The Mermaid Garden (19 page)

room.

“I’m still not sure why you’ve given him the best set of rooms in the

house,” said Jake quietly.

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“They’re not the best. The first-floor rooms are prettier.” She stood

up and faced him.

“Yes, but this is a whole floor.”

“It’s an attic.”

“But what if we get honeymooners who want to book it?”

“Then they have the rooms downstairs. We have twenty rooms, Jake,

of which under half are booked so far this summer.”

“We’re going to get busier.”

“It’s all relative.”

“He’s charismatic, but I’m not sure how he’s going to suddenly fill

the hotel with wannabe painters.”

“Don’t be so negative. You haven’t come up with any better ideas.”

“Actually, Dad and I are going to start a literary club.”

“Really?”

“Didn’t he tell you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“We’re going to invite famous authors to come down and give talks.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a good idea, Jake.”

He looked surprised. “Yes, it is.”

“Have you approached anyone yet?”

“No. But we will soon. Dad and I have to work it all out. It’s only an

idea at the moment.”

“Well, you’d better do it quickly or you won’t have a hotel to invite

them to speak in.”

“It’s not that bad, is it?”

Marina closed her eyes and sighed painfully. “It’s bad, I’m afraid.

I wish it wasn’t true, but it is. We’re sinking into the mud.”

“God, I didn’t know it was that desperate.”

“I don’t suppose your father wanted to worry you.”

“Perhaps you’re overreacting.”

“I wish I was, but I’m not. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep this place.

I don’t care how low I have to stoop.”

The men returned to the bedroom as Jake was just stepping out into

the corridor.

“Do you like your sitting room?”

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“It’s charming,” Rafa replied. “And I like the way you have retained

all the old bathroom fittings. It’s so English.”

“Sometimes the old things are better made than their modern

equivalents. These fittings have lasted nearly two hundred years; some

of the modern fittings last only two before they begin to crack or leak,”

Grey explained.

“For sure,” Rafa agreed emphatically.

“We’ll leave you to freshen up and sort yourself out, and wait for

you outside on the terrace. Can I get you something to drink?” Marina

asked.

“Coffee, thank you.”

“It will be waiting when you’re ready.”

The trio walked downstairs, careful not to talk about the artist while

they were in the stairwell, the acoustics being such that the entire hotel could hear conversations there. Rose and Jennifer were still giggling to each other behind the reception desk while Tom and Shane were loi-tering in the hall, waiting for new arrivals to summon them outside or

for the existing residents to appear in the hall and ask directions to the gumboot room or some other part of the hotel, for it was a confusing

layout of rooms and guests often lost their bearings.

Marina instructed Tom to tell Heather to bring coffee for all of

them. As they walked through the drawing room they greeted a couple

of Americans who had come for the weekend, sitting on the comfy sofa

by the redundant fireplace, drinking Earl Grey tea. Grey hung back to

answer their questions on the history of the house, leaving Jake and his stepmother to walk on through to the terrace.

It was an unusually clear day, with not even the most delicate wisp of

a cloud in the sky. The ocean was calm and looked almost as blue as the Mediterranean Sea. Marina sat down and lost her gaze there awhile,

her thoughts drifting aimlessly on the gently undulating water. Jake

stopped to talk to the waiters, quietly discussing the business of the day, and Marina was left alone to contemplate her predicament.

She was sidetracked a moment by the sight of a grandmother with

her grandson, sitting quietly at the end of the terrace, playing Old

Maid. Her expression softened as she took in the tender sight. The

grandmother let the child win and feigned annoyance at losing. The

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little boy grinned up at her, his cheeks as rosy as crab apples, and demanded to play again. The grandmother shuffled the cards patiently, as

if she had no desire to do anything else but spend the morning enter-

taining him. Marina envied them with a painful yearning and had to

look away.

Jake joined her at last, and Grey appeared with Rafa. She swept the

little boy and his grandmother from her vision and settled her atten-

tion onto Rafa, grateful for the distraction.

“I see you have supplied paints and paper,” he said, sitting down.

“I didn’t know what you needed, but took the liberty of guessing,

based on what Paul Lockwood worked with last year. Our guests will

need materials, although some will bring their own.”

“I have brought supplies, too, but thank you.”

Heather stepped out with a tray of silver pots and pretty cups. One

of the waiters helped to unload it, placing a plate of biscuits in the center of the table.

“I suggest you take some time to look around,” said Grey. “There

are beautiful places here to paint, and Harvey knows all the private

houses and hotels nearby if you need to take your students off to paint elsewhere. Last year Paul spent a lot of time in neighboring homes

where the gardens are quite spectacular. He relished the diversity, and I’m sure they’d be very happy to have you.”

“Yes, you must take the opportunity to see as much of England as

you can. This part of the country is so beautiful, and we know lots of

people who have really pretty houses.”

“I will take your advice and see all that I can.”

“Harvey will be your guide,” said Marina decisively. “There’s no one

better than Harvey.”

At that moment Clementine appeared in a turquoise kaftan hang-

ing loosely over skinny white jeans. Her hair was scrunched messily

onto the top of her head, and she wore no makeup, as if determined not

to look like she’d made an effort for the artist who seemed to have al-

ready whipped the female members of staff into a froth of excitement.

“Ah, Clementine darling, come and meet Rafa Santoro,” said Grey,

giving his daughter an enthusiastic welcome in a subconscious attempt

to lift her mood.

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Rafa turned round to see the girl he had met a few weeks before

in the Black Bean Coffee Shop. Clementine recognized him at once

and blushed. Suddenly, she wished she had put on mascara, brushed

her hair, sprayed herself with perfume, not worn white trousers or the

kaftan, for that matter, and she imploded with anxiety. She didn’t know where to put herself for embarrassment.

Rafa stood up, ignored her outstretched hand, and kissed her coolly

on the cheek, as was custom in his own country. “Hello again.”

“You’ve met before?” Marina asked in surprise.

“Yes, after I came here to meet you I went into the town to have a

look around. I met your daughter in the Black Bean Coffee Shop.”

“You never told us,” said Grey.

“I didn’t know who he was, Dad,” Clementine explained, her embar-

rassment translating into defensiveness. She didn’t mean to sound so

unfriendly. She wanted to smile but felt gauche. How could she not

have bothered to ask more about the artist who was coming to spend

the summer? Why had she willfully shown no interest? Now she just

looked foolish.

“You made me buy a brownie,” he said. “A
naughty
brownie.”

“Sounds good,” said Jake.

“It was good.”

“Come and join us,” said Marina as the waiter brought over another

chair. Clementine wanted to rewind the scene and start again, but she

was left no option but to sit down and continue as she had begun,

awkward and self-conscious. She folded her arms and wished everyone

would talk among themselves.

“I don’t believe you already know each other,” Marina continued.

“We hardly
know
each other,” said Clementine. “I told him to buy a brownie and that was it.” She shrugged carelessly, but she hadn’t forgotten her dash back to the office to tell Sylvia she was in love and her certainty that she would never see him again. Well, here he was, and all she could do was scowl at him.

Marina was confounded by her stepdaughter’s sulkiness in the face

of possibly the most attractive man ever to set foot in their corner of Devon, and she tried to cajole her out of herself.

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“Clemmie loves to travel, don’t you, Clemmie? She’s been all over

India. That’s why she’s down here, working to earn the money she

needs to go back.”

“I think the best education is traveling the world,” said Rafa. “I admit, though, that I have never been to India.”

That should have been Clementine’s cue to engage in conversation,

but she sat back, leaving her stepmother to fill the silence for her.

“Neither have I, though the way Clementine talks about it,
when
she talks about it, fills me with the desire to go.” She smiled at Clementine kindly, but all the girl could muster was a mumble.

She watched her stepmother chat on effusively, and sighed. Yet

another man caught in her silky web.

“I admire people who speak languages,” said Grey. “I tried to en-

courage Jake and Clementine to learn French, but neither has a par-

ticularly good ear for it.”

“That’s because French is a useless language,” interjected Jake. “Only

spoken in France and a few small islands far away.”

“I bet you speak French,” said Marina to Rafa.

“Once you know one Latin-based language the others come very

easily. I grew up speaking Italian to my parents, Spanish to my friends, and we learned English in school. I’ve picked up a little French along

the way but it’s not very good. I’m an excellent bluffer.”

“Your parents are Italian?” Marina asked.

“So many Argentines are Italian,” he replied. “My father left Italy for Argentina after the war. My mother’s family have lived in Argentina

for generations.”

“They say it’s a wonderful melting pot of cultures,” said Grey.

“It is,” Rafa agreed. “But we don’t have the culture you have in Eu-

rope. It’s fascinating to walk through the streets of London and imag-

ine what it was like in the days of the infamous Tudors. I confess I went to the Tower and just stood and soaked it up, this rich history of yours, for most of a morning. It was time well spent.”

They talked on. Clementine joined in, slowly warming up as Rafa

seemed deliberately to include her, though he seemed more interested

in Marina. She wondered whether her father ever noticed his wife’s

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flirting, or whether he was so used to it as not to be bothered. She

suspected he was just happy that
she
was happy, at any cost. Marina’s contentment was of paramount importance to him.

“Clemmie, why don’t you show Rafa around?” Marina suggested.

“You’re not doing anything today, are you?” She turned to Rafa. “You’ve already seen the Black Bean Coffee Shop, which is clearly one of

the highlights of Dawcomb, so it might be nice to explore a little of the countryside with a guide who knows her way around.”

“One who has no interest in Devon,” Jake added mischievously.

“Clemmie makes no secret of the fact that she hates everything about

Devon.”

“That’s not fair,” interjected Marina. “Clemmie doesn’t
hate
Devon.

She’s just got her mind on India.”

“Perhaps my enthusiasm will be infectious,” said Rafa, and his eyes

twinkled at Clementine as they had done in the Black Bean Coffee

Shop. She felt her chest inflate with happiness. “What do you say? Will you be my guide?”

Clementine smiled in spite of herself. It was impossible not to re-

spond positively to Rafa’s uninhibited geniality. “Sure, if you like.”

Marina watched her face open like a sunflower and wished she

would smile more often; she was really very pretty when she did.

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11.

After they had finished their coffees Grey suggested Clementine

begin her tour in order to be back in time for lunch. “Take him on

a drive, that way he can get his bearings.”

“Do show him the beach,” said Marina. “It’s such a lovely day, you

can walk up and down with your feet in the sea.”

“Make sure you take him to the Wayfarer,” Jake added.

Clementine huffed irritably. “I’ll make my own arrangements, thank

you very much.”

“You can borrow my car,” said Grey.

“What’s wrong with my Mini?”

“Well, it’s a little small.”

Clementine turned to Rafa. “Do you think a Mini is too small?”

He shrugged. “You’re the boss. If you were all cooks, you’d have

spoiled the cake.”

Marina laughed. “You’re so right. Come on, let’s leave them to it.