Under the Same Sun (Stone Trilogy) (5 page)

“But you can go every weekend if you want,” he had argued. “Order a damn jet and just go! We can go right now!”

And, once again, she had given him that small, thoughtful smile and replied, “But where would the fun be in that.”

The breakfast selection was not the best. Ruefully, over a sticky cinnamon roll, Jon pondered the fabulous buffet they would be serving back at the hotel. He could almost taste the fried eggs and bacon, the sausages he was rather fond of, and the creamy, fruity cereal they served there.

There weren’t many people around at this time of the day. The baristas stood behind the counter, chatting, their aprons still fresh and clean, the display well filled with baked goods. At the other end of the café a lonely man sat, a newspaper on his knees and an espresso in his hand, doing the crossword puzzle. Beside him on the floor sat a battered briefcase, an umbrella balanced on top. Jon wondered how his day would look, where he was headed, what would wait for him when he got back home. Loneliness seemed to hover around him like a shadow, and for a moment the sight made him sad. It reminded him too much of his own long, empty years without Naomi.

“There are no pancakes and bacon here,” he said in an attempt to dispel the feeling of melancholia that was rising in him like a fog. “We could have had all that back at the hotel.”

Naomi, as always, had picked a seat at the high table just inside the window where she could look out and watch the world as it passed. Her elbows on the top, mug between her hands, she gave him a sidelong glance but did not answer.

“I’m sure there is syrup too.”

Her hair was loose, the locks falling over her shoulders and back in that cascade of black he loved. Her features were sharper than they had been before, the sweetness had gone out of the shape of her cheeks and chin to be replaced by finely chiseled contours during her recovery, but her eyes had retained their clear, velvety expression.

“I love you.” He was helpless against the storm of emotions.

Her lips curled. “I know.”

“I thought I loved you even more when you were gone. I believed missing you would tear me apart.” Jon took her hand in his to gaze down at her rings. “But it’s not true. Seeing you here, now, this tears me apart. You are here, I can touch you, and I don’t know where to go with my love for you. It’s nearly more than I can take.”

There was no reply right away, so he looked up.

“That’s the weirdest declaration of love I’ve ever heard,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure I want to be compared to a headache, Jon. There is no pill for this.”

“No, there isn’t. I’ll just have to bear it, live with the pain, endure it every day of my life. I embrace this ache. It’s a part of me; without it, I’d be a hollow, silent shell.” He wanted to kiss her again, just to make sure she was really back. “Without it, I’d be nothing.”

Naomi sighed and slipped from the stool, brushed the crumbs of her muffin from her skirt, and pushed her hair out of her face. She picked up their empty mugs and carried them back to the counter, nodding to the young man who took them from her.

“Okay, then.” With a small wave she indicated he should get up too. “You may stop whining. Let’s go back to the hotel and see if we can find you some pancakes.”

And that, Jon acknowledged as he followed her out into the crisp London morning, was what he loved about her. She always knew how to drown his more sentimental outbursts.

“
I
told that journalist to call Sal for an interview with me.”

The information was delivered so offhandedly that Jon hardly took any notice at first. One of those red double-decker buses was rumbling past them, close enough to almost touch, tourists staring at him and the view from behind the glass panes. For a morbid moment he wondered what would happen if one of them recognized him and called his name. Maybe everyone would cluster on this side of the vehicle and it would tip over, and he would be buried under his fans, literally. It was such an outrageously funny image that he grinned and even raised his hand in greeting, but he was ignored.

“What?”

“I said,” Naomi repeated patiently, “I’ve thought about it and yes, I think I want to talk to the press, but only to that one reporter, the one from the press conference.”

Jon stopped in his tracks, right there in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing a woman with a baby buggy to take a detour around him.

“Why do you want to do that, baby? You don’t have to talk to any of those vultures. We pay Sal and Art a lot of money to take care of that.”

She put her arm through his to pull him forward before someone noticed him and they got into trouble.

“I want to do this, Jon. There will be no rest until someone tells the story, and you know that very well. The sooner, the better too, or you will be asked the same questions at every stop.”

“You talked to him? When?” He did not budge.

“Jon, please. I talked to him after Sal took me to the lounge you had reserved for me. The press lounge was next to mine, and when I went out onto the balcony to see you better, he approached me. It was okay. He is quite nice.” She tugged his sleeve. “Come on, Jon. Breakfast.”

They had slipped out on their own without guards, and he had not objected because it had been so early and so few people were around yet, but that was changing now, with the morning rush hour beginning. Traffic had picked up considerably. Shops were beginning to open; tourists strolled by on their way to Harrods. Often enough he had gotten away when he had left hotels early enough, and returned unmolested. The attention of the fans was focused on the elevators where he was expected to emerge, never on the entrances. In a way it was hilarious, and he had sometimes stood in the lobby for a while, even leaning on the counter, to watch their excitement.

“Sal left you up there alone? Alone, in a lounge? All by yourself?” He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

The way she was standing at the top of the steps, one hand raised to hold down her blowing hair, the valet in his red coat opening the heavy door for her, Jon thought she could well be on the cover of a hotel brochure.

“Of course he did, Jon. There was a concert about to start, remember? His place was not up there in that stupid lounge but with you, and beside your stage. He does not get paid to keep me company.”

Slowly, thoughtfully, he followed her inside. The lobby was fairly empty; only a couple of clerks were working the reception desk. A man in a very dapper uniform was busy vacuuming the dark green carpet; someone else had just put down a big bowl with fresh apples on one of the tables. From the desk, a large bouquet of nodding roses spread their sweet aroma. Jon loved this large, old hotel. He loved the quiet elegance, the high ceilings, the tasteful rooms, and the total discretion. Here, he felt private.

“But alone, Naomi, anything could have happened to you. I hate the thought of you running around alone in that huge building. What if someone had seen; you might have been abducted, harmed.”

“Yes.” She inserted the keycard into the slot. “That’s happened already, the being harmed. And in the best secured place on Earth. You can’t impress me with that, Jon.”

As always, an entire floor had been closed off for them. The moment the elevator door opened guards faced them, ready to block any stranger’s access; but seeing Jon, they moved swiftly aside.

“I’m not trying to impress you.” There were voices from down the hall, the sounds of cutlery clinking, plates being stacked. A whiff of coffee and toast drifted toward them. Jon pointed in that direction. “Breakfast.”

Reluctantly, Naomi followed.

“Sal should not have left you there alone. He knows it wasn’t safe, even with a guard outside the door. See?” He stopped. “See what happened? A bloody reporter got to you without any of us being there to take care of you. That’s not supposed to happen. Ever.”

Something in her face changed, a tiny little tightening of her mouth, but he knew he had offended her. It didn’t matter.

“You can’t do this on your own, Naomi. Please trust me. You are just too nice, too friendly; and someone like that—he would wheedle everything he wants to know out of you, and you wouldn’t even notice until you read it in the tabloids the next day. You have to trust me. I’ve been there! Don’t think I learned this overnight. It was a bitter lesson, and I want to spare you that. Baby, please?”

“Okay.” Delivered in a soft monotone, it was quite clear that she wasn’t really okay with it at all but was giving in for his sake.

“I promise, Naomi,” Jon said. “I promise, I won’t make this hard on you. I know you want to go out and enjoy the towns we go to, and I will take you out. We will have fun on this tour.”

At last she smiled. It was a small and rather sad smile, but it was a start.

Jon held out his hand. “Eggs? Bacon? I’m sure there will be some mushrooms for you, and an omelette.”

“How do you know?”

Her fingers were cool, and he closed his own around them firmly to warm them up. “Because, my love, I asked them to cook some every morning just in case you would be there for breakfast.”

                     

S
he could see, from where she was sitting with Art and Sean, how Jon had cornered Sal, a napkin and a spoon in his hand. His shoulders were tense as he stood in front of his manager, his back to her as he talked to him, not at all loud, but his voice carried well enough.

“…and not leave her there by herself,” he was saying, “Those weren’t my orders, you idiot. She is not to be left alone, ever.”

Mortified, Naomi pushed the mushrooms around on her plate. Art, beside her, said nothing, and Sean listened with narrowed eyes.

“What were you thinking? Did you dump your brains in the gutter somewhere?” There was more venom in Jon’s tone than she had heard in a long time.

They couldn’t hear Sal’s reply.

“Yeah, I don’t care.” Jon dropped the spoon back on the buffet table, where it landed on a pile of used cups with a ringing sound. Art raised his eyebrows. “I don’t care what you thought. Don’t think, Sal, it’s useless anyway. Just do as you’re told.”

Without waiting for an answer, Jon came over to her table, fury painted on his face, and sat down beside her. He was still clutching the napkin, and he had not brought any food with him.

Sal, still standing where Jon had left him, gave her a resigned glance. One corner of his mouth tried to twitch into a smile, but instead it turned into a smirk of resignation. With a shrug he turned away and left the room, everyone in it staring after him, their expressions a mirror of Naomi’s feelings.

Carefully she laid down her fork, appetite gone, the joy of being back with Jon lost.

“That was harsh.” Art stole one of the cooling mushrooms from her plate. “Jon, that was really harsh. Did you have a bad night?” And then, realizing what he had said, grinned at Naomi. “Yeah, I guess not, but why attack Sal, and in public?”

“Don’t talk to me, Art.” Jon poured himself some coffee. “Just don’t talk to me, okay? The stupid bastard…” He broke off and took a deep breath.

Art waited patiently.

“Okay, yeah, it was a bit harsh. Sorry you had to hear that, but I’m so angry with him. He left Naomi all by herself in the bloody VIP lounge when I told him to look after her. And promptly someone jumps on her and tries for an interview. We need to discuss security, Art. We need to tighten it considerably.” His breathing calmed after a sip of coffee. Gradually his body relaxed; he leaned back in his chair, eyeing Naomi’s discarded food with regret. “I’m sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to yell at Sal right here, but when I saw him it just broke out of me. God, I’m so angry I could strangle him.”

“He left you alone up there?” Art asked incredulously. “Was he out of his mind? With only one guard?”

Jon’s fist hit the table, shaking the coffee pot dangerously. “Just my words! There you go, Art, I can’t believe it.”

“That is really hard to believe.”

Naomi rose. “No, don’t bother,” she said when both of them began to jump up. “I’m only going back to our room.” Her hand on Jon’s shoulder, she added, “And I don’t want to listen to you any longer. You should be ashamed of yourselves. Sal would lie down and die to protect me, and you know that. I’m done with you for now,” and walked out without so much as a glance back.

T
here was no luggage.

She hadn’t brought anything but the change of clothes she was wearing now.

The door closed behind her, and it was only then that she realized she was still holding her napkin. It was a very nice one, damask linen, the hotel’s logo elaborately embroidered in one corner, larger than a handkerchief, heavy. Sadly she gazed at it, rubbing the fine material between her fingers. Only a few weeks before Jon had appeared on her doorstep in Halmar she had ordered nearly the same design for the hotel there, only they had been pale green. They had used them at their wedding a few months later, and she had flushed with pride when her uncle commented on them, complimenting her good taste and how well they went with the interior of the dining room.

Longing for the Seaside spiked in her like a sharp, sudden pain.

It was June. In a few days they would be celebrating Midsummer Night there, and she would miss it.

She would miss putting on her white cotton dress, the one with the lace trim, and sitting in the meadow down by the sea with Solveigh and the other girls, watching the sun dip toward the water but never set. There would be no Norwegian folk songs for her this year, nor the spectacle of the bonfire or the taste of the fish grilled over it, no scent of dill from the vat with the crawfish and no tangy sip of aquavit, brewed by a local distillery and brought out only for special occasions.

Her hotel had always been fully booked for Midsummer, and most of the guests were the same ones, returning year after year like the geese traveling over the bay on their migrations. Often enough she had stood on the deck to watch their flight, wishing herself away with them, to warmer places, out of her loneliness and longing, dreaming of seeking out Jon and ending her exile. But the birds had vanished beyond the hills, and she had returned inside to her work, and everything had been as before.