Under the Same Sun (Stone Trilogy) (15 page)

He took Naomi’s arm in his and led her up the stairs and into the building, a sudden pride swelling in his chest at having her by his side. She was stunning in that gown, as slim as a young girl, her skin flawless, just the way she had been when they had met.

“Love you,” he whispered just as one of the men came forward to greet them. “You’re the loveliest woman in this room tonight.” And grinned at her pert response. “Thank you, but just tonight?”

chapter 13

“
T
he Swiss Really know how to throw a party.” Art remarked.
Sal, eyeing the dessert being set down in front of him, replied, “Euro
peans have class. That’s simply a fact of life. They are the better fans, too.”

“They are more polite fans, big difference.” There was some very fine wine in their glasses, and there had been some very fine food too.

Their hosts had placed Jon and Naomi at the head of the banquet table like a wedding couple, the guests of honor, where everyone would be able to see Jon.

No one had the bad taste to take pictures without asking, much less ask for an autograph; and the talk never touched on his work or his private life. It was always polite, friendly and well mannered.

Sal, watching them, recalled that day at the open-air venue here in Geneva when Naomi had sat with him during the sound check and he had asked her about her life. Even then she had been different, like a clear flame, as if a light shone in her and spilled out onto her surroundings. He had hardly been able to look at her, she was so beautiful. And Jon, up on the stage in the sun, had glared down at them, his mouth set in a thin line of disapproval, his fingers on the guitar missing more than one beat while she told him of summers on the lake, boating and swimming, water-skiing, attending dances at yacht clubs, and winters in the mountains. With a graceful wave of her hand she had pointed at the white peaks in the distance, on the other side of Lac Léman, and told him that Mont Blanc wasn’t too far away, just over there, to the south, and Chamonix was really very pretty in the snow.

He had listened as she told him about trips to Montreux for music festivals and lazy afternoons with friends eating ice cream and tossing their crumbled wafers to the swans, and evening strolls along the shore. She loved going to Lausanne for shopping trips; it was such a nice little city. The names of those towns had blurred past him, names he had only heard in old Technicolor movies of places never on their tour plan.

For a brief moment he had seen their lives as a long train ride with a few stops, while in the distance other places, barely seen, beckoned, places they would never visit, that would ever only remain legends. He had made a vow to himself then and there to visit Montreux someday, even if it was only to have a cup of coffee in a restaurant on the lake, just so he could say he’d been there.

Jon had broken into this magical moment when he had jumped from the stage and come over to them. She had turned toward him, Sal forgotten, everything else forgotten; and he had given up and left.

H
is brandy glass refilled, Sal settled back. Dinner was over; it was time to pay for it. He didn’t envy Jon in these moments, when the music and the dancing started and every woman in the room quivered with anticipation, dreaming of being in those arms even if only once, if only for a heartbeat or two.

Jon leaned toward Naomi and whispered to her, his hand caressing her naked shoulder; and she listened, her head tilted toward him, eyes cast down and mouth soft in a small smile. Sal wondered if they did it intentionally, if maybe they took the time to rehearse just the right angle and timing in front of a big mirror, if they had ordered the candles and flowers to be placed just so, the bottle of champagne in the silver cooler and the crystal glasses, to present this perfect tableau to their enraptured audience.

“They look like they are one being, don’t they?” Art said from behind him, admiration in his voice. “It’s really interesting to watch. Like two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly. Or maybe like an Oreo cookie: two halves of the same thing, stuck together with love instead of cream…”

“Stop being so disgusting,” Sal interrupted him. “I get your point. And yeah, you’re right.” He needed another brandy.

Jon was rising now, buttoning his jacket and doing it in a way that made all eyes turn to him. There was more than interest in some of the men’s faces as always, and as always this made Sal grin. Desires and dreams, fueled by a simple gesture. If anyone could do it, it would be Jon.

The city’s mayor, the host for the evening, asked Naomi for a dance; and with a last, slight touch on Jon’s sleeve, she followed him.

“Come on.” Art sighed. “Let’s do our bit. Dancing with us is nearly as good as dancing with the Master himself.”

Sal wondered if there were any among these people who knew Naomi from before, who had been to school with her or danced with her here in this same spot twenty years ago. She did seem rather friendly with the mayor, a tall, slim man who had introduced himself as Walter. He was too old to have been a classmate and yet not old enough to be of her parents’ generation.

Sal had asked his wife to dance, a petite blonde in a flaming red dress, a lively, chatty woman in her late forties who did not stop telling him how excited she was about Jon having accepted the invitation and how much she was looking forward to the concert the following night.

“You have backstage passes, of course,” Sal murmured, looking at Naomi over her head.

Yes, they did, she nodded, and she could hardly wait; she’d been backstage to a number of shows, but none like this, of course. “It took you so long to come back here,” she said. “Many years. I went to see Jon in Zürich a couple of times; but you never returned to Geneva, even though his wife used to live here. So strange.” She had the cutest French accent, Sal noted, and asked her name.

Pauline, she replied, and moved a little closer to him; her name was Pauline, and she was enchanted to make his acquaintance. The words sounded charming with that accent, Sal had to admit. He turned his attention to her, away from Naomi’s bare back and Walter’s hand on it, right where the straps of her dress crossed below her shoulder blades, a strange man’s hand touching her skin.

“We used to see her when we had a party here, or at our house. She was such a sweet young girl, always so quiet. My brother was madly in love with her,” Pauline was saying, and he made himself listen. “But she never cared for him. I always thought she was listening to something, some other tune, as if she was not even here.”

“I love the way you say that,” Sal answered, holding her tighter. “Your English is very cute.”

This made her blush; it was not very becoming and clashed with the red of her dress, but Sal found it enticing anyway. She didn’t look too bad for her age, and she was a good dancer.

“Anyway,” Pauline went on, slightly flustered. “Naomi, she was always different. I had a feeling her father would really have liked her to date Pierre, but she wouldn’t even go to the movies with him or with any of the others.” She shrugged. “Pierre now works at CERN. He’s a scientist. I don’t think they would have fit well together.”

He didn’t say it, but Sal agreed. If there was something he could not
envision, it was Naomi as the wife of a scientist, bogged down in
Geneva.

“I remember when Jon came here for those two concerts, way back then. Naomi and I were not really friends; I am so much older than she is. But she was somehow always there, like a fairy dancing in the corner of your eye. She was so excited about that concert, it was very amusing. We were all supposed to go together to the show, the entire group of young people, but somehow she was gone when we were supposed to leave. No one ever knew where she was.” Her lips twitched. “But I have an idea now. No wonder he picked her; she was so lovely.”

“She still is.”

He could have slapped himself, but Pauline nodded. “Yes, a beautiful woman.” Another shrug, then: “But she would have to be, to catch Jon Stone,
non
?”

J
on found her on the lawn down by the water, her shoes in her hand, looking up at the full moon hovering over the distant mountains.

The air was balmy, soft and fragrant in a totally different way from LA, from any place at all he knew. He wondered if he had noticed when he had been in Geneva the first time, but he was almost certain he hadn’t.

“You turned my head so completely.”

Surprised, she looked around.

“I didn’t give a damn about the concert that day. All I wanted was to be with you.” There was a single tendril that had freed itself from the coil of hair, floating on the back of her neck in the breeze, and he caught it between his fingers.

“I know. You are easily distracted.” She turned into his arms. “You didn’t dance with me at all. All those ladies, they’re probably still dreaming of you, and I get nothing.”

“You get everything. You get all of me.” The skin of her throat tasted of roses, of the perfume she always wore. It hadn’t changed since they had first met; and everywhere, whenever he had smelled roses, he thought of her. “We could dance right here, where no one can see us.
We could pretend you are my mermaid again, the sweet young thing I
caught here on this lakeshore.”

She swayed in his embrace. He pulled her closer to feel her body against his.

“I’m no lake selkie. I want to be from the cold waters, the dark, gray ocean, not this tepid puddle here.” It was the gentlest whisper, like the touch of soft wind on his cheek.

“But your lips are warm. You can’t be from the cold.” His hands wandered down over the smooth silk, exploring the shape of her hips. “You’re warm and supple, and you smell of flowers, not kelp or seaweed.”

“I have my secrets.”

“You want a kiss. I know it. But this is a dangerous place, my pretty mermaid, right by the water’s edge. You might drag me under,” he said into her mouth, inhaling her breath, savoring how she moved closer and her arms tightened around his neck.

“I will steal you away, oh yes.” Naomi pulled back when he tried to kiss her. “I will tease and torment you until you come away with me and live with me in my underwater castle. We’ve had this discussion before, remember? You can’t win.”

Jon remembered only too well. “We made love in the shower. I think I won. You begged for mercy.”

She gasped when he rocked his hips against hers suggestively but replied, “You did not win. I wore you out and had to help you to bed. Like an old man.”

That made him laugh out loud. “Like hell you did. I recall I had to shake you awake when we were in bed at last; you dropped off like a baby. And now let me kiss you or I’ll have to go inside and ask that blonde in the red dress. She’s the youngest one here tonight, except for you. So if I want a kiss and you won’t, it will have to be her.”

“Pauline,” Naomi said softly. “Her brother wanted to date me. Their parents had a nice yacht. We used to come here for summer balls and sit  on the lawn to watch the moon, just like now.”

His grip around her waist tightened. “You watched the moon with someone else? Right here? And you kissed him like you’re going to kiss me now?”

She surrendered nicely, her lips coming open under his, melting into his embrace, just the way he liked it.

“I never kissed anyone like I kiss you, Jon. No one else had the magic,” she said when he let her go.

“Why is kissing you so different?” Jon asked. “Why is it so magical with you? I don’t want to stop, ever.”

Instead of an answer she kissed him again, holding his face between her hands, standing on her toes to reach him.

“
T
hey just left,” Naomi said as they strolled back to the house. She hadn’t put her sandals back on and had to hold up her dress so she wouldn’t trip on it. With every step she took, Jon could see a glimpse of leg, the white skin shining in the moonlight. Again he thought of that mermaid they had made up and how she would wander this garden at night to watch the people inside the building while they danced and ate, humming along to the music and wondering what the golden, bubbling liquid in their glasses was.

“They just left, and nobody bothered to tell me.” She stopped at the bottom of the stairs to the terrace. “I’ve been trying to think, Jon; what if we decided to move somewhere, even if we only went back to live in Halmar. Can you imagine us doing that without asking Joshua to come along? Without even letting him know? I mean, if something happens, he would need to know where to find us.”

It seemed uncanny how her words echoed his earlier thoughts; only he had been furious, and Naomi was sad, withdrawing into that stillness he had come to hate. He didn’t know what to say. No friendly or comforting words that he could come up with; everything would have been full of the anger and hate he felt for her father.

“I thought…”—a small shrug, the attempt at a smile that failed—“I thought we would bury what had happened, maybe get him to accept our marriage, and then we could have peace.” Her words trailed off as she gazed back at the lake. “If I can live with what happened, then my father should be able to. I’m the one who got hurt.”

Jon hated that he couldn’t rip the memory of that day from the fabric of time or turn back time so it had never happened, make her healthy again and their life together the bright and shiny gem it should be instead of this constant struggle for a little happiness.

“It wasn’t your fault, love.” The curve of her shoulder fit into his hand like a silky peach. “If anything it was mine, and you know it. We’ve talked about it a million times. I’ll bear the guilt.”

She shook herself out of her moodiness. “It wasn’t, Jon Stone. It wasn’t your fault, so stop saying that. So you broke up with a girlfriend. That doesn’t give her the right to shoot me, or anyone else.” Holding on to his arm, she bent down to put on her sandals. “She could have written a book about how you look like a monster when you crawl out of bed in the morning, or how you leave your dirty clothes lying around on the floor. That would’ve had style.” On the point of walking up the stairs she turned and added, “Or gone on every talk show in Hollywood and told the world that you had really nasty sexual habits. There are so many ways to hurt you that are far worse than aiming a gun at me.”