Free Island in the Sea by Anita Hughes Page A

and fifty-seven sonnets and is the most popular writer in history.
    â€œI know you think I should do something important like become a doctor or a lawyer. But can you imagine a world without Romeo and Juliet ? How many schoolchildren can recite Hamlet’s soliloquy or know the words to Shakespeare’s sonnets? I can never be like Shakespeare but I have to try. If I write one song that makes people want to get up in the morning or lyrics that make their day a little brighter, I’ll have achieved my goal.”
    Samantha walked to the hedge and inhaled the scent of daffodils and tulips. Lionel studied her slender cheekbones and thought he should have stayed in London. He should have taken her to a smart bar in Knightsbridge or a hip café on King’s Road.
    She turned back to Lionel and adjusted her skirt. She looked at his curly dark hair and green eyes and smiled.
    â€œYou will.”
    â€œI will what?” Lionel asked.
    â€œYou will write songs they’ll play on radio stations and in concert halls. Every artist will want to work with you and you’ll have your own table at Annabelle’s. You’ll travel to Argentina and Turkey and fans will beg for your autograph.”
    Lionel leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips. He inhaled the scent of her perfume and felt a throbbing in his chest.
    â€œLet’s go. He took her hand and led her onto Henley Street. He hurried along the sidewalk and stopped in front of a restaurant with striped awnings and plate glass windows.
    â€œWhat are we doing?” Samantha frowned.
    â€œWe’re going to Benson’s and having raspberry scones with lemon curd and clotted cream. Because the only thing that will stop me from making love to you in the back of the car is to sit in a stuffy restaurant surrounded by middle-aged women eating lobster rolls and vanilla custard.”
    *   *   *
    They sat at a table by the window and ate Scottish salmon and ham and tomato sandwiches. Lionel brushed her arm with his fingers and wanted to wrap his arms around her. He wanted to kiss her on the mouth and press her against his chest.
    â€œIf you’re going to be a great songwriter you have to learn discipline.” Samantha buttered a slice of tea cake.
    â€œI’m extremely disciplined,” Lionel protested. “I get up every morning and swim fifty laps in the pool. I drink a glass of orange juice and eat a slice of whole wheat toast. Then I sit at my desk until it’s time to go to work.”
    â€œWhat do you do at your desk?” Samantha asked.
    â€œI read Sir Walter Scott and Rudyard Kipling.” Lionel wavered. “Sometimes I pull out a copy of GQ or HELLO! You never know where you’ll get an idea for a song.”
    â€œYou can’t be distracted by glossy photos or celebrity exposés,” Samantha insisted. “You have to sit at your desk with nothing but a notebook and a piece of paper. A real writer gets his inspiration from within.”
    Lionel watched her spread strawberry preserve on a warm scone and felt his heart lift. He searched his pocket for a pen and scribbled on a napkin.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Samantha asked.
    Lionel looked up and his eyes sparkled. “I’m writing a love song to the most beautiful girl in the world.”
    *   *   *
    Lionel stubbed out his cigarette and glanced at Juliet’s pale cheeks and watery eyes. He walked to the mosaic bar and poured a glass of Grey Goose. He added a twist of lime and handed it to Juliet.
    â€œDrink this, vodka is the cure for everything,” he insisted. “It goes down as easily as the cough syrup my mother gave me as a child. I always wondered why she allowed me to have chocolate syrup at bedtime.”
    â€œI don’t drink during the day.” Juliet shook her head.
    â€œYou do today; I thought American women were so strong they could trek through Nepal with nothing but a