stack of ivory menus.
“It’s the first time I’ve lit the fire this season,” she mused. “I love it when the weather grows cool. You should be here in the fall, the fog settles on the harbor and one can wear boots and sweaters. My father makes a delicious potato soup with fresh Parmesan cheese.”
“I can’t believe I’m leaving soon,” Juliet said. “Lionel and I had dinner at Cap Rocat last night.”
“What happened?” Gabriella gasped.
“We spent the night in a room decorated like a medieval castle. It had a four-poster bed and beamed ceiling and terrace overlooking the bay. We sipped Armagnac and talked about books and music, and it was the best night of my life.”
Gabriella beamed. “I’m so happy. What will you do when you return to California?”
“We haven’t figured it out exactly,” Juliet replied.
“I’m going to tell my parents I’m going to America tonight. My mother will be thrilled; she adored her months in Paris. My father will complain he can’t find anyone to oversee the dining room, but he’ll be proud.”
“What about Hugo?” Juliet asked. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I’ve barely seen him; he’s been working late at the hotel.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. “When I think about what he did, I get so angry I can barely breathe.”
“I had lunch with Lydia,” Juliet began. “She wanted me to talk to you.”
“Excuse me.” Gabriella said. “I have to tell the pastry chef what is on the menu for dessert.”
Juliet walked over to the fireplace and gazed at the signed menus lining the walls. She saw Antonio Banderas’s scrawled signature and Leonardo Di Caprio’s broad cursive. She suddenly saw Lionel’s name scribbled in black ink and frowned.
“Juliet, it’s nice to see you.” Gabriella’s father entered the dining room. He wore a white apron and carried a bottle of olive oil. “I hope you stay for dinner, I’m preparing roasted chicken breast with Mallorcan artichoke hummus.”