by Anita Hughes
“I didn’t know Lionel ate here.” She pointed to the ivory menu.
Felipe nodded. “He came in recently. My wife was so excited, ‘Going to Catalina’ is one of her favorite songs.
“The whole dining room was abuzz,” he continued. “He was with the tennis player, Henry Adler.”
“He was with Henry?” Juliet asked. Suddenly she felt cold and a shiver ran down her spine.
“They ate grilled salmon in a citrus glaze and chocolate panacotta for dessert.”
“When were they here?” Juliet whispered.
“July fourteenth.” Felipe pointed to the menu. “I always write the date on the top corner.”
Juliet ran to the door and turned around. “Please tell Gabriella I had to leave, I had a previous appointment.”
* * *
Juliet sat on the tram and tried to stop her heart from racing. Why had Lionel never mentioned he knew Henry, and why did they have dinner together?
Suddenly she remembered when she and Lionel first met and he asked if she had a serious boyfriend in California. She remembered him saying she was young and single and should go dancing at Barracuda or Nikki Beach. She remembered him musing that Gideon had sent someone to make him write love songs who had never been in love.
She pictured Henry approaching her at the guest reception at Hotel Salvia. She saw his curly blond hair and blue shirt and tan slacks.
She remembered eating lamb skewers and talking about New Zealand and tennis and music. She pictured standing on her balcony, her cheeks flushed from the wine and her heart beating a little faster and thinking she met someone special.
She scrolled through the calendar on her phone and tried to remember the date of the guest reception. She gazed out the window at the green hills dotted with stone churches and the shimmering ocean filled with white sailboats and felt the air leave her lungs. She met Henry the day after Lionel and Henry had dinner at Casa Isabella.
chapter thirty
LIONEL JUMPED UP FROM THE piano and paced around the living room. He scooped up a handful of macadamia nuts and washed them down with a glass of orange juice. He stood at the French doors and gazed at the turquoise swimming pool and marble statues and felt like a million dollars.
He had dropped Juliet off at Hotel Salvia and come home and changed into a polo shirt and slacks. He grabbed a carton of orange juice and a green apple and sat down at the piano. He wrote all day, only getting up to refill his glass or toss the apple core in the garbage.
Now he glanced at the untouched turkey sandwich Gloria left on the glass coffee table and his unopened packet of cigarettes and couldn’t remember when he had so much energy. He wanted to swim fifty laps or hike up to Valldemossa. He wanted to do a hundred sit-ups and take a cold shower.
He walked back to the piano and scanned the verses in his notebook. He had worked all day on one song, scribbling and erasing the same words. He remembered when he read Cat’s Cradle and thought Kurt Vonnegut couldn’t have arranged the sentences any other way. He let out his breath and knew the lyrics were perfect.
He entered the kitchen and inhaled the scent of garlic and butter and basil. Juliet was coming over for dinner and Gloria had made warm spinach and goat cheese salad and lobster paella.
He gazed at his reflection in the steel fridge and thought he should go upstairs and shave. He pictured the way Juliet’s face lit up when she smiled and felt he had been entrusted with a priceless piece of art. God, she was beautiful and young and bright. He could spend hours nibbling sliced pineapple and discussing Frank Zappa and Henry Miller.
Then he remembered the silky smoothness of her skin and felt he didn’t have a right. He should have given up such perfection years ago; it belonged to young men with business degrees and a closet full of pinstriped suits. She should marry a man who could offer her a house with a garden and a Range Rover.
He thought about Gideon and his new song and sighed. Even if Gideon let him out of his contract he would have to find a new record company. He would have to write a whole album of songs and hope someone would buy them.
He heard a knock at the door and called, “Come in.”
“You are early. I was going to go upstairs to change,” Lionel said. “Gloria left a delicious salad and I discovered a 1982 Château Lafite-Rothschild in the cellar. I thought we could eat on the balcony and go for a swim after dessert.”
“How could you lie to me?” Juliet exclaimed. She wore a green linen dress and beige slingbacks. Her hair was held back with a ceramic clip and she wore a gold bangle. “I went to see Gabriella at Casa Isabella and your autographed menu was on the wall. Felipe said you ate dinner there with Henry.”
“I should have told you, I’ve known Henry for years,” Lionel admitted. “The first time I saw him at the French Open it was like watching a kid in a candy store. He cleaned up the court without breaking a sweat. I knew he’d go on to great things, he had an amazing serve and a smile that lit up the stadium.”
“You set the whole thing up. You felt sorry for me because I never had a boyfriend so you asked him to go out with me.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Henry told me he was falling in love with me and I believed him.”
“I ran into him a few weeks ago. I forgot how young he was; tennis players start the circuit when they are practically in diapers. You told me you hadn’t had a serious boyfriend since college. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to be twenty-eight and never been in love.” He paused. “I didn’t want you to miss out.”
“Maybe I was happy with my career and my apartment in Santa Monica,” Juliet replied. “If I wanted to fall in love I could find someone myself.”
“It’s not what you think.” Lionel clutched the shot glass.
“He took me to dinner and dancing and Los Monteros. He bought me a pearl necklace and told me he always wanted us to be together.” She paused and her eyes were huge. “What would have happened if I fell in love with him? How would I feel if I found out he never loved me at all?”
Lionel gazed at her flushed cheeks and flickering eyes and felt a heavy weight crush his shoulders.
“I had the best intentions,” he murmured.
“I could never be with someone who lies,” Juliet said. “I’m leaving in two days and I think it’s best we don’t see each other.”
She walked to the entry and opened the door. She turned around and her eyes glistened.
“It’s such a shame, because I had a lovely time.”
* * *
Lionel stood at the bar in the living room and poured a glass of scotch. He lit a cigarette and blew a thin smoke ring. How could he be so stupid? He was like Cary Grant in the movie Charade.
He sat at the piano and opened his notebook. He put his head in his hands and moaned. He could as easily write another song as climb Mt. Kilimanjaro.
He gazed at his reflection in the gilt mirror and felt like Dorian Gray when he discovered his portrait in the attic. His forehead was lined and his cheeks sagged and he was only going to get older.
He had been a fool and Juliet had every right to be furious. He could tell her the real reason he set them up but knew it didn’t matter. He had broken her trust and she would never forgive him.
He refilled his scotch glass and swallowed it one gulp. He sat on the striped silk love seat and poured another.
chapter thirty-one
JULIET SAT AT AN OUTDOOR table and gazed at the elegant boutiques and bright art galleries. She saw men in silk blazers and women in chiffon cocktail dresses. She inhaled the scent of cigars and perfume and felt a tightness in her chest.
After she had left Lionel, she called Henry and asked him to meet her in the plaza. She thought about her conversation with Lionel and shivered. How could he lie to her about everything?
She remembered the suite at Cap Rocat with its thick plaster walls and beamed ceiling. She pictured the high white bed and Lionel stroking her thighs. She remembered his warm mouth and slick chest and knowing what they had was perfec
t.
“Juliet.” Henry approached her. He wore a blue polo shirt and khakis. His hair was brushed across his forehead and his cheeks glistened with aftershave. “This is a pleasant surprise, I thought you left for California.”
“Thank you for meeting me.” She looked up from her coffee. “I don’t know how to begin, but I had to see you.
“I went to Casa Isabella to see Gabriella and Lionel’s autograph was on the wall. Felipe said you and Lionel ate dinner together.” She stopped and fiddled with her bangle. “Lionel admitted you’ve known each other for years and he asked you to go out with me. You were never in love with me; the whole thing was a sham.”
“I met Lionel when I played my first Wimbledon.” Henry nodded. “My manager messed up my hotel reservation and there wasn’t an available room in London. Lionel discovered me in a pub in Belgravia. I had a tennis bag with four tennis racquets and a vinyl suitcase.
“He said he admired the way I thrashed Sampras at the French Open and offered me his flat.” He ran his hands through his hair. “He slept on the sofa and let me have the master bedroom.
“We ran into each other a month ago, and he told me he was spending the summer in Majorca. Last week he called and asked me a favor. He said Gideon sent a young female executive to make him fulfill his contract,” Henry explained. “You were here for two weeks and he asked me to take you to dinner and dancing and sailing.”
“I don’t understand how you could both lie to me,” Juliet whispered.
“The first night we met in the garden I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen,” Henry replied. “Then we visited the monastery in Valldemossa and explored the old town of Palma and all I wanted was to be together.
“You are bright and warm and generous,” he continued. “I asked you to go to Los Monteros because I wanted to, not because of Lionel.
“Lionel asked me to go out with you and keep you busy, but I fell in love with you by myself.” He paused and touched her hand. “I never would have said ‘I love you’ if it wasn’t true.”
“How am I supposed to believe you?” Juliet demanded. “Lionel said I was twenty-eight and had never been in love. He didn’t want me to miss out.”
“Is that what he told you?” Henry asked.
“Is there something else?”
“He told me he was forty-two with a two-bedroom flat in Chelsea and creditors on three continents. He had no idea how he’d pay Gideon back, and he’d probably never write another song. He smoked too many cigarettes and drank too much scotch and woke up in the middle of the night.” Henry paused. “And he was madly in love with you and didn’t know what else to do.”
“He said that,” Juliet whispered.
“He was afraid if you were unattached, you would start falling for each other,” Henry continued.
“But he couldn’t have been in love with me,” Juliet protested. “He had only known me for a few days.”
“He said he knew you were special the minute you entered the Casa Rosa,” Henry said. “He tried to stop his feelings but they grew. He thought if you fell in love with me, there was no chance you and Lionel could be together.”
“How dare he?” Juliet’s eyes flashed. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions about love. He could have said he had a girlfriend in Paris or a fiancée in London.”
“He didn’t trust himself,” Henry replied. “He wanted to make it impossible.”
Juliet pictured Lydia saying she sent James away because she was afraid she’d make the wrong decision. She remembered Lydia saying maybe Gabriella didn’t want to send Gideon a tape because she didn’t want to have a choice. Would she have fallen in love with Lionel sooner if she hadn’t spent time with Henry?
She twisted her hands and thought it didn’t matter. She could never trust Lionel now; he ruined everything.
“I have to go.” She stood up. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“You can’t blame Lionel,” Henry said slowly. “Sometimes there’s nothing worse than being in love.”
“He’s a grown man,” Juliet snapped, picturing his cocky smile. “He acted like a melodramatic teenager.”
* * *
Juliet hung her dress in the closet and slipped on a cotton robe. She poured a cup of English Breakfast tea and added lemon and honey. She pictured Henry’s wavy blond hair and thick chest and thought it could all have been so easy. If only he had been in love with her and she loved him back.
She put the cup on the ceramic saucer and wrapped her arms around her chest. Her head throbbed and her throat burned and her skin felt like sandpaper. She remembered Gabriella saying being in love made your stomach turn but not being in love was worse.
She climbed into bed and lay against the turquoise silk pillows. She pictured Lionel’s green eyes and smooth cheeks and knew Gabriella was wrong. She pulled the soft cool sheets around her shoulders and closed her eyes.
chapter thirty-two
JULIET STOOD IN THE BOUTIQUE and admired the silk blouses and soft leather purses. She remembered when she arrived in Majorca and thought she would spend her afternoons eating tapas and exploring galleries. She remembered gazing at the window boxes full of yellow tulips and the fruit stand filled with ripe peaches and thought she had landed in the most beautiful place in the world.
Now she flashed on her long flight tomorrow and shuddered. She tried to think of the things she had to look forward to: showing Gabriella the Venice boardwalk and the Getty Museum. Taking her shopping at Neiman Marcus and eating frozen yogurt in Santa Monica.
She fingered a gold belt and thought she had to find a present for Lydia. She turned and saw a familiar figure approach her.
“Juliet, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Gabriella called. She wore a floral dress and white sandals.
“I want to get your grandmother a gift, but she has so many beautiful clothes,” Juliet explained. “I was going to come to Casa Isabella this afternoon and say good-bye.”
“I have to talk to you,” Gabriella said.
They sat at an outdoor table and ordered fruit salad and iced coffee.
“Yesterday Hugo asked me to dinner and said he had something to tell me,” Gabriella began. “He made reservations at Es Raco d’es Teix in Deia, it is nestled in the mountains and the food is superb.
“Hugo ordered octopus with Mallorcan vegetables and olive oil. I gazed at his curly dark hair and blue eyes and couldn’t eat a thing.
“He took my hand and said he did something terrible and hoped I could forgive him. He said he always dreamed of being a Cordon Bleu chef and preparing lamb noissettes and the lightest vanilla mascarpone. He didn’t want to own a restaurant that served tapas to tourists; he wanted to create a menu that attracted diners from all over the world.
“A friend told him about a Cordon Bleu cooking course in Paris taught by a former chef at the Crillon. It was a six-month course and you needed a recommendation just to apply.
“He flew to Paris for the interview and said the kitchen was full of young men and women wearing starched white aprons.” Gabriella sipped her coffee. “They beat eggs into a soufflé and whipped Chantilly cream as if they learned to cook in preschool. He didn’t mention it because he thought he had no chance of being accepted.
“Then last week they called and offered him a place. He had to send the two-thousand-euro fee immediately or they would choose someone else.” Gabriella paused. “He asked his uncle for an advance and he’s already put the money back in our account. He said he never meant to do anything without asking me but it all just happened.
“After he finishes the course we can open a restaurant in Majorca that serves coq au vin and chocolate crepes. We’ll get reviewed by Bon Appétit and maybe one day get a Michelin star.
“I wanted to be angry but he was like a child who received a shiny new bicycle. He couldn’t believe this wonderful thing was his.” Gabriella stopped and ate a slice of pineapple. “He asked me to go to Paris and I said yes.”
“The owner of the Cordon Bleu course made hotel reservations for all the applicants,” Gabriella replied. “Her name was Céline Gaspar.”
“But you can’t go to Paris.” Juliet gasped. “Gideon offered you a recording contract.”
“I feel terrible, Gideon’s offer is so generous and it would be lovely to be with you in California. But I have to go with Hugo, I can’t breathe when we’re not together.” She smiled. “And if I’m going to run a French restaurant, I have to speak perfect French. I’ll browse in the boulangeries and sit at outdoor cafés eating croissants and drinking espresso.”
“You could still accept Gideon’s offer,” Juliet suggested. “You’d earn enough money to open a restaurant and you could commute between Los Angeles and Paris and Majorca.”
“Hugo and I talked about it, but he’s wanted this for so long, he has to take the Cordon Bleu course,” Gabriella replied. “And I don’t want to be a singer. It sounds glamorous, but I have no desire to spend my time in concert halls or on international flights. I don’t want to Skype Hugo at night or live in different time zones. Since I was twenty, I’ve known I wanted to open a restaurant with Hugo and start a family. Why would I do anything to get in the way, when everything I hoped for is right in front of me?”
“It sounds wonderful,” Juliet murmured. “If that’s how you feel I wouldn’t want you to do anything else.”
“There’s one more thing.” Gabriella reached into her purse and took out a black velvet box. She opened it and displayed an emerald cut diamond flanked by two sapphires.
“Hugo gave it to me last night.” She slipped the ring on her finger. “He asked my parents for my hand in marriage.”
“But I thought he had to put the ring on layaway.” Juliet frowned.
“He visited Lydia. Apparently years ago she fell in love with a British banker who lived in Hong Kong. He asked her to marry him but she said no because it wasn’t the right time.” Gabriella gazed at the sparkling diamond. “She gave Hugo the ring and said she didn’t want that to happen to us.”