Island in the Sea by Anita Hughes

service.” Juliet sighed. “Perhaps you could send up a plate of tapas and a bowl of soup.”
    â€œI’m afraid room service is unavailable,” the concierge explained. “We are having a reception for guests on the terrace. Chef Pedro has prepared a luscious spread including beef tartar and Majorcan vegetables.”
    Juliet peered outside and saw gold tablecloths set with flickering candles and bottles of olive oil. There were platters of sea bass and grilled scallops and veal medallions. She inhaled the scent of butter and garlic and felt her shoulders relax.
    â€œThat sounds wonderful.” She followed him onto the patio. “I would love a glass of Torres Pinot Noir.”
    *   *   *
    She stood under the trellis and gazed at the lush gardens. It was almost dark and silver lights twinkled above the swimming pool. She watched waiters in white dinner jackets pass trays of lobster ravioli and smiled.
    â€œI haven’t seen you before, are you here on business on pleasure?” A man approached her. He had curly blond hair and wore a blue shirt and tan slacks. “Majorca is one of Europe’s best kept secrets. Most people think they have to go to the French Riviera for spectacular beaches or the Italian lakes for gourmet cuisine, but Majorca has fabulous views and delicious seafood and swimming and sailing.”
    â€œI’m here on business. I only arrived a few days ago but I love everything about it,” Juliet replied. “I’ve never seen so many colors and everyone is friendly.”
    â€œLet me guess,” the man said. “You’re a model preparing for the runway shows in Paris or an international attorney celebrating winning a big case in Madrid.”
    â€œYou wouldn’t make a very good Sherlock Holmes.” Juliet laughed. “I’m an executive at a record label in Los Angeles, I’m working with a songwriter.”
    â€œThen you’re wasting a very good pair of legs.” He grinned. “My name is Henry. I’m a tennis player and my coach rents a hacienda in Palma. Every night he hosts a party with smoked salmon and bottles of tequila and dancing. But the music is too loud and everybody smokes. I’d rather watch the sunset and eat black truffle risotto.”
    â€œI wanted to stay in my room and order room service but the concierge said it wasn’t available.” Juliet nodded.
    Henry studied her brown hair and blue eyes and small pink mouth. He ate a last bite of risotto and his face lit up in a smile.
    â€œI’m glad you came; my coach doesn’t let me eat dessert. Maybe we can share a slice of almond cake.”
    *   *   *
    They sat at a round table and ate lamb skewers. Juliet watched the sun melt into the Mediterranean and felt light and happy.
    â€œI’m from New Zealand,” Henry said. “Everyone thinks it’s just green valleys and sheep but we have an opera house and a World Cup sailing team. I wish I could go home more often, but it’s a fourteen-hour flight from almost anywhere and if I don’t have extra legroom I get a crick in my neck.”
    â€œI worked with a band from New Zealand,” Juliet mused. “They’d never been to America before, they thought everywhere we went was Disneyland. They filled their suitcases with boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios and Cinnamon Toast Crunch because they’d never seen so many kinds of cereal.”
    â€œI’ve played tennis in the mountains of Peru and at an ashram in India and a castle in Scotland. I love seeing new places but sometimes I wish I went to the same office every day like my father. Every night he trades his briefcase for a martini and on Sundays they eat lunch at the club.” He sipped his drink. “But I could never sit still, the only place I’m happy is on a tennis court slamming a ball across the net.”
    â€œWhen I’m in the recording studio I live