It didn’t take too long to do a new recording of the song Sean wanted changed. Jon was in fine form after his visit to New York. Life had been very good to him of late, and with this sentiment he strode into the studio and belted out the tune with a verve and conviction that left the band silent with astonishment, Sean nodding in satisfaction. They spent a few hours listening to the now completed soundtrack with Harry, who was pleased with the outcome, and discussed the release date with Russ and the representatives from the record company over a couple of drinks at a bar on the waterfront.
Jon’s heart was not really in the project anymore.
“Do what you think is best,” he said to Art and Russ. “I know you’ll do the right thing, and it will be beautiful. Just send me a couple of copies when you’re done. I want to go.”
They looked out into the sunset, all of them exhausted after the furious work the past few months. Sean, Russ, Art, Harry, and Jon toasted each other on a production well done.
“And now,” Art announced, rubbing his hands, “Christmas, and then we get ready for the tour.” His phone rang.
“Sal,” he mouthed at Jon and then listened to what was being said to him.
Sal had just arrived and wanted to talk to Art and Jon right away. He didn’t have much time and needed to return to New York immediately.
“And it couldn’t wait until we meet in Halmar in a couple of weeks, or be done over the phone?” Jon asked in bewilderment. Art shrugged. They broke up the gathering and drove to the house to meet with Sal and hear what he had to tell them.
“Do you know,” Sal said instead of a greeting, “who it is you are marrying, Jon? Art, I need a triple bourbon, if you please.” He dropped onto the couch and pushed his hair off of his forehead.
“Yes?” Jon eyed him a little doubtfully. “I thought I did, until now. Why do you ask?”
Sal gave him his best shark grin. “What do you know about her, then?”
Obediently, Jon recited everything he knew about Naomi, which, he admitted, was not extensive, but he had been satisfied that it was enough.
“Let me help you,” Sal interrupted gleefully. “Do you know where her family comes from? How much has she told you about them, the secretive little thing?”
“Canada,” Jon answered. “At least that’s what she said. Most of them live in Toronto. The hotel belongs to her family. Her parents are in Geneva because her father’s job is there. ”
Oh yes, Sal picked up the tale with relish, and did he know why that was so? Because he managed the family’s finances from there, and it was worth the trouble to have someone do this, as there was so much to manage. Had he ever heard of the Hiltons? Well, the Carlsson empire was not quite as large as that, but they owned a cute little row of hotels in Canada and Scandinavia, and the Seaside was only a very minor chapter of the book, the family’s hobby horse, so to speak. Her Uncle Carl had managed it himself for a while as a favor to the family. They had been prepared to go to that length with Naomi because, Sal said, she was one of two heirs to the whole empire. They needed her and would not allow her to drift off again after her disaster.
Jon had known for a while that the family owned hotels, but not the extent of it.
“Her mother told me a bit, but man, that family is circumspect. They might as well own a Swiss bank for all the secrecy!” He laughed out loud at his own joke. “So you understand, they gave her this sweet little sanctuary and hid her away there with her uncle so you would never find her. You are dealing with a tight-knit and powerful family here, Jon, and your sweet rose has chosen to step out of it because of you. You will have them sitting on you soon enough when you wed their daughter.”
He took a big gulp of his drink and held out the glass to Art for a refill.
“Oh, and by the way,” he finished with a flourish, “it’s old money. Really old, like they were some kind of big-ass landowners or nobility in Norway some hundreds of years ago, before they decided that Canada was much too empty for their liking and lacked guest houses of a certain standard.”
Art sat across from them and looked from one to the other. “And you know this how? And how does it concern Jon? It doesn’t really change anything, does it? So her family is rich and owns a bunch of hotels. What of it? Why should it matter? Jon has a few dollars socked away, and he’s not nameless, either.”
“Yes, Sal,” Jon echoed, “how did you come to know all this?”
“My friend,” Sal said expansively, “your Baby Girl has asked me to manage her finances, and I had a very, very long talk with her father. The old bastard is one tough bird, and he knows everything about money management. And let me tell you, he is still none too pleased about the whole thing. He’d really prefer to see her go back to Canada and take over her duties instead of languishing in Halmar with you making music. But her mother has worked the female Carlsson magic on him, and he is compliant, if not happy. If you, my friend had not gone to Geneva and more or less forced him to accept you with all your millions, it would never have worked. But money talks. And your instinct was right, and I was wrong, I freely admit it.” He was full of a hilarity neither Jon nor Art had seen in him for a long while, obviously highly amused by the facts he had unearthed. “Which brings me to my next point,” he went on. “Artie, we are going to discuss contracts. No more working for the Jonman without written deals for my new client.”
Jon waved him away. “What the hell, Sal? As if it matters. Say what you want and have it made up. It will be going into one pot anyway.”
“Nah, it won’t!” Sal crowed. “The old man and I are setting up her own accounts, and your money will be going in it, the nest egg you put on his table when you stormed into his office. You will be a whole lot poorer by the time you take your bride to the marriage bed, my friend.”
“And she knows about this? And she consents? I find that hard to believe.”
Sal shook his head. Not yet, and there were one or two other things he had to do, and yes, he enjoyed working for her enormously because there was a fascinating background. A little bit like a Mafia family, they had influence everywhere, even in the political arena. Jon had better watch his back if he ever did something to bring her unhappiness.
“Makes me wonder,” he concluded when he got up to leave. “That graceful mother of hers, she is from Naples, isn’t she?” And again he laughed raucously. “Maybe that was a true marriage between Mafia families. Is there such a thing as a Scandinavian Mafia?”
He was on his way to the door but returned again to add, rather maliciously, “And oh, Jon? You did know she was in college when you met, yes? But did she ever to tell you where?” Dramatically, he waited for Jon to shake his head in bemusement. “She was at a conservatory, my dear famous pop star, studying piano and classical singing. Your dear, sweet hotel girl is a better musician than you can ever hope to be.” With the final bombshell dropped, Sal walked out, his laughter echoing behind him through the house.
He arrived in Halmar, and once again, for sentimental reasons, by water taxi. The lobby was quiet when he walked in, only Sven was at the desk typing away on the computer. Jon stopped and looked around, recalling his anguish when he had stood here the first time facing Solveigh and her bright, questioning stare, and how he had fumbled for the words to find out if Naomi was truly in this place. There had been no way for him to ask outright; he had been so abashed and too frightened of a humiliating scene. And then the elevator doors, the soft laughter and melodious voice that had haunted his nights for years, the deafening noise of those crashing plates, her motionless silhouette and the tautness of his heart, its uncontrolled hammering as he followed her down to her rooms, silence between them like cotton and fear like spikes in his sides.
“The mistress is in the kitchen,” Sven said, “Having lunch with the girls.”
They were sitting around the counter, leafing through a catalogue and eating spaghetti, a delicious garlic aroma wafting toward him from the open pot Andrea had placed between them.
“But I love pink,” Naomi was saying, “or at least rose. Why can’t I have pink roses on that stupid cake? And why do we need it anyway? Who wants cake?”
“It’s a wedding.” Andrea put a plate before her. “You can’t have a wedding without a cake.”
“I don’t need all this.” Naomi’s voice sounded a little plaintive. “It’s so huge. I’ll make him take me to the registry office and be done with it. Maybe if I ask nicely he’ll run off with me and we’ll live happily ever after on a lonely little island in the South Sea with only weekly catering service for company.”
“Yeah, listen to you,” Christi scoffed. “Spoiled and unable to cook for yourself, relying on a caterer even on an island paradise. There will be a cake, and no mistake.”
“Really, Baby?” Jon asked, “You and me on a tropical island? No people, no phones, and no clothes? Let’s go.”
She dropped her fork and flew into his arms so fast he staggered a little, but he caught her with delight. “Ah. So much better than last time. And no broken plates. I really hated to see those plates go to waste.”
It felt so right, so perfect, to hold her close.
“I’m baa-ack,” Jon announced, stating the obvious and making Christi laugh at him.
The secluded privacy of the apartment welcomed them, and when the door fell shut and the last few noises from upstairs were drowned out he once more had the notion this was a haven, a retreat for tired souls.
The piano stood open. Music sheets lay on it, not his this time, but Rachmaninoff, and some Sibelius. Gazing down at them, he realized Joshua probably did not get his talent from him at all but most certainly from his mother if she was good enough to play these composers. It was daunting.
Naomi’s eyes gleamed with happiness to have him back, and she held his hands as if she feared he would leave again, tugging slightly to get his attention away from the piano.
“Greedy again, little beast?” he asked, but his eyes remained on those ominous sheets. There would have to be a serious talk, soon, before their families descended on them and more surprises were revealed.
He lifted her up and carried her up the stairs to the bed, laid her down, and looked down at her outstretched body in approval.
“I like this dress,” he said as he began taking off his shirt. “It is pleasing to look at and easy to peel off. So what about the no sex thing, my sweet dove? Just some cuddling, or…?”
“Just come here,” Naomi replied. “We’ll find out. Maybe this once, since you’ve just come home.”
“Come here…” Her urgent tone made him smile. “When I first came to Halmar you made me wait until night and I had to sit and simmer while you had a fine day up there with your friends. You don’t have the faintest idea how that felt.”
She moved against him with a deep sigh, nestling into his shoulder, her hand on his bare chest. “I was wondering and wondering. I was thinking how it would be when you returned, if I could relive the miracle of that day when you showed up here the first time. I didn’t make you wait. I needed time to understand what I was doing, what was happening. I could think of nothing else that day, nothing but the certainty that I would be in your arms that night, and that once that happened I would not be able to let go of you again. A couple of times I was on the point of going down to you right away and throwing myself at you, but it was so special, so awesome, and I knew we would need time to celebrate, and intimacy, and stillness.”
He tugged at the zipper of her dress. “You want me, little beast. You want me very badly.”
“Yes.” A sigh like a soft touch on his skin. “But no. I want to hunger for you, to yearn and dream. I want to look at you and not get you. And then, on our wedding night, I want to tremble with anticipation at what we’ll do once you’ve taken away my bridal gown and I stand before you, finally all yours.”
“Yeah.” The dark, velvety voice sent shivers down her spine. “Yes, Baby. Oh, now I can see where you are going with your celibacy. Okay, you’ll get your wish. But I will torture you, I promise. You’ll not have a moment’s peace. I’ll have you thinking of sex every second of the day. I’m telling you, you will plead ever so nicely with me before then. But I keep my promises, always. I’ll let you beg all you want, my sweet bride.”
His hand slipped up her thigh, but she withdrew and moved away from him.
“Yes, I want you badly. God, I’m so happy to see you. But I’ll make some coffee now and then you’ll tell me everything that happened in the last three days.”
He rose to follow her back downstairs, shirt in hand, watched as she coiled her hair on top of her head in a graceful movement and straightened her dress, and thought that despite his promise it would be he who would be doing the suffering in the following days, seeing her like that and fantasizing about wild, sweet moments and soft sighs.
“Sal met your father for the settlements, and he has unearthed a few secrets you did not care to share with me, like your education. Do you truly play this?” He leafed through the music sheets. “We will have to talk at length about these things, Naomi.”
There was no answer for the longest time.
The scent of fresh coffee and the burbling of the machine filled the room, the tinkling of the cups as she took them out of the cupboard and the sucking sound of the fridge door when she brought out the milk.
Domestic bliss, Art had called it, but here they were back in the same place, and there were pitfalls without end, even though their love had grown and shifted and turned into something greater and better than they had held in their past.
“Baby, the next weeks will be turbulent, and we will not have much space to discuss these things. We need to talk about it, and you know it.”
Naomi poured the coffee and added milk, stirred it and put the spoon in the sink before she moved back to him.
“There is nothing to talk about. Nothing. I have parents, and I have no siblings. My family lives in Toronto, and I have one son. What else is there to say? You’ve met my parents, rather forcefully as I recall, and you know our son. Some other relatives you will meet on our wedding day.”
Jon took his cup and sat down on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, shirt discarded. “You might consider that it’s rather nice to know something about the person you are about to marry.”
Carefully she perched, not too close to him, and held her mug with both hands. “There is nothing to tell, Jon. I have a family like anyone else, and I broke off my studies to be with you, because I had fallen helplessly, fatally in love. What else is so important? What do you need to hear? Am I a different person because you found out I do indeed have an education?”
She gazed at him, her cheeks flushed.
“No doubts,” he hastened to reassure her. “I’m just perplexed. I had to learn from Sal that you were at a conservatory, studying music when we met! Don’t you think I would have wanted to know?”
Naomi turned her face away. “He shouldn’t have told you. It’s not his business. And it doesn’t matter. And could you please put your shirt back on?”
“Ah, no. Suffer all you like. I feel very comfortable without it. And don’t change the subject. I want to know, and I will make you tell me.”
Angrily, Naomi put down her cup and walked to the window. It was nearly impossible to see him like that and not go over and touch him.
“Well then, come here,” Jon growled invitingly, “Come and take what you want so badly. It is written plainly on your face, my love. And tell me now, is it you who plays Rachmaninoff? Why make such a secret of it?”
It was the most unbearable temptation. Instead she sat down on the piano stool and clamped her hands between her knees. “I started playing when I was six. And I’m a fair player, but not excellent like Joshua. It was good enough to get me into conservatory. But Jon…” her face lost its dreamy expression and turned serious. “If it had meant anything, I wouldn’t have dropped it.”
Lacking an explanation, she shrugged.
Here was the core of her life, the one thing everything else centered around, and she wondered why she had to tell him once again.
“I was always better at writing, and you know it, Jon. I’m not going to repeat it again. You were my inspiration, and after that nothing else seemed important anymore. Did I expect to meet you at that hotel? I don’t know. I hoped, I guess. Did I expect to fall in love with you?” She paused and gazed at him with a wounded look. “I did not expect it. I did not even know what love felt like. All I know is, I wanted to be in your arms when I saw you there in that lobby, wanted to know how your lips might taste, and I certainly wanted you to be the one to show me…” she faltered, had to breathe deeply and close her eyes for a minute before she could finish the thought, let alone speak it out loud. “I wanted you to be the man to take me to bed the first time, see me naked, show me…” she broke off and fell silent.
He sat up and looked straight at her.
“Nothing else meant that much to me,” she said. “All I wanted was to be with you, hear your music, share your life and feel your body next to mine, hold you close and know you loved me, too. It’s that simple, Jon. It comes down to this.” She gave him a small, tentative smile. “It still is, you know. Simple. I don’t want Hollywood or glamour or fame or wealth, or traveling all over the world in private jets. Or diamonds. You and the music. That’s all I need. And this is the answer you will get every time you ask.”
“And now?” He tugged at her skirt to make her move over to him, but she resisted. “And now, so many years later, do you still think it’s enough? This is not a decision you need to make. It was never a question of me or the rest of the world.”
Naomi shook her head at him, wondering how it could be he understood so little about himself, saw himself in such a warped light that he could not recognize how strongly he influenced everyone around him, made those close to him bend their lives to suit him and his demands.
“I have,” she explained carefully, “chosen to be yours. I did it then, and I’m doing it again now. There is not much room left for anything else, Jon. You fill up nearly all of my life, and the small rest that is left I need for Joshua and for breathing. It’s just the way it is with you, and has always been. Your career and the road you are traveling leave little space for detours. It’s either be with you or drop off somewhere by the roadside. Trailing along in this comet’s fiery tail, someone called it. That’s you. The comet.”
The Distant Shore (Stone Trilogy) Page 20
