Island in the Sea (6 page)

He heard a knock on the door and flinched.

“Come in, I'm in the kitchen,” he called, spreading marmite on bread.

Juliet entered the room and glanced at the counter littered with toffee wrappers and a half-eaten Violet Crumble. She saw a porcelain coffee mug and a sliced orange.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I ran out of cigarettes and got hungry,” Lionel explained. “First I tried the tostadas the maid left but they were too spicy. Then I thought I'd make a sandwich but rinsing lettuce and slicing tomatoes was exhausting. So I raided the pantry and found a tin of biscuits and a packet of butterscotch creams.”

“It looks like the kitchen in Cinderella when she went to the ball.” Juliet collected silver spoons and put them in the sink.

“Maybe you could run down to the newsagent and buy a pack of cigarettes,” he suggested.

“Have you thought of quitting?” Juliet asked.

“I used to think about it every other Thursday.” Lionel ate a bite of his sandwich. “But then I'd get invited to an industry function that served lamb medallions and chocolate torte. Cigarettes might kill you but they'll never make you fat; I'd rather die of lung cancer than get a middle-aged spread.”

“You're thin as a rail.” Juliet couldn't help but smile.

“Do you really think a diet of scotch and cigarettes will allow me to live to eighty?” Lionel raised his eyebrow. “I do try to keep in shape, I swim thirty laps a day.”

He put the plate in the sink and entered the living room. He filled a glass with bourbon and sat on a striped love seat.

“Have you ever wanted something so badly you can't sleep? You lie on Egyptian cotton sheets reciting William Blake and think you'd give anything to close your eyes. When you do manage to drift off, the thing you want is so close you believe life is suddenly glorious and you can achieve your goals.” Lionel ran his fingers over the rim. “But then you wake up and the heater is hissing and you realize it was just a dream.”

“When I graduated from college my roommate was moving to Florence and selling her Mazda for practically nothing,” Juliet mused. “I never had my own car and pictured visiting the farmer's markets on the Hudson. But I couldn't find an apartment in Brooklyn with a parking space so she gave it to her boyfriend.”

“I'm not talking about a bloody car, I'm talking about love,” Lionel snapped. “When you're standing in the shower or jogging around the park and all you can see is a pair of full breasts and a small waist and long legs.”

“I wouldn't know.” Juliet blushed.

“I got a job as a valet at Claridge's,” Lionel continued. “Six nights a week I carried Louis Vuitton suitcases through the marble lobby and let small dogs in knitted sweaters nip my feet. I opened doors for men in white dinner jackets and women trailing mink coats.

“But I didn't complain because I had all day to write songs.” His eyes darkened. “Except I pictured Samantha's blond hair and blue eyes and couldn't write a word.”

“What happened after you had dinner with Samantha?” Juliet asked. “Did you see her again?”

“If love was that easy my career would have been over twenty-five years ago.” Lionel sighed. “No one would decipher the lyrics of love songs trying to understand why suddenly the juciest steak tasted like cardboard and they couldn't remember their own name.”

*   *   *

He took a sip of bourbon and closed his eyes. He saw his room above the garage with its narrow bed and wood desk and Tiffany lamp. He pictured the dormer window and view of Eaton Square. He remembered crumpling up notepaper and tossing it into the garbage.

Lionel stuck his hands in his pockets and crossed the gravel driveway. He saw the main house with its white columns and wrought iron balconies. He inhaled the scent of hibiscus and dahlias and suddenly missed Cambridge with its tall spirals and leafy gardens.

Penelope had offered him room and board in exchange for tutoring the twins in writing. Lionel loved the main house with its vast kitchen and sunny conservatory and indoor swimming pool. He loved the pantry stocked with jars of orange marmalade and lemon curd. Mostly he loved having access to the Grahams' library. He could spend hours flopped on an ottoman reading Oscar Wilde and Rupert Brooke.

*   *   *

Lionel entered the library and approached the walnut bookshelf. He selected
Of Human Bondage
and
A Sentimental Education
. He added
Madame Bovary
and clutched them to his chest.

Ever since he met Samantha he couldn't stop thinking about her. He wrote a note thanking her for dinner and hoping to see her again. He dropped it in the mailbox of the Georgian manor and waited for someone to walk outside. He saw a maid in a black uniform collect the mail and hurried away.

He tried to write lyrics but the words came in the wrong order. He jogged around Eaton Square and swam laps in the indoor pool. Mostly he sat in the library and read books about unrequited love.

*   *   *

He carried the books into the hallway and heard voices in the study. He peered through the door and saw silver candelabras and a gold silk sofa and thick white carpet. A Degas stood over the fireplace and a Waterford vase was filled with yellow orchids.

“Lionel,” Penelope called. She wore a navy Dior suit and tan pumps. “Have you met Georgina? Samantha is her children's nanny.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Lionel said, as he held out his hand.

“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 need 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.